Chapter 4
JONAS
I’d told myself I’d only spend the morning helping Paige at her booth. That was the plan—grab her a coffee and a muffin, check if my boss needed anything, and maybe head back to the crew.
Instead, I blinked and it was nearly lunchtime, the air buzzing with chatter and the scent of fried food. People wandered by with sliders in cardboard trays, corn dogs dripping with mustard, and steaming cups of cocoa warming their gloved hands.
And me? I was still standing shoulder to shoulder with Paige, pretending I was useful when really I just couldn’t walk away.
“Thanks for helping,” she said when we finally had a lull. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and the attention of half the town. “I know you probably have other things to do. I don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss.”
“My boss isn’t here. And the guys don’t care.”
What I didn’t admit was that Buck had walked by earlier with a two-by-four over his shoulder, smirking like an idiot before throwing me a thumbs up.
The rest of the crew had been doing the same all morning—grinning, shaking their heads, and watching me standing here holding hand-painted bells like some lovesick fool.
“I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be,” I told her. And God help me, I meant it.
I probably looked ridiculous to everyone else. A six-foot-three guy in lumberjack plaid, broad shoulders blocking half her display, big hands carefully passing delicate red and green bells to customers.
But it wasn’t about the bells. It was about Paige. It was about the way her arm brushed mine, deliberate enough to make my blood heat. The way those jeans clung to her curves when she bent over to grab something from under the table…
Three hours I’d been there, breathing her in. Three hours of trying not to think about the conversation we’d had last night.
“You don’t have to stay,” Paige said now, glancing up at me through lashes so dark they could ruin a man. “I’m sure you have better things to do than sell bells.”
“Like what?” I leaned against the table, close enough to catch the vanilla-and-spice scent of her hair. “Hike? Did that this morning. Swing a hammer? It’s Saturday. Christmas shopping?” I gestured around us. “Pretty sure this is the biggest retail scene Wildwood Valley’s ever seen.”
Her laugh slipped out, light and musical, and I felt it straight in my chest. “Fair point. But you must be bored out of your mind.”
Bored? If only she knew. Every brush of her fingers against mine lit me up like the strings of lights overhead. Every time her eyes found mine and held just a beat too long, I wanted to drag her behind the booth and kiss her until she forgot her own name.
“I’m not bored,” I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be.
She tilted her head, studying me. “No?”
“No.” I leaned in, my words low, meant only for her. “I can’t stop thinking about what you told me last night.”
Her cheeks flushed, the pink spreading down her neck, disappearing beneath the red sweater scattered with silver bells. “Jonas—”
“About how you’ve been waiting.” I held her gaze. “About how you’ve never—”
“There’s a customer,” she cut in quickly, nodding toward a family making their way to the booth.
The moment broke, but the heat didn’t fade. It burned brighter, coiled tight inside me.
“These are beautiful,” the woman said, picking up a bell painted with a snowy cabin.
“I made them,” Paige answered, slipping into her professional voice, though I caught a faint tremor. “Each one is hand-painted. That’s one of my favorites.”
I let her talk, let her sell, while I stood there watching the curve of her mouth, the graceful movements of her hands, and the subtle sway of her hips. I was so lost in her that I didn’t see it coming.
Her hand. On me.
She brushed across my ass—slow, deliberate—and I went rigid, every muscle tight. “Paige,” I said, low and strained.
She blinked up at me, all innocence, though her eyes glittered with mischief. “What?”
“You know what.”
“I’m sure I don’t.” Her cheeks betrayed her, a hot flush racing across her skin.
When she turned to help an older man shopping for his granddaughter, I made my move. I shifted behind her, waited until she bent to grab a box of smaller bells, and let my hand graze over the curve of her ass. Just enough to make sure she knew.
She straightened so fast, she nearly knocked over the table.
“Careful,” I murmured at her ear, steadying the display with one hand, resting the other at her lower back. “Wouldn’t want to break anything.”
Her breath caught. “You’re terrible.”
“You started it.”
The old man shuffled away, oblivious, and Paige spun on me the second he was gone. “We can’t keep doing this,” she whispered, though her eyes were dark, hungry.
“Doing what?” I asked, closing the space until our bodies nearly touched.
“You know exactly what.” Her gaze flicked to my mouth and back again. “There are people everywhere.”
“I know,” I said, my thumb stroking over the dip of her waist. “That’s the problem.”
“Jonas.” My name trembled between warning and plea.
“I need you alone,” I murmured, close enough to feel her shiver. “Now.”
She glanced around, scanning the families, the booths, Gunnar’s new girlfriend Ivy helping a customer nearby. “Where?”
I’d already found the answer. The hot chocolate stand. Behind it, hidden under canvas, steam curling into the air.
“There,” I said, nodding. “Five minutes.”
Her teeth caught her bottom lip, and I almost groaned out loud. “What if someone sees us?”
“They won’t.” At least, I hoped to God they wouldn’t. “And it’s just talking, right?”
Her look said we both knew it wouldn’t be just talking.
“I can’t abandon my booth—”
“Ivy,” I called to a nearby vendor, raising my voice. “Can you cover Paige’s booth for a few minutes? We’re grabbing coffee.”
Ivy took one look at our faces and smirked. “Sure. Take your time.”
Paige glared at me, though there was no heat in it. “Presumptuous.”
“Motivated,” I corrected, catching her hand. “Let’s go.”
We slipped through the crowd, past kids with painted faces, past the booth selling scarves, past the swirl of roasted nuts and cider. At the hot chocolate stand, the vendors were swamped. Perfect. No one cared what was happening around the side.
I pulled her into the canvas-covered prep area, the air thick with the scent of chocolate and cinnamon, the steam warming the small space like a secret hideout.
“This is insane,” she whispered.
“This is survival,” I said, backing her gently against a post. “Because if I had to stand out there one more minute, watching you smile at strangers while all I could think about was kissing you—I would’ve lost it.”
Her lips parted. “Jonas—”
“Last night,” I said, my hands firm on her waist, “when you told me you’ve never been with anyone, all I could think was how much I want to be the one. The first. The only.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility.”
“It’s an honor,” I said, meaning every word.
She looked up at me, eyes soft and trusting, and I knew I was in trouble. This wasn’t just heat anymore. It was more. Too much.
“I’ve never felt like this,” she admitted.
“Neither have I.”
The sounds of the festival faded. It was just us, the warm steam, and the rich smell of chocolate.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” I told her.
“Okay,” she whispered.
I cupped her face and brought my mouth to hers.
Her lips were soft, sweet, addictive. She sighed against me, fingers fisting in my jacket, and I nearly came undone. She tasted faintly of cinnamon sugar, sweet and spicy, and when I deepened the kiss, she melted against me like she belonged there.
“God, Paige,” I murmured.
She answered by kissing me harder, her hand sliding into my hair, making me groan.
This was supposed to be just a kiss. A stolen moment. But with her pressed against me, her lips hot and eager, I was gone. Control was slipping fast.
I forced myself to break the kiss, both of us breathing hard. “We should go back,” I managed, though every cell in me rebelled.
She nodded, but stayed close, lips inches from mine. “In a minute.”
“Paige—”
“Just one more.” She tugged me back down.
And I was lost all over again.