Chapter 2
The storm doesn't ease. The wind roars all night. It’s the kind of mountain storm that makes the world feel small, wild, and dangerous. By morning the windows are iced over, and the world outside has vanished into a sheet of white.
He looks infuriatingly composed. Perfectly pressed shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and I don’t know how it’s possible, but he looks well rested.
The total opposite of me. My clothes are rumpled, I have what I can only imagine as glitter smudged makeup across on my face, and wild curls are escaping my braid.
"Morning," I croak.
He looks up, eyes warming just a little. "You snore."
"I do not."
He tilts his head toward me. "You do. Very quietly. Like a hummingbird sighing."
"Then it's cute snoring," I say, stretching, pulling the blanket tighter around myself.
He rises, coffee mug in hand. "Yes. I suppose you could say that. Cute snoring.” He shakes his head. “Cocoa's on the counter. You'll have to settle for powdered mix. I still think it’s a sin to be an adult who doesn’t like coffee."
I cross to the kitchen and pour hot water into my mug, the scent of chocolate filling the air. The silence between us isn't awkward anymore. Now it's curious, charged and kind of like static waiting for a spark.
"How bad's the storm?" I ask.
"Roads are closed. Power's flickering. We're officially snowed in."
"Just us?"
"Just us," he confirms.
I glance up at him over my mug, steam curling between us. "Could be worse, I suppose. I could be alone."
The look he gives me is steady, unreadable, but his gaze lingers a beat longer than it should.
My phone buzzes on the counter. Guess the internet is still working, for now anyway.
Madison: Girl. STATUS REPORT.
Lily: Did you survive the night???
Chloe: Is he still scary or has the blizzard made him human?
Me: Survived. He made sure I had cocoa this morning.
Amber: That's nice of him. Maybe he can convince you to try coffee.
Me: That’s not happening. Ew. No thanks. I don’t drink burnt bean water.
Maya: Next he'll be chopping wood shirtless
Me: He's wearing a button-down at 7 am. The man irons in a crisis.
Madison: That's somehow hotter??
I pocket my phone before Justin can ask questions.
We’d made a subset of The Naughty Girl’s Book Club.
At last year’s Secret Christmas Exchange and Virtual Party, we realized that several of us were Gen Z and saw things a bit differently than our older counterparts.
We started a text thread of Gen Z Daddy Lovers and now, I’m closer to many of these girls than I am my in-person friend group.
As it turns out, the bedroom upstairs has an entire dresser full of Justin’s clothing. After I change out of my elf getup into a pair of his sweatpants, that are entirely too large on me, we go through a couple of boxes of merchandise that he’d put aside to send back to the distributor.
“I couldn’t believe we got a thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise that said Santass Workshop on it,” Justin says. I can’t help myself; I collapse into laughter onto the couch. He raises an eyebrow at me. “It’s not funny.”
“Sure it is. It’s like Santa’s Ass! Come on. You don’t see it?”
He frowns for a second and looks at the bright red words plastered onto hoodies and crew neck sweatshirts before cracking a smile. “I see it, now.”
“Comes in handy when you are snowed in,” I say before finding an oversized one and slipping it on over my elf tunic. It’s super cozy.
“I should check the generator,” Justin says suddenly.
I nod. Do I know how to check a generator? No. Will I stay put? Also, no. Instead, I spend the morning with Justin checking the generator and clearing snow from the door. He's efficient, methodical, while I narrate every moment like a Christmas movie host. It’s part of my, um… charm. Yes, my charm.
"You'd be terrible on camera," I tease when he barely cracks a smile. "Too serious. They'd cast you as the guy who hates Christmas until a plucky elf melts your heart."
He pauses, leaning on his shovel, snowflakes caught in his hair. "And which one are you?"
"The plucky elf, obviously."
He shakes his head, but there's laughter in his eyes. "Obviously."
The wind howls and I shiver, pulling my hat down over my ears. He steps closer, holding out his gloves.
"Take them," he says.
"I'm fine."
"Your hands are blue."
“So? Maybe it's festive."
"Holly."
My name sounds different when he says it.
His voice dropped low, almost quiet, with a warning wrapped in it.
He’s not suggesting I take the gloves. He’s not even offering them.
He’s demanding I obey him. I swallow hard and slide my hands into the gloves.
They're still warm from his skin. I don't look at him, but I feel the awareness between us shift, settle into something new.
"You're very bossy," I say, flexing my fingers in the oversized leather.
