His hands tangled in my hair. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his tongue, teeth, and lips ran over the column of my throat. I gasped and felt him smile against me.
“I love that sound,” he said, his voice low and rough.
We probably would have ruined the pancakes if the smell of burning hadn’t finally penetrated the haze of desire clouding my brain.
“Breakfast,” I managed, pushing weakly at his chest.
Kent groaned but stepped back, allowing me to slide off the counter and rescue what was left of our meal. The pancakes were a little crispy around the edges, but edible. Sitting across from each other at my tiny dining table felt like the most perfect morning of my life.
After breakfast, we bundled up and headed out to work the tree farm together. It was definitely the coldest day of the year so far. But working alongside Kent made even the brutal cold feel manageable. He helped customers select trees, learned to operate the netting machine without getting pine needles everywhere, and charmed every family who stopped by with his unexpected knowledge of Fraser fir care and his willingness to haul trees to cars regardless of the weather.
Throughout the morning, we had a steady stream of visitors who brought warmth in more ways than one. There were so many fresh-baked goods I felt like I was going to go into a sugar coma.
“Well, well, well,” Ozzo said when he showed up to work. “Look what the cat dragged back.”
“Good morning to you too, Ozzo,” I said, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice.
“Sylvie’s boyfriend is back in town,” Ozzo announced to no one in particular. “And from the looks of it, they’ve been having quite the reunion.”
“Shut up,” I said, but I was smiling despite myself.
Kent, to his credit, seemed to find Ozzo’s teasing amusing rather than annoying. “Good to see you again,” he said, extending a hand.
The highlight of the morning was watching Wesley in full Santa mode, with Emmy playing his enthusiastic elf assistant.
Kids followed Santa everywhere, a parade of bright winter coats and excited chatter. They helped him “inspect” trees for Christmas worthiness, assisted with the official candy cane distribution, and peppered him with questions about reindeer and the North Pole that he answered seriously.
Watching the pure joy on the children’s faces reminded me why I loved this place so much. This was what we were fighting to preserve, not just a business but a piece of magic that brought out the best in people.
Kent seemed to understand it too. I caught him watching the Santa show with the kind of wonder usually reserved for children. When a little girl asked if he believed in Christmas magic, he knelt down to her level. “Absolutely. In fact, I think it’s the most powerful magic there is.”
As the afternoon wore on and the temperature continued to drop, we finally decided to call it a day. Most of our remaining inventory had been claimed.
“I should get ready for dinner,” I said as we headed back toward the lodge. “My family’s Christmas dinner starts at six, and I still need to shower and find something to wear.”
“Need help getting ready?” Kent asked, his tone casual but his eyes dancing with mischief.
I laughed, bumping his shoulder with mine. “You’re incorrigible.”
“That’s not a no.”
Back in my apartment, I headed for the shower while Kent made himself comfortable on my bed, propping himself up against the pillows like he belonged there. When I emerged fromthe bathroom wrapped in a towel, I found him lounging with his hands behind his head, watching me with a delicious smirk on his lips.
“Don’t,” I said, pointing a warning finger at him. “We don’t have time.”
“Time for what?” he asked innocently, though his eyes were anything but innocent as they tracked my movement across the room.
I knew what it felt like to be a deer in a wolf’s cage. The man looked downright ravenous.
I tried to ignore the way his gaze made my skin feel like it was on fire as I rummaged through my closet for something appropriate for Christmas dinner with my family. The red sweater dress would be festive but might be too obvious. The green cashmere would be elegant but potentially too formal for a family dinner. The cream-colored blouse with dark jeans would be safe but maybe too casual for such an important evening.
“The red dress,” Kent said from the bed.
“I wasn’t asking for your opinion,” I said, though I pulled the red dress out for another look.
“You were thinking very loudly,” he said. “The red dress. Definitely the red dress.”
I held it up against myself, checking the mirror. It was pretty, a soft sweater dress that hit just above my knees and had the kind of neckline that was sophisticated without being scandalous.
