Page 9 of Jingle Bell Flock
“Look at her, not at me,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.
His gaze shifted to Sugarplum, and I kept shooting, focusing on the gentleness in his expression as he stroked her fur, the way his shoulders relaxed as he whispered something only she could hear, the snow visible through the barn door behind him, creating a natural frame for the photo.
My finger hesitated over the shutter button, my bottom lip pulled tight between my teeth.
This was a mistake.
I was supposed to be maintaining distance, keeping my walls up, not noticing all the ways this man was different from the Harrison Prescott I’d once known.
Growing up, Harrison wore his cockiness like armor. The captain’s “C” stitched to his jersey. The All-Star patches collected like trophies. That Prescott smirk perfected under his parents’ calculating gazes—the son whose achievements they tracked like part of their stock portfolio.
I’d watched him perform the role of golden boy for years, never missing a line. It was only with me he’d ever let that mask slip, but even then, it was just glimpses. Nothing like this. Nothing like the gentle man murmuring to his pet goat withunguarded tenderness, utterly at home in his own skin. This was someone I’d never been allowed to see. To know.
And I needed to stop thinking like this before it got me in some deep shit.
“Stand up,” I directed. “Grab that asshole Kringle if you can, and lift him.”
Harrison raised an eyebrow, and for a heartbeat, I saw the cocky teenager I remembered. “You want me to hold a forty-pound goat?”
“Unless you can’t handle it.” The challenge slipped out before I could stop it.
Something sparked in his expression, competitive and achingly familiar. “I can handle anything you throw my way.”
The words tugged at a deeply buried memory: Christmas break, our senior year. We’d been skating on the frozen pond at the far end of the property, Harrison goading me to go faster, harder. Every challenge he threw my way, I met with stubborn determination—a need to prove myself, to make him see me. Towantme.
I wondered if he was remembering that day, too, or if it was just a turn of phrase to him.
He stepped into the enclosure and scooped up Kringle, who let out an indignant bleat that made me bite back a smile. Harrison held the squirming goat against his chest, biceps flexing with the effort, and I had to force my expression back to neutral.
Was I fucking with him? Absolutely.
But I also knew these shots were gold.
“Great,” I managed. “Stay just like that.”
The light hit him perfectly. He looked strong and capable—and yes, absolutely ridiculous—and I hated how much I wanted to capture every angle of him.
I took shot after shot, moving around him, directing him to turn slightly, to look down at the goat, to smile.
“I’ll smile when you let me put him down,” he said, a hint of frustration seeping into his voice.
“All right. Fine.” I’d tortured him long enough.
He set Kringle down, and the goat trotted straight back to his enclosure, only to lower his small horned head and charge at Comet with the determination of a miniature battering ram.
Harrison huffed out a laugh, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he shook his head, a lock of golden hair falling across his forehead. “You were fucking with me.”
I shrugged, my traitorous lips twitching upward. “Maybe.”
“Asshole,” he said, but there wasn’t any real bite to it.
We stood there staring at one another as the wind picked up outside, whistling through the barn. With another shake of his head, he brushed goat hair from his sweater, and I found myself counting the seconds. Realizing this was the longest we’d gone without sniping at each other since he’d moved back to Mistletoe Bay.
I opened my mouth to remark on it, then closed it again.
We didn’t snipe at each other.Iwas the one who kept pushing. Kept fighting. Harrison simply took it. Absorbed my anger and hate. Never once gave it back.
“Why?” The question tumbled out before I could stop it.
