by Naima Simone
“Damn, you guys really take Christmas serious around here.”
Beside her, Wolf’s deep chuckle stroked over her chilled cheeks, reached beneath the collar of her coat and caressed the skin of her throat and farther down. She fidgeted, as if that could displace some of that heat. But nope. No hope there. Just as there’d been no hope of eluding him when she and Ivy had arrived fifteen minutes earlier in downtown Rose Bend for the Christmas tree lighting.
Nessa surveyed the huge open field that a street sign had identified as The Glen. It sat at the end of Main Street, hard to miss. Especially with the ginormous tree sitting smack in the middle of it. Wooden posts lined the field, with garland and festive multicolored lights wound around them. More lights adorned an array of booths crowded onto the left side of The Glen and were strung along the top of a huge tent on the far right side.
The illumination enabled her to easily locate Ivy. Unbidden, a smile tugged at the corner of Nessa’s mouth. Her sister might be reserved—shit, would her heart ever not fucking seize with guilt when she looked at Ivy?—but Cher Dennison, one half of the twins, didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word. Moe had been right about her kids and Ivy. As if Cher and Ivy had been besties all their lives, as soon as Wolf had introduced them, the beautiful teen with mahogany skin and light brown curls had hooked her arm through Ivy’s and dragged her off. Now, Ivy stood near the stage with Cher, Sonny and a few more kids. She wasn’t laughing and talking as animatedly as the others, but she did wear a smile, and she appeared...
“She’s fine,” Wolf said.
Apparently, mind reader was a talent of his along with professional wreath hauler and grower of beards. Nessa shot him a glance, which she sincerely prayed contained all the disgruntlement in her soul at his unwelcome intrusiveness. And too-keen observation skills.
“And to answer your question, yes, we do take Christmas seriously. Because it’s serious business. Peace on earth and goodwill toward men is not something you half-ass, Nessa Hunt. You use your whole ass.”
The bark of laughter erupted from her, taking her by surprise. She slapped a hand over her mouth. A big, warm hand wrapped around her wrist and gently lowered her arm.
“It’s okay, Nessa,” Wolf simultaneously admonished and assured her with a small shake of his head. “No one’s going to cross the street, or the field, just because you indulge in a bit of inappropriate, loud laughter. Which, by the way, isn’t inappropriate at all.” He arched an eyebrow. “That’s one of the pros about living in a small town as opposed to a big city. We embrace our crazy.”
She didn’t laugh again. Couldn’t. Not with his touch branding her wrist through her coat and glove. The sensual, solid weight of it had evaporated every last drop of amusement like the sun soaking up a summer rain. Exerting every ounce of control learned on the battlefield of an emergency room, she didn’t lift her other hand to rub the tingling skin. Didn’t shift away from him when her instincts screeched at her to do just that.
“Well, my mother used to say all the time that she’d rather be crazy than care what people think about her,” Nessa murmured, then mentally slapped a palm to her forehead. Dammit. Why had she mentioned her mother? This was what the lingering effect of his touch did to her. Had her slipping up and letting loose personal information.
Next thing you know, she would be telling him about...
No. Nope. Not going there.
She was here tonight—this whole damn month of December—so Ivy could apparently bond with the place her father and mother had brought her all those years ago. Not to bond with her, as Isaac’s letter had led Nessa to believe. Which was fine. Nessa had come here to rest, regroup, heal and return to her job better than ever.
Preferably without panic attacks.
“Used to?” he murmured. Of course he would pick up on those telltale words, but she wasn’t tugging on the bait. She hadn’t spoken about her mother or her death with a therapist; no way was she doing it with a stranger.
“So when is this supposed to start?” She rubbed her gloved hands together, not replying to his question. Tilting her head back, she stared up at the tree that could rival the white spruce from Nova Scotia that would stand tall in Boston Common in just a few days. A gorgeous red-and-gold skirt with hand-sewn presents, a sleigh, a jolly Santa and an elegantly scrolled Merry Christmas circled the bottom of the trunk. “Good Lord, this is one huge tree. Did someone venture up into one of those mountains to cut it down?” She squinted at his beard. “I don’t want to stereotype, but...”
