Chapter 3
Chapter three
I cradle the chipped reindeer mug between my palms, wearing my favorite fuzzy slippers, watching Lauren grab another strand of lights from the box.
Our two-bedroom cabin smells like pine needles, cinnamon from the candle on the mantel, and the comforting wake-up call of coffee. The tree is only half-decorated. The bottom is sparkly and packed with ornaments; the top is still naked except for the cardboard angel Lauren found at a thrift store.
“How do you have so much energy so early? You’re making me feel guilty.”
She’s on her knees and sticks her tongue out at me. “I live for these twinkly lights. It’s the best part of winter. Just one more loop, and it’ll be smooth sailing from there.”
“Careful,” I warn as the tree starts to wobble. “If that thing goes down, we’ll both be on the naughty list.”
“Speak for yourself.” She blows a curl out of her face. “I’m shooting for permanent nice-list residency. Free dinners for a year, remember?”
I snort. “Because nothing says ‘holiday spirit’ like twelve months of Boise’s finest chain-restaurant lasagna.
” Memories from last night flash through my brain: City Hall transformed into a snow globe, hearing Mrs. Helmsley announce my name, and how that walk to the stage felt endless with every eye in Passion Pines tracking me as if I’d stolen Rudolf’s nose.
But then Tanner Stone bounded up those steps. All six-foot-plus of dark-haired confidence, blue eyes and dimples. Suddenly, the world was okay, and my humiliation started to dissolve into something … shared. Manageable. Maybe even fun. I shake my head, chasing the image of him away. Focus Winter.
Today is about damage control. Paint the Veterans Hall, check the box, get off the list. Simple.
My phone buzzes and rattles against the half-eaten tin of peppermint bark on the coffee table. Unknown number. I frown, with my thumb hovering over the keypad. Probably a telemarketer. Or worse? Has Mrs. Helmsley decided to add something else to my punishment?
I swipe anyway. “Hello?”
“Morning, Miss Naughty.” The voice is low, gravelly, sexy, and settles somewhere south of my stomach. “Sleep off the public shaming yet?”
I freeze as my brain scrambles for context. His deep tone alone could melt the snow piling up outside. “Um,” I manage, articulate as ever, and hear a soft chuckle.
“It’s Tanner Stone. Fellow felon. You gave me your number right after we were sentenced to hard labor with rollers and drop cloths.”
The flashback hits hard, making my cheeks and the rest of my body flush with heat. I forgot I gave Captain Sexy Voice my actual number.
“Right,” I say, aiming for casual but wind up swooned and breathless. “Tanner. Hi.”
Lauren’s head pops up from behind a fuzzy Santa ornament. With eyes twice as wide as normal, she whispers but mostly mouths, “Who. Is. That?” I wave her off, turning toward the kitchen so she won’t see me blushing.
“Thought I’d check in,” he continues, and I swear I hear a smile in his voice. “Make sure you haven’t changed your mind about serving your time. Or did you bribe your way onto the nice list overnight?”
“Ha. No such luck.” My slippers shuffle over the hardwood as I pace to the window. “I’m still very much a criminal.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want to paint alone.” He pauses just long enough for me to picture him leaning against something sturdy. Or maybe he’s still in bed, without a shirt, with his dark hair messy and tousled?
“So. Should I swing by your place? I’ve got a truck. Plenty of room for paint cans and fugitive decorators.”
My heart does a ridiculous little skip. Pick me up? Like a date? No, like a co-conspirator. Like two people stuck with the same dumb community service. Still, the idea of sliding into his truck next to him, all alone, with the heat blasting, and maybe some soft Christmas music playing …
“No thanks,” I blurt out too fast. “I’ll meet you there. I um, have some … stuff. To bring.” Stuff. Brilliant. I glance around wildly at the box of ornaments, my ancient radio, and Lauren’s laundry. Sure. Essential painting supplies.
He laughs again, softer. “Stuff. Got it. Veterans Hall, ten o’clock?”
“Ten works.” I bite my lip. “Should I bring anything specific? Besides my shame?”
“Shame’s optional. But donuts wouldn’t hurt. I’ll handle the paint. I’ve already talked to the hardware store. They’re donating everything since we’re town legends now.”
“Legends?” I echo, rolling my eyes. “Oh, so that’s the reason everyone was applauding for us last night ...”
“Exactly. See you soon, Winter.”
The way he says my name like he’s tasting it, sends a shiver straight down my spine. I hang up and turn to find Lauren staring with her arms crossed, and one eyebrow arched so high it’s in danger of disappearing into her hairline. “Spill. Now.”
“That was Tanner.” I sink into the couch. “My partner in crime. He’s picking up paint and I’m meeting him at ten.”
