by Tawna Fenske
Chelsea laughs and turns to scrub her hands at the sink. “I definitely do a lot of sampling,” she says. “It’s my favorite job perk.”
“I should rethink my career choices,” Val muses. “I’m having a good week when someone sends me lace samples.”
“The dress!” Chelsea gasps with a reverence normally reserved for religious experiences. “Bree showed me a picture. You do incredible work!”
“Thank you.” The pride on Val’s face has me glowing a little, too, and I haven’t even seen the damn dress.
“Okay, let’s get started.” Chelsea claps her hands together. “I’ve got six different samples for you to try.”
I lean on the counter, grateful for how much she’s come through for me. It’s one of the perks of living in a small town, and I could almost forget that I’ve longed to venture beyond it. To see other corners of the world, places I wouldn’t feel this constant urge to make up for my limitations.
Limitations my childhood friends have damn sure noticed by now.
“I owe you big-time for this,” I tell Chelsea. “I hit six different grocery stores looking for eggnog before I gave up. I even tried making it at home, but it came out like nutmeg-flavored sludge.”
Valerie laughs as Chelsea reaches into a glass case and pulls out a tray lined with a dozen little porcelain cups.
“I’m sure Bree would have been fine with cider or cocoa or something,” Val says.
“No way.” I edge closer to Val as Chelsea starts lining up cups in front of us. “I know enough to give a woman exactly what she wants for her wedding. Bree said eggnog, she’s getting eggnog.”
Honestly, I know Val’s right. Bree Bracelyn is hardly the sort to be a diva about the snacks, but I wanted to get this right. To show I can rise above everyone’s expectations and deliver what’s asked of me, even if it is just eggnog.
Chelsea sets a small cup in front of each of us and wipes her hands on her apron. “I call this one Fuzzy Bunny Eggnog. My daughter came up with the name.”
“I can see why.” Val dips a finger into the fluff on top and sucks it off, and I hold my breath to keep some blood in my brain.
“That’s meringue I folded into the base,” Chelsea explains. “I left out the cognac for these tasters, but that would add a little kick. Oh, hold on—I forgot whipped cream.”
She ducks under the counter and comes back up with a stainless-steel dispenser, which she swirls over the top like a magician. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to do this in a canoe, but I think it’s a nice touch,” Chelsea says. “You’ll be up at Todd Lake?”
“Yeah.” I take a sip and feel my taste buds applaud. “We’re taking chairs and picnic tables and coolers up ahead of time, so we’ve got some room to maneuver.”
“Mmmm.” Val closes her eyes as she takes her first sip. “This is amazing. I can’t believe this is eggnog.”
“Right?” Chelsea smiles and swipes a cloth over a spot on the counter. “I had no idea there were so many variations until I started researching.”
I set down my empty cup. “I don’t know how you could top this one.”
“We’ll see.” Chelsea gives a knowing smile as she hands us each another cup. “This one’s for the chocolate lovers. It’s got melted bittersweet and milk chocolate, plus a chocolate custard base for the eggnog.”
“Oh my God.” Valerie practically inhales it. “This is insane. I want to bathe in a bathtub filled with this stuff and drink my way to the bottom.”
The thought of Valerie naked in a pool of chocolatey froth makes me dizzy, but I blame it on the boozy concoction sliding down my throat.
“This is non-alcoholic, of course,” Chelsea says, killing my inebriation excuse. “You can add brandy if you want, but considering we’re working with a pregnant bride, I figured she’d want some virgin options.”
I glance at Val in time to see her cheeks pinken just a little. Was it the virgin comment, or something else?
“You’ve got a spot of eggnog right there.” She smiles at me and touches the corner of her mouth.
Oh. “Here?”
I touch my tongue to the corner of my lip and Val’s cheeks get pinker.
“No, here.” She shows me herself, reaching out to brush her thumb over my bottom lip. Her touch is cool and soft and makes my head spin faster.
“Thanks.” My voice cracks a little as my breath stalls in my chest.
