Page 9 of Mistletoed with the Mountain Man
She pauses at the door. "This place is going to be really special, Kade. I can feel it."
"I think so too."
When she's gone, I stand in the middle of the mess she's created—boxes half-unpacked, tree skirts draped over furniture, tissue paper scattered like snow—and I can't quite bring myself to clean it up.
Not yet, at least.
That's when I notice the glitter.
It's on my hands. My shirt. When I run my fingers through my hair, I feel it there, too.
Somehow, she's already left her mark everywhere.
I take the longest, coldest shower of my life, trying to freeze out the thoughts that won't leave me alone. It doesn't work. Even clean and exhausted, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, I can still see her on that ladder. Feel the warmth of her body under my hands. Smell the Christmas cookie scent that seems to follow her everywhere.
I imagine pulling her down, bending her over the enormous sectional, fisting my hand in all that hair while I?—
God dammit.
"You're completely fucked, Giles," I mutter into the darkness.
CHAPTER 3
NIA
Iarrive at the cabin at exactly 10 a.m., armed with two baggies of Aunt Meredith's famous pecan berry bursts that she insisted I bring over and a detailed supply list that I spent way too long into the night perfecting.
Also, when I finally did make it to bed, I definitely didn't dream about a certain tattooed deputy, but that's between me and my traitorous subconscious.
The door swings open before I can knock, and there stands Kade in dark jeans and a charcoal henley that shouldn’t look so damn good on man. The top two buttons are undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of ink climbing toward his throat.
"Morning," he says. "Right on time."
"I'm very punctual when properly motivated." I step inside, and stop dead. "What the hell did you do?"
The havoc from yesterday has vanished. Every single box is stacked neatly along one wall, organized by—I walk closer to confirm—type and color? The garland is sorted by length. The ornaments are arranged by size and style, along with the ribbons, candles, and other miscellaneous trimmings. Even the tissue paper has been folded into perfect squares.
"I got up early," he says, like this is normal behavior.
"You organized everything."
"I prefer to think of it as creating an effective workspace." He heads toward the kitchen. "Coffee?"
I follow, torn between exasperation and something dangerously close to affection. "Kade. You didn’t have to?—"
I freeze yet again.
The kitchen island has been transformed into a full coffee bar. And I meanfull. There's a French press, a pour-over setup, an espresso machine that looks like it could run a small café, and enough syrups and toppings to make a Starbucks barista weep with envy.
"You built a coffee bar?"
"I didn't know how you take it." He rubs the back of his neck, and I spot pink dotting his cheeks. "So I got...options."
My heart skips.
"Vanilla, caramel, hazelnut, peppermint." He points to each bottle. "Almond milk, oat milk, whole milk, half-and-half. Whipped cream, cinnamon, cocoa powder..." He trails off, clearly realizing he might have gone overboard. "It’s too much, isn’t it?"
"It's lovely," I say softly, setting down my bag to pull out the cookies. "But you drink yours black, don't you?"
