Chapter 2
Luke
I hate Christmas.
Alright, maybe hate is a strong word, but I sure as hell don’t love it.
The lights, the music, the overly enthusiastic carolers who think showing up unannounced on someone’s doorstep is a great idea—it’s all a headache wrapped in garland.
And now, as if the universe decided to personally spite me, Eve Winters is back in town, prancing around like a one-woman Christmas parade.
I’ve managed to avoid her for years, ever since she left for Los Angeles and stopped being my problem. But now, apparently, she’s back.
It’s only for the holidays, I tell myself. By the new year? She’ll be gone again. Because that’s what Eve does best: leave.
I spent the better part of the morning delivering pinecones, holly, garland, and pine trees to various homes and businesses of Holly Ridge and now it’s time for a well-deserved cup of Holly Ridge’s finest coffee.
The scent of cinnamon and roasted coffee beans hits me the second I step into The Jolly Bean.
Normally, I avoid places like this—too much Christmas spirit, too many twinkling lights, carols playing too loudly on the playlist, and an unreasonable number of nutcrackers staring at me from the shelves.
But it’s been a long day of deliveries, my truck heater is acting up again, and I need caffeine before I drive back to the farm.
I shake the snow off my jacket, grumbling to myself as I stomp toward the counter. It’s quiet, save for the soft hum of Christmas music and the sound of the espresso machine hissing. Perfect. A peaceful cup of coffee, and then I’m out of here.
The bell over the door jingles again, and just like that, my peace is shattered.
Eve Winters breezes in, her blonde curls bouncing as she steps over the threshold to the coffee shop like she owns the place. Which, knowing her, she might as well. And because that’s not enough chaos for one moment, she’s got her dog with her.
I cross my arms, glaring at her as she takes her place behind me in line. If she sees me, then it doesn’t show. Her eyes are cast upward on the drink menu board above us.
“You know there’s a ‘no pets’ rule here, right?” I grumble.
Eve glances down at her little puff of fur, who is now sniffing the display case like he’s considering a cinnamon roll for himself. Then she gives me a sunny smile. “Oh, Cringle isn’t a pet. He’s an ambassador of Christmas spirit.”
I stare at her. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is now,” she declares, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “Don’t be such a Scrooge. Besides, he’s very well-behaved.”
As if on cue, Cringle lets out an excited bark, startling a man trying to sip his peppermint latte.
Eve winces but quickly recovers, straightening her ridiculous Christmas sweater.
It has reindeer prancing across it and actual jingle bells sewn into the fabric.
I sigh, already regretting every decision that’s led me to this moment.
How badly do I actually need coffee?
Before I can turn and make a run for it, the young barista hands me a paper cup of my black coffee.
“What are you doing here, Eve?” I ask, taking a long sip of my coffee.
“What does it look like? I’m getting coffee.”
“Not here at the Jolly Bean. Here in Holly Ridge. You usually come on December 23rd and are gone by the 26th… that’s if you visit at all.”
She lifts her chin, a touch of defiance written on her face. “I’m here for the festival.”
Bullshit. “You’re here for the festival? After nearly a decade of missing it every year? Why now? Why this sudden newfound interest in our town's Christmas festival?”
“It’s not…” she pauses, shaking her head. “It’s not a newfound interest. I love this town. I love the Christmas festival. Yes, I’ve been busy for a few years, but I never not wanted to be here for the festival.”
I snort. “Sure.”
Her jaw twitches and a look of resolve hardens her features. “Besides, I don’t owe you an explanation or a reason why I’m here visiting my parents.”
“You’re right. You don’t—”
“But I do need to talk to you about the festival. The inn needs more trees.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “More trees? Your father has four Christmas trees already.”
“Yes. And we need four more.”
I stare at her in shock. “Four more? Where the hell are they going to go?”
“I don’t see how that’s your concern.” She tugs on Cringle’s leash to pull him back from licking some fallen sugar.
I’m silent for a moment before asking, “And your mom approved this?”
“That’s right.”
I narrow my eyes at her. Something is majorly off here. “You were literally just chastising your mother for buying pinecones from me. Now you want four more trees? Why not just go cut them down yourself since you see my farm as so obsolete?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “I was wrong, okay? I admit it. We need you and your blessed pine trees. Better?”
“It’d be better without the sarcasm,” I counter her.
“Are you seriously going to make this difficult for me? I’m a paying customer! Or trying to be.”
There was an earnest plea in her voice that knocked something loose in my chest. “You’re right. I’ll deliver the trees tomorrow,” I say.
