Chapter Three
Melanie
The problem with small towns is that you can see everything and everyone long before you’re ready.
Case in point: Drew Benedict.
He was standing outside The Rusty Stag like a damn Christmas card come to life, with his flannel rolled up, muscles flexing, snow catching in his dark hair while he and Callum wrestled some poor reindeer decoration into submission.
The sight would’ve been charming if it didn’t also make my pulse do a weird flutter-jump thing that I refused to acknowledge as attraction.
Because his type was dangerous. His type was what my mom warned me against.
Tattoos included.
“Home sweet home,” Lydia said, smiling like a woman in a Christmas movie who’d just returned to the town that believed in her dreams.
I muttered, “If this is home, then I’m the Grinch.”
Lydia adjusted her scarf, eyes twinkling. “You’re glaring again.”
“I’m not glaring,” I said. “I’m… assessing the engineering integrity of that reindeer.”
“Mmhmm.”
She was smirking, which was deeply unfair for someone who got to have regular relationship bliss with her very own Benedict brother. Callum was grinning his big, dumb, lovesick grin. The man looked like he’d just been hit with a snowball full of endorphins.
Lydia climbed out of the car and started toward the bar while I gave myself a little pep talk.
When I realized it wasn’t going to get any better, I opened the door, took a deep breath, got out of the car, and wished I had stayed in Seattle.
Meanwhile, Drew turned at the sound of the car door, and our eyes met.
It was like getting electrocuted by nostalgia and bad decisions all at once.
He looked the same…maybe a little broader, a little scruffier, the kind of man who aged like whiskey and was more dangerous the longer you let him sit.
That crooked half-smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, the one that always appeared right before he said something I shouldn’t enjoy.
And there it was. “Well, if it isn’t the ghost of bad decisions past,” he called, voice low and amused.
“Present,” I shot back. “And I see you’re still decorating like a hungover lumberjack.”
“Tradition,” he said, gesturing to the tangle of lights and antlers. “Wouldn’t be Christmas without near electrocution and whisky.”
“Touching,” I said dryly. “And here I was worried Reckless River had changed.”
He gave me that lazy once-over. It was the one that used to make me forget words existed.
Drew’s gorgeous green eyes locked on mine. “Some things stay the same.”
Lydia coughed into her scarf to hide a laugh. Callum wasn’t even pretending.
I narrowed my eyes. “Shouldn’t you two be inside spreading joy or whatever it is joyfully happy people do?”
“Helping hang lights is joy,” Callum said.
“Sure,” I said, “if you’re into frostbite.”
“Mel,” Lydia said, her voice syrupy with patience. “You could try not being a menace for one evening.”
“I’m not a menace,” I said. “I’m merely festive-adjacent.”
Drew snorted. “That right? Because last time I checked, you were allergic to Christmas cheer.”
“I’m not allergic,” I said. “I just break out in hives around people who use the word cheer.”
He grinned, that infuriatingly slow grin that crept up one side of his face like mischief incarnate. “Still quick with the comebacks.”
“Still quick with the assumptions.”
Callum leaned toward Lydia, stage-whispering, “They’re flirting again.”
“We’re not flirting,” we said in unison.
Drew’s eyes glinted, and then he whispered, “We’re not?”
“Definitely not,” I informed him.
He took a few steps closer, snow crunching under his boots. “Then why are you blushing?”
“I’m cold.”
“It’s not even freezing.” His smile only grew.
“Then I’m angry,” I snapped, even though he was right. My cheeks were burning with every emotion I pretended did not exist around him.
He chuckled, low and rough, the sound curling down my spine like heat. I hated that my body still remembered him like muscle memory.
His tattoos. His dark hair and green eyes. His full lips.
Lydia stepped forward, clapping her mittened hands. “Okay, before we freeze solid, why don’t we get you two inside? I’ll make cocoa. You can, I don’t know, arm wrestle or something.”
Drew looked at me, one brow raised. “Unless you’re scared to lose again.”
I crossed my arms. “Please. You only beat me because you cheated.”
“How does someone cheat at arm wrestling?”
“You distracted me.”
“With what?”
I stared at him pointedly. “You know what.”
Lydia made a strangled sound, halfway between laughter and horror. Callum grinned like he knew something I should.
Drew’s grin turned downright sinful. “Yeah. Guess I do.”
“Okay!” Lydia said brightly, clapping again. “Cocoa it is!”
Callum slung an arm around her shoulders, still chuckling. “You two are something else.”
“I’m something,” I said. “Not sure what, but something.”