She lets out a long whistle. “The hot one? With the shoulders and the dimple and the whole lumberjack-meets-firefighter vibe?”
“I didn’t notice a dimple,” I lie.
“Good one.” She crawls back under the tree, getting pine needles all over her flannels. “You gave him your number? Winter McAllister, you sly little elf.”
“It’s not like that. It was court-ordered, kind of. We were sentenced to hard labor.”
“Uh-huh. And he offered to give you a ride. That’s practically a date.”
“It makes sense for him to offer,” I insist, but my pulse is still racing. “Trucks have space for supplies.”
She smirks, reaching for the ornament box. “Sure. Tell yourself that while you’re picking out a cute outfit to hide potential paint splatters.”
I glance at the clock. It’s 8:45, which gives me barely enough time to take a quick shower, change, and maybe curl my hair a little. Not for him. For me. For morale. “I should get ready and make a bakery run.”
Lauren salutes with a glass ornament shaped like a tiny sled. “Operation Naughty-and-Naughty commences. Try not to fall off any ladders. Or into his arms.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, smiling as I head for the bathroom.
The mirror confirms what I suspected. My cheeks are pink, eyes bright, and I can almost see my pulse in my neck.
I splash cold water on my face, reminding myself to get it together.
It’s just painting with a man whose voice alone turns my knees to tinsel.
By 9:45 I’m bundled in my red wool coat, warm knit cap, with my scarf looped twice and tied around my neck.
There’s fresh coffee in my thermos as I juggle the box of maple bacon donuts.
I was lucky to get the last batch before the bakery ran out.
The woman behind the counter said they’re Tanner’s favorite.
I didn’t ask how she knew. Lauren shoves a sprig of mistletoe into my pocket “for luck” and practically pushes me out the door.
The snow crunches under my boots as I climb into my ancient Subaru. The engine groans from the cold but finally turns over. I start to pull out with my windshield wipers swiping at the flurries, and my phone pings. I press the brakes and pick up my cell. I know it’s Tanner.
Running 5 min early. Parked out front. Truck’s the black one with the reindeer antlers on the grill. Couldn’t resist.
I laugh out loud. Of course, he decorated his truck. Another text dings before I can respond.
Tanner: P.S. Heard you were the one who beat me to the maple bacon. I’ll fight you for the last one.
I grin so wide my cheeks ache as my fingers fly over the screen.
Me: Challenge accepted. See you in 5.
I toss the phone in my tote and ease onto the main road.
Soon the town slides by in a blur of twinkling storefronts and smoke curling from chimneys.
When I see the Veterans Hall, my stomach flips, and it isn’t because of nerves.
It’s excitement, the kind you feel the moment before opening a present.
And there, in the lot, sits a black pickup with ridiculous fuzzy antlers strapped to the grille. Tanner leans against the tailgate, wearing a down vest and a blue thermal Henley. His sleeves are pushed to his elbows despite the cold, revealing his corded forearms as he holds a steaming paper cup.
He spots me, straightens, and slays me with a smile breaking across his face like the sun. I park next to him, cut the engine, and take a steadying breath. Showtime, Miss Naughty.
***
Tanner
I watch Winter turn into the lot, kill the engine and step out of her Subaru in a bright red coat.
The scarf around her neck is tied like a bow, as though she’s been gift-wrapped just for me.
She’s juggling a thermos, a pink bakery box, and a canvas tote that probably contains “stuff.” I grin, pushing off the truck.
“Morning,” I call out as I cross the plowed asphalt. “Thought you might bail. Leave me to paint alone and face Mrs. Helmsley’s wrath solo.”
“And miss the chance to redeem my tarnished reputation? Never.” She lifts the bakery box. “Brought the donuts. The lady at the counter said they were your favorite.”
“Oh … so that’s how you knew. You asked about me?” I tease, popping the lid, inhaling a whiff of sugar and bacon. “Careful, McAllister. That’s dangerously close to flirting.”
Her cheeks flush pink. “Research,” she corrects, lifting her perfect chin. “Know thy enemy.”
“Enemy?” I press my hand against my heart. “I’m wounded. Deeply. Irreparably.” I snag a donut, bite, and groan loud enough to earn a laugh from her. “Marry me. Or at least paint with me. Same difference.”
She snorts with a giggle. “Let’s start with our project, Romeo.”
Our supplies are already stacked inside thanks to my early-morning run to the hardware store. The Veterans Hall has a scent of old coffee, mixed with dust and decades of bingo games. The drop cloths rustle under our boots as we move into the building.
“Wow,” she says, spinning in a slow circle. “It’s … bigger than I remember.”
“Everything looks huge when you’re in trouble,” I say, placing the donuts on a folding table. “Stripes or solid?”