Chapter 10 Rourke
TEN
Rourke
“This snow is magical,” Janie says while sipping her second drink, some type of holiday eggnog, as we stroll the vendor booths at the festival.
“It won’t be so magical driving home in my Porsche.
” I glance toward the sky, where the flakes fall faster as we stand near an ornament booth.
Most people seem thrilled with the freak snowstorm, stopping to take selfies and catch snowflakes on their tongues.
But Janie’s boots aren’t exactly built for this weather and neither is my car.
She wanders over to an ornament, mesmerized by the small silver glass star, and studies it carefully while the intricate details catch the light.
“It’s beautiful,” she tells the man behind the booth, then looks at the price tag dangling from the top. Her smile falters before fading into a mask I recognize—someone who’s learned not to want things they can’t have.
“You do beautiful work,” she tells the man politely before turning to leave.
Something twists in my chest as I watch her walk away from something she clearly wanted.
“I need to find a hat for Aria,” she says, moving toward the next booth. While she moves on, I slip back to the ornament vendor.
“I want that silver star,” I tell him, plucking it off the tree where Janie left it. I glance at the price tag again. It’s a lot, especially for a single mom on a teacher’s salary. But if I buy it for her, then problem solved.
He takes the ornament. “She’s lucky to have a special someone who pays attention.” He wraps the delicate glass star in tissue paper.
“Well, I’m not…” I pause. What exactly am I? We’re barely friends—more like rivals locked in some ridiculous Christmas bet where we’re trying to prove each other wrong, even if I am standing here buying her an expensive ornament.
Janie Bennett works her tail off taking care of everyone else, and just this once, someone should take care of her.
I hide the bag in my jacket pocket as she walks over, clutching her own package. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this woman, it’s that she’s stubborn as a mule whenever I offer to help her. The timing has to be right to give her this ornament…and something tells me I need to wait.
“I bought something adorable for my daughter.” She holds up a matching Christmas bear hat-and-mitten set.
“What is it about dressing kids like little ferocious animals?” I say with a laugh.
“Because they are,” she says. “Have you seen Aria when she doesn’t want to do something? She turns into a monster.”
She smiles, and I can see the fierce, protective love I’ve never experienced—not as a kid or as an adult.
“I still don’t get it. But I also don’t get why people want to dress up like Santa.”
“Oh, come on, Rourke. Some things are just supposed to be fun.”
“Are you sure they just don’t want to face reality?” I ask.
She laughs. “Can you blame them?” Then she glances at me with snow in her hair and a smile that leaves me wanting to avoid reality too.
And I’m completely entranced by this version of Janie Bennett—the woman who is forcing me to have fun, even if it means dragging me to an obnoxious Christmas festival against my will.
She shivers slightly. “We should probably get inside to warm up.”
Right now, the only refuge from the snow is the local coffee shop, where Christmas lights glow in the front window. When we step inside, a lone guitarist is tucked into the corner playing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” The place is so packed we have to hover in the doorway.
A week ago, I would have made some sarcastic comment about the sappy music and how all these people have drunk the Christmas Kool-Aid. Honestly, I still want to make that comment. This song is designed to make people nostalgic for a holiday that’s mostly just commercial nonsense.
But then I look at Janie humming along softly, the smile on her pink lips, and my snarky comment dies before I can even get it out.
Not because I suddenly love Christmas—I don’t. The music is still annoying, the decorations hideous, and I still think this whole festival is ridiculously over the top.
But watching her enjoy it? That I don’t hate.
And that’s the problem. I can’t tell anymore if I’m tolerating this Christmas festival because I have to, or because seeing her happy makes the irritation almost worth it.
I stand close enough that our shoulders brush every time someone squeezes past us. My pulse speeds up and I’m suddenly aware of how small the space is between us. So small, I could wrap one arm around her waist easily.
When the song finishes, the guitarist glances up and grins. “We’ve got some lovebirds standing under the mistletoe.”
I look up, and there it is: a sprig of mistletoe hanging above the doorway, tied with a red velvet ribbon that matches the flush now spreading across Janie’s cheeks.
She shakes her head. “We don’t have to…” But her voice is drowned out by someone’s whistle.
“Come on, it’s a Christmas tradition in Santaville,” the guitarist adds, strumming a few chords. “Part of the holiday requirement.”
“Kiss her!” someone shouts.
Janie is staring at me with wide eyes. The crowd is watching, and I can feel the mounting pressure in the room. When I step closer to her, everything else fades to background noise.
“It’s just tradition, right?” Even though tradition is the last thing on my mind now.
“Of course.” She swallows. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Nothing at all,” I agree, though every nerve in my body is telling me differently. “Just part of the Christmas festival experience.”
“Exactly.” Her voice is slightly strained, but neither of us moves.
Who am I kidding? I don’t even like mistletoe. I’m only doing this for her.
I reach toward her, giving her every chance to step back. She doesn’t move as my thumb brushes along her cheekbone.
When I lean down, I stop just inches away from her lips. “You sure about this, Bennett? Once I kiss you, you might actually start liking me.”
Her eyes spark as her lips curl. “Pretty confident for someone standing under a plant he claims to hate.”
“I do hate it. But the view right now?” I let my gaze drop to her mouth. “Not bad.”
