He lifts his chin. “A penny is a penny.”
"Not anymore. A penny is not even a blink of my eyelashes."
With that, he looks deep in my eyes, deliberately noticing my lashes and if I blink. I laugh so hard I have to press a hand over my mouth.
He narrows his eyes. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” I manage between breaths. “I’ve just … never met anyone like you.”
“I could say the same,” he murmurs.
But when we step outside into the cold night, he gently places his hand at the small of my back to guide me down the steps. It’s warm, protective and unexpectedly sweet. And just like that, I know.
I’m in trouble. Big, grumpy, miserly trouble. I’m already smitten.
Chapter 12
Ethan
The walk to the truck is quiet in the way snow is quiet when you look outside. The night is soft and muffled. Harper walks beside me, gloved hands tucked into her coat pockets, a faint curl of steam drifting from her breath. Christmas lights gleam off the fresh powder on the rooftops. The whole town looks like one of her snow globes come to life.
And she fits inside it too well. Too damn well. She laughs suddenly. It sounds soft and breathy. She seems amused by my napkin rescue back at Millie’s.
“I’m never forgetting that,” she says, nudging me lightly with her elbow.
I huff. “It was a good napkin.”
“It was a napkin,” she corrects.
“It still had potential.”
“Yes, but then you dropped a huge glob of apple filling on it. It’s no good now.”
“See, it was just waiting for me to bring it to life with that little mistake.”
She bites back another laugh. I find myself trying to deny her beauty. In reality, I can’t. It sort of terrifies me. I hold the door open for her as she slides into my old truck. She probably thinks I’m poorer than a church mouse. I’ve got money and lots of it. But I like sitting on it — knowing the assets and cash are there … the same way I save napkins and well — everything.
All the way up the mountain, I’m quiet. She flips on the radio and hums softly to Christmas songs. There’s a part of me that’s already done with these holiday things for the day.
It’s dark now with an almost cloudless sky up here in the Rockies. I pull back into the Grandview Lodge and park the truck. Glancing over at her, I see she’s been nervously twisting the handle on her purse. I think I know why. We’re starting to know one another … and dare I say she likes me. I’m not sure, but I think so. Now, we’re back to being in the same room and bed for our second night.
We reach the path leading up to the Grand Lodge. Lanterns line the walkway, casting warm pools of light on the snow. Harper pauses beside one, staring up at the branches overhead where icicles catch the glow like glass ornaments.
“It’s so pretty,” she says softly.
I look at the icicles. They’re fine. But she’s something else entirely.
“Yeah,” I say, the word coming out lower than I intend.
She glances up at me. In the few seconds before she looks away, I see it.
Trust. Warmth. Something that looks dangerously close to wanting. My heartbeat thuds once, hard enough I feel it in my throat. We walk again, slower now. Neither of us mentions the bed waiting for us upstairs. When we reach the lodge entrance, Harper hesitates on the threshold. Snowflakes settle in her hair.
“Thanks for taking me to dinner. It was nice of Millie too,” she says.
“Can’t go wrong at Millie’s. Food hits the spot every time.”
“Still,” she says softly, “you took it on the chin with everyone’s questions. Thanks for enduring it with me.”
