Page 8 of Mistletoed with the Mountain Man
So I do. Step back. Put three feet of safe distance between us.
"Careful, you’ll laugh yourself right to the ER if you fall," I manage to say.
"Thanks for the catch." Her voice sounds slightly breathless. "I want to see these sweaters. For quality control purposes."
"Quality control?"
"Exactly. Making sure they're sufficiently hideous." She goes back to securing garland, but I catch her glancing at me. "You're full of surprises, Kade Giles."
If she only knew about the thoughts running through my head right now—how I want to peel those jeans off her, spread her across the huge dining table, and make her forget her own name. Find out if she tastes as sweet as she looks and if she'd pull my hair as I devoured her pussy.
Get a grip, Giles.
I’ve been told by other women I’m "too intense." That my appetites were "overwhelming." That I wanted too much, was too demanding, too everything.
So I've kept that side of myself locked down ever since. Buried it under discipline and control.
But standing here, watching Nia move with guileless grace, laughing at her own jokes, bringing light into this empty space, I feel that careful control starting to crack.
She'd never understand.
Sweet, bright, innocent twenty-two-year-old Nia who calls me “Deputy” and probably thinks making love with the lights on is adventurous.
That thought should cool my interest.
It doesn't.
"It’s getting late," she announces, climbing down and surveying our progress. "But we made good headway! Tomorrow we'll find some trees and—oh!"
She bends to pick up a box, revealing a vintage angel ornament. The kind with delicate glass wings and a painted porcelain face.
Her whole demeanor shifts. She cradles it carefully, and that sadness is back in her eyes, deeper this time, less guarded.
"It’s beautiful," I say quietly.
"My dad loved these." Her voice is soft. "We had a whole collection. He'd spend hours arranging them on the tree, making sure each one was perfect. He'd..." She swallows hard. "He really loved Christmas."
Past tense.
The realization hits me like a fist to the gut.
"Nia…”
She sets the angel down quickly, her sparkle snapping back into place like armor. "I should get going. Make some more lists, check inventory…you know, boring logistics stuff. But is 10 a.m. okay to start tomorrow?"
I want to push. Want to ask about her father, offer comfort, be the person she can lean on.
But that's not my place.
"Sounds great," I agree.
She gathers her bag and coat, chattering away about supply runs and color schemes and things that I'm nodding along to while internally memorizing everything about this moment.
The way a couple of blonde strands have fallen into her eyes.
The delicate shimmering pink blush on her cheeks.
The careful way she's avoiding my eyes.
