I glance down at the piece of paper in front of me that details today’s activities, but before I can read any of it she rips it away, her smirk growing even more.
“Shall I show you to your accommodations now?”
“Certainly.”
“Right this way.” She skirts out from behind the front desk, leading me through the charming lobby.
The wood floors gleam in the afternoon light, the exposed beams above framing a cozy dining area to my right, complete with a view of the mountains rising in the distance. To my left is a bar, the shelves boasting quite a few top-shelf scotches, along with other liquors.
When we emerge onto the veranda, I draw in a deep breath of fresh air, pausing to take in my surroundings. Days ago, this entire area was still under construction, dozens of people helping to string lights and set up booths in the Christmas market. It looks completely different now, the giant Norway spruce decked out for the season, thousands upon thousands of lights strung along various pathways.
I can’t fathom the amount of work that goes into getting this place ready for Christmas every year, the amount of manpower needed not just to hang all these lights but also decorate the tree and construct dozens of huts in the shape of gingerbread houses.
“Mr. Reed?”
I snap my eyes away from the tree, pretending I wasn’t just admiring all the effort she went through to transform this property over the past few days.
“You can call me Callum,” I tell her as I follow her off the veranda, past the ice skating rink, and toward a restored barn near a beautiful lake.
“You’re a guest. We treat all our guests with the level of care and service they deserve. That includes addressing to by their last names… Mr. Reed.” She grits a smile. “Here. I’ll carry that for you.” She reaches for the handle of my rolling suitcase.
“I’ve got it,” I insist, keeping it in my grasp.
“Fine.” She huffs out an aggravated sigh, an awkward silence descending on us as we continue along the path.
I can see why people love coming here. Why this place has become a popular location for weddings over the past several years. The rolling hills. The glimmering lake. The mountains in the distance. The lovingly restored barn. It’s gorgeous. And based on what little I know of Parker, I have no doubt she does everything she can to make everything perfect for each couple who starts their lives together here. Hell, for everyone who steps foot on this property.
“Here we are.” She climbs onto the front porch of a farm-house style cottage across a short path from the barn.
“It’s charming,” I remark as she holds a card up to the keypad. It beeps, granting us entry, and she opens the door, allowing me to step inside.
The interior boasts the same light walls with dark wood accents as in the main building, just on a smaller scale. A fully equipped kitchen with an island sits to the right, a living room complete with stone hearth to the left. Directly ahead of me is a stunning wall of windows with a gorgeous view of the lake that leaves me completely speechless.
“There’s a patio out back with a fire pit to keep you warm if you want to sit outside,” Parker suggests, noticing where my eyes are currently drawn. “The sunsets are beautiful here, especially in this cottage.” The heels of her knee-high boots click on the wood flooring as she moves toward the kitchen. “There are some pots and pans, as well as dishes and silverware. Coffee. Tea. Chocolate. Marshmallows.”
“Chocolate and marshmallows?”
“Graham crackers, too. You know. For s’mores. You can’t have a fire pit without s’mores.”
“If you say so.”
She places her hands on her hips, a quizzical look on her face. “You’ve never roasted marshmallows for s’mores?”
“I’m not five.”
“You don’t need to be five to like s’mores. Trust me. There’s something quite…delicious about gooey marshmallows and melted chocolate.” She licks her lips and closes her eyes, as if imagining enjoying one right now.
But that’s not what causes a twitching in my pants.
It’s the tiny moan that falls from her throat. It makes me want to slam her against the wall to find out all the ways I can make her moan. I’ve never been so turned on by a sound before. But hearing Parker’s moan unravels me, causing me to clench my fists, jaw tight, nostrils flaring.
And when Parker opens her eyes and grins mischievously, I sense she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
Of course she does.
“I’ll let you get settled.” She starts toward the door, pausing as she passes me to add, “Mr. Reed.” She lingers for a moment, her delicious scent torturing me with each drawn out second.
Finally, she continues out of the cottage. But before she closes the door, she meets my gaze once more. “Don’t forget. Seven o’clock in the barn.”