“Smooth, Riley.”
“Want me to stop?”
“I want you to stop talking and kiss me already.”
Without warning, she pushes up on her toes and closes the gap between us, fisting my coat to tug me closer.
I meant for this to be quick. Just satisfying the crowd.
But the second my mouth touches hers, I know I’m in trouble.
Electricity surges through my veins as Janie’s hands slide to my shoulders. My lips hungrily consume hers as her back arches and she leans into me.
Well, okay. There goes my self-control.
Even though it’s happening here—in the middle of this ridiculous festival, under some stupid plant, surrounded by everything I’ve spent years ridiculing.
But kissing Janie Bennett makes me forget all the reasons I hate Christmas.
Her hand comes to rest against my chest, and I can feel my heart racing under her palm. Can she tell that I’m completely undone? That my heart is beating faster than it does during a breakaway?
My fingers slide under her coat to her waist. The warmth of her curves against my palm lights a fire inside me.
I should pull away. End this before it goes any further.
Instead, I tilt my head slightly, and she responds by deepening the kiss, while my other hand slides to cup the back of her neck. She tastes like peppermint and sugar and—as much as I hate to admit it—Christmas itself.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t do feelings or get attached this quickly. I especially don’t fall for women who are the human embodiment of everything I’ve spent my entire adult life avoiding.
But here I am, kissing Janie Bennett under the mistletoe, and for the first time in my life, I don’t want it to stop.
When we finally break apart—too soon by my standards, though probably not soon enough—we’re staring like we’re seeing each other differently.
Not as rivals. Not as enemies.
Something infinitely more troubling.
Janie’s eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed. She’s never looked more beautiful.
And I’m completely, utterly screwed.
“That was…” she whispers, frowning like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve. “Confusing.”
“Confusing?” I repeat, because I’m definitely not confused about what I just felt.
“Yeah,” she says. “Very convincing, Riley.”
She takes a step away, putting distance between us, and I already miss the feel of her body against mine, the softness of her lips. “We should probably…go.”
Sure, because staying here in this overcrowded coffee shop is not doing me any favors. Especially when all I want is an encore. Right now, Janie just thinks that kiss was for show. Which might have been how it started, but definitely not how it ended.
Now I’m not sure where the pretending ends and the truth begins.
Or maybe I just need to get out of Santaville, away from the lights and the Christmas music and whatever just happened under that mistletoe.
Back to reality, where I can think clearly and remember all the reasons why Janie Bennett is a complication I don’t need.
“Yeah, let’s leave before we find any more mistletoe.”
Her expression shutters before she turns toward the door. “Right.” She stops, her attention fixed on the scene outside. “Um. Everything is…white.”
I follow her gaze and swear under my breath. The festival has disappeared under a blanket of snow.
I pull out my phone. The forecast has changed to a winter storm warning.
“Come on.” I head outside the coffee shop, Janie close behind.
When we reach my sports car, it’s buried under several inches of snow—completely useless in these conditions, but we don’t have much of a choice now.
“Think we’ll make it through this?” Janie asks as I brush snow off the windshield with my bare hands, since I don’t own a snow scraper.
“Sure,” I tell her because I know that’s what she wants. I’ve driven in snow before, but not this much, and definitely not in a car built for speed, not snowstorms.
The first few miles aren’t terrible but also not exactly fast. My car handles the snow better than I expected, and for a moment, I think we might actually make it.
But that hope dies the second we hit the highway.
What was a beautiful, scenic drive is now a white-knuckle nightmare of slick roadways and declining visibility. When my car fishtails, Janie’s hand grips the door handle.
I’m barely doing twenty-five when I see the police cruiser ahead, lights flashing, the road barricaded. The officer waves us down.
“Road’s closed,” he says when I roll down the window. “Conditions are too dangerous. Multiple accidents already in the last hour.”
“How long until it reopens?”
He shakes his head. “Probably not until morning. This freak storm’s worse than predicted. We don’t have the plows to handle this much snow. You folks need to head back to town and find somewhere to wait it out.”
“Wait it out? How long?” Janie asks, leaning across the car.
“At least overnight,” he replies.
Her eyes widen. “But we’re not staying the night. I have a baby at home…”
“I’m afraid to break the news, but Mother Nature says otherwise,” the cop tells her.
He directs us to do a U-turn and I drive toward town, wondering what we’re going to do now.
We need to find a different way out of town. Because I’m absolutely not staying in Santaville with this woman overnight.
“This is unbelievable,” Janie mutters, slumping back in her seat. “Today was supposed to be simple.”
“What?” I ask.
She throws up her hands. “The festival. Show you some holiday activities, maybe get you to feel differently about Christmas, then go home. Not…” Her gaze flicks to me before it darts away. “Getting snowed in.”
She’s not just referring to the weather. She's talking about what happened in that coffee shop under the mistletoe. And now we’re stuck here all night.
“If we can’t get home, we just need to find two rooms until the roads are open again,” she mutters.
Two rooms. Maximum distance so we don’t accidentally kiss again.
“If that’s what you want,” I say, studying her.
She turns toward me and her expression closes off. “Yeah...it is.”
But I'm not buying it for a second. Because a woman who wants distance doesn't kiss back like that.