Chapter Eight
Drew
Reckless River had outdone itself. The whole town smelled like pine, sugar, and bragging rights. You couldn’t turn a corner without running into someone selling cider, ornaments, or unsolicited cheer.
But none of it compared to the sight of Melanie standing under a string of lights at the wreath-making tent, laughing at something Lydia said.
She was different today.
Softer somehow.
Her shoulders weren’t drawn tight like they usually were, and her laugh came easier. There was color in her cheeks that wasn’t just from the cold. Whatever wall she’d been holding up had a few cracks now, and damn if it didn’t make her even more dangerous.
Callum had wandered off to judge the snowman contest, Lydia was fussing over ribbon colors, and I figured, why not tempt fate? I brushed the snow from my sleeves and headed straight for the wreath table.
“Careful,” I said as I came up behind her. “You’re about to use enough glitter to blind half the town.”
She jumped, then shot me a look over her shoulder. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on people holding scissors.”
“Noted.” I grabbed a seat beside her anyway. “Didn’t realize this was a competitive sport.”
“It’s not,” she said, twisting a piece of wire through a bundle of pine. “It’s art.”
“Looks like yard waste,” I said.
“Then you’re obviously uncultured.” She tied the ribbon tighter, refusing to look at me.
“Maybe you should teach me, then,” I said, letting my voice dip just enough to earn her glare. “You always were good at… hands-on instruction.”
Her fingers stilled on the wire. “You’re too much to handle.”
“Pretty sure we’ve established that.”
“Why are you even here?” she asked.
“Community service,” I said. “Court ordered.”
Her mouth twitched. “What was the charge?”
“Excessive charm.”
She shook her head but didn’t tell me to leave.
Progress.
I reached for a length of Douglas fir, our hands brushed, and she went still. Just for a second, but it was enough. Her pulse jumped in the hollow of her throat, and I felt that same damn pull that had kept me up two nights straight.
“Here,” she said quickly, handing me the clippers. “Cut that branch.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pretended to focus on arranging pinecones, but her eyes kept flicking toward me as I worked. When I looked back, she met my gaze, and that hot and familiar spark lit between us again.
“You’re staring,” I said.
“So are you.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Hard to stop.”
She tried to hide her smile behind the ribbon spool. “You really think you can flirt your way through arts and crafts?”
“Depends,” I said, leaning closer. “Is it working?”
Her laugh came out softer this time, genuine, like she’d forgotten to guard it. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet,” I said, brushing a stray bit of pine off her sleeve, “you’re not walking away.”
“Only because Lydia said she’d disown me if I ditched this.”
“She’s a smart woman.”
Her brows lifted. “She’s a meddler.”
“Both can be true.”
Her hands moved quickly, twisting the wire tight, but her focus kept slipping. I could feel it…the awareness, the charged silence that lived just under the sound of the crowd. The more she tried to ignore it, the thicker it got.
“Need help?” I asked, reaching to steady the wreath when it tilted.
“I’ve got it,” she said, but didn’t stop me.
Our hands met again over the pine. Warm skin, cool air, a thousand unsaid things sparking between. She looked up at me, eyes wide, lips parted, and for a heartbeat, the rest of the festival disappeared.
I wanted to kiss her right then, boy, did I, but I’d learned the hard way that with Melanie, patience was its own kind of seduction.
“See?” I said lightly. “Teamwork.”
“Fluke,” she said, her voice not quite steady.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She cleared her throat. “Don’t you have pancakes to flip or something?”
“The pancake breakfast is finito. I’m all yours.”
“Terrifying,” she murmured.
I grinned. “You love it.”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she bent over the wreath again, but her hand brushed my knee under the table. Just an accident, probably, but the contact hit like a live wire.
We both froze.
Her gaze lifted slowly, meeting mine. The air between us went electric.
“Melanie,” I said, voice low.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late.”
Her laugh broke through the tension, breathless and warm. “You’re such a pain.”
“Yet you keep finding me.”
“Because you keep showing up.”
