3. Margot
3
MARGOT
He holds out his enormous hand, waiting for me to shake it. The words “you’re hired” are still ringing in my ears, but the giant man standing in front of me drowns everything else out. At barely five feet tall, I’m used to feeling short, but this guy is well over six feet and I have to tip my head back to look at him.
He’s also…gorgeous.
I’m reluctant to admit it, but it’s hard to ignore. His intense brown eyes shine like molten chocolate as he looks at me, and there’s the tiniest hint of a smile beneath his bushy beard. Tattoos peek out under the sleeve of his flannel shirt, and I stare at the swirling ink as I finally lift my hand to shake his.
“Thank you,” I tell him, my stomach jolting as our palms meet, skin on skin. The air around us seems to crackle, and the old barn we’re standing in melts away until there’s nothing but his eyes…consuming me…
What the heck am I thinking?
I blink hard, forcing myself to draw my hand back. Something is fluttering in my stomach, an unfamiliar sensation that I’ve heard about but never felt before.
Crap, do I seriously have butterflies?
I should turn around right now and forget this job. There is bound to be other seasonal work I can do over the holidays. Maybe I can dress up as an elf and help a Mall Santa or something: a jolly old man with red cheeks who won’t make me feel like my skin is on fire. Anybody but this gorgeous giant in his plaid shirt and jeans.
The man rolls off the basic details of the job, including how much I’ll get paid—more than I thought—and what I’ll be expected to do.
“Mostly, we need you to handle customers when we open up to the public,” he says, his deep voice sending a shiver through me. “But right now, we could use some help to make this place look a little more festive.” He gestures to the mostly empty barn. “There are some decorations in the back.”
I’m going to get paid for decorating a barn? Sounds pretty good to me.
“When can I start?”
The man’s gaze lingers on me for a second too long. “As soon as you want. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow works for me.” I swallow hard and add, “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Declan.”
Strong and rugged. It suits him. He takes a step toward me and I can smell his masculine scent, like pine trees and warm cinnamon. It’s overwhelming—his delicious smell, his giant body hulking over me, his fierce gaze rooting me to the spot.
“Well…it was nice to meet you, Declan,” I say, desperate to get out of this barn and back outside, where I can finally clear my head of these crazy thoughts.
“How about a quick tour of the farm?”
I should say no. Give some excuse about how I’ll figure it out for myself tomorrow. But Declan is already beckoning me to follow him, and my wobbly legs force me forward. He shows me an office in the back of the barn, which includes a shiny hot chocolate maker that makes me smile to myself.
So that’s what the flier meant by ‘cocoa on tap’.
Once Declan has shown me around the office and the barn’s cash registers, we head outside. Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm stretches for miles, with rows and rows of dark green trees dusted with last night’s snow. Declan strides around with so much confidence, like he could navigate these endless rows of trees blindfolded.
“Over there is the toolshed,” he says, pointing to a squat wooden building nearby. “It doubles as a workshop—you can use the tree scraps to make wreaths in there.”
I hang onto every word, letting his growly voice wash over me. Heck, he could read a takeout menu and I’d be hooked. He explains the layout of every plot, pointing to where each type of tree is located—pines, firs, spruces—until eventually we reach the edge of the trees. The land opens up into a wintry vista. Dark forests and looming mountains rise up around us, and a frozen lake glints in the sunlight just a few yards away. On the other side of the lake is a huge log cabin, its slanted roof topped with a layer of snow.
“What’s that building over there?” I ask, pointing.
Declan’s gaze follows my finger. “That’s where I live.”
I eye the cabin with renewed interest. It’s even bigger than the barn, and made of logs the color of dark honey. A stone chimney rises from the roof, and a big black pickup truck is parked outside. It looks exactly like the kind of place this rugged giant would live, and part of me wishes I could get a closer look. Compared to my tiny apartment, Declan’s cabin is like a castle.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell him. “It must be cool to live right on the lake.”
“Sure is, especially when it’s frozen.” Declan turns around and I follow him back through the trees. “Great for skating.”
“Sounds cool. I’ve never been ice skating.”
The words make me cringe as soon as they leave my mouth. Declan might think I’m asking for an invitation, and the last thing I need is an excuse to spend more time with this gorgeous man. Working for him will already be hard enough.
“Anyway, thanks for the tour,” I say, quickly changing the topic before he can reply.
“No problem. I’ll be here tomorrow to help you out if you need it.”
My stomach sinks, but I force a smile. “Sounds good.”
As we reach the barn, Declan holds the door open for me. I move past him, accidentally brushing against his chest, and the contact makes me light-headed. He’s so big and strong, his body so hard and muscular; even being in the same room with him is enough to make my insides quiver. Every part of him radiates raw power, from his thick biceps to his broad shoulders, and something warm blooms between my legs, making it harder to breathe.
Crap, I need to get out of here.
Declan leans against the wall of the barn and opens his mouth to say something, but I get there first.
“Thanks again. See you tomorrow!”
My voice sounds strange, but I don’t hang around to see Declan’s reaction. He barely has time to say goodbye before I’m barreling out of the barn toward my car. I hop into the driver’s seat, and in my peripheral vision, I see Declan standing at the barn’s entrance, his hulking frame filling the doorway as he watches me leave. Those intense brown eyes follow me long after I’ve driven away from the Christmas tree farm, and only when I’m finally back at my apartment do I feel like I can relax.
I make myself a hot chocolate and burrow beneath a blanket on the couch, opening up my laptop. Now would be the perfect time to make some progress on my thriller novel, but my thoughts are too scattered. Instead, I open up a tab and search ‘mistletoe christmas tree farm colorado declan’. The results are disappointingly bare. There’s nothing about Declan, but plenty of information about the farm itself. Apparently, it’s been in his family for generations and used to be owned by his father, Abe. When I do a search for Abe, his obituary pops up.
Abe Thorne, 81, of Cherry Hollow, passed away peacefully on March 12th 2024. He was preceded in death by his wife of 50 years, Nancy Thorne. He is survived by his sons, Nolan and Declan Thorne, both of Cherry Hollow.
It sucks that Declan’s parents are gone. It must be a lot of responsibility, taking on the family business, trying to maintain everything his parents built. Sympathy tugs at my chest as I read Nancy’s obituary next—apparently, she passed away back in 2018. My parents might drive me crazy, but at least they’re still here.
As if on cue, my phone pings from beside me, and I groan when I read the message from my dad.
Now your mom wants the armchairs!
BOTH OF THEM!
I clench my jaw and turn my phone off, slamming the lid of my laptop closed. This is all wrong. I shouldn’t be stalking my boss and his family on social media—this is exactly the kind of crap I’m trying to avoid. Tomorrow, I’ll keep my head down and do my work. Then, when the end of December rolls around, I’ll say goodbye to Declan Thorne and his Christmas tree farm and move on with my blessedly single life in peace.
No more strange feelings in my tummy.
No more temptations.
And definitely no risk of heartbreak.