Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Clark
Jess stares up at me, her blue eyes flickering in the low light. I can’t stop myself from looking back, my gaze tracing her face, memorizing every detail. Winter-pale skin, eyes brighter than the bluest sky, dark hair, bow-shaped lips… Snow White. A tall, built Snow White.
Her brow furrows. “Are you saying yes?”
I realize I’ve been staring too long to answer. “Absolutely.”
Sam huffs in mild disapproval, then retreats to the kitchen.
I guide Jess to a table beside a Douglas fir, decorated with white ornaments and twinkling lights, and pull out her chair. She slides in smoothly. As I walk around to my side, it feels like gliding across smooth ice. Everything is finally… right.
My phone buzzes in my coat pocket. I ignore it. Ingrid and Laura, no doubt, checking on our annual The Holiday rewatch. They can wait. Jess has my attention.
I shrug out of my coat and hang it over my chair. She eyes it curiously, and the phone buzzes again.
“Do you need to get that?”
I shake my head. “It can wait.”
“So—” She leans forward, elbows on the table. “About that fake number you gave me…”
Without thinking, I reach across, brushing my fingers against hers. She doesn’t pull away. Our hands link, warm and intimate.
“It wasn’t fake.”
She laughs, soft and unguarded. “Poor Joey.”
“Who’s Joey?”
“Some five-foot-seven guy who can’t grow facial hair.”
“What?”
She waves it off. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”
Her thumb traces faint lines in my palm, memorizing. A small gesture, but intimate. “I’m glad we found each other,” she whispers.
For a second, I forget where we are. The low lighting, the tree’s glow, her hand in mine—I could live here forever.
Sam arrives with steaming bowls of chili and sets them down. “Anything else?”
I glance at Jess. She shakes her head. “This is perfect. Thanks.”
Sam disappears, leaving us in our little snow globe of lights.
“What did you do to him?” she asks after Sam leaves.
“It’s not what I did to him,” I say, scooping a bite of chili. “It’s what I did to his son.”
Her brows lift. “His son?”
“I took his spot on the Eagles.”
She tilts her head. “The Eagles?”
“College hockey,” I murmur, tasting memories with the words.
Her eyes widen. “You played hockey in college?”
“Hockey was my life. School was just a way to keep playing.”
She studies me, piecing together the man before her and the one she must’ve Googled. “And after school, you took over the family Christmas tree farm?”
“There were some years in between.” I wrap my hands around my glass, grounding myself. “You’ve done your research.”
She grins. “I don’t go around kissing every Santa in a suit.”
Her teasing eases something tight in my chest.
“I was pro for a while,” I admit. “Had a lot of good years before the injuries started stacking up. Then Dad got sick—”
I stop. The memory presses like a fist against my ribs.
Jess doesn’t flinch. She reaches across the table, covering my hand with hers. Warm. Steady. Present.
“I’m sorry, Clark,” she says softly. “I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been.”
I squeeze her hand. “Thank you.”
People usually trip over themselves trying to avoid this kind of subject. Not her. She’s here, holding the silence with me.
I clear my throat. “What about you?”
“What about me?” she asks, smiling knowingly.
“Family? School? Anything. Everything.”
“I have one brother,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Lucky I didn’t disown him after he set me up with Kyle.”
I grin. “Hey, I’m glad he set you up with that loser, or we wouldn’t have met.”
Her laugh is real—lights up the corners of her eyes. Hits me square in the chest.
The memory of our basketball-game kiss lingers, and judging by her gaze, it lingers for her too.
I lift my water glass in a toast. “To that loser who didn’t get your Diet Coke.”
She taps her glass to mine. “To Kyle.”
“What about school? Did you play a sport? Let me guess… basketball?”
She laughs so hard she nearly spits out water. “Not all tall people play basketball.”
“Volleyball?”
She shakes her head. “I told you, I’m a klutz with a capital K.”
“You can’t be that bad.”
“Trust me. I am.”
And I do. More than I should after knowing her so briefly.
The rest of the meal flows easily—soft laughter, stories, little pieces of ourselves we don’t usually share with strangers. By the end, Jess isn’t a stranger anymore.
When the bowls are scraped clean, I’m not ready to end this. “You know a dinner date isn’t complete without dessert.”
She grins. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”
I grab my coat. “I know the perfect spot in town. Best molten mocha cake you’ve ever tasted.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had molten mocha cake.”
Feigning shock, I pull her from the chair. “Go get your coat. We’ll fix that.”
A cold knot tightens in my stomach as she hesitates. But then she smiles—a soft, warm thing that cracks open something inside me.
“Okay,” she says.
Relief floods me. While she’s upstairs, I step out to warm up the truck. Snow drifts lazily, porch lights casting a golden glow.
A sprig of mistletoe hangs above the door. Sam already hates me. One more strike won’t matter. I pluck it down, tucking it behind my back just as the door creaks open.
Jess steps out. Time freezes.
Hair down, glossy against her pale coat, she looks like she walked straight out of a Christmas movie—the kind where the guy loses his heart in the first scene and spends the rest of the movie chasing the perfect woman.
Mine. Just for tonight, let her be mine.
She approaches, boots crunching in the powdery snow. When she’s in front of me, I pull the mistletoe from behind my back and hold it over our heads.
“I thought maybe we could have a do-over,” I say, heart full of hope.
Amusement flickers in her eyes. “A do-over?”
“Please,” I whisper, voice rougher than expected.
She lifts the mistletoe herself, grinning. “I love a do-over.”
I step forward, taking her free hand in mine, brushing my lips over her knuckles. Her eyes burn bright blue under the twinkling lights. I turn her hand, kissing the center of her palm.
She shivers. A small sigh escapes—hers or mine, I’m not sure.
I lift her hand over her neck, guiding her close. Our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Another sigh escapes her. Hers? Mine? Doesn’t matter. We are one.
Her eyes, the snow, the lights, the world—narrow to her mouth.
I lower my head. The kiss sparks like flint meeting steel. Tentative at first, then deeper, her hands sliding into my hair, tugging, claiming. My hands curve to her waist under her coat.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know we’re in a parking lot. Small-town gossip queens are probably texting already. But her mouth… addictive.
She lets out a soft moan against my lips. My body reacts like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
A sharp buzz cuts through the night.
We jump apart, breath visible in the cold. Lips swollen, hearts racing.
“Should probably get that,” she murmurs.
I want to ignore it. God, I want to.
I reach for my phone. One glance at the screen and my blood chills.
Ingrid: EMERGENCY
“Shit.”
Her brows knit. “What is it?”
“It’s Ingrid.”
Jess doesn’t ask questions. She just says, “Go.”
I hesitate, wanting—stupidly, selfishly—to kiss her again. But reality crashes in. I run for the driver’s side.
“I’ll call you,” I say, glancing back once.
She stands under the falling snow, mistletoe limp in her hand. And I remember—I don’t have her number.