Page 3 of Tied Up In Tinsel
“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “Do you own a struggling bakery or a small-town inn?”
“No, but I can fake it for the right woman.”
I laughed, the tension I’d been carrying all day loosening just a bit. “Wow. That was smooth.”
“I try. Name’s?—”
“Don’t tell me,” I interrupted, holding up a hand. “Let me guess. Something strong. Classic. Definitely not ‘Todd.’”
He tilted his head, eyes dancing. “You’re good.”
“I’m rarely wrong.”
“Hmm. Dangerous combination…smart and confident.”
We both sipped our drinks, that easy, playful energy sparking between us. I wasn’t thinking about work, or my ex, or my looming childcare disaster. I was thinking about how this stranger had walked in from the snow and made the whole room feel warmer.
And I had a feeling he knew exactly what he was doing.
“You’re not from here,” I said, studying him over the rim of my glass.
God, he was so attractive it was unfair.
“Noticed that, did you?”
“I’ve lived in Snowberry Peak my whole life,” I replied. “I know everyone here. Even the mailman’s second cousin.”
He smirked. “Maybe I’m just good at hiding.”
“Or maybe you’re trouble.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Would that be a dealbreaker?”
I didn’t answer right away. I just smiled and took another sip.
He leaned back, one arm draped along the back of the chair, his body turned toward me like he had all the time in the world.
I waved at the bartender to replace my cranberry mule with something stronger. While I was at it, I also ordered a couple of tequila shots to down with a complete stranger.
My new male friend eyed them up and I smirked, pushing the ones I’d ordered for him in his direction.
Just as I thought from his confidence alone, he smiled back and took them.
“Cheers,” he said, holding his first shot glass up to me.
I repeated the motion back and sent him a wink.
I was the kind of woman who often went after what she wanted. I wasn’t shy, wasn’t bashful and always was down to bring a man to their knees.
With synchronized movements, we both tilted the first one back.
“You always this forward with strangers?” he asked, his voice low and just a little rough.
“Only the ones who look like they could split firewood with their bare hands,” I murmured. And probably split me in half, too.
That made him laugh, which was quiet but genuine.
I decided to lean in, propping my chin on my elbow and immediately reached for the second shot glass.
