He grins, the cocky kind that used to piss me off. Now? It just makes me want to climb him like a tree. Or kill him. Depends on the minute.
“You were fine with me poking your belly last night.”
“That was different. That was foreplay.”
“This isfamily bonding.”
“This is you being handsy with a hormonal woman who hasn’t seen her feet in three weeks and just wants to finish booking the Christmas packages before I give birth in the mudroom.”
He shrugs. “Could be worse places.”
“I will end you.”
But I don’t really mean it. Because truth is—this life? This messy, snowed-in, pine-scented, cocoa-drenched life?
It’s exactly what I always wanted. We were married by New Year’s, just one month after we won the competition, and we used some of the money to have a winter wedding on the Phantom River. It was perfect. Right out of a fairytale. And now we are about to become three.
Nash brings the handmade sign in from how workshop in the garage.
Welcome to Hollis & Hearth.
Rustic-modern A-frame cabins. Handcrafted wood furniture. Holiday decor you can take home with you. Romance baked right into the floorboards.
Nash handles the construction. I handle the aesthetics. And the bookings. And the social media. And the guest welcome baskets.
Okay, I handleeverythingexcept swinging the axe and muttering about insulation like it personally offended you.
We’ve got six cabins along the river now—each one themed, decorated, and ready for a Christmas card photoshoot. I even named them.Mistletoe Manor.Snowfall Suite.The Naughty Nook.(Nash still rolls his eyes at that one.)
Couples book months in advance for their winter escape.
Because it’s Devil’s Peak.
Because it’s us.
Because every cabin has a mini tree, a bottle of spiked cider, and a curated playlist with just enough Mariah Carey to make itfestive,notcriminal.
And now, we’ve got a baby on the way. Nash’s already chopping extra firewood like the kid’s going to eat it. I caught him last night building a cradle out of reclaimed oak like some kind of lumberjack nesting instinct kicked in.
He won’t admit it, of course. He’ll just say,“Got bored. Had a few extra planks lying around.”
But I know the truth.
The big, gruff bastard isexcited.
And scared.
And annoyingly obsessed with my belly.
“You named the new cabin yet?” he asks, rubbing cocoa out of his beard like it’s normal to walk around shirtless in December.
I glance up from my laptop. “I was thinking ‘Winter’s Kiss.’”
He snorts. “Sounds like a perfume.”
“It’s romantic.”
“It’s a cabin.”