I leaned in closer, close enough that a few strands of her hair brushed my cheek. “Maybe that’s not the worst thing.”
She looked up at me through her lashes, eyes dark and shining. “You really shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because people might start believing you mean them.”
I smiled. “What if I do?”
That earned me silence—real, unsteady silence. She stared at me like she was trying to decide whether to run or stay.
Then Lydia’s voice cut through the moment. “Well, would you look at that!”
We jumped apart like guilty teenagers. Lydia stood a few feet away, hands on her hips, eyes twinkling. “That’s the best-looking wreath I’ve seen all morning.”
I looked down. Somehow, we’d managed to finish it without realizing. The pinecones, glitter, red ribbon, the whole deal, all done without even knowing it.
And right in the middle, tucked between the branches, was a little heart-shaped piece of twine that definitely hadn’t been part of the plan.
Melanie’s eyes widened. “That wasn’t—”
“Oh, it’s perfect,” Lydia said, snapping a picture with her phone. “We’ll hang it at the front gate.”
Mel groaned. “Please don’t.”
“Too late,” Lydia said cheerfully, already walking off with it.
I watched her go, then looked back at Melanie. She was trying very hard not to smile.
“Accidental symbolism?” I teased.
“Coincidence.”
“Sure it is.”
She gave me a look that was equal parts warning and amusement. “Don’t start.”
“Who, me?” I said. “I’m just here for the arts and crafts.”
“Uh-huh.”
The corners of her mouth twitched, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
There it was again. That spark. That pull. The reminder that no matter how much we tried to pretend otherwise, there was something between us neither of us could quite walk away from.
The snow had started again, soft flakes drifting lazily through the air as the afternoon festival kicked into full gear. Vendors called out prices, kids ran between booths like sugar-powered elves, and the smell of cider and pine needles mixed into something weirdly perfect.
Melanie was humming under her breath, a tune I couldn’t quite place, her hair falling loosely from her hat. There was a smudge of glitter on her cheek from earlier, catching the light every time she turned her head.
“You’re still at it?” I asked, straightening a crooked sign that read Wreaths & Reindeer Wishes.
She looked oddly peaceful for someone who claimed not to enjoy the slower activities in life.
Melanie glanced over her shoulder. “I’m improving on my earlier design.”
“Your earlier design won with the heart-shaped addition.”
“That was an accident,” she said, reaching into the bin for another branch. “I’m going minimalist this time.”
“Minimalist, huh? So just pine needles and attitude?”
She shot me a look. “Exactly.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re something else, Mel.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Always.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled and then froze.
“Um,” she said, her voice high and strange. “Something… moved.”
I frowned. “What?”
“In the bin.”
“It’s just the branches settling.”
“Nope,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “That was not settling. That was wiggling.”
Before I could respond, she reached back into the pile and yanked out a handful of pine.
And attached to it, clinging for dear life, was a very disgruntled-looking squirrel.
The thing blinked, equally shocked by the situation.
Melanie’s eyes went wide. “Oh my gosh.”
“Mel—”
“It’s alive!”
“Yeah, I see that.”
“It’s ON ME!”
“It’s technically on the branch—”
“It’s on me!” she shrieked again, shaking the pine wildly.
The squirrel chattered angrily, its little claws tightening around the branch as if offended by her lack of hospitality.
“Drop it!” I said, trying not to laugh.
“I can’t!” she yelled, dancing in circles. “It’s stuck!”
“Melanie, drop the branch, not the squirrel!”
She clutched it tighter instead. “If I drop it, it’ll jump on me!”
“That’s literally what’s about to happen if you don’t!”
She kept spinning, shrieking, flinging pine needles in every direction. The squirrel was now clinging to the branch like it was riding out a hurricane. I lunged toward her, trying to grab the branch before the situation escalated further, but I underestimated just how slippery the snow had gotten.
“Mel—wait—”
She turned, panic in her eyes, and our boots slid on the same patch of ice.
Next thing I knew, gravity took over.
