Chapter 2
Annie
The bar was humming with holiday cheer—string lights draped across the rafters, the faint scent of cinnamon and pine drifting from the mulled wine steaming on the counter.
The hum of conversation mixed with the soft croon of a Bing Crosby song playing over the speakers, and I let the warmth from the fireplace soak into my bones as I sipped my cranberry mule.
I’d promised myself I wouldn’t check my phone, but promises to myself usually had a short shelf life. I pulled it from my bag and opened the posting board, half-hopeful, half-dreading what I’d see.
Three responses.
The first one? From Marla. Sweet woman, beloved in Snowberry Peak… and about seventy-four years old with a bad knee. She’d be fantastic for reading bedtime stories, but probably not so great for chasing Ruby through the snow or surviving one of her “let’s make a slime volcano” afternoons.
The second was a guy who, based on his profile picture, looked like he might still need a nanny himself.
And the third—oh, the third—was just a single line: “How hard could babysitting be” with no punctuation. No experience listed. Probably a serial killer.
I groaned, shoving my phone back into my purse. “That’s it,” I muttered to myself. “The internet has failed me. This was pointless.”
I refused to let myself think about what the alternative might be if I wasn’t able to find a nanny.
The door opened, and a swirl of cold air curled around my ankles. I looked up… and immediately forgot about my nanny crisis.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Muscles that pulled at the sleeves of his flannel in a way that should be illegal in at least twenty-two states.
Dark hair dusted with snow, a jawline that looked like it had been carved by someone with an unhealthy obsession with perfection.
And those eyes—sharp, curious, locking onto mine like he’d just spotted the one person he was hoping to find.
My cheeks warmed, but not from chestnuts roasting over an open fire.
He took a few steps toward the bar, giving me the once-over with a smile that was equal parts charm and trouble. “You look like you’re plotting something,” he said, voice low and warm.
I arched a brow. “And you look like you’ve just stepped out of a lumberjack calendar.”
His grin widened. “Which month am I?”
“December,” I said without hesitation. “Because you look like you’d chop down a Christmas tree for someone… but only after making them think you forgot just to add a little extra spice and drama.”
He chuckled, leaning on the bar beside me. “That’s oddly specific. Should I be worried?”
“Probably,” I replied, sipping my drink.
He flagged down the bartender, ordered something dark in a lowball glass, then turned back to me. “So, do you come here often, or am I about to sound like the guy in every bad Hallmark movie?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “Do you own a struggling bakery or a small-town inn?”
“No, but I can fake it for the right woman.”
I laughed, the tension I’d been carrying all day loosening just a bit. “Wow. That was smooth.”
“I try. Name’s—”
“Don’t tell me,” I interrupted, holding up a hand. “Let me guess. Something strong. Classic. Definitely not ‘Todd.’”
He tilted his head, eyes dancing. “You’re good.”
“I’m rarely wrong.”
“Hmm. Dangerous combination…smart and confident.”
We both sipped our drinks, that easy, playful energy sparking between us. I wasn’t thinking about work, or my ex, or my looming childcare disaster. I was thinking about how this stranger had walked in from the snow and made the whole room feel warmer.
And I had a feeling he knew exactly what he was doing.
“You’re not from here,” I said, studying him over the rim of my glass.
God, he was so attractive it was unfair.
“Noticed that, did you?”
“I’ve lived in Snowberry Peak my whole life,” I replied. “I know everyone here. Even the mailman’s second cousin.”
He smirked. “Maybe I’m just good at hiding.”
“Or maybe you’re trouble.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Would that be a dealbreaker?”
I didn’t answer right away. I just smiled and took another sip.
He leaned back, one arm draped along the back of the chair, his body turned toward me like he had all the time in the world.
I waved at the bartender to replace my cranberry mule with something stronger. While I was at it, I also ordered a couple of tequila shots to down with a complete stranger.
My new male friend eyed them up and I smirked, pushing the ones I’d ordered for him in his direction.
Just as I thought from his confidence alone, he smiled back and took them.
“Cheers,” he said, holding his first shot glass up to me.
I repeated the motion back and sent him a wink.
I was the kind of woman who often went after what she wanted. I wasn’t shy, wasn’t bashful and always was down to bring a man to their knees.
With synchronized movements, we both tilted the first one back.
“You always this forward with strangers?” he asked, his voice low and just a little rough.
“Only the ones who look like they could split firewood with their bare hands,” I murmured. And probably split me in half, too.
That made him laugh, which was quiet but genuine.
I decided to lean in, propping my chin on my elbow and immediately reached for the second shot glass.
“Again?” He asked, brows raised high.
“Are you afraid you can’t keep up?”
The man scoffed, lifted and drank the next shot without even waiting for me to join in.
