Chapter 13 Annie
Annie
I felt lighter than usual this morning—almost chipper, which was saying something for me this time of year.
Normally, the holidays drained me. Too many memories clung to December like tinsel on an old tree—some sweet, some I wished I could box up and never see again.
As the days crept closer to Christmas, I usually found myself slipping further from the joy everyone else in this town seemed to wear so effortlessly.
But today was different.
After last night with Brooks, there was a pep in my step I couldn’t hide. My lips had been tugged upward in a smile since the second I woke up. Even now, as I leaned over the counter, kneading dough into a perfect, springy ball, I found myself humming under my breath.
The party was close, and I was definitely feeling the pressure from the mayor. I knew I could prep ahead by making doughs to freeze, stacking the pie crusts, and filling cookie tins. But as my hands worked the dough, my mind was somewhere else entirely.
On him.
Brooks had ruined me for any other man, and I was perfectly fine with that.
The thought of his body—strong, cut in all the right ways, those tattoos that looked sinful against golden skin—sent a wave of heat spiraling through me.
Not to mention the way he’d touched me. The way he’d made me feel.
My ex-husband had never been generous in that department, never cared about coaxing more than the bare minimum from me.
With Brooks, though? I couldn’t even focus enough to count how many times I’d shattered beneath him.
Once bled into twice, and then I was greedy for more before I’d even caught my breath.
I bit down on my smile, pressing my palms into the dough a little harder.
It was crazy to think having him here, living under my roof, of all things, would bring me peace instead of chaos.
Sure, he was here for Ruby, and that was supposed to be the whole point.
But why couldn’t I have a piece of him too?
A sliver, a stolen taste of something I hadn’t realized I’d been starving for.
This morning had only confirmed it.
Downstairs, as we’d stumbled around the kitchen trying to wake up, I caught him staring at me. That slow, deliberate kind of look that said he wasn’t just admiring me, he was undressing me all over again with his eyes.
So, of course, I bent just a little further than necessary when I reached for the bottom cabinet.
Just as I expected, he couldn’t resist.
The smack he gave my ass wasn’t soft. It was possessive, and it lit me up like someone had plugged me straight into a string of Christmas lights.
I’d nearly melted on the spot. If Ruby hadn’t been down the hall and breakfast wasn’t on the stove, I would have shoved his pajama pants down right there and made the moment memorable.
God, he was gorgeous. Built like a man who not only knew how to use every muscle but also knew exactly how to use the equipment he’d been given. The sheer size of him—the way he tossed me around without effort—it still made me shiver just thinking about it.
I sighed, the sound dreamy, and rolled the dough under my palms. My ex-husband didn’t even compare. Brooks was on another level entirely. Once you had a man like that, there was no going back.
I let myself hum again, spinning lightly on my heel. The kitchen was warm, the scent of cinnamon and sugar lingering from yesterday’s baking.
I twirled again, just because I could.
“Ugh.”
My brother Ollie’s voice dragged me out of my little daydream. He leaned against the doorway of the ski lodge kitchen, brows raised. “Why are you dancing in silence?”
I froze mid-spin, clutching the bowl like I’d been caught red-handed. Heat rushed to my cheeks.
“No reason,” I said a little too quickly, clearing my throat and began working the dough even harder with unnecessary precision. My hands busied themselves with the flour, dusting and kneading again like I hadn’t just been fantasizing about Brooks’ mouth, hands, and every damn inch of him.
Ollie smirked, clearly not buying it.
I told myself not to smile again, but of course I did. Because when a man like Brooks was under your roof, walking around in pajama pants that hung just right on his hips, it was nearly impossible not to.
“How’s my baby sister doing?”
He leaned against the counter, pressing a quick kiss to the top of my head.
The familiar scent of leather and crisp winter air clung to him, along with the sharp tang of coffee.
He was still in his sheriff’s uniform—dark-wash jeans, holster snug at his hip, badge glinting under the glow of the overhead lights.
Cowboy hat pushed back just so. Always ready for business, even if business in Snowberry Peak rarely stretched beyond handing out the occasional parking ticket or rescuing a cat stuck in a pine tree.
“Feeling the pressure,” I muttered, blowing out a breath as I turned slightly to face him. I brushed flour onto my apron, leaving pale streaks across the fabric.
He studied me with a crooked grin. “I feel like I haven’t seen you or Ruby in forever.”
