Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
LIAM
Today was Emily’s light-up night, the first in the competition. Liam told himself he was only there to scope out the competition, not because he was hoping to run into Cassidy. The fact that she was there too was just a bonus.
All week they’d been rushed off their feet running their shops.
He’d caught glimpses of her, outside, shoveling her sidewalk, or opening her door to greet customers with a smile.
It was a good thing, this forced distance, given how strong Liam’s feelings were becoming.
He needed to cool his mind and the heat that pumped through his veins every time he hung out with her.
Now he spotted her across the square, bundled in a red puffer coat, a to-go cup cradled between her gloved hands. Black leggings, gray hiking boots with fur at the top. A green knit beanie pulled low over her ears, a braid slipping out the back.
He shouldn’t have been thinking about how amazing she looked. But he was.
If she were just a tourist, a woman passing through, he’d approach her casually. Bump into her. Say something about the weather and how cold it had turned. Maybe mention the lake, frozen solid this time of year. If she was the outdoorsy type, she might want to try ice fishing.
He imagined the conversation. Her curious smile. Her laughter.
In the winter, small ice shanties—like miniature cabins on the ice—popped up across the frozen surface, giving people a place to fish or warm up while the snow fell around them.
They’d head out to his shanty on the lake, his little wood-paneled escape, insulated and warm, tucked away from the world.
His had a space heater, soft fleece blankets, and a small cot. He’d start the heater. Offer her a drink. Maybe bourbon. Maybe cocoa. Watch her lips curl around the rim of the mug.
They’d fish, or pretend to, sitting on the cot, shoulder to shoulder.
Maybe she’d tease him.
He’d flirt back, playful, fun, like she was.
First, it would just be their legs brushing, then his hand on her knee, then she’d lean into him, laugh.
Then, when the sexual tension crackled and popped, he’d cradle her face in his hands and kiss her. Softly and slowly. Not rushed. No, he’d let it build. Let her feel how much he wanted her. How long he’d been holding back.
Outside, the snow would blow across the lake, ice crystals building on the windows, reminding them of how cold it was.
But inside it would be blazing.
She’d pull back and give him the look, the one that said more—and he’d oblige, laying her back on the cot, peeling her coat off, and her sweater.
Her nipples would be hard and stiff with nothing but the ice surrounding them. But his mouth? It would be hot as he kissed and sucked, making love to her breasts.
Her breath would hitch as he ran his hands along her thighs, fingers brushing the edge of those soft black leggings. His finger would trace the center, and she’d arch into him, still wanting more.
He’d slide the fabric down, inch by inch, revealing the body he’d been fantasizing about since the moment he saw her.
He’d explore her like he had all the time in the world—touching, teasing, learning every gasp and whimper.
His lips would replace his fingers, licking, tasting, driving her to the edge.
And then, when she was needy and breathless, begging for more, he’d kneel between her legs, pull her to the edge of the cot, lift her up just a bit, and slide into her in one deep stroke.
He’d fill her over and over again until she moaned his name from her lips and her body quaked around him.
It would be everything he wanted. Everything he thought he needed.
But then the fantasy shifted.
She’d shiver after, and he’d wrap her in a blanket, carry her to his truck.
Drive her back to his place. He’d make her lasagna, the kind that took hours to bake.
Pour a glass of red wine. Ask her about her favorite books, music, the place in Paris she missed most. He’d play her a record, maybe old jazz, and she’d spin slowly around his kitchen, teasing him, laughing.
Maybe they’d take a shower.
God, he really wanted to see her in his shower.
The image alone had his pulse pounding and blood rushing south. He shifted where he stood, fighting to come back to reality. This was not the place for his imagination to get the best of him.
Liam looked around him at all the good, small-town charm that he always tried to avoid this time of year.
But not tonight, not when he was trying anything and everything to keep his mind off of Cassidy and all the things he wanted to do with her, because honestly, fantasy Liam was just getting started.
Right now, the Christmas carolers, the sea of Santa hats, the smell of cinnamon-roasted almonds—they were all a welcome distraction.
“Hey, you,” Cassidy said, bumping her hip into him.
Liam startled and then felt like an idiot, wondering if she could tell how hard he still was from thinking about her.
She raised an eyebrow. “You okay there?”
“Yeah, just—uh—thinking about strategy.” Liam motioned to the bakery before him. “I take competition seriously.”
She grinned. “Well, if you’re referring to me, you should know that it’s nothing personal, just business.”
He gave a tight smile. “That’s what they all say, right before someone ends up naked on a cot in the middle of a frozen lake.”
“Wait, what?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Forget it.”
But he couldn’t forget. And judging by the tightness still in his jeans, he was pretty sure he’d never look at his ice shanty the same way again.
“Anyway, you ready for this?” he asked, willing himself to focus on anything else.
“I was born ready,” she replied confidently, swinging her arm in front of her like a strongman.
“Really?”
“No, I just always wanted to say that. But how hard can this be? We throw up some lights, do a cute window display, and raise a bunch of money for charity…”
Liam huffed a quiet laugh. Cassidy had no idea what she was in for or how seriously people took competitions in this town.