Then, he leaned in too, and that’s when I felt the heat of his leg brush against mine.
Oh, he was playing the same game I was. I could feel the tension, the desire practically radiating off my skin. Or maybe it was the heat from the liquor now swimming through my veins.
The dim lights of the bar caught the sharp line of his jaw as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass.
“So,” I said, tilting my head. “What brings you to Snowberry Peak? And don’t say the skiing, everyone says that, and I’ll know you’re lying.”
I reached out, running a finger along his arm.
He took a slow sip, watching me over the rim of his glass. “Change of pace.” His voice hit a lower, more sultry tone.
I raised a brow. “That’s vague.”
“Maybe I like vague.”
“Or maybe you’re hiding something,” I countered, pulling my hand back and pressing my knee closer to his under the bar top. “Let me guess… divorce?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Nope.”
I sat back and tapped a finger to my chin. “Okay, then. Ex-convict on the run?”
He chuckled low in his throat. “Would that make me more interesting?”
“Depends. Did you do it?” My eyes narrowed in mock suspicion.
He leaned forward, closing the distance between us just a little. “What if I told you I was innocent?”
“What if I didn’t believe you?” I murmured, my hand sliding under the bar until it landed on his upper thigh.
His gaze dropped briefly to the contact, and I felt the faintest shift as he moved closer to me.
I was bold, brazen. I prided myself on my ability to flirt, though I never got to let this version of me out to play.
“I’m starting to think you might be the trouble,” he said, voice warm and teasing.
“I’ve been told that before.” I let my fingers trail back toward my drink, slow enough for him to notice the absence.
His smirk deepened. “So, no questions about whether I’m married? Or secretly engaged? I said no to being divorced. You’re skipping the important stuff.”
I shrugged, sipping my mule. “If you were, you wouldn’t be here sitting in a bar, drinking with a woman whose name you don’t even know. At least I’d hope you wouldn’t be.”
“Maybe that’s exactly why I’m here,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, that hint of heat making the air between us feel heavier.
I laughed softly, leaning my elbow on the surface so we were almost level. “Careful. You keep talking like that, and I’ll start thinking you came here for me.”
He held my gaze, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “And if I did?”
My pulse kicked up, but I didn’t break eye contact. “Then I guess you’re not as vague as you think you are.”
The rest of the bar faded into a blur of holiday chatter and clinking glasses. Just his eyes on mine, and the unspoken awareness that we were playing a game neither of us wanted to end.
His eyes then fell to my lips and on instinct, I ran my tongue against the bottom one before pulling it between my teeth.
The desire was there, humming between us, but neither of us moved to cross the line. Maybe it was because we didn’t know each other’s names. Perhaps it was because the not-knowing was the fun part.
Or maybe it was because, deep down, I knew that if I kissed him, I wouldn’t want to stop, and I wasn’t one to indulge in the first meeting.
It was more fun to tease and play, make them want more, and they always did.
As much fun as I was having, I’d only come here for a quick drink—not two drinks and a couple of shots with a total stranger, no matter how ridiculously good-looking he was.
Still… if fate happened to toss him back in my path, there was no telling if I’d pass up the chance to climb him like a fir tree in Rockefeller Center.
I drained the last of my glass, the tart sweetness of cranberry lingering on my tongue, and set it down on the polished bar. Sliding my phone and gloves into my bag, I started to gather my things.
“Leaving so soon?” His voice carried that warm, teasing drawl that made me want to stay. “We didn’t even get to do the cliché small-town bar dancing… or kiss outside under the snowfall.”
I couldn’t hide my smile as I ran a hand down the length of my ponytail. “I don’t kiss on a first date.”
His brows lifted, his mouth curving into a slow grin. “This is a date?” He sipped from his still mostly full glass, peering at me over the rim like he was testing me.
“It can be,” I said, meeting his gaze. “So next time I see you around town, maybe I’ll give you that kiss in the snow or a spin to some upbeat country twang.”
“Then this is most definitely a date,” he said without hesitation.
He stood, his height stealing a bit of my breath, and offered me his hand.
I scoffed softly, but slid mine into his, letting him help me down from the stool.
My heels hit the worn wood floor, and I became fully aware of how much space he took up—broad shoulders, solid frame, muscles that made him seem two, maybe three times my size.
A real-life teddy bear… if teddy bears had forearms like carved oak.
He didn’t let go. Instead, he lifted my hand slowly, deliberately, and pressed his lips to my skin. The heat of the gesture sent a rush to my cheeks, and I knew he caught it from the way his eyes flickered with something smug and satisfied.
Those eyes—warm whiskey brown, steady and unreadable—held mine for a beat longer than was necessary.
“Hopefully I’ll see you around,” I said softly.
“Likewise,” he murmured, still holding my hand. “I’ll be eagerly waiting for date two.”