Chapter 21
#ELEGANTLYHAMMERED
ADRIAN
Timber looked like a holiday fever dream designed by someone with impeccable taste and a secret obsession with rainbow Christmas lights.
Traditional evergreen garlands wound around the bar’s rustic beams, but interspersed with them were strands of subtle rainbow bulbs that cast everything in a warm, welcoming glow.
The effect was both festive and unmistakably queer-friendly—a perfect representation of Legacy’s unexpectedly progressive heart.
“This place looks incredible,” I murmured to Maddox as we shed our coats. The bar was about half-full, couples and small groups scattered around intimate tables, everyone speaking animatedly, as if energized by the season.
Although, to be fair, they could have been energized by the drink specials, too.
Alex appeared beside us like he’d been waiting by the door.
“Adrian! Maddox! Perfect timing.” His smile was bright, but I caught an edge of nervous energy underneath.
“I’ve got three flights set up for you—the cocktails, the wines, and the whiskies, paired with some small bites I thought would photograph well. ”
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” I said, though I was already mentally cataloging the best way to capture everything. The man had clearly put serious effort into this, and I wanted to get him as much publicity as possible.
“Are you kidding? This is a great opportunity for Timber. Plus…” Alex grinned. “I’ve been dying to show off these holiday cocktail recipes I’ve been working on. Fair warning, though—they’re stronger than they taste.”
Maddox was already scoping out camera angles, his professional eye assessing the lighting. “This’ll work great. The ambiance is perfect for the cozy winter vibe Adrian’s fans have been enjoying.”
The fact that Maddox had paid enough attention to my posts to know how they were being received made something warm inside of me. I was proud of my work, of the platform I’d built, and I was even prouder of the work we’d done together.
I watched Maddox work, noting how much more relaxed he seemed in public now.
No more careful distance between us, no more worried glances to see who might be watching.
When he caught me staring and winked, my stomach did that familiar flip that I was beginning to associate with being completely gone for this man.
“Alright, let’s get you started,” Alex said, leading us to a table near the fireplace, where he’d arranged three beautiful flights.
Each one was artfully presented with appropriate glassware and small cards describing the offerings.
It was the kind of setup that would make my followers weep with envy.
As Maddox adjusted his camera equipment, I found myself distracted by the way his dark sweater stretched across his shoulders.
My dark sweater, actually. Before hopping out of the truck, he’d sheepishly asked if I wanted him to wear a Nordique piece since I was wearing his shirt.
I’d whipped one out of the overnight bag I’d packed.
There hadn’t been a chance in hell of me saying no.
The combination of my clothes on his body and his shoulders stretching the Borealis Noir sweater more than mine ever would was doing things to my concentration that had nothing to do with alcohol.
“You’re staring again,” he murmured without looking up from his camera.
“Can you blame me? You look very… competent right now.”
“Competent?” He raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “That’s the sexiest compliment I’ve ever received.”
“Is that so? Because I could go on—” I began, giving him a heated look.
Alex cleared his throat pointedly. “Should I leave you two alone with the alcohol, or…?”
“Shit, fuck,” I said quickly, trying not to notice Maddox’s knowing smirk. “Sorry. We’re ready.”
“I’m just watching the hard worker in action,” Maddox said, batting his eyelashes like an asshole.
Before I could formulate a snarky response, the front door opened with enough force to rattle the windows. Chief Judd Kincaid strode in like he owned the place, tablet in hand and an expression that could curdle milk on his handsome face.
The change in Alex was immediate and dramatic. His shoulders tensed, his smile disappeared, and I swear the temperature in our corner of the bar dropped lower than the outside temp.
“Oh, for the love of fucking Christ,” Alex muttered under his breath.
“Someone grab the popcorn,” Maddox murmured under his breath. “Shit’s about to get complicated.”
“By complicated, you mean Kincaid’s about to make my night a living hell with another ridiculous inspection to make sure Timber’s living up to his impossible standards,” Alex said, not bothering to lower his voice as Judd approached the bar.
I watched the fire chief work his way toward us, noting how his presence seemed to part crowds like the Red Sea.
He was objectively attractive in a rugged, authority-figure way that probably made half the town weak in the knees, but something about the way he moved—purposeful and slightly aggressive—made me understand Alex’s hostility.