“Good.” She nods once, then after a pause, she adds, “I also need more reindeer for my dad’s sleigh during the decoration contest.”
I slam my coffee cup down on the counter. “Absolutely not.”
Eve waves a dismissive hand. “Why not? The decoration contest is a big deal, arguably the biggest deal of the festival! And everyone knows my dad dresses as Santa every year. It’s getting tired.
We need to make a bigger splash this time.
The full set of reindeer would do just that!
—Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, all of them.
Ideally, I’d even ask for a Rudolph if I thought for a second you’d give me nine of your reindeer and let me put a red clown nose on one. ”
“Eve, I barely trust you with one of my reindeer,” I grind out.
Her face twists. “Well, that’s hurtful.”
“It’s the truth.”
It’s hard enough being one of the only reindeer farmers in the region.
They aren’t exactly the easiest temperament animals to wrangle.
It’s not just about breeding them; I train them as well to be calm around people and crowds.
And the ones who aren’t, live their best life on my farm as my studs and mamas.
Eve plants her hands on her hips, tilting her head in that way that tells me she’s about to dig her heels in. “We need them, Luke. The inn needs this. Christmas spirit is fading, and The North Star Lodge has to win.” She whispers that last sentence like she’s a double agent spy.
I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. “Do you even know how much work it is to handle a whole team of reindeer? They don’t just prance around like they do in Christmas movies. They’re hornery little fucks sometimes.”
“Well, gee, I wonder where they learned that from,” she says, crossing her arms.
“From nature, Eve. They get that temperament from nature. Not from me.” At least, I didn’t think so…
She grins. “Then it’s a good thing I love a challenge.”
Before I can respond, the owner of the coffee shop, Mrs. Garcia, approaches with an amused smile. “Luke, what a nice surprise! And oh, Eve! You look beautiful, sweetheart. We miss you around here.”
“Miss you like a rash,” I mutter into my coffee.
Eve shoots me a look that could slay. Or sleigh.
Oh, Jesus Christ. Now I’m making Christmas puns. I need to get away from this girl. And fast.
“Mrs. Garcia!” Eve gives the older woman a big hug from across the counter. “I’m so excited you could fit me in today for this meeting. I’ll be quick, I swear.”
I blink. “Meeting?”
Eve nods, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “We’re discussing partnering with Jolly Bean to stock The North Star Lodge with locally roasted coffee.”
I mutter under my breath, but Mrs. Garcia just chuckles. Then, she looks up and points above us. “Oh, look, you two! You’re under the mistletoe.”
Eve and I both snap our gazes upward. Sure enough, there’s a sprig of mistletoe hanging directly over our heads.
I take a step back. “Nope.”
Eve steps back too. “Hard pass.”
Mrs. Garcia shakes her head, tsking at us like we’re misbehaving children. “Seven years of bad Christmas luck if you don’t share at least a quick smooch.”
“Bad Christmas luck?” I snort. “That’s not a real thing.”
Eve, however, looks oddly panicked. She glances at me, then at Mrs. Garcia. Then back at me. “Is that really the myth?”
Mrs. Garcia nods sagely. “Oh yes. The worst kind of Christmas luck.”
Eve swallows hard, then looks at me. “I can’t afford to risk that.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious? Just because some stupid Christmas traditio—”
“Quick peck,” she blurts. “Super fast. No big deal.”
As we stare at each other, the air shifts.
I can hear the whir of the bean grinder, the hiss of the milk frother, and the sound of Cringle’s tail thumping against the side of the counter.
Eve’s lips press together, pink and nervous, and for one insane second, I consider bolting out of here and leaving my coffee behind.
Instead, I sigh. “Fine.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lean down as she rises up on her toes.
And just like that, our lips brush together, meeting in a soft, gentle touch, barely lasting a second but still sending a jolt of electricity through my body.
She tastes of warm, sugary sweetness like hot cocoa with a hint of peppermint.
And then, just as quickly as it started… it’s over. We step back immediately.
But somehow also in that one second everything is different.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixes with her faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon, like she’s a walking Christmas cookie.
“Well,” Eve says, voice a little too bright. “That was… festive.”
“Festive?” I grunt. I’m not exactly sure why I’m insulted, but I am.
Before I can get another word in, Mrs. Garcia cuts me off, beaming. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I grumble something unintelligible and down the rest of my coffee in one gulp. Eve, meanwhile, has the nerve to wink at me.
And just like that, I know exactly what kind of Christmas trouble I’m in for the next two weeks.
And apparently, it’s the festive kind of trouble.