Just then, lights began to swirl in front of the Pumpkin Pie Bakery. Large snowflake projections shimmered on the windows, which were draped in orange fabric to match the bakery’s pumpkin theme.
The front door swung open, and Emily stepped outside, giving a little wave to the gathering crowd.
Zach, Madison, and Anita were right up front to cheer Emily on.
She wore a chunky cream sweater and a pair of dark jeans under a pumpkin-colored apron.
Her blonde hair was piled into a messy bun with wisps and bangs framing her heart-shaped face.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she smiled, the glow from the swirling lights catching in her blue eyes, making her look every bit the friendly, small-town baker she was.
Mayor Bloomfield stood beside her, microphone in hand, looking festive as ever. Tonight, he wore a green velvet sport coat topped off with a Santa hat, and a grin that showed how much he lived for moments like this.
His great-niece and assistant, Elsie, stood by, phone at the ready to livestream the entire event.
“Uncle Hank, can you angle slightly left? We need the logo in the shot for the thumbnail.” Elsie tugged him a half-step sideways, earning a chuckle from the mayor.
Emily glanced over, her smile tightening as she noticed Elsie filming. “Do we really need this live?” she whispered.
“It’s for brand reach,” Elsie shot back, not taking her eyes off her screen. “We have to modernize these events if Maple Falls wants to stay relevant.”
From her spot in the crowd, Cassidy heard Elsie’s commentary and rolled her eyes, muttering to Liam, “Relevant? It’s Christmas in Maple Falls, not an influencer launch.”
Liam’s mouth twitched. “Just smile for the camera, Sugarplum.”
Cassidy shot him a look but couldn’t suppress the small, reluctant grin as the lights dimmed and the snowflake projections grew brighter, casting gentle reflections across the street and over the gathered neighbors, all bundled in scarves and mittens.
“Thank you all so much for coming out to our first Christmas light-up night of the season!” the mayor boomed.
“Emily would like to remind you that her charity of choice is the City Rescue Mission, a local organization that helps families in need. You can place your donations in…” Mayor Bloomfield looked around for Emily’s donation box.
“Over here,” Emily said, showcasing her oversized, handmade gingerbread house. It was beautifully decorated with icing trim, gumdrop windows, and candy-cane railings. But instead of being purely decorative, the front door was actually a mail-slot-style opening for donations.
“Perfect! Yes, drop your donations off in the gingerbread house. The winning business and charity will be announced following our annual Christmas Eve walk.”
Elsie took the mic from the mayor. “And don’t forget, this year you can donate and vote online! On Christmas Eve, just go onto the competition website to cast your vote!”
Mayor Bloomfield took the mic back. “Er, right, or you can vote at City Hall anytime on Christmas Eve before five o’clock.
That’s what I plan to do!” He raised his hand with theatrical flair.
“Now, if you’ll all count down with me from five, we’ll see the dazzling display Emily and her crew have created for you! ”
The crowd joined in enthusiastically. “Five… four… three… two… one!”
Inside, Emily tugged a gold-tasseled rope, and the orange curtain dropped.
Right as the curtain fell, a brass quartet launched into “Joy to the World,” their bright sound cutting through the nighttime air. At the same moment, gold glitter shot out of hidden cannons, raining sparkles all around them.
Everyone oohed and ahhed as the window display lit up.
The bakery had gone with an elegant silver and gold theme.
Faux snow and shimmering silver glitter dusted the front steps.
Oversized gold and silver ornaments dangled from the awning.
The front window featured a towering five-layer white cake, adorned with gold and silver marzipan snowflakes, sugared cranberries, and tiny candied oranges flanked by two silver Christmas trees that were decorated with miniature clay ornaments—tiny pumpkin pies, cupcakes, and coffees.
The other window showcased a dazzling display of holiday desserts that appeared to be floating on top of fluffy artificial snow.
The dessert plates rotated, bringing each one under the spotlight.
Even Liam had to admit—Emily had pulled out all the stops.
He glanced at Cassidy.
Judging by the stunned expression on her face, she’d just realized the competition was very, very real.
“Woah,” she whispered, taking it all in.
Liam grinned. “Might as well quit now, no?”
She crossed her arms and tilted her chin. Her expression switched from awe to defiance in a heartbeat. “Please. I haven’t even started yet.”
“Uh-huh.” He took a step closer, dropping his voice just enough to make her shiver. “Still time to back out. Save yourself the heartbreak.”
She smirked. “You think I’m scared of that?” She motioned to the bakery. “It’s lovely, sure. But it’s missing one key ingredient.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Me.” She flashed him a grin that was pure challenge.
Liam laughed, low and warm. “Okay, Sugarplum. You talk a big game, but can you actually deliver?”
Cassidy leaned in, close enough that he could smell the peppermint on her breath, her eyes glittering with mischief.
“Oh, I can deliver, alright. Because you want to know what else I’ve got?
” She didn’t give him a chance to answer.
“A sprinkle of holiday magic. A secret recipe passed down through generations. And cocoa bombs that explode with glittery marshmallows when you pour milk over them.”
She stepped back, flipping her braid over her shoulder as she looked him dead in the eye. “So don’t get too comfortable over there with your twinkle lights, Lumberjack. Because when I’m through, you’ll be begging for mercy.”