Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
He gives me a shy shrug.
“I guess,” he returns, then says almost defensively, “but I’m in shape.”
“You sure are,” I agree vigorously, admiring his incredible physique. “Does your dad… I mean, Santa or Mr. Claus… does he look like you too?”
Since I just learned that Santa has a jet instead of flying around the world with his reindeer and sled anything is possible. He could potentially be a hot Santa.
His son certainly is.
He throws his head back and laughs heartily. Like he thinks my question is the funniest one in the world.
“I’m taking that’s a ‘no’?” I return.
“My dad has a belly the size of the fjord we came from!” His shoulders still shake as he laughs. “My sister and I worry about his health.”
I’m guessing a Santa with heart disease or diabetes wouldn’t be good for the brand.
“Does your dad…umm… does he go by Santa or just Mr. Claus?”
Stetson looks vastly amused.
“He goes by Nick,” he tells me. “We’re not formal.”
Of course.
“And your mom?” I ask him.
“My mom died when I was a child,” he says solemnly. “After my sister was born, she was diagnosed with cancer, and it ravaged her. She left us before my sister’s first birthday.”
“I’m so sorry,” I reply.
He’s quiet for a minute.
“It was hardest on my father,” he admits. “My sister and I didn’t know her, obviously. We just grew up with the memories.”
“Still.”
He stays quiet.
“And you have one sister?” I go on with my questions.
“Emily,” he tells me with a nod. “She works in the family business as well.”
I wonder what her role is.
Commander of the dwarves? Captain of the reindeer?
I want to ask him, but honestly, I feel like I need a second before I hear another unbelievable job description that I’ll have to wrap my head around tomorrow morning when clarity hits me like a ton of bricks. But for now, I’m going to keep living in Christmas Land.
I take another sip of the amazing hot chocolate and savor it.
We both stay quiet, the only sound between us is the crunching of the snow under our booted feet as we walk down the path. I look around at the general splendor of this picturesque, fairytale of a village and wonder how this feels like no big deal. Like, I’m not freaking out by any of this at all. I’m in it. During the brief time I’ve been here something’s completely shifted. I’m in a village that the regular population (including my best friend) would think I completely imagined, and it feels almost… normal?
“You know I didn’t believe you,” I tell him what I’m sure he’s already deduced—I blame the spiked hot chocolate.
“And now?” he asks.
“Now…” I tilt my head up and look at him through the corner of my eyes. My mind wanders.
He looks so handsome and regal—he has such an aristocratic look about him that gives him more gravitas. He can look playful then so serious to intimidating within the course of a minute.
“Charlie?” he prods.
“As unbelievable as it all sounds… I think I’m starting to believe you,” I admit as I watch a Candy Cane lamppost spurt out another burst of glitter— seriously! This just happened!
“I’m glad to hear that.” I feel like he’s fighting back a laugh.
“I mean, I have questions—a million of them.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I won’t inundate you now,” I promise, then continue to say in the most awkward fashion on the planet. “And this is just a one-night thing, so you’ll be rid of me tomorrow...”
I hate the words I just spoke and from the way he tenses up I don’t think he appreciates them either.
“Maybe I don’t mind if you inundate me,” he stops walking and turns to face me.
He looks serious before places his cup and bag of treats on the ground, then takes mine away and puts it down as well.
The snowflakes fall around us as I look up at him expectantly.
The moment couldn’t be any more romantic. His blue gaze is slumberous as he studies my face, zeroing in on my lips which are just begging for him to give me another earth-shattering kiss.
“Can I ask you one question?” I whisper, unable to stop myself.
“You can ask me anything you want, baby,” he replies huskily.
God, I love the way he says ‘baby’. And then I tell him what I want.
“Is there any mistletoe around here?”
I don’t have to say another word.
In less than a second, he pulls me in his arms and his lips crash down on mine. He tugs on my hair and lifts my face up to his so he can devour me in a way that makes my knees go weak.
And I’m lost.
Lost in the sensual, sexual storm that is Stetson.
He claims me, his tongue moves into my mouth and tastes every part of me—in a way I almost feel like he’s tasting a piece of my soul. He makes love to my mouth like a master, exploring every part of me as his hands move down my body to cup my ass and pull me up against him.