Page 20 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
"So, like I was saying about the various projects for the children," she says after a moment of silence.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. "I told you, we'll discuss it at your place."
"Perfect," she agrees. "I have all my notes and plans laid out. We can be super productive, and then hang those lights before it gets too cold."
Her enthusiasm is exhausting and oddly infectious. I find myself almost smiling as I navigate the familiar curves.
The cabins arequiet when we arrive, the darkness complete except for the glow of Lettie's ridiculous reindeer decoration, casting red shadows across the dried grass patch.
"Home sweet home," she says as I park. "Come in whenever you're ready. I'll get everything set up."
I take a moment after she leaves, steeling myself for what's to come. I can handle this. It's just work. It's just one evening.
It's just Lettie, with her Christmas sweaters and her earnest excitement and her curves that I can't seem to stop thinking about.
Fuck.
I grab the folders from my truck and head to her cabin. The door is unlocked, which annoys me. She shouldn't be so trusting, especially living alone in a relatively remote area.
"Ensure you keep your doors locked," I say by way of greeting as I step inside.
Her cabin has been transformed in the short time she's been here. Garlands line the kitchen cabinets, twinkling lights frame the windows, and a small Christmas tree stands in the corner, already decorated with red and gold ornaments.
"In Eden Ridge?" She laughs from the kitchen area. "I don't think crime is a big concern here."
"Still," I insist, setting the folders on her dining table. "It's just common sense."
She appears from behind the kitchen counter, a warm smile on her face. "Can I get you a drink? I have some festive optionsI've been wanting to try. Hot Toddy? Hot Buttered Rum? Or maybe a Coquito?"
I freeze, having no idea what any of those things are. I've never been one for fancy Christmas drinks. Just Whiskey, neat. But admitting that feels like revealing another weakness.
"What's your preference?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
"Oh, they're all delicious," she says. "Hot Toddy is whiskey with honey, lemon, and spices. Hot Buttered Rum is rum with a spiced butter mixture. And Coquito is a Puerto Rican Christmas drink with coconut milk, condensed milk, and rum. Kind of like eggnog but creamier. "
None of those sound appealing, but I need to pick something. "Coquito," I say, choosing at random.
Her eyes light up. "Perfect choice! Give me just a minute to mix it up."
As she bustles around the kitchen, I can't help but wonder if she noticed my hesitation. The way she explained each drink makes me think she figured out I had no idea what they were.
“Tomlin, my best friend, his husband is Afro-Latino, and his family made me Coquito one Christmas, and I became obsessed.” She bounces around, the blender whirling with ingredients.
"Here you go," she says a few minutes later, returning with two glasses filled with a creamy, cinnamon-topped concoction. "One Coquito, as promised."
I take the glass reluctantly. "We should work first."
"Just a sip," she urges. "Tell me what you think."
To appease her, I take a small taste. The sweetness hits first, followed by the rum, then coconut and cinnamon. It's cloyingly sweet and definitely not my thing.
Lettie watches my face, then bursts into laughter. "Oh my goodness, you hate it!"
"It's fine," I lie, setting the glass down.
"Your face says otherwise," she teases. "I've never seen someone try so hard to be polite about hating a drink."
"I'm not big on sweet stuff," I admit.