“It’s been a week,” I said with a smirk, though I didn’t bother pointing that out too strongly. Ollie thrived on dramatics when it came to his family.
“Busy week,” I added. “I’ve been here most days, and Ruby’s been glued to Brooks.”
That earned me a sharp click of his tongue. Ollie folded his arms across his chest, his expression turning mock-serious. “So, my little niece’s heart has already been stolen by another man, has it? I bet he won’t sit through a tea party with her, though.”
“He did.”
Ollie’s eyebrows shot up. “Not in a dress, surely.”
“He did that too.”
My brother’s hands flew skyward like I’d just confessed to a crime. “Seriously? What are you trying to do, replace me?”
I laughed, the sound bubbling out before I could stop it. “Quit being so dramatic.”
He huffed and shifted back against the counter, though his grin betrayed him. “So I guess it’s going well then.”
“Actually, it is.”
I left it at that, though my mind instantly flashed back to my recent daydreams about Brooks’ hands, his mouth, the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. That was the kind of detail my brother didn’t need to know, so I bit my tongue.
Instead, I thought of Ruby. Of how she fell asleep with a smile each night, tucked under the covers with stories of adventures Brooks had spun for her.
How every afternoon I came home, she was eager to share some new memory he’d helped her make.
She seemed lighter. Happier. Safer. And that, more than anything, had eased the worry sitting like a stone in my chest.
“He’s not what I pictured when I posted the listing,” I admitted softly, almost to myself. But for Ruby—and maybe for me, too—it’s been good.
Ollie gave me a long look, the kind that stripped through all the layers I tried to hide behind. “And where exactly did this guy come from? Why was he interested in babysitting a seven-year-old in the first place?”
I wiped my hands on my apron, stalling. “He used to be a bull rider. These days he works as a rodeo clown—”
Ollie’s laughter boomed through the kitchen, bouncing off the lodge’s wooden beams. He bent forward, hands braced on his knees. “He’s a what?”
I leveled him with my best unimpressed glare. “Rodeo clown. Yes, I know it sounds crazy.”
“Crazy?” He lifted both palms in mock surrender, though he couldn’t stop grinning. “I never said that.”
“But you laughed,” I pointed out, narrowing my eyes.
“Because that was not what I expected you to say.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “It does explain it, though.”
My brow furrowed. “Explain what?”
“Why the women in town can’t stop talking about him.” His grin widened. “Apparently, your Brooks is strong and handsome—their words, not mine. Especially the ladies down at Ruby’s favorite store.”
Something hot curled low in my chest. A flood of warmth—sharp and unsettled—rose through me before I could stop it. Jealousy.
I hated the way it felt, hated even more that Ollie’s teasing struck too close to the truth.
Because yes, Brooks was strong and handsome.
More than that, he was magnetic in a way I hadn’t seen coming.
The thought of other women in Snowberry Peak noticing what I already knew…
well, it twisted something inside me I wasn’t ready to admit out loud.
I waved Ollie off with a flick of my flour-dusted hand and turned back to the counter, pressing my palms into the dough.
“He’ll be gone in a week,” I said lightly, though my voice cracked more than I wanted it to. “So the ladies better get their fill while they can.”
The words felt thin, brittle, like they belonged to someone else.
I swallowed hard, hoping Ollie wouldn’t notice the way my shoulders stiffened.
Because the truth was, I didn’t want anyone to get their fill of Brooks.
Not the women down at the general store, not the flirtatious widows who lingered too long at the bakery, not a single soul in this snow-blanketed town.
I wanted him for myself.
I wanted to tie him up with the damn tinsel for my tree to make sure he didn’t go anywhere lingering eyes could find him.
The fantasy hit me square in the chest, and I slammed my fist into the dough a little too hard. A sharp thud rattled across the counter, causing the measuring cups and the little tin of cinnamon sugar to shiver and clink together.
Ollie’s head snapped up. He stared at the dough, then at me, his brows slowly climbing.
“Don’t say a word,” I hissed, narrowing my eyes.
My brother raised both hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wasn’t gonna,” he drawled, though the sparkle in his eyes told me he’d already guessed more than I wanted him to.
Bless him, he didn’t press. He just leaned back against the counter again, humming some off-key Christmas tune, while I tried to wrestle both the dough and my feelings back into submission.