The One Night Stand Before Christmas (Sycamore Falls #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

CLAIRE

“I’m so sorry, Parker,” I rush out as I pace in front of the window overlooking the city of Boston that’s covered with a thick blanket of snow. And there’s even more falling at a steady clip.

Normally, I’d love everything about this. The tranquility of the city as snow fell. The crispness in the air. Watching kids build snowmen.

Not right now, though.

Not when there’s so much I need to do back home.

“I tried to get an earlier flight out once I learned about the snowstorm, but everyone had the same idea. I’ll do everything I can to get on the earliest flight possible, but—”

“Claire,” my boss interrupts in a gentle but firm tone, “it’s not your fault Logan Airport turned into a snow globe. You can’t control the weather.”

“But it’s almost Thanksgiving,” I reply, filled with guilt over the prospect of being away from Holley Ridge for a night longer than we originally planned.

The conference I attended this week was everything I hoped it would be and more. Panels on winter marketing trends, guest engagement, influencer packages. But the storm grounded every flight out of Boston until tomorrow morning at the earliest.

“The Christmas festival is just weeks away. And with all the additional events, I—”

“The only thing you should be doing is sipping something red and overpriced in a hotel bar.”

“I can start batching some content ahead of time,” I assure Parker so she doesn’t have to worry about me falling behind. “Can probably put together some promos for the baking competition we’ve added.”

“Claire.”

“Just a few videos and graphics. I can also—”

“Claire Thomas,” Parker interjects, her voice demanding, causing me to snap my mouth shut. When she speaks again, her tone is softer. Lighter. “You’ve been working nonstop on this for weeks. Months. You need to take a break. Trust me.”

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You sound like my sister.”

“Because she’s right. I used to be like you. Working every waking moment to prove to everyone I could do it.”

I part my lips to argue, but she cuts me off.

“If you even think about opening your laptop again tonight, you’re fired.”

“It’s the least I should do since I’m stuck here for another night.”

“No. It’s the last thing you should do. Go to the hotel bar. Order a drink. Flirt with a stranger. Live a little.”

“Flirting with strangers isn’t my strong suit,” I admit.

“Neither is relaxing apparently. Consider this a learning opportunity. After all, you know what Grandma Estelle says, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure I want to know,” I mutter under my breath, all too familiar with how eccentric our small town’s octogenarian can be.

“According to her, creativity spikes after a dopamine hit. And there’s no bigger dopamine hit than some sexy times with an attractive man.”

I should be mortified the woman who is technically my boss is all but encouraging me to have a one-night stand while away on a business trip she paid for.

But Parker’s always been more than just a boss.

Being from a town as small as Sycamore Falls, everyone tends to be more like extended family, Parker included.

“So go. Have some fun. Step out of your comfort zone for once. That’s a direct order.”

She hangs up before I can protest, leaving me alone with my overactive brain and the weight of just wanting to prove I can do this.

That despite being only twenty-four, I can handle the marketing of a popular inn and premier wedding destination, particularly during their popular Christmas festival that draws thousands of people every year.

I’m more than aware Parker took a risk in giving me this job when she could have hired someone with so much more experience.

I don’t want her to regret her decision.

Which is why instead of going downstairs to the bar, I open my laptop.

Almost instantly, my phone buzzes.

Parker:

I can feel you working. STOP. Go have a drink. Flirt. Be twenty-four. Work will always be there. The handsome stranger you might meet won’t.

I laugh at how well she knows me.

I can’t deny that a glass of wine does sound good.

So despite everything I should be doing right now, I follow my boss’ order and close my laptop.

The lobby is straight out of a holiday movie.

Twinkling fairy lights wrap around the exposed beams overhead.

A towering fir tree glows with gold and red ornaments.

Garlands of pine drape over the mantle of the oversized fireplace, filling the space with the crisp scent of evergreen.

There’s even soft instrumental carols playing in the background, subtle enough not to annoy the non-holiday crowd.

My marketing brain immediately starts cataloging everything. The balance between opulence and comfort. The warm lighting. The curated scents.

But then I catch myself.

No working, Claire. Remember?

But turning off my brain is like trying to stop a freight train. Hopefully, a glass of wine will help.

The bar is nestled in the corner, a cozy blend of historic charm and modern sophistication.

Brass sconces cast warm pools of light over wooden barstools.

Glass shelves gleam behind the bar, displaying bottles like trophies.

