Callum blinked at me. “So, blue and silver then.” I guess that is what analytical-Callum would take from all of that.
“And Hunter isn’t fighting you on this? Not like last year?” Lucas asked, a knowing edge in his tone.
I winced, remembering last year’s hot cocoa debacle when I’d encouraged, aka begged, Hunter to help me with the Victorian London theme. He’d fought me every step of the way, muttering about historical accuracy and insisting hot cocoa wasn’t period-appropriate, acting all Dickens purist. Blah, blah, blah. This year would be different. I’d done my homework on Nordic drinks, read recipes, even practiced pronouncing glögg.
“Of course,” I said quickly, too quickly. The words tasted like bravado, and the brothers weren’t fooled, their skeptical looks making my stomach flip. “You know Hunter,” I added with a shrug.
Sure, I was lying through my teeth about Hunter being on board, but it was a lie soaked in hope that he’d roll with it. It was fine. Totally fine. Everything was under control. Probably.
“Exactly,” Lucas murmured. “If I need to force some Christmas spirit in him…” I knew he was joking, but that was what he’d had to do last year, and it wasn’t happening again.
“No, I promise, it’s all good.”
Duncan smirked. “Sure, Wes. We’ll see if he actually shows up with that magical glögg of yours, or if we find you barricaded in the store with a stack of history books thrown at your head.”
Their laughter rolled through the room, good-natured and teasing, and I ducked my head, cheeks hot but heart light.
Hunter would roll his eyes when he found out, I was sure of it. But just the thought of him standing behind our Nordic-themed counter, steam curlingfrom mugs of glögg, made my chest ache with a ridiculous mix of nerves and excitement. Maybe I was dreaming too big, maybe the brothers were right to tease me, but in my head it all came together—lights, stories, cookies, and Hunter. Always Hunter.
Ten minutes after the Haynes family, plus Kai, left, I locked up the store. I thought about going upstairs to my apartment, but no—strike while the iron was hot. I slipped out of the back door into the alley and pressed the buzzer markedDeliveries Onlyat the rear of the coffee shop. Light glowed from the apartment windows above, so he had to be in. No answer. I rang again.
A curtain shifted, then the window opened, faint yellow light spilling onto the alley. Hunter leaned out, hair messy, a scowl already fixed in place. I heard a muttered curse. I ignored it.
“Hi!” I called, lifting a hand in a little wave toward the window.
Hunter’s scowl deepened. “What do you want, Wes?”
“Can we talk?” I asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.
He disappeared for a beat, then reappeared with his arms braced on the sill. “It’s ten o’clock, Wes. Ten. At night.” His voice carried a mix of disbelief and annoyance.
I grinned up at him anyway. “Perfect time to figure things out, don’t you think?”
I launched into a ramble before I could stop myself, my hands waving even though he couldn’t see them clearly. I was still going. “We can do glögg—Hunter, it’s spelled with two dots over theO, so how do you even pronounce that? And can you source lingonberries? Lingonberries are Nordic, right? Or are they loganberries? Because I read one thing and then another, and now I don’t know, but it would be amazing if you could get them for the punch?—”
“Stop!” Hunter cut me off. The window shut with a snap, leaving me blinking in the alley. A moment later, the back door creaked open, and there he was—sleep-rumpled Hunter, hair spiked up on one side as though he’d gone to bed with it damp. He squinted at me, bare-chested and in pajama bottoms. My brain short-circuited. Had he been reading before I interrupted? I should ask him. Or maybe not, because all I could do then was stare.
“It’s ten at night,” he repeated, voice rough from sleep, catching me checking him out. Seemed like all I was doing tonight was blushing.
“Uh, well… we just finished a meeting, and I couldn’t wait—I have this amazing idea and it’s all about the Nordic theme and the drinks and the decorations and I just had to tell you right now?—”
“What in hell are you talking about?” he asked.
“Can I come in?” I tried again.
Hunter dragged a hand over his face. “It’s ten o’clock, Wesley. Ten. At night,” he said for the third time, as if repetition might knock some sense into me.
“Five minutes max,” I promised, holding up my hand as if swearing an oath.
He stared at me, unimpressed, but finally stepped back from the doorway. “Five minutes. Then you’re out.”
I’d come in the back way to The Real McCoy plenty of times, but it felt different in the half-dark. He’d switched on a single lamp, and it cast eerie shadows across the stainless steel counters and stacked equipment. I trailed after him, trying not to notice how loose his pajama pants hung, draping low on his hip bones. The fabric shifted just enough to give me a maddening glimpse of the curve of his ass. My pulse kicked up, because I’d never followed him in here like this—when he was rumpled, half-awake, and devastatingly sexy without trying. I closed the door behind me, and Hunter leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest—a crying shame, because that chest was broad and firm, dusted with a hint of dark hair that caught the lamplight. His shoulders were wide, his stomach lean, and the lazy way he stood there made him look both powerful and so tempting. Thatchest was something else, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from lingering. I’d learned long ago from Callum, who’d told Bailey, who passed it on to Lucas, that he’d once been a college professor—technically still was, though these days he was the owner-manager here—and I swear, if he’d been the one lecturing me, I might have actually enjoyed Civil War era history.
“And?” he asked, his tone edged with irritation, eyes shadowed and grumpy. And yet all I could think was—I bet he’d be gorgeous if he smiled. I wanted that smile. I was going to make him smile if it killed me.
I blurted out a joke, one that never failed to crack me up. “Why don’t scientists trust atoms?”
He stared at me, and I added jazz hands. “Because they make up everything!” My own laugh bubbled out before I’d even reached the punchline. Hunter, though? Not a twitch. Not a smile, not a smirk. Nothing. Heat crept up my face as I realized I was getting further and further away from the point of even being here. I cleared my throat, embarrassed, and tried to reel myself back in.
