Chapter 4
FOUR
brENTON
I probably shouldn’t be here.
It’s almost eleven, the snow is picking up, and the lodge is quiet except for the crunch of my boots and the faint hum of the porch lights. I should be at the firehouse doing my report, or eating something, or sleeping.
Instead I’m sneaking up the side stairs like some kind of guilty teenager…
with Greer’s second Secret Santa gift tucked inside my coat.
I should have delivered it earlier. I meant to. But then the Maple Ridge call came in, and after that all I could think about was seeing her face and knowing she was okay.
And the way she looked at me? Like she was relieved. Like she cared.
It’s been looping in my head for hours.
I make my way down the hallway toward the lodge office area. The staff mail cubbies are just around the corner. All I need to do is drop the gift into Greer’s slot and walk away.
Simple enough. Right?
Except as I round the corner—She’s there.
Standing at her cubby with her back to me. Hair loose around her shoulders. Sweater rumpled like she’s been working for too many hours. The faint glow from the decorative garland overhead makes her look…soft. Tired. Beautiful.
My heart leaps into my throat.
I freeze. Gift still in my pocket.
What the fuck should I do now? Back up? Hide? Pretend I was here to check on the lodge’s wiring?
But before I can choose an escape route, she turns.
Her eyes widen when she sees me.
“Brenton?” she whispers.
Fuck me. I’m caught.
I lift a hand in a helpless half-wave. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here this late?” she asks, stepping closer.
My mind races. I cannot let her see the wrapped package in my coat. If she does, the jig is up. She’ll connect the dots instantly.
“I just…wanted to check something,” I say, which is true in the loosest, most morally flexible sense.
Her gaze softens. “Are you okay?”
The question knocks the air right out of me.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Just…couldn’t sleep.”
And then she gives me this look—gentle, warm, concerned—that hits so deep I feel it everywhere.
“You were shaken from earlier,” she says. “I could tell.”
I swallow. “You were too.”
She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Her eyes dip to my jacket, then back to my face.
I need to move. Need to break the tension before she notices the very incriminating rectangular shape in my coat.
Think, Brenton.
Think.
I clear my throat and gesture vaguely upward. “Hey, um—look.”
Her brows pinch. “At what?”
“Mistletoe,” I say.
Her eyes flick up.
Sure enough, there’s a single sprig of fake mistletoe hanging from the garland. I don’t know who put it there. Maybe Holt. Maybe Jovie. Maybe a cruel god with a sense of humor.
Greer blinks up at it, then back at me.
And I can feel the moment she realizes what that usually means.
“Oh,” she says softly.
“Yeah,” I say, voice suddenly thick. “Oh.”
We stand there like idiots for a second, breathing the same air, her chest rising too fast, her lips parted slightly.
I should offer her an out.
I don’t.
I take one careful step toward her. Her back presses lightly against the wall beside the cubbies, but she doesn’t move away.
“Greer,” I murmur, because her name tastes good in my mouth. “Can I…?”
She nods before I finish the sentence.
I lower my head, slow enough for her to stop me if she wants.
She doesn’t.
Her breath brushes my lips. My heartbeat is a hammer.
And when I finally close the distance—when her mouth meets mine—it feels like stepping into warmth after being cold too long.
She makes a small sound—somewhere between a sigh and a gasp—and her fingers clutch the front of my jacket. It unravels me instantly.
I slide one hand to her waist, the other braced on the wall beside her, careful but hungry. She kisses me back like she’s been trying not to think about this as much as I have.
I break the kiss so we can catch our breaths. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
Her fingers tighten. “Brenton…”
I kiss her again. Slower this time. With more confidence.
Her lips part, and every thought I’ve ever had about being cautious or professional or careful goes up in flames.
I press closer. But then, the sound of footsteps snaps both of us still.
Greer jerks back, eyes wide.
I turn my head just as Holt rounds the corner with a box of garland.
He stops dead.
“Oh,” he says, blinking. “Um. Wow. Not—not what I expected to walk into. Should I—leave? Come back? Walk into the snow and never return?”
Greer looks mortified.
I try to play it cool even though my pulse is in another universe. “We were just—uh—there’s mistletoe.”
Holt looks up. “Well, that explains nothing and everything.”
Greer covers her face with one hand. “This is…not what it looks like.”
“Greer,” Holt says gently, “it looks exactly like what it looks like. Also? It’s fine. Also also? I’m telling Jovie.”
“You are absolutely not,” Greer says, mortified.
Holt grins, backing away. “My lips are sealed unless bribed. Continue…whatever this is.”
He disappears down the hall.
Greer groans softly.
I lean close, voice low. “He’s not wrong. This is exactly what it looks like.”
Her hand falls from her face. She looks up at me, cheeks flushed, lips still slightly swollen from my kiss.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” she whispers.
I nod, throat tight. “Me neither.”
We stand there in a bubble of suspended time, everything too quiet, too charged.
Then she glances toward her cubby again. “Were you…looking for me? Or actually checking something?”
The gift in my pocket suddenly weighs fifty pounds.
I swallow hard. “I, uh—was dropping something off.”
“For Holt?” she asks.
“Not exactly.”
Her eyes narrow. “For who—”
“Greer?” A voice calls from the lobby. “Could you help with a guest question?”
Greer pulls in a startled breath. “I—I should go.”
“Yeah,” I say, stepping back. “Duty calls.”
She hesitates like she wants to say more…like the kiss unsettled her as much as it did me.
Then she slips around me and heads toward the lobby, fingertips brushing mine for half a second—a fleeting, electric touch that shoots straight up my arm.
When she’s gone, the hallway feels colder.
I exhale shakily and pull the gift from inside my coat—a small box wrapped in brown paper with a red string—and slide it into her cubby as fast as I can.
Then I stand there for a second, staring at the little package with my heart beating out of rhythm.
She’s going to open it tomorrow. She’s going to know someone sees her. She’s going to feel something.
And now, after that kiss, everything is ten times more complicated.
I start to walk away, forcing myself not to look back over my shoulder.
But as I push through the back door into the snow, the cold air hits my face and I realize the truth I’ve been trying not to admit—
That kiss didn’t solve anything. It only made me want more. A lot more.
And I have absolutely no idea how to keep those feelings a secret now.