Chapter 15 Liam
FIFTEEN
LIAM
Snow flurries drift down in that postcard-perfect way, except I’m standing in a drift up to my ankles trying to untangle fifty feet of rogue Christmas lights with fingers that no longer feel attached to my body.
Juniper emerges from the barn wearing a Santa hat she did not have on five minutes ago. It’s fuzzy and ridiculous, and when she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, the pompom bounces like it has its own agenda.
“Don’t say it,” she warns, bending to grab a strand of lights.
I wasn’t going to say anything about the hat. I was too busy trying not to stare at the flush on her cheeks and the way her red coat cinches tight at her waist.
“You look festive,” I say innocently.
“You sound smug.”
“I’m not.” I hand her the end of the string I’ve been detangling for twenty minutes. “I’m just thrilled to be in the freezing cold doing electrical work with zero credentials.”
We’ve been assigned by Julie Jensen to decorate the barn at The Frosty Fir tree farm where Jasper and Stella’s surprise engagement dinner is to be held tomorrow evening.
According to everyone who knows her, Stella loves a good light display.
So here we are. Battling the snow and frost and dim lighting to bring a romantic holiday vision to life.
Juniper snorts, then promptly slips on a patch of ice and face-plants into my chest. I wrap an arm around her on instinct.
She freezes, her palms flat against me. Slowly, she leans back just far enough to glare.
“Don’t say anything,” she mutters again.
“Still wasn’t going to,” I murmur. “But for the record, I’d catch you every time.”
Her eyes flick to mine, and just for a second, the world goes quiet. The wind stills. The lights twinkle. I swear the snow pauses midair.
She clears her throat and shoves the string lights at me like a shield. “Let’s go. You better not mess this up. This is for Jasper and Stella.”
“I know.” I grin. “Very hush-hush surprise dinner. I’m an excellent secret keeper.”
She lifts an eyebrow at me. “Speaking of secrets…I talked to Jasper.”
My heart thumps. “Yeah?” I try to sound casual but fail miserably.
She fiddles with a bulb that’s gone dark. “He said you told him. About last year. About me.”
“Did he?” I ask, but she ignores my lame deflection.
“I didn’t realize you’d actually talked about it,” she says, a note of wonder—or maybe confusion—threading her voice.
I shift closer, tucking a loose strand of hair under her hat. “I told him I messed up. That I wanted to fix it.”
She looks at me, cheeks pink from more than just the cold. “He said you had to earn it.”
“I plan on it,” I say quietly.
Her mouth curves, like she’s fighting a smile she doesn’t want me to see. She rolls her eyes instead, turning away too fast. “Good luck, Hargrove.”
Ten minutes later, she’s on the ladder, arm outstretched toward a nail while I anchor the base.
“I swear if this ladder tips—”
“I’ve got you,” I say. And I do. In every way.
She stretches higher, the hem of her coat rising just enough to reveal the backs of her thighs in thick tights. I try not to look. I fail miserably.
“I need another clip,” she calls down.
I fish one out of my pocket. “Catch.”
It smacks her in the chest and disappears into the snow.
She glares down at me. “You’re useless.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re beautiful.”
She goes still. For one beat. Two.
Then she shakes her head like she’s shaking the thought of me loose. “Focus, Liam.”
Oh, I’m focused. On the way her breath fogs when she laughs. The way she keeps choosing to be near me even when she doesn’t want to. The way I’m pretty sure I’ve never wanted someone more in my life.
She clips the last strand in place, then starts down the ladder.
“Careful,” I say, holding out my hands.
“Relax, I’m—”
Her boot slips, but I catch her.
Again.
Now she’s pressed to me. Her hands gripping my coat. My arms locked around her waist, her breath hitching just slightly.
“This is getting to be a habit,” she whispers.
“You falling for me?” I ask, stupidly hopeful.
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t move. “I meant the slipping.”
“Same thing.”
A beat passes. Then she laughs—soft and unexpected—and I swear I feel it in my ribs.
“What?” she says, still in my arms.
I don’t say the truth. I can’t yet.
Instead, I say, “You’re lucky I’m tall.”
“You’re lucky I haven’t shoved you into a snowbank yet.”
“I’d take it,” I grin. “If it means you’d climb on top of me.”
Her mouth falls open in mock scandal.
“You’re insufferable.”
“You’re irresistible.”
She doesn’t kiss me. But she looks at my mouth like she’s thinking about it.
“You’re soaked,” she says breathlessly, noting my damp coat.
“So are you,” I murmur against her ear.
Her breath hitches just as the door to the barn slams shut.
Martin, the Frosty Fir Tree Farm owner, breaks the spell. “You know we have people to do that.”
Juniper pulls away, clearing her throat. “My mom insisted. Wanted it to be personal.”
“Very personal,” Martin deadpans. He raises a brow at Juniper’s hat, then at me, then at the half-done entryway. “Looks good. Stella will love it.” He heads back inside without another word, leaving us in the swirl of fresh snow and too much unspoken tension.
I fight a grin while Juniper yanks the Santa hat off and smacks my arm with it.
A moment later her phone buzzes in her pocket. On a sigh, she pulls it out. I watch her expression drop the second she sees the screen.
“Everything okay?” I ask, already knowing the answer is probably no.
“It’s Charlotte,” she mutters, reading a new text with her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Now she’s sick. Probably caught it from her son. She can’t help me tonight.”
“Help you with what?” I ask, stepping closer, drawn in despite how hard she keeps trying to shove me out.
“Restock. I have a huge shipment to unpack and shelve before the Books & Bubbly event this weekend. It’ll take all night on my own.” She tucks her phone away with an exhale that fogs in the cold air. “It’s fine. I’ll handle it.”
I reach for the end of the tangled lights in her gloved hand, coaxing her to look at me. “Not on your own you won’t. I’ll help.”
She arches a brow. “Don’t you have plans? Meetings? Something better to do?”
I grin. “Not tonight. Let’s finish this, then I’m helping you with the store. Non-negotiable.”
Her eyes narrow like she wants to argue, but her shoulders drop a fraction, that unguarded softness slipping through before she hides it again.
“Fine,” she mutters. “But if you mess up my display tables, you’re dead to me.”
I smile at her, ignoring the snow melting into my hair, ignoring the cold numbing my fingers, because the warmth I feel right now has nothing to do with the lights or the barn or the Santa hat bouncing over her forehead.
It’s her. It’s always been her.