Me: He's right here. Behave.
Maya: That's not a no about the hot part
I flip my phone face-down on the table, cheeks heating.
Justin's mouth curves, barely turning up in a smile. "Popular tonight?"
"Just my book club group chat."
"Book club." He says it like he's filing the information away. "What do you read?"
My brain shorts out for half a second. There is no universe where I'm telling Justin Bell about the Naughty Girls' Book Club and our monthly deep dives into Daddy Dom romance novels.
"Oh, you know. Romance. The fluffy kind."
"Fluffy."
"Very fluffy. Lots of… feelings and stuff."
His eyes narrow slightly, like he knows I'm deflecting. But he doesn't push. Instead, he stands, rolling his shoulders. "I'll get the fire going upstairs. Make yourself at home."
I watch him move. He’s efficient, controlled and every motion deliberate. He's the kind of man who would never be caught dead in a wrinkled shirt or a mismatched pair of socks.
And yet.
There's something underneath. Something that makes my pulse skip when he looks at me too long. My phone lights up one more time.
Chloe: So what's the plan? Seduce him with cocoa and Christmas cheer?
Me: The plan is SURVIVAL.
Madison: That's what they all say. There’s a genre for this, you know.
Me: He’s not a Daddy!
Chloe: Interesting she jumps to that conclusion
Madison: I was going to say forced proximity but now I need to know…
Maya: Is there something you aren’t telling us?
I silence my phone and stare into the fire.
This is going to be a long weekend.
CHAPTER 2
The storm doesn't ease. The wind roars all night. It’s the kind of mountain storm that makes the world feel small, wild, and dangerous. By morning the windows are iced over, and the world outside has vanished into a sheet of white.
I wake to the faint smell of coffee and the hiss of a fire. The clock on the wall blinks 7:12 a.m. I'm still in my elf tights, bundled under a wool blanket on the couch. For a second I think I'm dreaming, because Justin Bell is kneeling beside the hearth, coaxing a new flame to life. Then I remember. I’d gone upstairs to sleep but the wind had been too much. I came downstairs for a cup of water and had fallen asleep in the oversized chair next to the couch. At some point, Justin must have moved me to the couch and covered me in a blanket.
He looks infuriatingly composed. Perfectly pressed shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and I don’t know how it’s possible, but he looks well rested. The total opposite of me. My clothes are rumpled, I have what I can only imagine as glitter smudged makeup across on my face, and wild curls are escaping my braid.
"Morning," I croak.
He looks up, eyes warming just a little. "You snore."
"I do not."
