Chapter Nine
If there were an Olympic event for pretending you weren’t flustered, I’d be taking home the gold.
I could still feel the heat of him, even through the layers of coats and scarves. The solid weight of his chest against mine, the sound of his laugh in my ear, the way he’d looked at me afterward…half amused, half something else I couldn’t name.
If I thought about it too long, I’d combust.
Lydia, of course, didn’t miss a beat.
“Well,” she said, looping her arm through mine as we walked toward the town square, “you two certainly gave the crowd a show.”
I groaned. “Please don’t start.”
“Oh, I’ve already started,” she said, grinning. “It’s all over the festival. People are calling it The Great Squirrel Attack of Reckless River. You’re a legend.”
“Wonderful. Maybe I’ll get a plaque.”
“‘In honor of the woman who screamed so loud she gave a poor squirrel a heart attack.’”
I groaned again, pulling my scarf up to my nose. “I’m headed back to Seattle.”
Lydia laughed, steering me toward the long row of tables set up for the chili cook-off. “You can’t. I need you to help with this first.”
I stopped. “Define help.”
“Serve samples. Smile. Pretend you’re not secretly plotting my demise.”
I gave her a look. “You know I’m terrible with customer service.”
“You do great with kids.”
“That’s not customer service. That’s herding.”
“Then this will be good practice for dealing with grownups.” She handed me a red volunteer apron, with Reckless River Chili Throwdown printed across the front in sparkly gold letters.
“Do I at least get hazard pay?”
“Nope.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Also,” she said cheerfully, “you’ll be working with Drew.”
I froze. “Excuse me?”
“He’s helping too.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked him to. And because you two clearly need supervision, and I’ll be close.”
I shot her a look that could melt ice. “You are an evil genius.”
“Thank you,” she said sweetly, already walking away to organize the contestants.
I stood there, staring down at the apron like it was a trap, which it was, and muttered, “Of course. Of course he’s here.”
As if on cue, a familiar voice drawled behind me. “Nice apron.”
I turned to find Drew leaning against the edge of the chili booth, hands in his pockets, a smug grin firmly in place.
“Matches your eyes,” he added.
“My eyes are not red and glittery,” I said.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Drew smiled wider. “They look very fiery and…”
“So, you’re telling me I’m the devil incarnate of Christmas?”
He chuckled, folding his arms over his chest. “I never said such a thing.”
I glared. “Shouldn’t you be charming the contestants or something?”
“I’m off the clock until 2,” he said. “Lydia assigned me to your table. Said you needed backup with the samples, and I’ve got a few minutes until I’m professional.”
“I need peace and quiet.”
He grinned. “Good luck with that.”
Before I could respond, Lydia’s voice rang out over the square.
“All right, everyone! Welcome to Reckless River’s Annual Chili Throwdown! Be sure to try each batch and vote for your favorite!”
The crowd erupted in applause, and within seconds, the line formed in front of our table.
“Showtime,” Drew said, handing me a ladle.
“I hate this,” I muttered, scooping chili into a small paper cup for the first customer.
“Smile,” he said under his breath. “It’s part of the experience.”
I forced one that probably looked more like a grimace.
The woman at the front of the line took her sample, glanced at our name tag, and I did too.
Team Naughty, Nice & Spicy. Darn it, Lydia.
“Cute name.” The customer chuckled.
“Wasn’t my idea,” I said quickly.
Drew winked. “Mine.”
The woman giggled and walked away.
I glared at him. “Do you flirt with everyone?”
“Just the ones holding ladles or sample cups.”
“I swear—”
“Careful,” he said, dipping into the pot. “You’ll spill.”
Between the teasing and the way he kept brushing against me to reach the toppings, I was one flustered movement away from baptizing someone in chili.
“Move over,” I hissed.
“Now, where’s the fun in that?”
“Drew.”
“Melanie.”
We faced off, eye to eye across the steam rising from the pot, neither willing to back down. My heart was pounding again.
Why did it always do that around him?
I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to strangle him or kiss him senseless.
Probably both.
He smirked. “Relax. You’re acting like I’m gonna bite.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Only if you asked nicely.”
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, ladling more chili.
A few people in line exchanged amused looks, and I realized we were basically flirting in stereo for the entire town to hear.
Great. Just what Reckless River needed…more gossip material.
But then I caught him laughing, genuine, unguarded, and something inside me softened.
He looked happy.
Not the easy grin he gave customers, but a real one. Like for once, he wasn’t pretending.
