Page 28 of The Naughty List Agreement

Nick put his hands on the table and tried to speak calmly. “Santa isn’t a lie. The magic and wonder he creates spread joy and happiness around the world. It’s those feelings that are carried with everyone who experiences it to their family, their friends, their neighbors. Santa is one of the cornerstones of the winter holidays, giving those who embrace him a lighter soul.”

He was so passionate and eloquent for a rustic, sexy toymaker. “The way you talk about it, that’s beautiful. All of that sentiment is important. That’s why I push so hard to ensure that Winter Wonderland is always stretching boundaries. Not every family or child is going to celebrate the same way.” She hoped that was an end to the discussion. “What do you think about my hot chocolate?”

He looked down at his mug, let out a huge sigh, and took a big gulp of his drink. “It’s really good.”

“Thank you.”

There was a seriousness to his face that made her pause. “What is it?”

“Would you let me show you why Santa is important to Christmas? Really come with me on a journey of belief?”

Bringing belief to Cora was going to be harder than he’d expected. There was nothing that said she had to believe in him. There were good people around the world who had their own faith and contributed to the magic of the season in their own way.

She’d made traditional Christmas celebrations the heart of her festival, and yet she was always pushing new things. He needed time to puzzle this out. But instead of working on this conundrum, he was sitting in her deliciously snug little kitchen, sipping her delicious hot chocolate, trying not to brush her delicious legs with his sock foot.

He forced his mind off the spot on her thigh where her sparkly skirt pressed into the soft flesh and looked around her kitchen again. There was a cottagecore aesthetic to her home that was not reflected in her appearance, her office or her festival. It was as if she wanted to believe in things that couldn’t be purchased or seen, but didn’t trust in it.

Trust. Was that the key to Cora?

“Why is this so important to you?” she asked, observing him warily.

“It just is.”

“You’re not going to convince me with stupid answers like that one,” she said, taking their mugs to the sink to rinse them out. The glide of her feet across the tiled floor was barely more than a soft whisper that made it impossible for him to do anything but watch her legs and the way she moved.

There was something lyrical about it.

“Nick?”

“Hmm?” he asked, lifting his eyes to meet hers.

“Like what you see?” she asked.

Way too much. He shook his head. “You have great legs.”

“I know,” she said, and winked at him.

When he’d put her name on the Naughty List, he’d had no idea how deeply entrenched she was in realism. Not that there was anything wrong with realists, but their denial that magic existed alongside it pained him.

The answer wasn’t going to come to him tonight. He needed to get back to Hearthvale to analyze all he’d learned and try to come up with a strategy. He also needed to distance himself from the temptation of her legs. They wouldn’t help him find a wife by Christmas Eve.

“Walk me out?” he asked her.

“Sure.” She followed him down the hall, watching as he put on his shoes.

Without meaning to, he conjured mistletoe above her front door—just a sprig of green leaves with white berries innocently hanging there. When she opened the door, she noticed it.

“Uh, how’d that get here?” she asked, standing directly under it. “Probably Mrs. French next door. She’s convinced I need to be dating.”

“Why?”

“So I’ll have someone to share my life with,” Cora said. “You’d like her. Maybe she knows a woman who wants to get married quick.”

“Maybe she already knows one who wants to get kissed,” Nick said, realizing the wife thing seemed so much less important right now than Cora’s happiness.

“Who said they had to be linked? I like kisses,” she said, tipping her head to the side. The chill of the evening wrapped around them as a soft wind blew. Her hair stirred and Nick stepped closer to her.

“I like them too,” he admitted. Given that all he’d been able to think about was what she’d taste like, it made sense that he’d conjured the mistletoe. He was consumed with the thought of kissing her, tasting her, finding out whether she’d be as addictive as peppermint was. Would Cora become his new favorite flavor?