Chapter 9 Ornamental Combat #2
He looked up at the ceiling as if praying for patience. “Your sex appeal has never been in doubt.”
“No, it’s just everything else about me, right? Because I’m an asshole for selling a product for money… even though you do the same thing at the hardware store.” I grabbed a soft Nordique henley and pulled it on, suddenly self-conscious of my body.
“It’s not the same,” Maddox insisted, closer now, though I hadn’t heard him step into the room. “People need what we sell. We don’t manipulate them into buying shit they don’t need.”
“No? There’s an ad on the back of the bathroom stall door at the cafe offering free cinnamon-scented light bulbs with every purchase. ‘Come on down to Sullivan Hardware for your holiday essentials!’”
“I don’t do the advertisements,” he said, cheeks darkening. “That’s all Bonnie.”
“How nice for you that you have other people handling your marketing so you don’t need to dirty your hands with manipulation.”
I stalked back toward the tree. Maddox didn’t step away, and my arm brushed his chest as I passed. His sharp intake of breath sent a thrill through me.
“You make it sound like I have a damned marketing department. I don’t,” he said, losing his temper now. “Hell, maybe if I did, I wouldn’t be dead broke and on the verge of losing the fucking store.”
His words settled around us like shrapnel from a grenade blast. “Fuck!” he snapped, forking his fingers through his hair. “Can you just… forget I said that?”
I frowned. “You’re having trouble with the store? It’s popular as hell and the only place like it for miles and miles. You know, I have experience in marketing. I could help you—”
Maddox glared. “I said forget it.”
“Fine.” I moved to my phone and connected my wireless lapel mic to the Bluetooth before attaching it to my shirt.
Talking to Maddox Sullivan was like talking to the giant spruce in the corner. God forbid someone give the stubborn man advice, let alone help.
The fire had gone out, so I decided to film myself relighting it in case it provided an entertaining comedic relief moment in my probably boring Christmas-tree-decorating clip.
I knelt by the fireplace, fumbling with matches and kindling, very aware of Maddox watching from his corner with his arms crossed over his chest.
The first match went out immediately. The second barely caught before dying.
“That’s not going to work,” Maddox muttered.
“Feel free to take over,” I chirped. “Unlike some people, I can admit when I need an assist.”
He sucked in a breath through his nose and held it for a second, then marched over and squatted next to me. The heat from his body was immediate, his shoulder pressing against mine as he reached for the kindling. “Can’t believe you don’t know how to start a fire.”
“I start fires all the time,” I shot back. “I just do it on social media when I share shirtless vacation pics.”
Maddox muttered under his breath and reached for some small sticks from a nearby copper bin. “It wasn’t set right to begin with. Pay attention because I’m only showing you this once.”
I rolled my eyes.
Maddox’s gaze met mine with his usual intensity. “The first lesson in mountain survival is learning how to make a fire.”
“Simmer down, big guy. This place has a furnace,” I said, sitting back on my heels. But I didn’t move away, staying close enough that our knees touched.
“And if the furnace goes out?”
“I feel confident the heat from your judgment would keep us both warm for a very long time.”
Maddox flexed his jaw to hide a smile. “Watch and learn, city boy. First, newspaper or fire starter. Then small sticks, arranged like this—”
“Ahh, the teepee method,” I said, leaning closer to watch what he was doing. My shoulder pressed more firmly against his, and neither of us shifted away. “I recall something about this from a YouTube short on survival skills.”
“Lord help us if people are learning survival skills from clickbait shorts,” he muttered. His breath was warm against my cheek as he arranged the kindling.
“As opposed to learning it from lecturing assholes? I could make an argument that—”
He cut me off. “Larger pieces on top, leaving space for air flow. Fire needs oxygen to—what are you doing?”
I looked up from where I’d pretended to take notes on my hand with an invisible pen. “Making a title note for my Instagram story. ‘Mansplaining Fire: A Tutorial.’ It’s bound to be a hit with the ladies.”
“Fuck off,” Maddox muttered, elbowing me away from him. I teetered before falling on my ass.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “No, seriously. Tell me more, Fire Whisperer.”
“Humanity would be better off if you froze to death.” But his voice lacked any real heat, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I bet you a billion dollars that a clip of you making this fire will have at least a hundred women fanning themselves in the comments. No, make that a thousand women. Men, too, come to think of it.” Although the idea of my male followers wanting Maddox made me feel a little gut twist.