He snorted. “Snark duly noted. I hate to disappoint you, but no, I don’t throw around axes or chop down trees in my spare time. A family the next town over owns a Christmas tree farm. Why the eye roll?” He spread his hands, palms up. “You asked.”
“I just... Really? A Christmas tree farm?” She shook her head, half amused, half what-the-fuck-Hallmark-movie-have-I-catapulted-into. “I feel like I’m in some wholesome holiday film. Any minute I’m expecting an announcement about the start of the gingerbread house competition.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“I’m just saying—”
“That’s not until next week.”
“That’s not...” She gaped at him. “You’re shittin’ me.”
“See?” He dipped his chin. “If you were actually in a wholesome film, ‘shittin’ me’ would never be allowed.” Lowering his head, he murmured next to her ear, “They’re about to start. And if my brother catches me talking to a beautiful woman instead of paying attention to his opening speech, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
She stared at him, momentarily stunned. Beautiful woman? A shiver step-danced down her spine, followed by a shimmy of—what? Trepidation? Excitement? Pleasure? Those last two were bad. Very bad.
“Don’t flirt with me,” she ordered, voice flat.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“You damn well know it is. And stop it.”
He studied her, a glint entering his eyes that had her silently groaning. She didn’t want this man curious about her. Didn’t want him thinking about her at all.
Liar.
Oh shut up.
Dammit. Now she was arguing with herself.
“Tell me, Nessa,” he said softly. “Is it me in particular that has those hackles up or men in general? Is there something I need to specifically apologize for or do I need to issue a blanket apology for my gender?”
“Hello, everyone,” a deep, smooth voice boomed through the crisp night air. “As your mayor, Cole Dennison, I’d like to welcome you to Rose Bend’s thirty-fifth annual Yulefest and the opening Christmas tree lighting.”
Dragging her attention from Wolf, Nessa focused on the tall, well-built man on stage clothed in a long, caramel-colored wool coat and thick scarf. His honey-brown skin gleamed under the stage’s lights, his dark curls framing his sculpted cheekbones.
Wait. Cole...Dennison?
She glanced from the imposing figure to the man beside her. “Wait. The mayor is your brother?”
Wolf winced. “I know. Such an overachiever, that one,” he tsked. But no one could mistake the dry note in his voice for anything but pride. She certainly didn’t.
Shaking her head, she turned back to the stage just as a pretty blonde woman strolled onto the stage carrying a vibrantly wrapped box with a large handle.
“Thanks, Caroline.” Cole Dennison smiled, accepting the present, then returning his gaze to the crowd. “The lighting of the Christmas tree dates back hundreds of years, where the green of the trees symbolized the renewal and continuance of life in dark times. And the lights—first candles and later bulbs—first represented the light of the sun after the solstice. And later, Jesus Christ being the light of the world. The beauty of our community and this world is that we are all made up of different religions and faiths. Though Christmas may mean
various things for us, for most, we can agree, it’s a time of peace, love, joy and family. A time when the world is a little bit softer, kinder and yes, more beautiful. The Christmas tree represents that beauty. When the innate kindness of the human spirit shines bright and lights the world.”
Applause swelled and thundered for a couple of minutes, and even Nessa clapped, because man, as far as sentimental speeches went, Wolf’s brother had nailed it.
Y’know, if she went for that sort of thing. Which she didn’t.
“Can I have Lee Mills come up here, please?” Cole smiled as an adorable boy of about six or seven years old climbed the steps and crossed the stage. When the child grinned up at the mayor, the lights clearly caught the missing two front teeth, and Cole settled a hand on the boy’s hat-covered head. “Lee here, and the other children at the This Is Home youth home, handmade ornaments for our tree. As thanks, proceeds from several of our events this season will benefit the home, and tonight Lee will be lighting our Christmas tree. Give him a hand!”
