Chapter Three #2
“No, but they look pretty great with your spiked beverage and we’re the first bar to use them in Reckless River.”
“You’re the only bar in Reckless River.”
“You just like to argue.” I rolled my eyes, but the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me.
The Rusty Stag looked different tonight—warmer, softer. Someone, probably Lydia, had draped garland along the beams, and a small tree sat in the corner, half-decorated, with a few lonely ornaments clinging for dear life.
The fireplace crackled, sending shadows dancing across the worn wood floor.
“You guys got the fireplace working?” I asked, hoping to move the conversation to something technical.
“Lydia had the chimney rebuilt.”
“That was nice of her.”
“She’s a great landlord.”
“It’s been her dream.” I nodded and took in how cozy and comforting this little place had become.
It was the kind of cozy that crept under your defenses.
“You know,” I said, nodding toward the tree, “for all that outdoor decorating, the inside looks like you gave up halfway through. The tree is even naked.”
He glanced over. “I did give up halfway through.”
“Tragic.” I took another sip, then added, “You need help.”
He arched a brow. “You volunteering?”
“Maybe,” I said, tilting my head. “If I get to supervise.”
“Supervise?”
“Yeah. You do the ladder work. I critique.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Same Melanie, different holiday.”
“Efficient delegation is a skill. I do it with third graders all the time.”
“You’re saying I’m like a third grader?” He moved around the bar, grabbing a box of ornaments from the corner.
“No comment.”
“C’mon then, Scrooge. You can’t sit there judging me all night.”
“Watch me,” I said, but he was already halfway up the ladder, stringing garland along the rafters.
“Don’t let anything fall in people’s drinks, Benedict.”
For a man who looked like he could bench-press a snowplow, he was surprisingly graceful. The muscles in his back flexed under the flannel as he reached up, and I had to force my gaze away, pretending to care deeply about rearranging the candy cane display.
“Careful,” I said, aiming for casual. “If you fall, I’m not dragging your body to the cemetery.”
He looked down, smirking. “You’d miss me too much.”
“Doubtful.”
“You sure? You look like you’re already picturing the funeral.”
“Fine,” I said, leaning on the counter. “Maybe a little.”
He grinned, eyes glinting in the warm light. “What’s the eulogy sound like?”
“‘Here lies Drew Benedict,’” I said solemnly. “‘Taken too soon by poor ladder decisions and excessive flirtation.’”
He laughed, low and rough. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“I’m saving the good material for the wake.”
Snow swirled outside the window, catching the reflection of the lights he’d just strung. The world beyond the glass looked soft and far away, like Reckless River was sealed off from everything else—just me, him, and the faint scent of cinnamon and pine.
“Alright,” he said, climbing down. “Your turn.”
I blinked. “My what now?”
“Ornaments. Top shelf. You’ve got a better reach for smaller places.”
I scoffed. “I’m five-five on a good day.”
“Exactly. I’ll hold the ladder.”
“Absolutely not.”
He stepped closer, holding the box out to me. “C’mon, Mel. It’s Christmas. Be brave.”
“Last time you said that, I ended up in your bed.”
He grinned, slow and wolfish. “Good times.”
I smacked his arm, but my laugh betrayed me. “You are unbearable.”
“And yet,” he said, taking a step closer, “you keep coming back.”
The air shifted, just slightly, but enough to feel it. The heat from the fire, the smell of pine, the low hum of the music. Everything seemed to tighten between us.
“Only because Lydia guilt-tripped me,” I said, though my voice had softened.
He tilted his head. “Sure about that?”
“Completely.”
He leaned against the bar, close enough that I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his green eyes. “You always were a terrible liar.”
I swallowed. “And you always were full of yourself.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“I thought bartenders were supposed to be humble.”
He chuckled. “You’ve clearly never worked behind a bar in this town.”
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the crackle of the fire and the faint whisper of wind outside. The moment stretched, too long, too charged, and I suddenly needed to move.
“Guess the tree is the only thing that’s going to be naked tonight, huh?”
I grabbed a handful of ornaments. “Fine. I’ll help after that comment. But only because it’s sad how bad you are at this.”
He smirked. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
We worked in silence for a while, though silence might’ve been a generous word for the way the air practically buzzed between us.
Every time he brushed past me to grab another ornament, I felt the warmth of him climb through me.
“Hand me that one,” he said, pointing to a glass ornament shaped like a stag.
“This one?” I asked, holding it up.
“Yeah.” His fingers brushed mine as he took it. The contact was brief but enough to make my breath hitch.
He noticed. Of course he did. Drew noticed everything.
“Careful,” I said quickly, stepping back. “You break that, Callum’s going to cry.”
He hung it on a branch, then looked over his shoulder. “Guess I’ll just have to keep it safe then.”
I crossed my arms. “You really can’t turn it off, can you?”
“The charm?” He flashed a grin. “Nope.”
“The ego.”
“That either.”
Snow thickened outside, the street beyond the window fading to a blur of white and gold. Inside, the lights glowed warmer, wrapping the space in that impossible coziness that Reckless River seemed to have bottled up for the holidays.
“You miss this,” he said suddenly, quiet but certain.
“What?”
“The peace. The quiet.”
I hesitated. “It’s not peace. It’s… stillness. And I’m not sure I’m built for still. I choose to teach children under ten for a living. I like busy. I don’t do peaceful.”
He nodded slowly. “Maybe not. But you’re here anyway.”
“Don’t read into it.”
“Too late.”
I sighed, stepping back to admire our handiwork.
The tree glimmered under the twinkle lights, lopsided and over-decorated but perfect in that imperfect way small towns always were.
“It’s not bad,” I admitted.
Drew’s voice dropped, low and teasing. “You mean we make a good team?”
“I mean, you didn’t ruin it.”
He chuckled, eyes softening. “I’ll take that as a win.”
And maybe it was. Because for the first time since I’d arrived, I wasn’t thinking about leaving.
The fire popped, and he reached up to adjust a crooked ornament, his knuckles brushing mine again. This time, neither of us moved away.
Outside, snow kept falling.
Inside, I realized, maybe I wasn’t as immune to Reckless River, or Drew Benedict, as I liked to think.