When I glance at Chelsea, she’s pretending not to notice. The ghost of a knowing smirk gives her away. “There’s Tahitian vanilla bean in that,” she says. “It’s a known aphrodisiac.”
“No kidding?” Maybe that’s what’s getting to me.
Or the fact that we’re really selling this fling thing, even before Vanessa arrives. Maybe it was that kiss on the chairlift, which I haven’t stopped thinking about for days.
“I went a little tropical with this next one,” Chelsea says as she hands us another cup. “The eggnog base is made with coconut milk, and there’s a little lime juice in there to brighten it up. Spiced rum would be nice if you wanted to add it.”
Val dabs the rim of the cup with her thumb and sticks it in her mouth. “Is this toasted coconut?”
“Yes, mixed with lime zest,” Chelsea says. “What do you think?”
Val takes a sip. “I think this one’s my favorite.” She glances at me. “How many do we get to pick?”
I polish off the last of what’s in my cup. “Two or three should do it.” I glance back at Chelsea because looking at Val is seriously making me lightheaded. “You got my order for cupcakes, too, right?”
“I did, but I had some questions.” Chelsea turns and slips a hand under the register, pulling out a little notepad dotted with cupcakes. “You’re expecting anywhere from one hundred to one-forty, so if we calculate two-and-a-half pints of eggnog per person, we’re looking at about forty-three gallons of eggnog. But we need to decide how many of each, and then we figure maybe one or two cupcakes per person.”
She slips a calculator out from beside the register, oblivious to the fact that I’ve gone very, very still. If I say nothing, maybe no one will notice.
Chelsea keeps talking, but Val’s watching me. Watching with a look of concern I might appreciate if I weren’t teetering on the edge of my worst nightmare.
“So that’s three flavors of cupcakes if you’re going with gingerbread, pumpkin spice, and cranberry maple, but we’d also talked about peppermint,” Chelsea continues. “I’m thinking two apiece, maybe three, but if we want to factor in the ratio of drinks—”
“Later,” I croak, desperate to halt the flood of numbers. “I’ll get you a count a little later.”
Val’s look of concern deepens, but I can’t meet her eyes. Not even when she touches my arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” I force a smile and focus on Chelsea. “Can I call you with that tonight? I—uh—need a final head count.”
“Sure.” Chelsea’s brow furrows. “I need to start baking soon, though. Actually, hang on—let me check on something.”
As Chelsea scurries into the back room, Val keeps watching me. She knows something’s wrong, but she doesn’t know what. That’s all that matters. I need to focus on being her fake fling, not some dumbass Neanderthal who freaks out at the prospect of basic math.
“You got a little pale there for a second,” Val says. “You sure you’re not allergic to anything? Nutmeg maybe, or—”
“I’m good.” The words come out more sharply than I’d planned, and Val flinches a little. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
For a second I consider telling her. Just blurting out the thing I never admit out loud. Not even to my closest friends.
But the door chimes behind us, and the moment is lost.
“Josh, hey!” Amber King—Amber Bracelyn now—skips in with her brand-new wedding ring flashing on her hand. “And Valerie, right? It’s great to see you again.”
There’s hugging between
the women, who must have met at a family function. I steel myself with a few deep breaths, grateful for the interruption.
Amber smiles as she draws back. “I just came to grab our order for the baby shower.”
“Baby shower?” I dart a glance at her midsection, earning an eyeroll from Amber.
“Not me—Tammy,” she says. “Stage name Dasher? She’s expecting a calf any day now, so we’re doing this fun little reindeer baby shower as a marketing plug for the ranch.”
“Baby reindeer?” Val’s eyes turn to gooey melted chocolate. “I’ve never even seen a real reindeer, and definitely not a baby one.”
“Come on out,” Amber says. “We’ve had two calves born in the last couple weeks that are already on their feet jumping around.” She smiles at me. “You’ve been meaning to drop by anyway for the mistletoe.”
“Mistletoe?” Val gives me a curious look. “You’re stocking up?”
