“I ride with clients all the time. We’ve got snowmobiles that can easily accommodate two adults. And that way, you don’t need to be so nervous about the ride. I’ve got you.”
This new proposition did nothing to combat the nerves that had been assaulting Holden’s senses from the moment she stepped into the store, but they might assuage hers.
“Only if that’s not weird,” she replied.
“It’s not weird. Promise.” He moved toward the wall and took a helmet from the women’s rack. “Not any weirder than marketing plastic weeds.” He pressed the helmet toward her stomach and she took it, her mouth tightening in an annoyance that also hinted at amusement.
“Touché.”
Holden’s shoulders jounced. “I’m sorry. I had to. That was low-hanging fruit.”
“Okay, Buddy,” she said as she pulled the beanie from her head and replaced it with the helmet. She balled up the knit cap and tucked it into her pocket. “Let’s go see if we can snag ourselves some low-hanging mistletoe too.”
CHAPTER9
When the snowmobile engine cut off, Rachel prayed she wouldn’t be found out. The steady purr had masked her erratic heart rate well during their journey down the mountainside. But now, with nothing but the soft, open stillness of winter surrounding them, she feared complete exposure.
In his element, Buddy was even more good-looking. Sure, she had recognized his undeniable appeal back at the Bitter Cold Coffee Bar the first time she’d encountered him. But riding a snowmobile, her cheek pressed to his solid back as he maneuvered the small vehicle and whittled a path along the mountain, she saw him in an entirely new light.
A light that nearly blinded her with attraction.
Hiking a leg over the seat, Buddy lifted off the mobile first, then extended a hand to help Rachel onto the snowpack.
He didn’t really look like a Buddy, but that was the name she’d heard clearly over the intercom when his coworker had called him into the back room. In truth, it was a relief that she no longer needed to ask for his name outright. It wasn’t a date, but there was a familiarity between them that hinted at more than just two strangers conducting a simple research project. The timeline for introductions had come and gone, so the clue into his identity had been a welcome gift.
And Buddy seemed perfectly content calling her Mittens. The playful nickname even started to grow on her.
“There it is.” He lifted his chin toward a sparse pine tree a few yards ahead. “See that cluster on those bottom branches?”
Shading her brow, Rachel directed her gaze along the same path until the tree in question intersected her line of sight. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”
“Because you’re looking for something that resembles your little art project.”
Her chin drew back sharply. “My little art project?”
“I’m sorry.” Buddy backpedaled. “That was rude. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, don’t look for that exact type of mistletoe. Look for something different.”
“I honestly never realized thereweredifferent types of mistletoe.”
“Of course there are. There’s mistletoe for first kisses. Mistletoe for forbidden kisses. Even mistletoe for stolen kisses.”
She pinned him with a skeptical look.
“Okay, fine.” He ran a hand over his helmet-matted hair, offering a sheepish grin that pressed both dimples into place. “I just made all of that up. But it sounded good, didn’t it?”
She couldn’t lie. The thought of a stolen kiss on the slopes had her heart racing faster than their snowmobile, and that machine had reached speeds she’d never even achieved on the freeway.
It soundedverygood.
“Any chance you played that game called chicken when you were a kid?” he asked out of nowhere. He slipped his thick gloves from his hands, shook the bits of snow free, and tucked them into an inner pocket within his jacket. “The one in the pool?”
“Have I played chicken? What kind of question is that?”
“A relevant one.” Rachel failed to see the connection. “I need you to get on my shoulders.”
Her jaw unhinged. “What? Why?”
Striding toward the pine with long, determined steps, Buddy kept talking. “How else are we going to get that mistletoe down? I don’t have Go-Go-Gadget arms, Mittens.”
