For the record, I’m fully aware of the wildfire I just invited into my home.
Luckily, I know how to suck the oxygen right out of her flames. In theory. If she doesn’t kick me in the family jewels first.
As I fill in Jace Riley, the owner of Riley’s, he shakes his head before bracing his arms against the bar between us. The usually stoic man just stares like he can’t decide whether to laugh or call me an idiot.
“Wait, wait, wait. You agreed to let your sister’s best friend—the same girl I’ve caught you playing ‘Thirty-Seven Minutes in Heaven’ with in my storage closet and ripping you a new one in the samehour—to crash in your thousand-square-foot mini house for the most community-fun-filled week of the year.”
Well, when he puts it like that…
“Damn it. I’m screwed,” I grumble into my soda as Jace laughs. “It’s not fair. That incident was years ago, and it only happened once.”
“It was last year, but don’t worry. Your secret is safe.”
Okay, I may not have a full handle on this situation.
“It’s Christmas, and she isn’t heading to see her family. What was I supposed to do?”
“Exactly what you did,” he says, still too giddy at my expense. “But try not to chase the mistletoe, if you know what I mean.”
“No, Jace, I don’t know what you mean.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Hell, you’re this cranky now. Maybe youshould. Might make your holidays a little brighter.”
I toss my paper coaster at him as I get ready to leave. “Just give me my food and let me go in peace.”
As he grabs it from the window behind him, he continues with his one-sided banter. “Maybe let her jingle your bells? I’ll be sure to get with Noah. We’ll put mistletoe at every possible location for you. Maybe it’ll up your chances.”
I grunt in response, snatching the bag from his hands with more force than necessary. "You're hilarious. Really. Ever think about stand-up?"
"Only for you guys," Jace calls after me, laughing.
As I head home with my little sister’s best friend’s favorite chicken wrap in hand, Jace’s words play in my head.
I love Christmas. I love the atmosphere of a little town like Havenwood wrapped in holiday cheer with little winter scenes painted on shop windows. Then there are the carriage rides I manage on the night of the Christmas tree lighting. Speaking of, I still need to get with the boss man to make sure we have a secondary person down to help.
Not that we actually need one—the crowds aren't that big, and Butterbean could run the route blindfolded at this point—but if I volunteer McKenna for crowd control or keeping kids entertained while they wait...that's a few more hours with her.
The quick drive from the square to my simple two-bedroom house proves how quickly word travels in a small town. A sprig of mistletoe hangs over my front door, which means either Noahor one of the Flynn brothers is in on Jace’s plan to make this awkward as hell.
Before I get out of my truck, McKenna’s gray sedan pulls in next to me. Her long hair is a mess from where I snagged her bow earlier. Huh. I figured she’d have pull it back up the second I disappeared. She always has an extra hair tie.
I take an extra moment to study her through the glass, knowing it might be the only time I can admire her beauty before this plan falls apart.
Thick strands of waves rest over her shoulders, her bangs falling forward and successfully shielding her eyes from sight. I know this is a terrible idea. Just like I know I should put this old Ford in reverse and crash at my boss’s place until I get these thoughts under control.
She’s your sister’s friend. She’s off-limits. She won’t go for it.
As McKenna tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, she glances my way, and I know I’ll be begging my sister for forgiveness rather than permission.
Baby-blue eyes framed by dark lashes sear my soul as I take in the slight pout of her lips, the pinch between her brows, and the pure exhaustion she doesn’t try to hide. I kill the engine and climb down, bag of food in hand as I step around to her driver’s door.
My fingers tighten around the handle. For a guy who can wrangle thousand-pound horses, it’s ridiculous how careful I have to be with one woman who looks like she might shatter if I breathe wrong.
She stares through her windshield as if I’m not here, but the quiver of her chin is all I can handle before I’m ripping the door open, leaning over, and unbuckling her seatbelt. As I back away, I take her hands into mine and tug her to her feet.
“Let’s go inside and eat while it’s fresh. Then I’ll bring your bags in,” I say as I steer her to the house.
When she doesn’t have a snappy reply, I have to work at keeping my thoughts locked down. Our roles in each other’s lives have always been the same. She is the overprepared planner who always has a smile while keeping her worries locked behind a wall of Vibranium, and I am the pain-in-her-ass confidant who makes her laugh or pisses her off.
