“Would you look at that,” he murmured, holding her gaze with one that could melt all the chocolate in this room. “They meet in the middle.”
She waited for the inevitable blush, a nervous laugh, the shy girl instinct to look anywhere but in his eyes.
But none of that happened. Instead, Gracie smiled right back and let a whole different kind of warmth fill her chest. Behind him, Benny and Olivia were high-fiving and popping chocolate-covered strawberries.
The whole kitchen seemed to shift out of focus, everything blurred but the face of the man in front of her.
Marshall picked up the entry form for Mistletoe on Main, walking toward her, never taking his eyes from hers.
“We need to name this,” he said softly, tapping the card against his knuckles.
Name…this?
Well, it wasn’t a crush anymore. It wasn’t an attraction. Sometime between making the foundation for that gingerbread building and spinning the sugar into a fragile but beautiful bridge, she’d left anything that meaningless behind.
Because Marshall Hampton wasn’t just a good-looking guy who’d once played professional sports and happened to open a competing business. He wasn’t merely a neighbor or the father of Benny’s pal. He was…
Extraordinary and faithful, strong and intelligent, caring and loving and kind.
She tore her gaze from his and looked past him at the sparkly, spectacular, snowy delight that captured their personalities, their businesses, and their…relationship.Whateverit was.
“How about Sweet ‘n’ Clean?” she suggested.
He dropped his head back and laughed. “I love it.”
And she, a little voice in her head whispered, could lovehim.
The black SUV that pulled up to the lodge could have been carrying a head of state. Dominique stepped out first, wrapped in a snow-white belted coat, her eyes covered by sunglasses large enough to double as shields. Behind her, a young man in a beanie and a leather jacket hauled some bags and equipment, then a woman with a makeup bag strapped across her body like a medic kit emerged to scan the porch with a judgmental gaze.
“Hello, I’m Dominique Parrish,” she announced, as though the name itself were trademarked. “You must be Candy.”
“Cindy,” she corrected, extending a gloved hand. “Cindy Kessler. Welcome to Snowberry Lodge. We’re so thrilled you could?—”
“Cute,” Dominique interrupted, glancing up at the recently refurbished roof.
Cute? The roof was forty thousand dollars’ worth of shingled perfection.
“Rustic without beingtoofolksy,” Dominique continued. “Could film well, depending on the light. Parker, get some shots before it clouds over. He’s my cameraman and muscle. This is Sloane.” She gestured toward the other woman, a petite brunettewho couldn’t be twenty-five, currently reading her phone. “She’s makeup and brains. Keeps me organized, beautiful, and on time.”
Sloane looked up and gave a smile that certainly didn’t reach her eyes. Then she tapped the screen in her hand. “Speaking of,” she said, “you have exactly two hours and forty-two minutes until we have to be at the Grand Hyatt, Dom. Make them count.”
“Oh, is that where you’re staying?” Cindy asked, fighting the punch of disappointment that they had chosen her nemesis hotel. Before Matt’s extravagant gift, she’d lost so much business to the name-brand resort strategically situated near a Deer Valley lift line.
“No, we have a rental.”
“Then…are you skiing or…”
Dominique threw her a look. “There’s another bride having a small wedding there and the third is at a restaurant in town.”
Cindy frowned, not sure she followed. “So, you’ll be filming three weddings while you’re here?”
“Oh, heavens, no,” she scoffed and threw a look at Sloane. “We’d die! No, just one, but we’re making the final decision after seeing all three.”
For a moment, Cindy felt the blood rush out of her head. “You mean…you’re not…definitely using Snowberry Lodge?” There hadn’t been any talk of competing for this honor.
“We just couldn’t decide, so we narrowed it to three. An old-fashioned lodge, a modern hotel, and a chic restaurant.” She gave a tight smile. “We’ll pick the one that works best.”
“Oh…I, uh, misunderstood,” Cindy murmured, really not wanting any more stress and not loving “old-fashioned” as her descriptor. “I thought you’d?—”