She went down first, I went down right after, and we landed in an undignified heap with me half sprawled over her, her hat askew, and the squirrel launching itself triumphantly into the air like it had just survived a natural disaster.
It landed on Melanie’s head for one chaotic second before bounding off, chattering victoriously as it disappeared into a nearby pine tree.
The crowd around us erupted into laughter and applause.
I lay there for a heartbeat, blinking snowflakes out of my eyes, and then looked down at her. “You okay?”
She groaned, eyes closed, still clutching half a pine branch in her fist. “Did it—did it go?”
“It went,” I said, trying not to laugh. “Pretty sure it’s telling all its friends about you right now.”
She cracked one eye open. “You’re laughing.”
“Only a little.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“Technically, I’m laughing on top of you.”
“That’s worse,” she said, but her mouth was twitching.
I couldn’t stop grinning. She had snow in her hair, pine needles stuck to her coat, and her cheeks were flushed from the cold and the chaos. And she looked… absolutely gorgeous.
I reached over, gently plucking a bit of pine out of her hair. “You’ve got a little forest situation going on here.”
“Don’t touch me.” Melanie clenched her eyes.
“Too late.”
She opened both eyes then, and that was a mistake for both of us.
Because suddenly the world went quiet again, and all I could focus on was how close we were.
Her breath hitched, warm against my cheek.
My hand was still in her hair, her fingers fisted in the front of my coat, and I could see the quick flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat.
One wrong move and I’d kiss her.
I wanted to. Man, did I want to.
The smell of pine and her perfume filled my lungs, and my brain was doing everything it could to remind me that kissing her in the middle of a public snow pile after a squirrel incident was probably not the way to win her back.
Still, the thought lingered.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth, just for a second, and that second felt like forever.
“Drew,” she whispered, her voice trembling somewhere between a laugh and a warning.
“Yeah?”
“Get off me.”
“Right. Yeah.”
I rolled off her and offered a hand to help her up, still fighting a grin. “You sure you’re not injured?”
“Only my pride.”
“Consider it character-building.”
“Consider yourself on thin ice.”
“Technically, that’s accurate,” I said, glancing at the slick patch beneath us.
She groaned, brushing snow off her coat. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I’m just glad the squirrel didn’t declare war.”
“Ha. Ha.”
I stood up beside her, still chuckling as she tried to gather what was left of her dignity and her wreath supplies.
“You’ve got to admit,” I said, “it’s kind of funny.”
She shot me a look that could melt glaciers. “You can admit it’s funny all you want, but it’s not.”
“Oh, I have,” I said. “Repeatedly.”
She shook her head, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her, curling upward, just enough for me to see it.
“There it is,” I said. “The smile.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“Too late.”
She sighed, finally laughing. “You’re unbearable.”
“Still sounds like a compliment.”
“I swear, if you say that one more time—”
“You’ll what? Chase me with a squirrel?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
We both started laughing again, and for a moment, it felt easy. For a brief second, the tension between us had cracked wide open to make room for something warmer.
Around us, the festival buzzed on with laughter, music, and the faint smell of gingerbread drifting through the air. But in that moment, all I could see was her standing there, hair tousled, cheeks pink, eyes bright, alive.
I realized then that whatever wall she’d built between us wasn’t as solid as she thought.
There were fissures now.
Tiny ones, sure, but enough light was getting through to make me believe we weren’t done.
Not by a long shot.
I handed her the mangled pine branch she was still gripping. “Souvenir?”
She blinked down at it, then started laughing all over again. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I’m also the guy who saved you from a killer squirrel, so you’re welcome.”
“It was one pound and terrified.”
“Exactly. Terrifying.”
“Unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head as she walked off toward Lydia’s booth, still laughing.
And I stood there, watching her go, snow melting into my collar, heart beating way too fast for a man standing in a pile of slush.
Because for all the laughter and chaos, I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment in the snow with her breath, her warmth, the way she’d looked at me like maybe the ground wasn’t the only thing that had shifted beneath us.
Yeah. Reckless River wasn’t the only thing heating up today.