The boy beamed as the townspeople chanted his name and cheered, and even Nessa, self-admitted grinch, couldn’t help but grin as his little chest puffed out beneath his coat.
“Ready?” Cole knelt down next to Lee, holding out the bow-wrapped box to him.
“Ready!” Lee yelled, earning more chuckles from the crowd.
“Great. Now, we’re going to count down from ten, and when we get to one, you press down the handle, okay?” When Lee nodded, Cole held up his free hand, five fingers splayed wide. “Let’s go! Ten. Nine. Eight...”
The townspeople joined in, and the night air echoed with the countdown. Nessa couldn’t say exactly when she joined in, but before “Four” reverberated around her, she yelled it along with everyone else. Wolf’s deep voice rose above the others, vibrating through her, and she tried not to stare. Tried. And failed.
She reasoned that the man was a veritable giant, so she had no choice but to look at him. But she did have a choice whether or not to trace the razor-sharp blades of his cheekbones. Or the arrogant slope of his nose. She could’ve chosen to glance away from the almost-too-lush curves of his wide mouth. She could’ve opted not to wonder if his beard would tickle her skin or lightly abrade it...
Mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed hard, throat closing tight over “Two.” Not caring how he perceived her action, she erred on the side of caution and edged a couple of inches away from him. Bad enough she still battled the urge to rub her ear in an attempt to erase the phantom warmth of his breath against her skin. And that she couldn’t purge his quietly taunting question from her mind.
Tell me, Nessa. Is it me in particular that has those hackles up or men in general? Is there something I need to specifically apologize for or do I need to issue a blanket apology for my gender?
Oh yes, bad enough she couldn’t decide on the answer to that question. Because, okay, she might have a chip on her shoulder toward the male gender at large. It seemed the ones she’d loved—from Isaac to Jeremy—who were supposed to unconditionally love her in return, all lied and abandoned her.
But Wolf... She’d met him hours ago. And yet the man should apologize for...what? Stirring a desire inside her that she’d believed Jeremy had extinguished? Making her reevaluate a vow to swear off men? Especially handsome men? Breathing?
She shifted over another inch.
Just ’cause.
“One!”
The shout broke through her thoughts, jerking her out of her head and back to the imminent lighting. As soon as the countdown reached its culmination, Lee slammed down the handle on the box. Logically, Nessa figured someone stood backstage with a switch that flipped the lights on. Yet the awe and joy on Lee’s face as the tree lit up had delight ballooning inside her chest.
And as she tilted her head back and gazed up at the magnificent sight of the Christmas tree, its dense branches decorated with not just the homemade ornaments Cole mentioned, but with gorgeous glass balls, multicolored bulbs and red-and-silver tinsel, Nessa was glad she’d risked her nearly frostbitten toes and come tonight.
No, she didn’t buy into all this Christmas frenzy, but for her first Christmas tree lighting? Not bad. Not bad at all.
“Let’s give Lee a round of applause, folks,” Cole said. The little boy bowed so deeply, his head nearly brushed the stage. Nessa shook her head, and Cole chuckled. “Let me be the first to wish all of you a Merry Christmas. Now, we have hot chocolate, cider and several stalls open for shopping. Enjoy yourselves. And remember, tomorrow night on Main Street is the Santa Run. Six o’clock. Good night!”
“You survived your first Christmas tree lighting, Nessa Hunt. How did you like it?” Wolf asked, stuffing his hands inside his coat pockets and arching a dark eyebrow. “And before you reply, let me warn you. Anything other than ‘It was great’ would be the wrong answer.”
“How about it was all right?” She mimicked his pose.
He snorted. “How about you enjoyed yourself?”
“I could’ve been putting on a brave front to cover the fact that I was losing feeling in my face,” she said, only half joking.
“Oh, Nessa.” He heaved a dramatic-as-hell sigh. “You can try and adopt that big-city ennui if you like, but the delight I saw on your face when that tree lit up can’t be faked. You enjoyed yourself.”