They led the way toward the bar, and I fell into step beside Drew because apparently the universe hadn’t humiliated me enough for one day. The scent of pine and whiskey drifted off him, that maddening mix of outdoors and temptation that I wished I could forget.
“So,” he said casually, like my heart wasn’t doing cartwheels, “how’s life in the big city?”
“Fantastic,” I said. “I’ve developed more road rage and my caffeine addiction has grown. Living the dream.”
“Sounds healthy.”
“It’s honest.”
He smiled sideways. “Still honest. Still angry. Still—”
“Don’t say it,” I warned.
“Still beautiful,” he finished anyway, damn him.
I glared up at him. “You always this smooth with the ladies?”
He shrugged. “Only when I’m sober.”
“You’ve been drinking?”
“Nope.” His grin widened. “Guess that means I’m just naturally charming.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I saw snowflakes. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still fun to annoy,” he said, holding the door open for me.
I paused just long enough to look him dead in the eye. “Annoying me is not foreplay.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Keep talking and I’ll throw hot cocoa on you.”
His grin only deepened. “Promises, promises. Maybe you’ll lick it off?”
Lydia and Callum were at the bar, pretending very badly not to listen. Lydia’s cheeks were pink from the cold, or maybe from amusement, and Callum had that smug look of a man who knew love was contagious.
I slid onto a stool, refusing to make eye contact with Drew as he went behind the bar to help.
“So, what’s the plan?” I asked Lydia. “Tree lighting? Cookie swaps? Public humiliation?”
“All of the above,” she said cheerfully. “Starting with helping me hang the ornaments tonight.”
“Count me in for cocoa supervision,” I said.
“Count me in for moral support,” Drew added.
I shot him a look. “You mean distraction.”
He winked. “Tomato, tomahto.”
Drew handed me a steaming mug, the scent of peppermint and chocolate filling the air.
Lydia winked at Drew. “Try not to murder each other before dessert.”
“No promises,” I said, but my lips twitched despite myself.
“To surviving Christmas in Reckless River.” Drew raised his mug and I clinked mine with his.
Our fingers brushed. Just a light touch, fleeting, but it was enough.
Electricity.
Heat.
Trouble.
And when I looked up, he was already watching me, that same unreadable look in his eyes like he was remembering every mistake we’d made together and wondering if we were about to make another one.
Lydia cleared her throat, saving me from saying something I’d regret.
“I think we have a couple of errands to run before the place gets swamped,” she said to Callum. “Let these two… catch up.”
Callum grinned. “Think they already are.”
“No, I don’t think that’s a great idea. I haven’t even made it to your apartment upstairs to unpack.”
Lydia waved at the air like a mosquito. “Ah, you’ll handle it like you always do. You’ve got the key. Besides, we’ll be back.”
The door closed behind them, leaving me alone with Drew and the hum of the twinkle lights.
He leaned on the counter, voice low. “You know, Mel, for someone who says she’s not staying long, you sure make a dramatic entrance.”
A few customers drifted into the bar, and Drew waved at them. “Your usual?”
They must have nodded because he began mixing a couple of drinks.
“Nothing about what I did was dramatic,” I said, taking a long sip of cocoa. “I parked and I came in here for something to drink.”
“You could have left when they did.”
“Is that what you want?” I cocked my head slightly.
“You tell me.” The way he looked at me made my knees feel wobbly, and I was sitting.
“I’m just thirsty.”
He smiled. “Something tells me this Christmas is gonna be a hell of a ride.”
I should’ve told him to stop. Should’ve shut him down. Should’ve remembered the ship that supposedly sank.
But instead, I smiled slowly, dangerously, and just a little recklessly.
“Bring it on, Benedict.”
The place had gone quiet, except for the faint hum of Christmas music playing through the jukebox and the whisper of snow against the windows.
I hadn’t meant to stay behind with Drew.
Really. I’d planned to finish my cocoa, make a few polite comments about the weather, and retreat to the apartment Lydia no longer lived in and rented out to tourists.
But somehow, I was still here with my elbows on the bar, cheeks warm from the heater blasting, and heart doing that ridiculous skip every time he moved.
“You gonna stare at your empty mug all night, or you want a refill?” Drew’s voice pulled me back.
He was leaning on the other side of the counter, sleeves rolled to his elbows again, tattoos peeking out beneath the flannel.
The man had no right to look that good while standing next to a string of blinking reindeer lights.
“I’m fine,” I said, swirling what was left in my mug. “You spike this?”
He smirked. “You think I’d let you drink unspiked cocoa? What kind of host do you take me for?”
“The kind who knows me too well,” I said. “I like this candy cane.”
He grinned. “Festive innovation.”
“You didn’t invent them.”