The curve of her mouth has me aching to taste it again, to brush my tongue against hers and pull her body tight against mine.
“Decorations for some of the activities,” I explain. “The King sisters have acres of juniper that’s filled with the stuff.”
“It’s basically a parasite,” Amber says. “Mistletoe’s like a fungus. It’ll kill the trees if you leave it up there, so anyone’s welcome to take as much as they want.”
“You have your own forest.” Val says the words carefully, and I remember her story of abandonment in the woods. I slip my hand around hers and squeeze.
“Not really a forest,” Amber says. “Juniper don’t grow thick together like ponderosas. Think more desert-like with big gaps between these gnarly old-growth trees.”
Val’s smile is a little shaky, but real enough. “It sounds…interesting.”
I watch her face for signs of distress but see none. “Do you want to join me?” I ask. “Mistletoe hunting is always better with a partner.”
“Yeah?”
“I’d love to show you around. Maybe make it a picnic or something.”
She smiles at me with nutmeg on her lip and sunbeams in her hair, and I’m positive I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. I’d invent pretty much any excuse to spend time with her, but this seems as good as any.
“Wednesday at noon could work,” she says. “How’s that?”
“Perfect.” She could ask me to meet her at two a.m., and I’d cheerfully mark it on the calendar. “That okay with you, Amber?”
“Totally,” she says. “I’ll have to run after you meet the reindeer, but you know your way around the property anyway. You’ll have all day to hunt mistletoe alone.”
I throw her a silent thank you for the message she’s sending. We’ll have plenty of alone time, something I’m dying for at the moment.
Val smiles and I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing. If she’s wanting this to be more than just a fake fling. “It’s a date.”
“It’s a date,” I agree, hoping maybe it can be.
Chapter 5
VALERIE
As I stoop down to retie the lace on my brand-new hiking boot, I steal a covert look at Josh.
All right, at Josh’s butt. What? He’s dangling twenty feet above me, that perfect backside on display thanks to the webbing of the climbing harness he’s wearing. It’s practically a frame for his rear end.
Even my sister was not immune to the powers of this butt.
“Oh my God, does he still have the world’s most perfect ass?”
That was the first thing she asked on the phone the other night. I was laying the groundwork for the fling fib, explaining how Josh and I met and that we’d been spending time together.
It helped that it was all pretty much true.
“It is perfect,” I admitted to her. “Nice and…solid.”
Is that how flingy women describe men’s asses? I have no idea.
“God, he was so good looking.” Vanessa sighed on the other end of the line. “Women on raft trips were always throwing themselves at him. It made me jealous.”
Jealous? “You were together, what—two weeks?”
“Yeah, but it was a pretty intense couple of weeks.”
A sharp stab of jealousy pierced the space between my ribs, but I managed to keep my voice normal. “You said he was pretty amazing in bed.”
I chose my words carefully. Not quite a question, not quite a statement. Then I held my breath and waited. The pause stretched out, Vanessa’s perfect chance to tell the truth.
“It’s different with Raleigh,” she said at last. “When you’re eighteen, it’s all hormones and lust and raw, carnal attraction.”
“Sounds horrible. How did you endure it?”
She laughed. “With Raleigh, it’s about connection and companionship and mutual respect.” A short pause, probably as she played back her own words and didn’t much like them. “It’s better that way,” she added. “More secure.”
“Since when are you the sister who craves security?”
Another laugh, this one more forced. “I guess we all evolve as we get older.”
“Heads up!”
I yank myself from the memory as a pile of mistletoe drops at my feet. I glance up, and there’s Josh’s butt again. I really should get a picture of this. My phone is in my purse, which Josh stuffed in his pack for safekeeping. It’s over by a tree, but I don’t want to take my eyes off him to go get it.
He looks down and sees me staring. A slow smile spreads over his face. “Whatcha looking at?”
I peel my gaze off his backside, but it’s no use. He knows damn well I was checking him out. “Just enjoying the view.”
