Not even fucking close.
Five months of trying to get my shit together, of working on myself, and a single glance at Ivy sends me right back to square one. She's waddling between the trees in this ridiculous puffy marshmallow coat and my heart's doing backflips.
The cold has painted her cheeks a sinful shade of pink, and when she grins up at our chosen tree, my body remembers every single time I've seen that flush spread down her neck, across her chest.
For one heart-stopping moment earlier, with her fists bunched in my shirt, and her eyes fluttering closed, I couldn't help but lean in. Everything in me screamed to close that gap, and fuck—for a split second, I swore she wanted it too.
Then that snowball exploded against the tree, and maybe the universe did me a favor. Because as much as I wanted to kiss her, I haven't earned that right yet. Not even close.
"Did you bring an axe?"
I blink at her, trying to process the question through the fog of wanting her. "Why would I bring an axe?"
She scoffs. "How else did you think we were getting this tree down? Magic?"
"I thought they had people for that?"
The moment the words leave my mouth, I know how they sound. But I'm not entirely wrong. I still remember the year Mom volunteered me and Matt to help out here. We spent an entire weekend hauling trees and swinging axes. I had blisters for weeks.
"Of course you did." Ivy rolls her eyes, though there's a flicker of amusement in her tone.
"Hey there." A deep baritone cuts through the moment. "I'm Chris. You two need any help?"
I turn to find fucking Christmas Thor walking toward us, all rolled-up flannel sleeves and muscles. His beard's perfectly trimmed, and the way he's eyeing Ivy makes my jaw clench.
She draws in a sharp breath, and her bottom lip tucks between her teeth. Because of course she sees him. Whowouldn'tnotice this discount Paul Bunyan, with his perfect form and stupid forearms?
He smiles at Ivy, barely sparing me a glance as he gestures to our tree. "Beautiful choice. I can help you get that down? Or, if you're feeling adventurous . . ." He reaches behind him, and I already hate whatever's coming next. "We have some axes available if you want to try it yourself?"
"We got it," I say before Ivy can respond, my voice coming out more like gravel. "I'll take that axe."
Chris's mouth twitches as he passes it over, and I resist the urge to wipe that smirk off his face. The weight feels strange, but I grip it with what I hope looks like confidence. "Suit yourself."
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Ivy's voice drips with amusement, and the way she's looking between us makes something possessive rear up in my chest.
"Absolutely." I widen my stance, slipping into the muscle memory of fourteen-year-old me, absorbing Matt's every move as he taught me proper form.
"Should I yell timber when it starts to fall?" Her eyes sparkle, and Chris chuckles at her joke.
I swing harder than necessary, the blade hitting at an angle that sends shock waves up my arms. Chris steps closer to Ivy, still wearing that irritating air of expertise that makes me seriously consider throwing the axe at his head.
"You'll need to angle down more," he says, demonstrating with his hands. "Use your hips. It's all about the follow-through."
I grunt something that might be "thanks" but is definitely closer to "fuck off," taking another swing. This one connects better, but sweat's already beading at my temples despite the cold. My arms burn, but I'd rather eat this axe than let either of them see me struggle.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of Chris'shelpful suggestionsand Ivy's barely contained amusement, the tree gives a satisfying groan. It tips slowly at first, then faster, and Ivy lets out a delighted squeal that makes my heart do stupid things in my chest.
My victory grin lasts approximately two seconds before Chris touches her arm. "Want me to help haul it to your car?"
"I got it," I start, but Ivy cuts me off with a sweet smile.
"We'd love the help. Thank you, Chris."
I bite my tongue so hard I taste copper, as he begins expertly wrapping rope around the tree. His movements are efficient andpracticed, muscles flexing as he secures each knot. And Ivy . . . Ivy's definitely noticing.
"You're drooling," I say, stepping up beside her.
"Just appreciating the view." She doesn't even try to deny it, which somehow makes it worse.