A fireplace crackles quietly in the corner, surrounded by low tables where votive candles flicker gently beside half-full glasses.

I take a seat at the bar and order a glass of cabernet. The bartender returns quickly with my wine. After snapping a photo of the glass against the elegant bar top, I send it to Parker.

Me:

Happy?

Parker:

So proud. Now drink up.

I lift the glass, letting the familiar aroma invade my senses before taking a sip. Warmth trickles through me — berries, oak, the faintest hint of spice. I close my eyes and let myself enjoy it for two whole seconds before someone slides into the seat beside me.

“You look familiar.”

His voice is smooth. Too smooth.

I glance at him and recognize him instantly. Not for anything good, though.

I overheard him earlier bragging to a group of men about how conferences are “a prime hunting ground.”

His eyes rake over me. Slowly. Hungrily.

“You were at the conference, weren’t you?”

I nod politely and shift away, hoping the chill in my expression is enough of a hint.

It’s not.

He leans closer, taking a sip of his drink. “Crazy weather, huh? Guess we’re all stuck tonight. Could be worse ways to pass the time, though.” He leers at me again, his gaze landing squarely on my chest.

“I’m actually waiting for someone,” I lie.

“Then I’ll keep you company until they show up.” He grins wider, inching into my space yet again. “Maybe convince you to ditch whoever you’re meeting for me.”

His hand grazes my knee. There’s a faint indentation where a wedding ring usually sits.

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on.” He moves closer, invading even more of my space. His breath reeks of alcohol and fried food. “We’re all stranded here another night. May as well make the most of it. I’ll make it worth your while.”

I inwardly groan. Why do all men think they’re God’s gift to women? That just because they show a modicum of interest, we’ll happily spread our legs?

That may work for other women, but not me.

“I told you. I—”

“I believe the lady told you she wasn’t interested.”

The voice is low and lethal, smooth as velvet but laced with danger. I turn just as a tall figure steps between us, forcing the creep to pull away from me.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Someone you don’t want to test,” the man murmurs just loud enough for him to hear, an air of confidence and control about him. “If I were you, I’d apologize to the lady, then leave.”

There’s a quiet weight to his words, the kind that comes from someone who’s ended fights with a single move. His body radiates restraint, but only barely.

“We were just talking. I—”

“I said to apologize and leave.”

Several seconds pass as the two men glare at each other. Finally, the creep stands from his chair.

“Fine,” he bites out, downing the rest of his drink and heading toward the elevators.

“I believe you’re forgetting something,” the man calls after him.

The creep stops in his tracks, confused at first. The suit-clad man simply widens his stance, the threat unmistakable.

“Sorry,” the creep mutters.

“I think you can do better.”

The creep pins me with a glare, obviously hating to be put in his place. He’s probably never experienced it before. But the man won’t back down. Instead, he crosses his arms over his broad chest, making him appear even more threatening.

“I’m sorry for not listening.”

The man looks my way.

It’s the first time I’ve seen his face. He’s older.

Distinguished. Dark eyes. Sharp jaw. A bit of scruff, like he didn’t bother shaving because he doesn’t feel the need to impress anyone.

His suit jacket is expensive, and something about the controlled strength and quiet dominance in his body language screams authority.

“Are you satisfied with his apology?”

The deep timbre of his voice causes an unexpected shiver to roll through me, but I push it down and nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

The man turns back to the creep. “Now you’re free to go.”

The creep doesn’t hesitate. He spins around, muttering under his breath, and disappears into an elevator.

Once the doors close, I release a long breath, taking a much-needed sip of wine.

“Sorry if I overstepped,” the man offers after a beat. “I just don’t like seeing women being taken advantage of. There are assholes everywhere.”

“You’re right about that,” I retort with a roll of my eyes. “I appreciate you stepping in.”

He nods once, then gestures toward my half-empty glass. “Let me buy you another.”

“Shouldn’t I offer to buy you one?”

He quirks a brow. “We’re already negotiating. I like that.” He moves to the vacant seat beside me but doesn’t sit, unlike its previous occupant. “May I?”

My eyes lock on his. A part of me thinks I should thank him again for his help, then insist I have work to do. It’s not a complete lie. I do have work to do. Another glass of wine will make that challenging.

But Parker’s words choose this moment to replay in my head, telling me to live a little. Since starting this job, it’s been my focus. I can’t even remember the last time I went out for drinks.

So despite the laundry list of things I need to get done, I give the handsome stranger a small smile.

“I’d like that.”