BANG BANG BANG.
We both freeze.
The front door rattles like someone’s trying to punch it down.
“For the love of—” Nash bites off the curse, scowling as he storms over to the door. “If it’s those damn raccoons again?—”
He throws it open.
It’s not a raccoon.
It’s a woman. Mid-sixties. Cheeks pink from the cold. Drenched in snow and carrying a tray of what looks like canned cranberry Jell-O molded into a Santa shape.
“Hi there, Nash!” she chirps, peering around him and spotting me still on the couch, hair powdered in sugar, shirt slightly askew.
Her brows shoot up.
“Oh my.”
“Ms. Dottie,” Nash says through clenched teeth. “It’s… not a good time.”
“Oh, don’t be silly! I was just in the neighborhood and figured I’d drop off a little something sweet for you before the next big storm hits tonight!” She eyes me again. “But I can see you already found that.”
I nearly choke.
Nash groans.
I sit up, cheeks flaming. “Hi, I’m—uh—Noel.”
Dottie’s grin is positively wicked. “Yes, dear. I heard all about you down at The Devil’s Brew. So you’re the… bride?”
I open my mouth. Close it. “Temporarily?”
She winks. “Well, I justloveholiday romances.”
“Not a romance,” Nash grumbles.
“I’m rooting for you anyway,” Dottie says. “You know where to find me if you need a wedding officiant. I’ve got a license. And a karaoke machine.”
She disappears into the night with a flurry of snowflakes and bad timing, leaving us staring at the door she just closed behind her.
Nash doesn’t speak.
He just exhales and mutters, “We weresoclose.”
My heartbeat hasn’t slowed. My mouth still tingles.
I glance at him, then down at the tray of Santa-shaped Jell-O in his hands. “Your girlfriend’s intense.”
“That woman once proposed during a turkey raffle after too much cocoa and Kahlua.”
I snort. “Kinky.”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“No promises.”
He looks at me again. And this time, it’s not teasing.
