Chapter 3
NIA
Also, when I finally did make it to bed, I definitely didn't dream about a certain tattooed deputy, but that's between me and my traitorous subconscious.
The door swings open before I can knock, and there stands Kade in dark jeans and a charcoal henley that shouldn’t look so damn good on man. The top two buttons are undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of ink climbing toward his throat.
"Morning," he says. "Right on time."
"I'm very punctual when properly motivated." I step inside, and stop dead. "What the hell did you do?"
The havoc from yesterday has vanished. Every single box is stacked neatly along one wall, organized by—I walk closer to confirm—type and color?
The garland is sorted by length. The ornaments are arranged by size and style, along with the ribbons, candles, and other miscellaneous trimmings.
Even the tissue paper has been folded into perfect squares.
"I got up early," he says, like this is normal behavior.
"You organized everything."
"I prefer to think of it as creating an effective workspace." He heads toward the kitchen. "Coffee?"
I follow, torn between exasperation and something dangerously close to affection. "Kade. You didn’t have to—"
I freeze yet again.
The kitchen island has been transformed into a full coffee bar. And I mean full. There's a French press, a pour-over setup, an espresso machine that looks like it could run a small café, and enough syrups and toppings to make a Starbucks barista weep with envy.
"You built a coffee bar?"
"I didn't know how you take it." He rubs the back of his neck, and I spot pink dotting his cheeks. "So I got...options."
My heart skips.
"Vanilla, caramel, hazelnut, peppermint." He points to each bottle. "Almond milk, oat milk, whole milk, half-and-half. Whipped cream, cinnamon, cocoa powder..." He trails off, clearly realizing he might have gone overboard. "It’s too much, isn’t it?"
"It's lovely," I say softly, setting down my bag to pull out the cookies. "But you drink yours black, don't you?"
His lips twitch. "How'd you know?"
"You're a straight-black-coffee type of guy. No frills, no nonsense." I move closer to investigate the espresso machine. "This is all for me?"
"Well, yeah. You're doing me a favor, decorating this place in such short notice. Least I can do is make sure you're caffeinated."
I look up at him, and he’s smiling, his eyes (leaning toward green today) crinkling at the corners.
"Thank you," I say. "This is really thoughtful."
"You’re welcome."
I push the cookie bags toward him on the countertop. “These are pecan berry bursts, compliments of Aunt Meredith.”
His eyes go wide. “Geez, I’m going to gain a ton.”
I busy myself with the espresso machine, and glance down at his waist. “You’ll be fine. I’m sure those abs will snap back in no time.”
This time his cheeks go full red.
"So, Deputy Giles, what's the plan for today?"
He moves to lean against the counter beside me. "You’re the creative director."
"I am. But you strike me as someone who needs a structured schedule."
"Maybe." He pulls out his phone, and I catch a glimpse of a color-coded calendar before he turns it toward me. "I made a rough outline. Subject to your approval, of course."
I scan his meticulously planned day: tree selection (9-11 AM), lunch break (11:30-12:30), and tree decorating (1-5 PM).
"You scheduled bathroom breaks," I say, delighted.
"Everything’s flexible. I’m not that bad."
"Good to know." I grin and hand back his phone. “I approve of this plan.”
After we’ve tasted a few cookies and finished our coffee, we head to the Silver Pine Tree Farm, and surround ourselves with approximately eight hundred Christmas trees.
I’m trying not to stare at Kade in his navy puffer jacket and knit beanie.
He looks like a damn L.L.Bean model.
"What about this one?" He points to a big Douglas fir.
"Too tall. We need something that'll fit in the great room without scraping the ceiling." I move past him, brushing snow off branches as I go. “And we need at least two, remember? One for the great room, one for the loft."
"Right. Two trees." He follows, and I’m hyperaware of his presence behind me. "Any other requirements?"
"Has to feel right. You'll know when you see it."
"I need something more concrete to go on."
I spin around, nearly colliding with him. "Christmas trees are supposed to make you feel something more than anything else."
His eyes darken. "Feel what?"
"You know, like magic and wonder and—" I scoop up a handful of snow and fling it at him. "—childlike joy!"
The snow hits him square in the chest. He looks down at the white splatter on his jacket, then up at me.
"Did you just...?"
"Oops?" I grin, backing away slowly. "My hand slipped."
"Your hand slipped,” he deadpans.
"Total accident. Very clumsy of me."
He bends down, and I turn and run.
His laughter chases me through the rows of trees, low and rich and fluttering inappropriately in my belly. I weave between the Fraser firs and the blue spruces, my boots crunching in the snow, until a snowball explodes against a tree trunk two feet from my head.