“Evening, Firebug,” Judd called, his deep voice carrying easily across the bar. “Hope you’re not burning anything down, with all of these poor innocent townsfolk trying to enjoy the holiday season.”
Alex inhaled sharply through his nose. “You know what? I actually expected you tonight, Kincaid. It’s been a whole week since your last inspection,” he shot back. “Figured you were due for another power trip.”
The tension between them was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I glanced at Maddox, who was watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement.
“This happens often?” I whispered.
“About twice a month,” he replied. “They’ve been dancing around each other like angry cats since summer.”
Judd had reached the bar now and was making a show of examining the holiday decorations with his flashlight. “These lights properly secured? Electrical cords in good condition? You know what happens when bars get careless with their wiring.”
“The lights are fine. The cords are fine. Everything is fine,” Alex said through gritted teeth. “It was one time, Kincaid. And nothing fucking happened.”
The chief tilted his head at Alex and pretended to be confused. “I’m sorry, you didn’t just suggest lighting something on fire thanks to your carelessness was ‘nothing,’ did you?”
Alex closed his eyes. His jaw ticked. He took a breath before opening his eyes and plastering on a fake smile. “What can I do for you, Chief Kincaid? Would you like a holiday cocktail? It’s on me. I’d love to help you celebrate the season with a sedative.”
“Thanks for your kind offer, but I have to decline. I have a hot date tonight with my—”
“Great, have fun,” Alex snapped, cheeks crimson. “Good night.”
I watched, fascinated, as Alex moved away and began aggressively mixing cocktails.
His movements were sharp and precise, but there was definitely more alcohol going into each drink than the recipes probably called for.
When he set the first flight in front of me, the glasses were notably fuller than they should have been.
The fire chief watched him go, murmuring, “My book and a frozen pizza,” too softly for Alex to hear.
After a beat, his shoulders fell, and he turned to leave.
Maddox’s voice was low, his breath hot against my ear. “See what I mean? You could charge money for this shit.”
Before I could say anything, Alex returned, his voice overly bright. “Let’s start with the holiday cocktails! This first one is my take on a cranberry Moscow mule—cranberry juice, ginger beer, and vodka with fresh mint and lime.”
I took a sip and immediately felt the burn. Alex wasn’t kidding about these being stronger than they tasted. The cranberry masked most of the alcohol, but there was definitely a generous pour of vodka in there.
“Wow,” I managed, reaching for Maddox’s hand as the warmth spread through my chest. “That’s… potent.”
“Good thing we’re walking home,” Maddox said, already reaching for his own glass. His fingers lingered against mine when he took it, and I felt that familiar spark of electricity.
As we moved through the flight—a spiced pear whiskey sour that tasted like Christmas in a glass, followed by a pomegranate champagne cocktail that was dangerously easy to drink—I found myself relaxing in ways that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
This felt natural, easy. Like something we’d done a hundred times before.
“You know,” I said, leaning closer to Maddox to supposedly check the camera angle, “this flannel smells like you.”
“That’s because it’s mine,” he replied, but his voice had gone rough around the edges.
“I know.” I let my fingers trail along the collar, ostensibly adjusting it for the camera. “I like wearing your clothes.”
His eyes darkened. “Yeah?”
“Makes me feel like I belong to someone,” I murmured.
With alcohol comfortably zinging through my system, the words slipped out before I could stop them, honest and raw and completely unfiltered. Maddox’s breath caught, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me right there in front of everyone.
Instead, he reached up to brush a strand of hair from my forehead. “Good,” he said simply, and the single word settled in my chest.
Alex reappeared with fresh shots in his hands. “Who’s ready for some Christmas Courage? I know I am.”
“Christmas Courage?” I asked, accepting the glass.
“My own creation. Whiskey, honey, cinnamon, and poor life choices.” Alex raised his glass in a toast. “To welcoming new people and seeing the backs of others. Cheers!”
We clinked glasses, and I threw back the shot, immediately feeling the burn all the way down to my toes.
The whiskey was smooth but potent, and combined with the cocktails I’d already consumed, it left me feeling warm and loose-limbed and increasingly fixated on the way Maddox’s hands looked wrapped around his glass.
“You know,” I said, leaning into Maddox’s space, “your hands are really nice.”