And that was the problem. Because every time I told myself to stay detached, he’d go and look like that and undo all my progress.
After the morning we’d had, I didn’t need any more reminders of how good we were at getting tangled up, literally and otherwise. But the chemistry between us was like static in the air: invisible but impossible to ignore.
“Careful,” he said suddenly, reaching out to steady my hand as I passed another sample across the table.
The touch was light, fleeting, but it lit me up anyway.
I cleared my throat. “I’m fine.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking you look good in that apron,” he said easily.
My brain fizzled. “You…what…why are you like this?”
“Born this way,” he said. “Genetic gift.”
Lydia appeared out of nowhere like the chaos elf she was, clapping her hands. “You two are doing amazing! Great teamwork, great energy!”
“Teamwork?” I echoed. “We’re barely functioning.”
She winked. “That’s your version of chemistry. Don’t fight it.”
“Lydia—”
“Gotta run!” she sang, darting off to the next booth. “Oh, and if you two could take over the raffle later, that’d be great!”
I groaned, rubbing my temples. “This town runs on peer pressure.”
Drew chuckled. “And pancakes.”
“And meddling.”
He handed me another cup, our fingers brushing again. “Don’t forget the part where it runs on you pretending you don’t like me.”
“I don’t.”
“Sure,” he said, voice low and amused. “That’s why you keep coming back to my bar, my booth, and apparently now my chili station.”
“I’m helping Lydia. And it’s not your chili station.”
“Actually, it is. If you looked at the sign, you would have noticed it read Rusty Stag’s Chili. And I was the one who made it.”
I glared, but it was useless. He was enjoying every second of this.
“I’m here for Lydia.” That’s all I could come up with, and it just made him grin wider.
We fell into a rhythm after that, passing cups, taking votes, trading sarcasm. And the strangest thing happened.
I started to have fun. Real, laugh-out-loud fun.
At one point, he accidentally splattered chili on his shirt and cursed under his breath, and I couldn’t help laughing.
He grinned, caught me mid-laugh, and said, “There it is again.”
“There, what is?”
“The sound that makes every bad day better.”
My stomach did a traitorous flip. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he said, handing me a spoon, “but admit it. You like ridiculous.”
I stared at him, words caught somewhere between denial and truth.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
The chili cook-off might’ve been chaos, Lydia might’ve been merciless, and I might’ve sworn I was immune, but standing there next to Drew, surrounded by snow and laughter and the smell of woodsmoke, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time.
Happy.
And maybe a little scared of just how much that mattered.
By the time Lydia climbed onto the small stage near the riverbank to announce the chili cook-off results, the sky had turned the color of ghosts, and the snow had started falling in thick, determined flakes.
People huddled closer to the heat lamps and under the tents, clutching their mugs of cider and cocoa. The whole festival glowed with lights reflecting off the falling snow, laughter carried on the wind, and the faint, spicy scent of chili hanging in the air.
I rubbed my hands together, breath fogging in front of me. “This town really does everything like it’s trying to win a competition.”
Drew, standing beside me with his sleeves rolled up and snow dusting his hair, grinned. “Well, lucky for them, I am the competition.”
I gave him a look. “You realize if you actually lose, the barista down the lane is going to gloat for the next decade, right?”
He sighed dramatically. “Yeah. Losing to Riley, who froths milk for a living? That’s bad for business.”
“Not flirting with every female in line would’ve been better for business,” I said, arching a brow.
He turned that infuriating grin on me. “That was for business.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re not even denying it?”
“Why would I?” he said, leaning in a little. “They flirt, they tip. It’s a system.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I saw snowflakes. “You’re disgusting.”
“You’re jealous.”
“I’m cold,” I snapped. “And you’re insufferable.”
“Still sounds like a compliment.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Lydia’s cheerful voice boomed from the speakers. “All right, everyone! It’s time to announce the results of this year’s Reckless River Chili Throwdown!”
The crowd erupted into applause, and I swear even the snow paused to listen.
Lydia held up two slips of paper. “In second place, by only two votes… Bean There, Done That Café!”
A chorus of ooohs and good-natured laughter rippled through the crowd.
Drew groaned under his breath. “It’s close.”
“Maybe you should’ve flirted harder,” I muttered.
He shot me a sidelong glance. “You think I should’ve flirted with you more?”
“Don’t push it.”
Lydia grinned, drawing out the suspense like she’d been training for this moment her whole life. “And that means the winner of this year’s chili cook-off is…”
She paused, milking it.
“The Rusty Stag!”