Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“Lucy,” he whispers, his voice wrecked, “you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“I think I do,” I whisper back. “Because you’re doing the same to me.”
His lips curve—just slightly—before he kisses me again, deeper this time, like he’s claiming the morning, the snow, the entire damn mountain.
I kiss him back with all the heat and longing and fear and hope tangled inside me. We lose track of time. All I know is his hands on my waist, his mouth on mine, the warmth of his body crowding out the winter cold, the sound he makes when I tug him closer.
We only break apart when–“FINALLY!”
We jump apart like guilty teenagers.
Holly stands at the bottom of the porch steps, decked out in Christmas pajamas and holding a stuffed reindeer like she’s been waiting all year to catch us.
Her grin is blinding. “I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU’D KISS!”
Ash scrubs a hand over his face, groaning. “Holly—”
“You’re welcome!” she announces, hands on hips. “I made this happen.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper into my hands, trying not to die from embarrassment.
Holly bounces up the steps and grabs my hand. “Did he kiss good? I think he kisses good.”
Ash chokes. “Holly!”
“What?” she shrugs. “Aunt Maggie says Uncle Ash looks like he kisses good. And now I KNOW.”
I look at Ash. He’s red. Flustered. Completely undone. I’ve never seen him like this, and it’s… adorable.
Holly squeezes my hand. “Miss Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you gonna be my—” She pauses, thinking hard. “—my Christmas? Uncle Ash says people can be Christmas.”
Ash and I stare at each other. The world goes quiet. The snow falls softly around us. Warm lights glow from inside both cabins.
I crouch to Holly’s height and brush her hair back. “Sweetheart, I’m… really happy to be your Christmas.”
She beams and throws her arms around me. I hug her back, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. Ash watches us, expression soft, full, almost reverent.
“This is the best Christmas ever,” Holly declares, stepping back and putting her hands on her hips confidently. “Now come on! We have presents!”
She grabs my hand and tugs. Ash steps closer and murmurs quietly, only for me to hear, “She may think she orchestrated this…”
His fingers slide gently along my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek again.
“…but I’ve been falling for you on my own.”
My breath catches. He leans in and kisses my forehead—soft, gentle, devastating in a totally different way. Then Holly yanks him toward the house, scolding him for “walking too slow.”
He shoots me a look over his shoulder as he goes—dark, hungry, full of promise. Christmas lights flicker behind him. Snow falls in glittering sheets. My lips still tingle. And for the first time in years…I don’t feel like I’m celebrating alone. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
With him. With them. With this new beginning bursting open under a snowy Devil’s Peak sky.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ash
The firehouse is already buzzing when I pull into the lot, Holly bouncing in the back seat, Lucy sitting beside her with a travel mug between her hands and a smile she’s trying—and failing—to hide.
It’s the annual Christmas charity breakfast. Pancakes, turnout gear, kids climbing all over engines, and about sixty people in the first hour. Normally I brace for it, mentally prep for the chaos. But today?
Today I feel like I’m carrying a secret under my skin.
A warm, bright, infuriatingly pretty secret wrapped in a red dress from last night and a kiss on a snowy porch that I’ve replayed at least forty times since sunrise.
Lucy.
She’s quiet now, watching the firehouse doors with a soft curiosity in her eyes. Holly is chattering nonstop about Santa, reindeer, and how pancakes “taste better in a firehouse because the walls are magic.”
Lucy laughs, turning in the seat. “Magic walls, huh?”
Holly nods with firm conviction. “Uncle Ash says the walls keep the heat in. So that’s magic.”
I groan. “Not like that, kid.”
But Lucy is giggling, bright and warm and impossible to ignore. I open her door before she reaches for it, offering my hand without thinking. She takes it without hesitation, letting me help her out of the truck. Her hand fits easily in mine, soft but sure, and something low in my stomach pulls tight.
She’s bundled in a cream sweater and scarf, her cheeks pink from the cold. Her hair is curled slightly from sleep, falling around her shoulders in a way that shouldn’t hit as hard as it does.
I want her. I want her more every damn minute.
And as we step toward the firehouse doors, every instinct in me screams to reach for her again—her hand, her waist, anything.
I don’t. Not yet.
The doors open before we touch the handle, and the crew shouts in unison: “ABOUT TIME!”
Lucy freezes.
I stiffen.
Talon stands in front holding a spatula, pointing it directly at me. “We knew it! The mistletoe was a dead giveaway.”