And I plan to win.
Chapter 4
Nash
She doesn’t shut up.
She hums while brushing her hair. Whistles while unpacking ornaments. Giggled earlier when the smoke alarm went off because she tried to “roast chestnuts” in my fireplace like this was some kind of cartoon Christmas movie and not real life.
She’s humming again now. Off-key. In my cabin. Inmy flannel.
Yeah, she’s wearing it.
I came out of the bathroom and found her standing in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, that red sweater of hers folded on the chair, my shirt hanging halfway down her bare thighs.
No pants.
No apology.
Just a smug little grin like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
She does.
Hell, she’s done nothingbuttest my patience since she barreled into my life two days ago with glitter, lipstick, and a plan.
A plan I should’ve shut down the moment she opened her mouth.
Instead? I let her stay.
Let her take over my space, my rhythm, my peace.
Let her stir something up in me that’s been dead a long damn time.
Now she’s at my stove, barefoot, hummingJingle Bell Rockwhile stirring hot cocoa like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Try not burning the house down with this batch,” I say.
She doesn’t look up. “Hmm, put on your sassy pants today, huh? You know mountain man, I think you’re gonna like your life wrapped in pine garland with bows by the time I’m done.”
I grunt. “Unlikely.”
She grins. “Just you wait. A little festive cheer never hurt anyone.”
I lean a shoulder against the wall and watch her move. She’s got no business looking that good in my clothes. That flannel’s seen ten years of chain oil, blood, and wood dust. It’s never looked softer than it does clinging to her like that.
“Take it off.”
She freezes.
Turns slowly, the spoon still in her hand, cocoa dripping to the floor.
“Excuse me?”
“The shirt. Take it off. Before I do it for you.”
Her eyes flare. “Wow. Okay. Full caveman now?”
I take a step closer.
