His laugh is low and warm. "Careful. You’ll have me forgetting there’s a full house."
Outside the room, the inn is already stirring. The scent of fresh coffee and pine lingers in the air. The lights on the tree in the common room twinkle gently.
His parents are in the kitchen when we walk in. Evelyn pulls me into a soft hug, her eyes kind and knowing. His father offers me a quiet nod and a smile that feels like welcome. Nobody mentions the fact that I’m wearing Sebastian’s shirt.
On our way toward the dining room, something on a side table catches my eye. A glossy calendar, half-buried under a stack of local mail. I pull it out and flip it open.
And blink.
"Um… Sebastian?"
He glances over. Sees what I’m holding. Freezes.
It’s a shirtless calendar. Like,reallyshirtless. Twelve months of broad shoulders and flannel and low-slung jeans. The kind of thing that might start as a joke but somehow raises your heart rate anyway.
“What isthis?” I ask, grinning. “A small-townpin-upcalendar?”
He groans. “Please put that back.”
I flip to December. A man with a beard and an axe is mid-chop in a pile of snow, his abs on full display. “Oh my God. Is this… local?”
“Lovesbury,” Sebastian mutters. “Next town over. Their mayor does it every year. For charity.”
I stifle a laugh. “You’re telling me a real mayor convinced these men to pose shirtless for a Christmas calendar?”
“Yes. And that guy—” He points to Mr. December. “—is Maverick. Old army buddy. He got roped into it. I think they’re auctioning him off on Valentine’s Day.”
That does it. I snort. “So… they do calendarsandbachelors?”
Sebastian gives me a look. “You're not going to that auction.”
I laugh harder. “Relax. I already have my grumpy mountain man.”
“You’d better.”
He plucks the calendar from my hands and drops it back on the table like it might catch fire.
Later that morning, I bring over a pecan pie and more goodies, still warm from the oven, and help Evelyn finish warming the rest of the holiday spread.
Guests come and go, offering small talk, gifts, holiday greetings. There’s laughter and music and the soft clink of dishes. Everything hums with that quiet joy that only shows up when something feels just right.
At some point, I feel Sebastian’s eyes on me. I glance up.
He’s standing across the room, coffee mug in hand, watching me with that look. Not just desire. Not just tenderness.
Something steadier. Something like a promise.
He lifts his mug in a silent toast.
I smile. And raise mine in return.
The moment lingers, golden and still.
But then something shifts. A flicker of movement outside the window catches my attention. A shape. A man. Standing across the street, in front of the bakery.
I tilt my head, trying to place him. He’s tall. Older. Wearing a heavy coat and a worn hat pulled low. He isn’t moving. Just standing there, hands in his pockets, looking toward the bakehouse like he’s trying to gather courage.
A strange tug pulls low in my chest. Something instinctive.
