Christopher’s truck was warm within minutes of starting up. As they drove through town, Sorcha found herself stealing glances at his profile. The strong line of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when he smiled. He was just her type. If she had a type. She’d never considered it before. Maybe her type was simplysafe hands, steady heart.
They were passing the edge of town when something caught her eye. A hillside where children were sledding, their colorful winter gear bright against the snow, their laughter carrying through the air.
“I haven’t done that since I was a child,” Sorcha said, the words escaping before she could think better of them.
Christopher slowed the truck, looking over at the sledding hill, then back at her with a gentle smile. “Want to give it a go?”
She should say no. She had a schedule, an article to write, and professional obligations. But there was something in his expression—an openness, an invitation to joy—that made her usual excuses seem hollow.
“Yes,” she said, surprising herself with how much she meant it. And wanted it.
Christopher pulled the truck over to the side of the road and parked. “Okay, let’s go.”
“But we don’t have a sled.” Sorcha glanced in the back of the truck. Maybe he had one stowed away in there for emergencies. Christopher seemed to be a man who was prepared for every eventuality.
“That’s okay.” Christopher’s eyes brightened as he turned to her. “I know exactly where we can borrow some sleds.”
As they got out of the truck, Sorcha hugged her arms around herself against the chill. The snow crunched beneath her boots, pristine and inviting. A laugh escaped her as she caught sight of a small child tumbling off a sled, only to immediately scramble up and race back toward the hill. Damn, she felt so alive!
“How are we going to find…”
“Daniel is here with his kids,” Christopher said, pointing toward a man standing at the edge of the sledding area. “They’ll let us take a turn.”
“Is this the Daniel who was part of the tree team?” Sorcha asked as she followed Christopher through the snow.
Christopher reached back to help her across a particularly deep drift, his gloved hand wrapping securely around hers. Thatsame electric current shot through her arm at his touch, making her breath catch. It was becoming familiar now, that jolt of awareness, but no less powerful.
“The one and the same,” he said with a grin. Then he laughed, his breath clouding in the cold air. “Thetree team, I like that.”
“Maybe next year I’ll get you all T-shirts,” she said without thinking.
“I’d like that,” Christopher said. But did he mean the part about the T-shirts, or the part about her being here next year?
Heat coursed through her as she fought to get a handle on her erratic thoughts. The cold must have short-circuited her brain. She needed to focus on the story, and order would soon be restored.
The sledding field opened before them, filled with children’s laughter and excited shrieks. Something about the scene tugged at Sorcha’s heart—memories of winter afternoons in her own hometown, racing down hills with neighborhood friends, before she’d grown old enough to find the small-town life limiting. For a moment, she let herself remember the good parts: hot chocolate waiting at home, the simple joy of speed and snow, the camaraderie of shared winter adventures.
“Christopher!” A man’s deep voice called out, accompanied by a friendly wave.
“Daniel!” Christopher called back. “I thought it was you.”
They made their way over to where Daniel stood. Sorcha noticed how his attention seemed divided, one eye always on the slope where children raced down on colorful plastic sleds. A father’s vigilance, she realized.
“What are you doing here?” Daniel asked, clapping Christopher on the shoulder.
Christopher’s cheeks flushed pink, and Sorcha wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or something else. “Just showing Sorcha around,” he said. “She’s writing an article about Christmas in Bear Creek.”
Daniel’s eyes shifted between them, a knowing smile playing at his lips that made Sorcha wonder what silent communication was passing between the men. He extended his hand toward her. “Hi there. Welcome to Bear Creek.”
Sorcha shook his hand, noting the strength in his grip and the smudge of flour that still clung to his coat sleeve. There was warmth in the contact, friendliness, but none of that electric spark she felt whenever Christopher touched her. That, it seemed, was uniquely Christopher.
Before she could respond, two children came racing over, their cheeks flushed with cold and exertion.
“Christopher!” they cried in unison. The boy nearly collided with Christopher’s legs in his enthusiasm.
“Hey, Teddy, Maisie,” Christopher said, ruffling the boy’s hair with easy affection. “Having fun?”
“We’re going to get hot chocolate,” the girl, Maisie, said, her eyes bright with excitement. “Dad promised.”
