Page 28 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
I guide the truck into the packed parking lot of a Christmas festival I had no intention of visiting five minutes ago. All because Lettie Donovan bounced in her seat with those big brown eyes full of hope. One impulsive kiss on my cheek later, and here we are.
I'm getting soft.
"This is going to be amazing," she says, practically vibrating with excitement as I park. "I can smell the cinnamon from here."
I can too. The scent of spices and sugar hangs heavy in the air, carried on a wind that promises snow before nightfall. Gray clouds gather overhead, but that hasn't deterred the crowd.
"I'm not staying long," I warn, killing the engine. "One hour."
"Two," she counters immediately, already unbuckling her seatbelt.
"Ninety minutes," I compromise, wondering when exactly I started negotiating with the Christmas Queen instead of just saying no.
Her smile is blinding. "Perfect. That's exactly enough time."
I doubt that. Lettie strikes me as the type who could spend a full day at one of these things and still complain it wasn't long enough.
We walk through the entrance, Lettie instinctively moving closer to my side as the crowd thickens. I'm hyper aware of her nearness, the occasional brush of her arm against mine, the way people part to let us through. A few women glance my way, then at Lettie, speculation clear in their eyes. I resist the urge to place a hand at her lower back to guide her through the throng.
"Over there," she points, tugging at my sleeve. "They have hot spiced cider. You have to try it."
"I've had cider before," I mutter, but follow her anyway.
"Not like this, you haven't," she insists, stepping into line. "This could be perfect for the non-alcoholic menu at the distillery. We could even create an adult version with Hunter's bourbon."
The fact that she's still thinking about business even while practically bouncing on her toes surprises me. She's more strategic than I've given her credit for.
"What's in it?" I ask.
She looks up, pleased that I'm engaging. "Traditional mulling spices, of course. Cinnamon, cloves, allspice. But the secret is adding fresh orange zest and a tiny bit of star anise. Just enough to give it depth without overpowering."
I nod, filing the information away. "Could work."
"Trust me. One sip, and you'll be convinced."
We reach the front of the line, and Lettie orders two ciders. I reach for my wallet, but she's faster, slapping down cash before I can protest.
"My treat," she says firmly. "Consider it research for the festival."
The man behind the counter hands us steaming cups. Lettie takes hers with an enthusiastic "Thank you," and then watches me expectantly as I take a sip.
It's good. Damn good, actually. The warmth travels through my chest, the spices layered perfectly with the sweetness of the apple and a hint of something deeper that must be the anise she mentioned.
"Well?" she prompts.
"Not bad," I admit, which earns me a triumphant smile.
"See? This is what I'm talking about. The details matter. The way the cup warms your hands. The steam rising in the cold air. The way the spices hit your senses before you even taste it. That's the experience we're creating."
I've never thought about it that way. To me, food and drink have always been functional, not experiential. But seeing her passion for these small details, I start to understand why she's successful at what she does.
We walk through the festival, Lettie pointing out various elements with the critical eye of someone who plans these things for a living. But there's something else too—a childlike wonder that doesn't seem forced or professional. She genuinely loves this.
"Oh, look," she says suddenly, her voice softening. We stop at the edge of a small clearing where families are gathered around fire pits, roasting marshmallows and making s'mores. Children laugh as they struggle with sticky treats, parents helping with patient hands.
Lettie watches them, something wistful in her expression.
"I never had this growing up," she says quietly, almost to herself. "My parents were always too busy with work events. Christmas was more about their client party than family traditions."