"Holy shit, you almost hit me!"
"Almost." His voice comes from somewhere to my left. "If I wanted to hit you, I would have."
I duck behind a particularly full tree, catching my breath. "Big words from someone who's about to get demolished."
"You started this, Christmas angel."
The nickname makes my core clench.
I peer around the tree trunk just in time to see him stalking toward me, another snowball ready in his hand. There's something predatory in the way he moves—like he's tracking prey.
It should not be as hot as it is.
I wait until he's almost on top of me, then dart out from behind the tree and run straight at him.
The impact knocks us both off balance and we both go down in a tangle of limbs and winter coats.
We land in a soft snowbank with me sprawled across his chest. "Gotcha," I say, triumphantly.
"Did you now?" His hands settle on my waist, his face inches from mine.
The playfulness shifts into something heavier, as his eyes drop to my mouth, and I can feel his heart pounding beneath my palms. Our breath makes clouds of vapor in the cold air between us.
"You two need help?" a woman’s voice asks.
We spring apart and I roll off of him. The farm owner, an elderly woman in a puffy pink parka, is watching us with undisguised amusement.
"Yes!" I say, too loud. "Trees. We need trees. Two of them."
"Two? Wonderful," she says, eyes twinkling. "I’m sure this handsome man of yours wants to make sure the holiday is everything you’ve ever wanted."
"He's not my—"
"I do," Kade agrees, not correcting her. He stands and offers me his hand. "She's one of a kind, and very particular." He grins at me.
"How sweet. Young love and Christmas trees." The woman beams at us. "Follow me, I've got some beauties that just came in this morning."
I take Kade's hand—warm even through both our gloves—and let him pull me up.
“Naughty little Christmas angel,” he murmurs, shaking his head as we trail behind.
Oh god.
We end up with a stunning nine-foot Douglas fir for the great room and a more compact noble fir for the loft. The farm owner’s grandson helps load them onto Kade's truck, and gives me a wink when he thinks Kade isn’t looking.
“I saw that,” Kade grumbles, as he helps me into the passenger seat, and I laugh.
He rounds the truck and gives me a look.
"What?" I ask when he climbs in.
"Nothing. Just..." He starts the engine, blasting the heat. "This is nice. Playing hooky from real life to decorate Christmas trees with a beautiful woman."
I blink. "You think…you think I'm beautiful? Or did you mean the tree farm owner?"
His eyes meet mine, serious now. "Nia. Come on. You're..." He shakes his head, pulling out onto the road. "You have to know you're gorgeous. That's not news."
"No, I…thank you. It's nice to hear." I turn to watch his profile as he drives. "Especially from someone who looks like they just walked off a mountain-man photo shoot."
That gets me a laugh. "Mountain-man photo shoot?"
"You know what I mean. All rugged and handsome with your badge and your secret tattoos." I poke his shoulder. "You're dangerous for women with authority figure fantasies."
"Are you one of those women?" His voice drops lower.
The truck is suddenly stifling despite the frigid air outside.
"Maybe," I admit. "Officer."
His jaw ticks. "You really shouldn’t call me that."
"Why not?"
"Because." His hands flex on the steering wheel, though he doesn’t seem angry. "Just...not a good idea."
Hmm. That's interesting.
I file that information away for later and turn to look out the window, hiding my smile.
What have I gotten myself into?
Back at the cabin, we wrestle the trees into their stands. Well, Kade wrestles while I "supervise," which mostly involves handing him tools and admiring the flex of his shoulders under that criminally tight Henley.
"Little to the left," I instruct.
He adjusts.
"No, I meant right."
He shoots me a look over his shoulder. "You enjoying yourself?"
"Immensely. Being creative director has its perks." I circle the tree, assessing. "Actually, I think it was better before. Turn it back."
"Nia."
"What? You want perfection, right?" But I'm laughing, and so is he, and when the tree is finally positioned properly, we both step back to admire it.
"It's going to be beautiful," I say softly.
"Yeah." But when I glance at him, he's not looking at the tree. He's looking at me.
The moment stretches, charged with a heat that’s making me sweat, until my stomach betrays me with an embarrassingly loud growl.
Kade blinks. "Lunch time?" He heads for the kitchen. "I made chicken and wild rice soup overnight in the slow cooker, if that works for you."
"You cook?"
"I'm a grown ass man who lives alone. Of course I cook." He pulls some bottled water from the behemoth of a stainless-steel refrigerator.