Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Let’s circle back to this pretentious hot chocolate,” I interrupted, taking pity on him as his face turned crimson. “Is your objection to lavender specifically or all flowers in beverages? What’s your stance on chamomile tea? Discuss.”
“Don’t try to distract me with tea politics,” he growled, but I could see the humor in his eyes now.
Something about the banter felt easy, natural, as if we’d known each other longer than the mere day it had been. I found myself forgetting we were on camera, forgetting the carefully constructed talking points, forgetting everything except the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was trying not to smile.
I sat back and tapped the side of my mug, which seemed to be hand-thrown pottery, similar to a few pieces I’d seen at the gallery the other day. “There’s nothing wrong with making ordinary things beautiful. That’s what photography does, isn’t it? Finds the beauty in the everyday?”
Maddox studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. “There’s a difference between finding beauty and manufacturing it.”
“Is there? Or is it just snobbery in reverse—looking down on something because it’s polished rather than raw?”
He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, genuinely considering the question. “Maybe,” he admitted finally. “Maybe my issue is more with showing the sunshiny, filtered version of something instead of making the effort to find the true beauty below the surface. Real authenticity as opposed to…” He hesitated. “Hashtag authenticity.”
“Authentic. There’s that word again,” I murmured, holding his gaze. His smoky eyes offered more temptation than any of the hot chocolate varieties had. I tried to stay focused. “What is authentic, really? If I genuinely enjoy this ridiculous, overly complex, lavender hot chocolate, isn’t that authentic? Even if I also think it would look great in a filtered photo on my Instagram?”
“The problem isn’t enjoying it,” he said slowly. “It’s changing the entire experience to make it photographable. It’s the difference between capturing life and staging it.”
“So you’ve never repositioned a subject for better light? Never asked someone to move slightly to improve composition?” I raised an eyebrow. “Because that sounds an awful lot like staging to me.”
Maddox smiled—a real smile that reached his eyes and transformed his face from merely handsome to devastating. My heart did a stupid triple-thunk before stuttering back to a normal rhythm.
“Touché, Hayes. Maybe you’re not completely superficial after all.”
“High praise indeed.” I returned his smile, surprised by how good it felt to crack through his defenses. “And maybe you’re not a completely judgmental asshole.”
“Don’t bet on it,” he warned, but the warmth in his eyes belied the gruffness of his tone. “I still have eleven more ‘dates’ to prove you wrong.” His finger quotes drew my attention to his strong hands. The kind of hands that snuck unbidden images into my head. Things he could do to me with those hands if given the chance.
I cleared my throat. “Eleven more dates to change your mind about me, you mean,” I corrected, raising my mug in a toast.
Maddox clinked his mug against mine. “We’ll see who converts whom.”
Maya cleared her throat loudly. “Um, guys? We about done, or do you want to keep doing… whatever this is?”
The sound of other conversations and clinking mugs nearby seemed to burst the strange bubble we’d been in. I’d completely forgotten about the camera or the hot chocolate tasting.
Judging by Maddox’s startled expression, so had he.
“Right.” I straightened, professional mask sliding back into place. “So that concludes our tour of the Marian family’s famous hot chocolate flight, the perfect holiday indulgence for visitors to Legacy, Montana. Stay tuned for my next ‘Twelve Dates of Christmas’ adventure! And a special thanks to Nordique for hooking me up with their delicious merino Selwyn trousers and what has to be the softest cashmere sweater I’ve ever worn.” I held out my arm to show the sweater off to the lens.
Maddox surprised me by reaching over to run a hand up my forearm. “That is nice,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “My father had a Nordique fisherman’s sweater passed down from his father. It didn’t feel like this, though.”
I swallowed. “It’s, ah… it’s the Calden crewneck,” I said, trying to take advantage of the unexpected product-focused moment. “It also comes in a gorgeous mossy-green color.”
He blinked at me and stood up, scraping his chair against the wooden floor. “Cut. That’s… that’s good. Got what we needed. I should check in on Alex, make sure he’s okay.” He pulled out his phone, avoiding eye contact. “Maya, can you help pack up while I make this call?”
Without waiting for a response, he strode toward the door, already dialing as he went.
Maya watched him go, then turned to me with a raised eyebrow. “So that was…”
“A good start to the series,” I finished professionally, despite my confusion over Maddox’s behavior. “Your brother has a natural camera presence. Once he takes the stick out of his ass.”