“Yes!” Her hands flew into the air. “I do know what mistletoe is used for, believe it or not.”
“Okay, okay.” He lifted two palms in surrender. “Didn’t mean to strike a nerve there.”
“You didn’t strike a nerve.” Okay, maybe one or two. Or all of them. “This is a product I am trying to pitch to the executives at my company, and I only have a few weeks to make sure I get things right.”
“I’d start by creating a new product.”
Her eyes were going to tumble out of her head. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t think your current piece is all that convincing.”
“And what are you? Some sort of mistletoe expert?”
A shrug rolled over his shoulders. “Kind of. I mean, there sure is a lot of it on my mountain.”
“Onyourmountain?”
“Well, maybe notmymountain. I don’t own it or anything like that. But on the mountain where I work,” he said, too smug for his own good. “I operate a winter sports rental company up the hill. There’s a lot of dwarf mistletoe in the ponderosa and lodgepole pines at the lower elevations in the Sierra. It’s all over the place. Looks nothing like your Mistlefaux, though.”
This man obviously had more knowledge about mistletoe than Rachel had amassed in her six months of study. She felt sick to her stomach, like the unfortunate time she ate an entire box of candy canes in one sitting.
“I could show you sometime.” The coffee cup raised to his face obscured his expression. Rachel couldn’t tell if he was flirting or continuing on with his pattern of condescension. She’d put money on the latter.
“Show me this elusive mistletoe? No thanks,” she said firmly. “I’ll pass.”
“Your loss.” He shrugged again.
And it would be—the loss of her job. Her eyes slammed shut for a beat and then she forced them back open. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine,” she repeated with an exasperated breath. “I’ll go see this magical mistletoe you’re talking about.”
“It’s not magical. Just a disease on a plant.”
Rachel huffed. “Well, it must hold some form of magic if it makes people want to kiss beneath it.”
“I suppose maybe there’s a little magic.” His eyes sparked as he caught and locked onto her gaze. He raked his fingers through his disheveled hair and lifted a brow to a point when he added, “But I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”
CHAPTER8
This was a bad idea. A Santa’s sleigh-sized sort of bad idea.
Why had Holden impulsively invited this stranger up to his place of work? And why—against all forms of logic—was he so unbelievably nervous?
He didn’t even know this woman’s name. But he had to admit, something about that was a little exciting. It served as a reason to keep the conversation going. To continue learning more about one another. Or maybe the fun was found in keeping things a mystery. Whatever the reason, Holden’s interest had been piqued in a way it hadn’t in years.
“Am I crazy?”
Scout’s ears stood at attention atop her furry head.
“Don’t answer that.”
The door to the rental shop flung open, and with it came Lance and a whirl of mountain air. Holden zipped his jacket. No matter how high they cranked the heater, it wouldn’t take the edge off the chill on the summit. Staying warm on a mountain peak in early December was, more often than not, a losing battle.
Despite the cold, Holden’s face flushed, the disparity between his internal temperature and his nerves at polar opposite ends.
“That last group sure was a hoot.” Lance limped toward the register and nodded at his buddy. “Who would’ve thought a bunch of women in their sixties would give me a run for my money on those hills?”
