Page 2 of Tied Up In Tinsel
I cracked my knuckles, fingers flying across the keys while my frustration bubbled hot in my chest. “Hi there,” I typed, each strike of the keys a little sharper than it needed to be. “I hope the holiday season is treating you all well! I’m in a bit of a pinch and desperately need a nanny. Something fell through, and with my busy schedule this year, my daughter Ruby will need someone to be with.”
If I didn’t have a reputation to uphold as owner of one of the busiest catering businesses in town and sister to the sheriff, I’d have written the post in all caps, complete with a colorful rant directed squarely at my ex-husband. However, this was Snowberry Peak, and I had to keep things sugar-and-spice polite… at least in public.
Any other time of year, I could’ve leaned on my brother, Ollie. But December in this town was its own kind of chaos, and the sheriff’s schedule was packed tighter than Santa’s sleigh.
Ollie and I had been all each other had for years now. Our parents died in a car accident—on a snowy night, just days before Christmas. Up until that point, I’d been the kind of person who counted down to the holiday, who strung lights in November, who kept a closet just for gift wrap. Now? December carried a shadow. The twinkle lights and carols came wrapped in grief.
I shook off the heaviness and kept typing.
Live-in nanny. Experience with kids preferred. Must be fun, energetic, and willing to stay through New Year’s.
Satisfied, I dropped in the application link, hit post, and prayed someone in town—or at least within driving distance—was willing to rescue me from my impending holiday disaster.
That was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, I needed a drink.
Thankfully, I’d already arranged for Ruby to spend the night at Ollie’s weeks ago, knowing he had the night off. She’d be curled up on his couch, covered in a fleece blanket, working her way through a stack of princess movies while consuming her body weight in candy. If there was one man in Ruby’s life who never let her down, it was Ollie. Tender-hearted, endlessly optimistic, and entirely too kind for his own good.
I headed to my room and dug out my favorite red dress, the one that hit just above the knee and hugged in all the right places without making me feel like I couldn’t breathe. A quick sweep of blush over my cheeks, a gloss of cherry red across my lips, and my red hair smoothed into a sleek ponytail. Low heels for comfort, a little shimmer for confidence.
Snowberry Peak was already glittering outside, the snow catching the glow of Main Street’s twinkle lights as I stepped out the door. For the first time all day, the thought of a cold cocktail in a warm bar made me feel like maybe the holidays could surprise me yet.
Annie
The bar was humming with holiday cheer—string lights draped across the rafters, the faint scent of cinnamon and pine drifting from the mulled wine steaming on the counter. The hum of conversation mixed with the soft croon of a Bing Crosby song playing over the speakers, and I let the warmth from the fireplace soak into my bones as I sipped my cranberry mule.
I’d promised myself I wouldn’t check my phone, but promises to myself usually had a short shelf life. I pulled it from my bag and opened the posting board, half-hopeful, half-dreading what I’d see.
Three responses.
The first one? From Marla. Sweet woman, beloved in Snowberry Peak… and about seventy-four years old with a bad knee. She’d be fantastic for reading bedtime stories, but probably not so great for chasing Ruby through the snow or surviving one of her “let’s make a slime volcano” afternoons.
The second was a guy who, based on his profile picture, looked like he might still need a nanny himself.
And the third—oh, the third—was just a single line:“How hard could babysitting be”with no punctuation. No experience listed. Probably a serial killer.
I groaned, shoving my phone back into my purse. “That’s it,” I muttered to myself. “The internet has failed me. This was pointless.”
I refused to let myself think about what the alternative might be if I wasn’t able to find a nanny.
The door opened, and a swirl of cold air curled around my ankles. I looked up… and immediately forgot about my nanny crisis.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Muscles that pulled at the sleeves of his flannel in a way that should be illegal in at least twenty-two states. Dark hair dusted with snow, a jawline that looked like it had been carved by someone with an unhealthy obsession with perfection. And those eyes—sharp, curious, locking onto mine like he’d just spotted the one person he was hoping to find.
My cheeks warmed, but not from chestnuts roasting over an open fire.
He took a few steps toward the bar, giving me the once-over with a smile that was equal parts charm and trouble. “You look like you’re plotting something,” he said, voice low and warm.
I arched a brow. “And you look like you’ve just stepped out of a lumberjack calendar.”
His grin widened. “Which month am I?”
“December,” I said without hesitation. “Because you look like you’d chop down a Christmas tree for someone… but only after making them think you forgot just to add a little extra spice and drama.”
He chuckled, leaning on the bar beside me. “That’s oddly specific. Should I be worried?”
“Probably,” I replied, sipping my drink.
He flagged down the bartender, ordered something dark in a lowball glass, then turned back to me. “So, do you come here often, or am I about to sound like the guy in every bad Hallmark movie?”