Heart thumping in her chest, she forced a frown. Forced herself not to focus on the fact that he’d been watching her close enough to glimpse her expression. “Ennui?” She wrinkled her nose, loosing a slightly strained laugh. “Really?”
“What can I say? I’m a worldly, learned man.”
“Worldly, huh? What part of the globe is that beard from? Or what century?” She narrowed her eyes on him, tapping a gloved fingertip against her lip.
“You’re going there?” Wolf crossed his arms over his chest, his sensual lips curling into a smile. “Between my beard and your haircut, we have a full Viking.”
“Ouch.” Nessa winced, patting the close-shaved side of her head. “That’s fucking brutal.”
They stared at one another. Then snickered.
Then laughed.
“So, truth time, Nessa the Proud,” he murmured, and part of her longed to roll her eyes at his off-the-cuff Viking moniker. And the other part? Well, that part needed to grab ahold of the pride he accused her of having and stop preening under his compliments. “Admit it. You like my beard.”
By like did he mean she had an itch to run her fingers through it and tug on the bristly strands? Because if so, then yes, maybe she did.
But damn if she’d confess that aloud.
“It’s aiight.”
“Tough crowd.” With a smirk, he jerked his chin. “C’mon, let me get some hot chocolate in you. My treat.”
“Oh no,” she objected, her hands slamming up, palms out. She shook her head for added emphasis. “You don’t have to do that. As a matter of fact, I insist you don’t.” One thing she’d learned early from her mother: always do for yourself. No handouts. Call it pride, call it stubbornness, whatever. But it was a cardinal rule of hers. As long as she provided for herself, she didn’t have to depend on anyone else. Definitely didn’t have to worry about them disappointing her, failing her or taking away what she’d come to treasure. “Actually, I probably need to find Ivy and get back to the inn.”
She pulled her phone free of her pocket, and glanced at the time, pretending his gaze wasn’t branding the side of her face.
“Nessa?”
“Yes?”
“Could you look at me?”
Stifling a sigh, she lifted her head and met his emerald gaze.
“It’s a hot chocolate,” he said softly. Gently.
Resentment flared bright and hot in her chest at the tone. No, it wasn’t just hot chocolate. It was so much more than that. Not that she needed to explain it or her to him. Not him, with h
is huge house, doting mother, loving family and Thomas Kinkade–painting town. He couldn’t possibly understand loss, abandonment and only having yourself to depend on. He couldn’t understand a fear of failure and not having a safety net.
Or having parents one day, having a career, a whole identity, and having none of that the next.
So no, it wasn’t just hot chocolate.
“I said no, thank you,” she replied, injecting a steel in her voice he could either respect or not. And if he didn’t, well, that would tell her more than she needed to know about Wolf Dennison.
“Okay,” he murmured, nodding, surprising her by letting it go so easily. In her experience—namely with Jeremy—most people would’ve pressed her into explaining or tried to shame her into accepting. “Why don’t you try and call Ivy and see where she’s at. Tell her to meet us by the hot chocolate stand, and you can buy one for her while we wait.”
Good idea. And it meant granting her several more moments where she could avoid speaking or looking directly at this man who she so desperately tried to paint with one brush but who insisted on covering himself in a completely different coat.
She pulled up her Favorites list and tapped on Ivy’s name. After three rings, the girl’s breathless voice echoed down the line. “Hey, Nessa.”
“Hey, what’s your location?”
“I’m with Sonny and Cher over at the food tent. We’re getting cookies and then plan on heading over to the shopping booths to see what they have.”
“I was thinking we should head back to the inn—” Nessa said.
“Can’t we stay just a little longer? It’s not even eight thirty yet, and what’re we going to do back there anyway?” Ivy demanded.
A dull ache started at the back of Nessa’s head, one that usually coincided with Ivy’s tone. The tone that warned, I’m about to go into a full-out preteen hellish mood that all the berserkers and centurions in Fortnite won’t be able to save you from. Usually, Nessa had no problem going head-to-head with Ivy, but another lesson she’d learned in life—especially since becoming the girl’s guardian—was to pick your battles.