"It’s obvious to me that you need someone to be."
It should annoy me. Instead, heat pools low in my stomach.
I remind myself that I am a grown woman and he’s my boss.
I can’t catch feelings for my boss. That would never do.
Totally inappropriate. Although, this is a temporary, seasonal job.
Hopefully I will get some bites on my resume soon and I will have a real, adult job.
"That's a bold assumption."
"Is it?" His tone doesn't change, but something in his posture does, shoulders back, chin lifted slightly. The way he looks at me makes my mouth go dry. Professional, Holly. Your boss is not a sexy piece of meat to drool over. Absolutely not.
I turn back to the snow, scooping halfheartedly with the shovel. "Maybe I just like arguing."
"I've noticed."
By afternoon, we've exhausted small tasks. The lodge feels smaller, the air between us tighter. I flop onto the couch, scrolling through my phone for the hundredth time. Thankful for the charger I keep in my purse and the internet that is still holding on tight. I have to find out who the provider is up here. There shouldn’t be internet like this on top of a mountain.
Although, if I had to guess, Justin probably had something run up here.
"We should do something," I announce.
"We are doing something. We're waiting out a storm."
"That's not doing something. That's existing."
He glances up from his laptop, one brow raised. "What did you have in mind?"
I sit up, eyes brightening. "The park. We could explore it. Just us. No crowds, no kids screaming. It'd be like… a private Christmas."
"It's fifteen degrees outside."
"You have a whole closet full of coats."
"Holly."
"Justin." I mimic his tone, all stern authority, and watch his jaw tick. "Come on. When's the last time you actually enjoyed this place?" I verbally poke the bear.
He stares at me for a long moment. Then he closes his laptop with a quiet snap. "Fine. But we're following the path. No wandering off."
"You're such a Daddy." The words slip out before I can stop them.
I should be mortified. I should run into the bedroom and lock the door and not come out until the roads are plowed.
I should… But then, his eyes sharpen, something dark and interested flickering across his face. Ohhhh. Did I hit a nerve? Could he be?
"Careful," he says softly.
My pulse kicks up. "Or what?"
He stands, grabs his coat from the rack, and tosses one to me without answering. But the corner of his mouth curves, just barely.
I grin, bundling up. "That's what I thought."
“Little girl, don’t play with fire unless you want to get burned.
” He stares me down for a good long second.
I refuse to look away. Finally, he says, “we should check on the reindeer and the rest of the animals. I know the crew would have put them away in the barn and made sure they had provisions for the storm, but it would be good just to make sure they are safe.”
We make our way to the reindeer barn, our boots crunching through fresh snow. The barn is warm when we step inside, smelling of hay and animals and something sweet I can't quite place.
"There you are," I coo to Blitzen, who immediately pokes his nose over the stall door. "Did you miss me?"
"You talk to them like they're people," Justin observes, but there's no judgment in his tone. He's already moving down the line, checking water buckets, running his hands over each reindeer with careful attention.
"They are people. Reindeer people." I watch him work. I wish he’d touch me the way he’s stroking the reindeer.
I shake the intrusive thought out of my head.
I notice the way his shoulders relax around the animals.
He’s patiently waiting for Dasher to take the food out of his hand. "You're good with them."
"My grandfather taught me." He scratches behind Dasher's ears, his whole face softening. "I practically grew up in this barn."
"Tell me a story about what it was like growing up here."
He glances at me, and for a moment I think he'll deflect. Then his mouth curves. "My sister Emma, she was maybe five, decided she was bored and decided to give all the reindeer makeovers."
"Oh no."
"Oh yes. She grabbed my mother's makeup bag and went to town. Prancer ended up with blue eyeshadow and lipstick. Dancer got rouge. Blitzen’s grandfather," he pats the reindeer's neck, "got the full treatment. Mascara, everything. I couldn’t believe how still they stood for her or the amount of makeup she used.”
I laugh, trying to picture Justin dealing with a glammed-up reindeer. "What did you do?"
"Panicked. I was twelve and supposed to be watching her. My dad was going to kill me." He's grinning now, lost in the memory. "So, I spent two hours with baby wipes trying to clean them off before anyone noticed. Kept bribing Emma with candy to keep quiet."
"Did it work?"
"For about three days. Then she told everyone at dinner about her 'pretty reindeer salon.'" He shakes his head. "My dad laughed so hard he cried. My mom was less amused about her missing Chanel."