Chapter 17
Harper
The Couples’ Cocoa Tasting is held in a circle of cute little booths draped in garlands, twinkle lights, and obnoxiously oversized peppermint sticks. In any other situation, I’d be buzzing with excitement.
But right now? I’m buzzing because Ethan Kinkaid keeps squeezing my hand. I suppose we really do look like newlyweds to some of the crowd who would not know better.
We walk side by side, moving from booth to booth. The crowd is lively, carolers are singing, and the evening air is crisp, but tolerable. Ethan stays close, the heat from his body transferring to mine from time to time.
“This one has cinnamon and chili powder,” the first vendor announces.
I take a cup. Ethan takes one. We sip. My eyes water instantly. “It’s spicy!”
Ethan raises a brow. “Where?”
I gape at him. “On my tongue!”
He just sips again like he’s drinking warm milk.
Mountain men are built from different materials.
We move to the next booth. This vendor is young, pretty, and very …
polished. She’s wearing a red scarf that frames her neck like an art installation, and when she sees Ethan, her eyes widen a little too much.
“Ohhh,” she says, leaning forward. “You must be the Holiday Bride couple. You two are adorable.”
Ethan grunts. It’s his polite version of leave me out of this. But she doesn’t leave him out. She hands me a cup … then steps closer and places a cup directly in his hands, closing her fingers around his just a moment too long.
I feel it. A spike of heat that flares sharply within me.
It’s unexpected, but I suppose after last night what else could I feel but jealousy.
Me? Jealous? I don’t get jealous. Over men I’m fake married to?
Even if he was the first person in recorded history to make me come with a single word? Apparently.
He doesn’t even look at her. Just sips his cocoa, then leans down and mutters, “I like the first one better.” His voice is so low I feel it in my teeth.
The vendor pouts. ““Guess mountain men aren’t sweet tooths,” she teases, pouting so aggressively I worry for her lip filler.
“Never met a sugar I couldn’t handle,” Ethan deadpans, and I want to high five him for the perfect delivery.
The vendor pouts harder. She’s gorgeous, much more Ethan’s type, and that makes it even better.
I step closer, sliding my hand up Ethan’s arm, feeling the warmth of him through all the layers.
“Next?” I say brightly, maybe a little too brightly.
He glances down at me, unreadable, then gives a subtle nod. We move to the next booth.
“You okay?” Ethan asks quietly.
“Fine.”
“You’re drinking too fast.”
“I’m evaluating the cocoa,” I lie.
By the time we reach the last booth, my nerves have calmed. I glance up at Ethan beside me. There’s a soft look in his eyes that wasn’t there an hour ago.
“I didn’t like how she touched you,” I admit before I can stop myself. He stops walking. I stop walking. He tilts his head slightly, reading me.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I didn’t like it either.”
That one statement he just made is all I needed to completely erase the entire thing from my mind. Ethan makes me feel like we’re on the same page with things … so far.
We barely make it past the last cocoa booth when Ruby pops out from behind a display of peppermint bark like an over-caffeinated Christmas elf.
“Harper! Ethan!” she squeals, rushing over and pulling me into a hug that nearly sloshes cocoa down my coat. Beckett trails behind her, moving with the energy of a man who needs ten more hours of sleep and a snowplow to clear his thoughts.
Ruby leans back, eyes sparkling as she studies my face. “Well, someone’s glowing.”
Before I can respond, Beckett gives Ethan a slow once-over. “You look like a man who finally slept,” he says. Then he adds, “Or like a man who didn’t.”
Ruby elbows him so hard he nearly drops his cocoa. She turns to me, mouthing Did you two…? with a level of subtlety only Ruby Garland could fail at.
I choke on my sip. Ethan’s ears turn a very telling shade of red. Ruby squeals again, bouncing on her toes. Beckett pats Ethan’s shoulder sympathetically. “Good luck, man. Love’s basically an extreme sport in Cady Springs.”
I’m blushing. Ethan’s blushing. Ruby is radiating pure chaotic joy. Beckett already looks exhausted on Ethan’s behalf. And even though I’m normally a loner and shy, I honestly wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.
???
Still holding hands, we move into the community center. This is our last scheduled stop tonight. Inside, each table is stacked with graham crackers, gumdrops, candy canes, and bowls of frosting that look like snowdrifts.
“I’m bad at this,” I warn Ethan as we take our place among the other couples.
“I’m worse,” he replies.
“You literally build things for a living.”
“With lumber. Tools. Not candy.”
“Same concept.”
He gives me a look that says It absolutely is not. We’re given a timer, a theme (“Cozy Christmas Cabin”), and a wide table that feels far too small for his shoulders and my nerves.
“Walls first,” I coach, grabbing the crackers.
Ethan nods but grabs the frosting too forcefully, sending a blob splattering across the table. I yelp. He mutters something about “sticky nonsense.”
Ten minutes later, our gingerbread house looks like a mild natural disaster hit it, but we’re laughing too hard to care. Ethan has a streak of frosting on his thumb and, without thinking, he licks it off.
I freeze mid-decorating. He notices. “What?”
“Nothing,” I squeak.
He narrows his eyes. He knows exactly what.
“Here,” I say quickly, reaching for gumdrops. “Roof tiles.”
We lean over the house together, shoulders bumping. His forearm brushes mine. He smells like pine and warmth and everything dangerous to my sanity.
“Ethan,” I whisper when my hand accidentally bumps his for the fifth time.
“Yeah?”
“We’re supposed to be focusing.”
“I am.”
But he’s looking at me, not the gingerbread. Heat blooms low in my belly. I force myself to attach another gumdrop. It falls off immediately. Ethan picks it up and sticks it back on. “There.”
“You fixed it.”
“For now,” he says, eyes lingering on mine a few seconds too long.
Is he talking about the house? Or … us?
We finish just as the judges pass by. Our cabin looks crooked, slightly melted, a little too glittery thanks to Ethan. But it’s ours.
When we step back to admire it, he slides a warm hand to the small of my back, thumb moving in a slow circle through the fabric of my sweater. It’s the simplest touch. But it lights me up from the inside out.
“We make a good team,” he says quietly.
I swallow hard. “Yeah. We do.”
And for the first time all day, I stop worrying about the end of the week. About what’s real. About what’s pretend.
Because right now, with his hand on my back and our lopsided gingerbread cabin leaning dangerously to one side … it feels real enough to hope this is something that could last.