“I’ll take your billion-dollar bet,” he said, grinning. “The commenters will be too busy roasting you for not knowing shit about fire building.”
I shrugged. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a billion dollars. But I’ll bet you another date.”
Maddox rolled his eyes. “Fine. We’ll post that clip right now, and if it gets a thousand comments about me instead of your ineptitude, I’ll…”
“Ice-skate with me tomorrow?”
“Can’t skate. How about a holiday-themed date of my choosing?” he suggested.
I studied Maddox’s face to see if he was playing me. “Your choice will be something stupid like snow shoveling.”
His laughter was unexpected. “I actually have date game, Hayes. Admittedly rusty, but it exists.”
“Prove it,” I teased, enjoying both the warmth of the growing fire and the heat of our banter.
“What if I promise it’ll be romantic? The kind of holidate your fans will lose their minds over.”
I couldn’t resist teasing him some more. “Deep down, you already know you’re gonna lose. You said it’ll be, not it would be,” I said smugly.
“I’m not gonna lose. I’m just saying if I did, I’d make it the most romantic date you’ve ever been on. How about that?”
My heart leapt like the jumping flames in the fireplace next to me. For a moment, I let myself imagine it—Maddox Sullivan planning something special just for me. “Deal,” I croaked.
I glanced over at the ornaments, suddenly anxious to get to work filming the tree decorating—if only it would change the tension in the room—when an idea came to me.
“In the meantime, you can help me string up these lights, generously donated by Sullivan Hardware store.” I grabbed the box and pulled out one of the light sets. “What kind of lights are these anyway?”
Maddox seemed oblivious as he automatically began explaining what was great about those particular lights.
His whole demeanor changed when he talked about something he was passionate about, his hands moving animatedly, eyes bright with enthusiasm.
As we moved around the tree, preparing it for light-stringing, Maddox expounded on his knowledge of the different kinds of Christmas lights and why his store only carried the ones they carried.
“They’re shatterproof, energy-efficient, and the wiring’s reinforced. I tested them before I ordered a single box,” he explained.
“Probably could have picked up cheaper ones at the dollar store,” I said offhandedly, deliberately provoking him.
He glared at me from the other side of the wide tree. “Sure, if you want your place to burn down and your family harmed. Jesus, Hayes. The cheap ones don’t just burn out. They overheat. The last thing I want is someone’s house catching fire over a strand of faulty lights.”
I spent a few moments arranging the lights in the branches before passing the rest of the string around to him.
Every time our fingers brushed, I felt a spark that was hard to ignore.
“What if I don’t like all these twinkling colors?
The fancy trees in California designer homes all have trees with white lights. ”
“Screw your fancy California trees,” he said from the far side of the tree. “People around here like color. They like twinkling. They like some life in their holiday decorations.”
After a minute, he sighed. “But if you want plain white lights, you can just change the selector here like this,” he said, showing me the little green box at the end of the strand. “Easy peasy.”
I bit my lip to hide my smile. “These are pretty cool. They have selectors for all kinds of options. What if I need more strands?”
“We have plenty at the store. You can connect them together.”
“Are they expensive?” I asked, already knowing the answer because I’d seen the display in the window.
“No. More than the dollar store, but they’re on sale right now with a buy two, get one offer. And it’s more expensive to replace dead strands every year than to buy a good quality one from the jump.”
“I’m not driving to Sullivan Hardware in this weather. Do you do online ordering or anything? Home delivery?”
He grumbled again. “I’ll bring them out to you next time I’m out this way. It’s fine.”
“Answer the question, Sullivan. Do you offer online ordering?”
“Yes, okay? Jesus. SullivanHardwareLegacy dot com. But if I see an order from you, I’m ignoring it.”
We continued working together on the lights on the tree, then moved to the decorations.
Occasionally, our hands would brush, or I’d catch him watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
Throughout the entire process, we gave each other hell about our placement choices, our complete lack of good taste, and any other thing we could think of to exchange good-natured insults over.
“That ornament’s too heavy for that branch,” Maddox pointed out, reaching around me to relocate it. His chest pressed against my back for a moment, his breath warm on my neck.
“You’re just jealous because my side of the tree looks better,” I managed, trying to ignore how my skin tingled where he’d touched me.