Page 10 of A Cozy Holiday
“Didn’t look fine there, ma’am.”
For some ungodly reason, that word—“ma’am”—delivered in that gravel-and-honey voice, sends a shiver straight through my entire circulatory system.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion on my looks, Daniel Boone.”
“Can’t say I’ve been called that before. Usually, I’m known as the holiday hunk of Cranberry Hollow.” He winks at me, and I step back. He’s fucking with me.
“No one in their right mind would call you that!”
His grin widens. “Do you disagree?”
“Are you seriously trying to flirt with a person one second away from a total emotional meltdown?”
“Hey, if the flannel fits.”
“You’re wearing a Henley.”
“Thought I noticed you checking me out.”
“Over. My. Frozen. Body.”
He chuckles in a mellow, unbothered way that vibrates through the air like a goddamn space heater.
I hate that I like arguing with him.I’m never allowed to argue with patients, so I learned to suppress all of my emotions until it became second nature, but now it feels as if they are bubbling out of me.
I cross my arms. “Where were you?”
He keeps staring at me with his deep green eyes. There are bursts of gold and brown in his irises.
“I was picking my girls up from school.” He nods toward the larger house, where two mini-hims are standing at the front door. Identical twins. One of them has her hair styled in space buns, and the other has a sparkly pink headband pushing her chocolate curls out of her face. They giggle and wave.
“I like your coat!” one of them shouts.
“We asked Dad for sparkly coats, but he got us these,” the other adds, holding out her arms like she’s been sentenced to fashion prison.
Their jackets are oversized, navy, and thoroughly dad-approved.
“Girls, homework. Now,” Jamie orders, and they scamper off. “Sorry I wasn’t here.”
He’s a dad. Fantastic. Now I’m officially a Scrooge who scolded a dad in front of his kids. “You’re a daddy—I mean, a dad-dad?”
His eyes flash like he knows exactly what I mean. “Last I checked, yeah.”
I try to recover. “Right. Great. I just love when my emotional meltdowns come with a child audience.”
“They’ve seen worse,” he deadpans. “Last December, Honey stripped down to her thermal leggings and tried to become one with the reindeer herd. I had to carry her back to the houseunder one arm, soaking wet, while she yelled, ‘At least let me try the hay!’”
The image makes me want to laugh, but instead I roll my lips between my teeth.
Focus.
“This cabin looks nothing like the photos on Craigslist,” I whisper-yell.
“I never claimed to be a photographer,” he says, his eyes shadowed by an emotion I can’t quite read. “Those photos were taken ages ago. But trust me, the inside’s been completely redone.”
“You catfished me.”
He grins. “The only fish up here this time of year are wild brook trout. I thought a big-time New York City vet would have thicker skin.”
