Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 26056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
She sighs as her feet touch the ground. “That was amazing.”
I tuck myself back into my jeans, shake my head, and press a kiss to her lips. “You’re amazing.”
I help her pull her pants back up, brush loose strands of hair from her face, and trail a thumb across her flushed cheek. “You’re so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you.”
She sighs, lacing her hand with mine. “I think you need your eyes checked.”
“My eyes are fine. It’s you that does this to me.”
I kiss her knuckles.
“Thanks for the orgasm,” she giggles.
“Mm…” I grasp her thighs. “You look even better with me inside you.”
I kiss the hollow between her breasts, her heartbeat hammering like mine.
“You didn’t just decorate my cabin,” I murmur.
She lifts her head, sleepy smile on her lips. “No?”
I shake my head. “You rebuilt me.”
She curls up on my chest, and for the first time in years—
I don’t feel alone.
Chapter 18
Nash
Ihate cameras.
Always did. Always will. They remind me of everything fake in this world—pretense, illusion, bullshit for an audience. But now there’s a camera two feet from my face, and I’m supposed to smile and talk about snowflake-pattern throw pillows without snapping like an unhinged lumberjack.
All because of her.
Noel Hart—interior designer, chaos goddess, and now center of my personal storm—zips across my cabin with a string of gold ribbon and a glue gun like she’s about to commit felonies with craft supplies.
She’s glowing.
It isn’t just the lights or the camera or the red lipstick she reapplied with vengeance. It’s something in her eyes—bright, unafraid, wild. Her laughter sparks something warm in my chest every time I hear it.
Even when she sticks a holly wreath on my tool cabinet.
“This is a sacred space,” I grumble.
“Relax,” she says without looking up. “You’ll survive a little cheer.”
“Doubtful.”
She turns, presses a kiss to my jaw, and smirks. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
Someone behind the camera coughs.
I hear chuckling from the sound guy.
Doesn’t matter. Let them laugh. Let them see. Let the whole damn world know—I’m hers.
Sandra, the showrunner, claps her hands like a caffeinated elf. “Okay people! This is the Mountain Makeovers: Holiday Showdown finale! Noel Hart and Nash Hollis—Devil’s Peak Cabin transformation! Let’s go festive!”
I grunt. Noel beams. Camera rolls.
“Noel,” Sandra prompts sweetly, “tell the audience about your inspiration for this design.”
Noel glides to the mantel like she owns the place. Hell—she does, now. “I wanted to bring warmth back into this cabin. Cozy textures, layered lighting, rich winter tones—holiday magic without being cheesy.”
Sandra glances at the taxidermied moose head mounted above the fireplace. “And the moose?”
I cross my arms. “Stays.”
Noel grins into the camera. “It adds character.”
“It’s a dead animal,” I mutter.
“It’s masculine rustic charm,” she shoots back.
“It’s staring at me,” Sandra says.
“It likes you,” my snowflake sings.
The camera guy is barely holding it together.
Sandra signals to Noel. “So tell us about your favorite ornament.”
Noel picks up a hand-carved snowflake with our initials burned into it. N + N. “This one,” she says softly. “We made it together.”
The whole crew collectively melts.
Sandra turns to me. “And Nash? Your favorite?”
I stare flatly at the tree. “The one Noel didn’t hang.”
Sandra blinks. “Which one is that?”
I jerk my chin toward the hallway. “The mistletoe over our bed.”
Noel makes a strangled shriek-laugh while the sound guy gasps. Sandra fans herself with the shot list.
“That’s a wrap on the bedroom cutaway!” she declares. “We’re moving on!”
***
Three hours and six mugs of cocoa later, filming wraps. Noel stands in front of the tree as the final scores from the virtual judges come in. I lean against a post and watch her listen. Watch her glow.
“Our winner… by audience vote and judge score… Noel Hart!”
She gasps. Hands fly to her mouth. Crew cheers. Someone fires a confetti cannon and I nearly lose it.
Sandra hugs Noel. Someone hands her a trophy made of pine cones. It’s ridiculous. She loves it.
But instead of waving it around like a maniac, she turns to me. Her eyes search mine with a question I already know the answer to.
She doesn’t want this without me.
And I don’t want another goddamn day without her.
So I step forward.
The room goes quiet.
“Noel,” I say, voice low but steady. “Stay.”
Her chest rises. Falls. Her eyes shine. “Stay?”
“With me.” I move closer. “I can’t promise you perfect. I can’t take you back to designer penthouses or runway lights. But I can give you—”
I take her hand.
“Wood-chopping mornings. Firelight nights. A cabin that smells like your cookies and looks like a glitter bomb went off at all times.”
She laughs through a tear.
“And I’ll never,” I add, brushing knuckles over her cheek, “let you feel alone again. Not a day. Not a minute. Not while I’m breathing.”
She trembles. Whispers, “That sounds like everything real.”
I pull her close. “Say yes.”
She doesn’t say it.
She acts it.
She jumps into my arms, legs wrapping around my hips, mouth crashing into mine as the crew erupts behind us.