Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Jess
The inn is quiet, the kind of stillness that makes every footfall sound like a gunshot.
Gran has arrived to take my place, settled in for the night.
I’m packed and ready to go, but I can’t stop thinking about a man who smells faintly of pine and cinnamon, who has a smile that sneaks past every defense I’ve built.
“Too bad, Mr. Mistletoe,” I whisper to the quiet lobby on my way out.
I can always come back. Before Christmas. Visit the farm. Visit him. It’s not over, just… postponed. That thought settles something restless inside me as I reach for the door.
I hoist my bag over my shoulder and slip into the cold night air. My breath fogs under the twinkling lights draped from the trees as I cross the parking lot to my car.
Then I stop short. My knees turn to jelly.
There, parked right beside my compact car, is a familiar blue truck. My heart stutters like a record skipping. No way. Maybe I’m sleep-deprived and imagining things. Because why would he be here?
The driver’s side door creaks open.
Clark steps out. Wearing the same clothes as earlier—worn jeans that mold to his muscular thighs and a moss-green flannel shirt that makes his eyes look even darker, like chocolate drops.
His hair is mussed, his eyes bleary. He looks tired. Grumpy. Like he’s been sleeping in his truck. But there’s something in his gaze, brimming with heat. Something soft and hopeful.
It hits me like a gust of wind. My knees weaken further, and the fragile swell of longing in my chest blooms until I can’t pretend it’s just a crush anymore. I’m really falling for him.
“Jess,” he says, low and rough.
That voice stops every other thought in my head except him, the way he makes me feel in his embrace.
I clutch the strap of my bag like it’s the only thing tethering me to solid ground. “What are you doing here?”
He steps closer, twinkling lights catching the fledgling hope in his eyes. “I never got your number.”
A smile curves one corner of my mouth. “You’ve been camped out in front of the inn because you wanted my number?”
“Sam wouldn’t let me in.”
“He really hates you.”
“He really does.” His gaze drops to the bags in my hands. Brow furrowed. “Going somewhere?”
A stiff breeze rattles the trees. I shiver. “I got an opportunity I can’t pass up.”
“So, you’re going home?”
The hurt on his face is a knife to my heart. “I was going to come back.”
He nods, unconvinced. “Okay.”
“Before Christmas,” I say, stepping closer. “I was going to get a tree.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, just a little. “I’m glad to hear that. But can I still get your number?”
I stretch out my hand. “Give me your phone.”
He digs into his pocket and hands it over. “Here.”
I plug in my number and press call. When the ringing sounds from my bag, he grins with relief, then shivers as another drift of snow falls from the sky.
“You’re probably freezing.” I hand him his phone. His fingers are like ice.
“My coat is in the truck.”
I swallow. “I guess this is goodbye.”
“For now.”
His hand rises, slow enough to give me every chance to step back. But I don’t. I lean in. His fingers brush my jaw, a soft, calloused whisper against my skin.
My bag slips from my shoulder, thudding against the stone path. I lock my arms around his neck and rise onto my tiptoes. His arm curves around my waist, pulling me close until I feel the solid heat of him.
And then he kisses me.
Slow. Deep. Memorizing everything about this moment, everything about my mouth.
Our tongues trace against each other in a seduction that could last all night. He tastes sweet and spicy, a combination that makes my head swim and my knees weak. His lips are soft, purposeful, kissing me as if he never wants to stop.
I break the kiss, shivering. It’s cold out, and my coat is more for fashion than function. Only Clark’s body keeps me warm.
“I don’t have to go for a few hours,” I say. “I would invite you in, but Gran has taken over my room.”
He whispers in my ear. “Come to my place. Stay with me for a while.”
I make a split-second decision. One I hope I won’t regret.
“Yes.”
Clark kisses me again, making me temporarily forget the cold.
“A few hours might not be enough,” he says, grabbing my suitcase. “But I’ll take what I can get.”
And so will I.
He carries my suitcase to my car, kisses me one more time, then leads the way to his house. No time for second-guessing—just following his tail lights through a flurry of snow.
Evergreens line the road, twinkling faintly under the snow. The drive opens to a small, cozy cottage nestled among the trees—the kind of place you’d see on a Christmas card.
Clark parks beside the porch and hops out, rushing to open my door.
Inside, he lights a fire. The crackle of wood and the howl of wind beating against the window is the only sound as I unzip my boots. I shuffle in socks toward the fire, warmth seeping into my frozen fingers.
“This is…” I trail off, glancing around. “…kind of perfect.”
A fragrant pine wreath hangs over the fireplace, a plaid throw drapes the couch, and framed family photos line every flat surface.
He shrugs out of his flannel and tosses it over a chair, revealing a soft gray T-shirt clinging to his torso. “It’s home.”
“It suits you.”
He moves closer, eyes molten brown, soft around the edges. “You suit it too.”
I feel it deep in my bones. I fit here. The city was my life, but Starlight Bay… feels like coming home.
“I have to tell you something,” I say, brushing snowflakes from his hair.
He catches my hand, gaze serious. “There’s probably something I should tell you too.”
I lead him to the huge leather sofa. “You first.”
He runs a hand through his hair, frustration in the lines of his face. “I used to be a player.”
Confusion knits my brow. “In the NHL. I know.”
He shakes his head, capturing both my hands. “I used to, you know… get around.”
I drop my gaze to his lips. “I’ll bet you did.”
His brow rises. “You’re not mad?”
I sigh, leaning forward to kiss him. “You had a life before me. I had a life before you. None of that matters now.”
His palm cups my neck; our lips meet in an emotion-filled kiss. “My God, Jess. You’re so…” He peppers kisses across my cheek to my ear. “You’re everything I’ve ever imagined.”
My fingers delve into his wavy hair. “I never even dared to imagine you. But here we are.”
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he murmurs against my neck.
“You would have,” I whisper. “Eventually.”
“Eventually isn’t good enough.”
He kisses me again, slow and deep, tongues dancing in a rhythm that makes me cling to him. My fingers drift to the front of his shirt, clutching him closer until there’s no space left between us.
Firelight flickers over the room, painting his jaw in gold, eyes dark with desire. I nearly climb onto his lap when he scoops me up, hooking my legs around his hips as he carries me to the bedroom.
He sets me down gently in front of the door, lips finding mine again—gentle, then hungry. His hand slides to the small of my back. My pulse thrums; every nerve alive.
He pulls back, gaze soft. “What did you want to tell me?”
I place my hand on his chest. “I don’t know if I should… you might not like me anymore.”
He looks like a Greek God in the lamplight. “Nothing could make me change my mind about you.”
I’ve never heard anything sweeter. “It’s silly.”
“I like silly,” Clark says, squeezing my waist. “Especially if it’s you.”
I snuggle closer. “Remember the little girl who tackled the skating Santa years ago?”
He chuckles, vibrating against my chest. “Of course. No one can forget that scarf—”
“The red one with the giant pom-poms?”
He leans back, eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell me. That was you?”
I duck my head, cheeks burning. “That was me.”
He lifts my chin. “You’re famous in this town. Even more than me.”
I close my eyes. “Can you keep this between us?”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, kissing me slowly. “If you tell me your Christmas wish. What do you want, Jess?”
All I want is him. “You.”
His lips graze mine, then slide lower. “I think Santa can arrange that.”
His beard is soft against my neck; his teeth nip lightly. Oh God, his tongue… I think I’ve died and gone to heaven as he scoops me up and carries me to the bed.