Chapter 11 #2
“I’m not talking about that,” I replied.
His words made my chest ache, even as the memory of his touch sent heat coursing through me, and the one-two punch of it was really fucking annoying.
“I’m talking about content. About the project.
We work well together on camera. Why do you keep fighting this when it obviously helped boost sales at the store? ”
He studied me for a long moment, and I fought the urge to fidget under his gaze. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll stand in again. But we’re steering clear of the mistletoe.”
An hour later, we’d covered most of the market.
Maddox had found Maya and convinced her to film us sampling mulled wine, admiring hand-carved ornaments, and chatting with local artisans—all while I modeled Nordique’s caramel-colored alpaca scarf and a dark blue and cream sweater that someone had said matched my eyes almost perfectly.
The cold had given my cheeks a natural flush that no filter could replicate, and the camera loved the contrast of luxury clothing against the festive market backdrop.
And best of all, I’d gotten to stand next to Maddox Sullivan the entire time.
Despite our earlier tension, we’d fallen into an easy rhythm.
Maddox’s direction was subtle but effective, his eye for composition turning ordinary moments into something magical.
I found myself genuinely enjoying the experience—the warm spiced wine, the friendly vendors, the way snowflakes caught the colored lights above…
The company of the world’s grumbliest but hottest videographer, who made me laugh over and over with his dry, witty commentary once he forgot he wasn’t supposed to be enjoying himself.
“Just one more shot by the tree,” Maddox told Maya, gesturing toward the center of the square, where a massive pine towered, adorned with hundreds of ornaments and lights. “Then I think we’re done here.”
I told myself I wasn’t disappointed. This was going to be ratings gold, and that was the most important thing to me.
At least, it always had been.
Maya agreed, but as we approached the tree, she stopped short and tilted her head. “Hang on, you guys. I want to grab a shot of you with Slingshot Mountain in the background. The lighting’s gorgeous right now. It’ll be the perfect thumbnail.”
Maddox and I exchanged a shrug and obediently stopped.
Maya frowned at whatever she saw on the camera screen and made a shooing motion with her hand. “Take, like, two steps back? I don’t want to get the Ringolds and the Hoffmans in the shot. A little more,” she instructed. “Good. Now, just a bit to the right—”
Maddox bit out a curse under his breath and shot a glare at Maya. “I see what you’re doing. Make it quick.”
It took me a minute to realize what he was upset about, but then I looked up. There was a giant ball of mistletoe hanging above us.
Suddenly, the ball illuminated, shooting white lights in every direction like a wintery disco ball from hell.
“Gah!” I ducked my head into Maddox’s chest to block out the glare.
“Oh. Gosh. Would you look at that?” Maya deadpanned. “What are the chances you’d be right there when it lit up?”
“Fucking Christ,” Maddox muttered, close enough that only I could hear. “She planned this.”
Obviously. What surprised me more were the satisfied looks I spotted on several other people, in addition to his sister.
“Looks like she wasn’t alone,” I whispered back. “The entire town is conspiring to get us together.” In fact, it seemed like they’d latched on to the idea of #Maddrian harder than I’d initially thought.
“It’s not funny,” Maddox said petulantly.
I reached for his hand to keep him from bolting. “Actually, it’s hilarious.”
The crowd around us had grown, and I recognized several faces—Sadie from the Pinecone, Alex from Timber, and at least a dozen other Legacy residents who’d been following our “dates” on social media.
Several people already had their phones out, no doubt streaming the moment to anyone around the world who wanted to share in this awkward moment with us.
Maya stood near the front, camera ready to capture whatever was about to happen.
Mrs. Hoffman’s voice rang out. “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the annual Legacy Christmas Market mistletoe lighting! As tradition dictates, whoever stands beneath the mistletoe when it illuminates must share a kiss, to ensure good luck and happiness in the coming year.”
There was a smattering of applause and excited murmurs from the crowd. I glanced at Maddox, whose expression had shifted from annoyed to something closer to resignation.
I hesitated, feeling my smile fade. I enjoyed being with Maddox, undeniably. I enjoyed provoking him, too, probably to an unhealthy degree.
But I didn’t want to force anything on him. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. And I sure as hell didn’t want him to kiss me because the Legacy matchmakers expected him to.
He’d had enough choices taken from him.
I tugged on the hand I still held. “Come on. We can leave. I’ll take the blame—”
Maddox didn’t budge. He looked at me—really looked at me—for what felt like the first time since the storm. A corner of his mouth lifted in a reluctant smile. “And disappoint your rabid followers?” he asked softly.
“For the love of Christmas,” someone called out. “Just kiss already!”
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” someone else started chanting, and others quickly joined in.
Maddox’s eyes met mine again, and a silent conversation passed between us.
I recognized the look on his face now—the reluctant surrender, the moment he decided to stop fighting whatever was happening between us, if only temporarily.
“For the followers, then?” I offered, giving him the out he seemed to need.
“For the followers,” he agreed quietly.
He stepped closer, one hand coming up to rest lightly on my hip underneath my coat. His touch, even through the remaining layers of clothing, sent electricity racing through me. I tilted my head slightly, heart hammering as he leaned in.
The kiss was gentle, almost tentative—nothing like the desperate hunger of our previous kisses.
Just the soft press of his lips against mine, warm in the winter cold.
It could have lasted only seconds, a perfunctory peck to assuage the press of the crowd.
But Maddox leaned in a little more, deepening the kiss before catching himself and pulling back with the slightest hitch of breath.
With that little sound, I felt something inside me shift irrevocably.
When he stepped back, the crowd was cheering wildly. Mrs. Hoffman looked particularly smug, and Maya was bouncing up and down with excitement.
I barely registered any of it. I was too focused on the look in Maddox’s eyes—a mixture of wonder and terror that probably mirrored my own.
My tongue snuck out in search of any remaining taste of him on my lips, breath still clouding between us in the cold air.
“There,” he said, his voice rougher than usual. “Tradition upheld. It’ll make for good content, right?”
“Right,” I managed. “Tradition. Content.”
But as we moved away from the mistletoe, accepting congratulations and good-natured teasing from the townsfolk, I knew this was a lie.
That kiss hadn’t been for content or tradition or the crowd. It had been real—perhaps the most real moment I’d experienced since arriving in Legacy…
And I wanted more.
Not just physical contact, though god knew I wanted that, too. I wanted conversations by the fire, banter over breakfast, shared looks that didn’t need words. I wanted Maddox—grumpy, authentic Maddox—in a way that terrified me.
I hadn’t come to Legacy looking for connection. I’d come for my sponsor, for my career. For twelve staged dates with twelve different men. For a perfect holiday series.
But as I watched Maddox chatting with an elderly couple who’d stopped him to comment on his photos in the gallery, I realized with startling clarity that I didn’t want twelve men. I wanted one.
Imperfect, unfairly gorgeous, maddeningly frustrating, genuinely good Maddox Sullivan was the only man I wanted.
Now, I just needed to figure out how to make Maddox forget about my followers, my “content farm,” and his stupid Rule Three… and want me back.
#MistletoeMadness #MoreThanContent #KissMeAgain #ForTheLoveOfChristmas