He laughs and tugs one of the ropes to bring him sliding back down toward solid ground. “Yeah, the Cascade Mountains are something else, huh?”
There are no mountains visible in this thatch of juniper, so I know he’s onto me. I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. Might as well own it. “You have to admit, the climbing harness sort of accentuates things.”
He grins and pulls down the rope. “I’ve never thought of climbing gear as sexy before. Want me to wear it to the wedding?”
My face is burning, so I stoop to grab the fallen mistletoe. When I straighten up, I find myself face-to-crotch with—
“Oh.” Good Lord, that harness really does accentuate things.
Josh laughs and reaches for my hand. “Up you go. Want me to take that?”
He gestures to the box full of mistletoe, but I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks.”
Unclipping himself from the harness, he shoves the whole thing back in his pack and shoulders the gun.
Yes, gun.
“I still can’t believe people shoot mistletoe.” I adjust my grip on the box and try not to stare at the firearm like some fraidy-cat city girl. “When you said we’re hunting it, I didn’t think you meant literally.”
He catches my hand in his and sets out walking again, stride smooth and graceful even though the ground here ripples with twisty tree roots. “The gun’s not loaded,” he promises. “We won’t use it unless we spot any really good clusters way up high.”
“And that doesn’t damage the mistletoe?”
“Nope.” He pivots to give me a better look at the firearm. “It’s just a twenty-two. Lots of folks use shotguns when they’re trying to get rid of it, but the twenty-two will get it down without obliterating it.”
I file this information away, wondering why I’m not more nervous. I’ve never fired a gun before. Never even seen one up this close. I should be freaking out, but instead, I feel…curious?
“Maybe I could try sometime?” I say tentatively. “Shooting a gun, I mean. I’ve wanted to try.”
Josh quirks an eyebrow at me. “You’ve never fired a rifle?”
I shake my head slowly. “Or any kind of gun. I don’t even know what all the numbers mean. Like—what’s the difference between a 22 and Colt 45 and a 9-millimeter and a magnum 357 and—what?”
Josh has a dazed look in his e
ye, and I realize I’m dorking out with my television-inspired recitation of firearms. So much for playing it cool.
Tentatively, I reach out and touch the gun. “Would you show me sometime?”
“How about now?” He points to the treetop above us. “There’s a good hunk of it.”
I follow his gesture, and I’ll be damned. We’re standing under the biggest ball of mistletoe I’ve ever seen in my life. I let my gaze fall to Josh’s mouth and instantly regret it. I can’t stop thinking about our practice kiss on the chairlift. About how much I want to do it again, for real this time.
That felt pretty damn real.
“Want to?” His voice is low and sexy, and it takes me a second to realize he’s not talking about kissing.
“Fire a gun, you mean?” I nod fast, hoping the blush in my cheeks isn’t giving me away. “If we have time.”
“We’ve got all the time in the world.” He slings the gun off his shoulder and sets it against a tree. “We’re kind of in the middle of nowhere, so this spot’s as good as any.”
He shrugs off his pack and fumbles around inside until he comes out with bullets. I watch as he talks me through the steps, using words like loading rod and muzzle. I’m only half listening, focused as I am on those big, capable hands.
How did I never know this outdoorsy thing was kinda hot?
“Here you go,” he says. “You want to hold it like this. Even a 22 will have a little kick, so be ready for that.”
I expect my hands to shake as he slips behind me and shows me how to hold the gun. But there’s no shaking at all. Just an uptick in my pulse from having him wrapped around me like this, his breath warm against my neck.
“You want to aim like this,” he’s saying. “Got a good view of that mistletoe? Good. Now pull the trigger.”
I do it and—blam! The gun goes off, and I whoop with joy as the mistletoe drops at our feet like a dead bird.
“Oh my God, did you see that?” I hand back the gun and drop down to grab my prize. “I hit it! I actually hit it.”
Josh laughs and takes the gun back. “You’re a natural.” He adjusts something on it, probably removing bullets so I can’t accidentally shoot off his toe in my excitement. “That was a pretty kickass shot.”