“Hi,” I replied.
He gestured toward my sweater. “You look… warm.”
I laughed, tension loosening from my shoulders. “That was the goal.”
He nodded with approval that was far too charming for such a simple statement.
Kitty bustled past us with a stack of papers and a pen clenched between her teeth. She paused, eyes widening as she registered the scene. For once, she didn’t ask either of us a question. She simply pointed at us, then gave a brisk thumbs-up like a coach sending players onto the field.
Braxton’s eyebrows lifted.
I covered my mouth to hide my laugh. “Don’t encourage her. She will start assigning romance as a task.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Is romance not a task?”
“It isn’t supposed to be,” I whispered back.
His smile warmed, and for a second my brain offered a terrible thought. What if I didn't know how to do this, actually do it, without getting tangled in old instincts?
Then he held the lobby door open for me, and the cold air rushed in, and my mind cleared. Braxton had the rental car out front, opening the passenger door for me before he carefully shut it.
The drive to Maple Ridge was short. Outside, the night was crisp and bright. Snow covered the sidewalks in a smooth white layer that reflected the glow from shop windows. Holiday garlands wrapped lampposts. Music drifted faintly from somewhere down the street, cheerful and slightly off-key, as if a speaker had been placed near a wreath and forgotten.
We started walking, side by side. At first our hands brushed occasionally. Each time it happened, my body reacted like it had been startled by kindness. Braxton noticed too. I could tell because he adjusted his pace to match mine more closely, as if he was trying not to rush me into anything.
I appreciated that. I also found it maddening, because part of me wanted to take his hand again and stop overthinking the entire concept of closeness.
“I forget how pretty this town looks at night,” he commented.
“You forget because you are usually inside fixing things,” I replied.
He smiled. “Guilty.”
We stopped at a small café near the square for hot chocolate. It was crowded with people in scarves and hats, cheeks rosy from the cold. A chalkboard sign announced peppermint, salted caramel, and something called Snowdrop Special that sounded suspiciously like an attempt to capitalize on our inn.
Braxton studied the menu. “Do you think they named it after you?”
“Perhaps,” I answered.
“Two hot chocolates,” he told the barista, then looked at me. “Any preference?.”
“Peppermint,” I said.
He nodded. “One peppermint.”
The barista’s eyes flicked between us with mild interest. “You two are cute.”
I nearly dropped my gloves.
Braxton simply smiled, unfazed as he paid for the order. “Thank you.”
I stared at him as we moved aside to wait. “How are you so calm?”
He shrugged lightly. “People say things.”
“Yes,” I said. “But usually I feel like hiding under a table.”
“I could stand in front of you,” he offered, tone gentle.
