Page 29 of Holly Jolly Heat
"If you're free. Unless you have work?—"
"I always have work. But..." She glanced out the window at the growing light. "Location scouting actually is work. I need to approve any filming locations before Lucas goes live."
"Very professional reasoning."
"I'm a very professional person." But she was almost smiling. "Give me twenty minutes to get dressed."
She disappeared upstairs, and I leaned against the counter, processing.
She'd remembered how I took my coffee from one email six months ago. She'd been paying attention too. Building something without realizing it was pack.
Maybe we had more foundation than I'd thought.
Twenty minutes later, Michelle appeared in jeans and a sweater, hair pulled back, professional mask firmly in place. But I'd seen her without it now, soft and unguarded in her kitchen, and I knew what was underneath.
"I'm driving," she announced. "You film. That way I can multitask."
"Works for me."
Her car was an older crossover, well-maintained but clearly loved. The interior smelled like her, peppermint and pine everywhere. My alpha was very happy to be in her space.
"Okay," Michelle said as she pulled out of the driveway. "You want cozy holiday content, right? Small-town Christmas vibes?"
"That's Lucas's brand."
"Then I know exactly where to take you."
We drove through Cedar Falls as the town woke up. Shop owners were opening, stringing lights, setting out holiday displays. People waved at Michelle's car, she clearly knew everyone here, was part of the fabric of this place.
This was where she'd grown up. Where she'd learned to be driven and ambitious, but also where she'd learned about family and home and roots.
I filmed through the window as she drove, catching the early morning light on storefronts, the way Christmas decorations glowed against historic brick, the small-town charm that would make excellent B-roll.
"Town square," Michelle announced, pulling into a parking spot near a gazebo. "This is peak Cedar Falls Christmas."
I climbed out with my camera, and she was right. The square was perfect, gazebo wrapped in garland and lights, a massive Christmas tree, historic buildings forming a picturesque backdrop. Even this early, it was beautiful.
I started filming, but my lens kept drifting to Michelle.
She stood near the gazebo, looking around with an expression that was part nostalgia, part fondness. This place meant something to her. This was home.
"You're filming me again," she said without looking at my camera.
"You're part of the location. You make it more interesting."
"I'm not content."
"You're everything," I said quietly.
She did look at me then, and something in her expression shifted. Not quite fear, not quite hope. Something in between.
"Ro—"
"Sorry. Professional boundaries. I know." I lowered the camera. "But you are beautiful, Michelle. Especially here, in your town, with your guard down."
"My guard isn't down."
"It was this morning. In the kitchen. Before you remembered to be scared."
