Page 31 of Mountain Man Grinch
His arms come around me, leather and woodsmoke.
“Wasn’t just me, Princess,” he rumbles. “You kept your head. Fought like hell. You’re brave as they come.”
“I was terrified.”
“Being brave when you’re not scared is easy,” he says. “You were brave while terrified. That’s what counts.”
I tip my head back to look up at him. “When did you get so good with words?”
He snorts. “Still not. Just really motivated with you.”
My chest fills so fast it almost hurts.
“Davin?”
“Yeah?”
“I love our stupid tree.”
One corner of his mouth kicks up, slow and full of heat. “I love your stupid sweater that jingles every time I touch you. And thankfully, has been replaced by flannel.”
I smack his chest lightly. “That sweater is iconic.”
“So’s this,” he murmurs, leaning down until his nose touches mine.
His lips brush mine once, twice—no urgency, no fear, just a long, slow, deep kiss that tastes like coffee and cinnamon and the promise of an entire life.
A tiny bell jingles between us.
He pulls back with a groan. “Of all the sweaters Callie could get for Gus, it had to have bells, too. I swear, every time one rings an angel gets its wings, and I lose five brain cells.”
“Worth it,” I whisper, breathless, bending to let Gus back down.
Davin huffs out a laugh, then nods toward the tree. “Come on. Before Mateo shows up and freaks out again.”
I blink. “He’s coming here?”
“Later. He and Callie and half of Rough & Ready are bringing dinner.” He grimaces like this is a personal hardship. “Apparently, we’re hosting.”
My heart does that stupid swoopy thing again. “We’re hosting?”
“Yeah, Princess.” His gaze holds mine. “We.”
I can’t help it. I launch myself into his arms. He catches me with a grunt, hauling me up against him like I weigh nothing.
“You okay?” he asks, laughter in his voice.
“I’m … disgustingly happy,” I admit, throat thick. “Is that allowed in Grinch Cabin?”
He sets me down gently, tipping my chin up. “Correction.Ourcabin. And yeah, happiness is allowed. In moderation.”
“In moderation,” I echo, rolling my eyes. “Grumpy man.”
“Sunshine menace,” he counters fondly.
We drift toward the tree, and I finally notice the ornaments with actual thought.
On one side hangs a little wooden snowmobile withFirst Christmas on the Mountainburned into it in clumsy letters. On another, a tiny metal Saint Michael medallion. There’s a glass ornament shaped like a coffee mug, one like a gingerbread house, and one flat metal circle stamped withRRCand a tiny Ranger tab.
