Chapter 22
Georgia hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. In fact, she’d been trying to give herself some much-needed space from Jake to gather her thoughts. That’s why she’d agreed to help Joy run the cash register.
Little did she know, it was a setup.
Joy had Jake on Christmas tree duty, manhandling the trees from the lot to the cash register. So every sale she rang up involved a sexy grin from Paul Bunyon.
She was running a patron’s credit card when she spotted him crouched down on the balls of his feet, listening intently to a little girl with pigtails and a pink puffy coat debating the “vulnerabilities” and “structural weaknesses” of their soon-to-be Christmas tree like it was a science project.
Next to him, juggling a diaper bag, an infant, and the kind of weary smile that only single parents wore, was the girl’s mom—who looked dead on her feet.
“Well,” Jake said. “If you were to pick any other tree on the lot, which one would it be?”
The little girl took her time scanning the trees. One to her right caught her fancy. She walked up to it and kicked the trunk. Then she walked around it, giving her undivided attention to the angle of the branches and the thickness of the trunk.
This tree was much larger than the one they’d been looking at.
After much deliberation, the girl said, “This is the one.”
And there it was. A look so familiar it was as if Georgia was wearing it herself. Probably because she had—a million times over. It was the “I want to give you everything, but I can’t afford it” look. And it broke Georgia’s heart.
“How about we look at some of the trees over there,” the mother said with a strained smile.
“Nope. This is the perfect tree. Santa will love it.”
She looked at her daughter and began, “I’m sorry, kiddo, but—”
“Did you know that you are our one-hundredth customer of the day?” Jake said to the little girl.
She smiled gleefully. “I am?”
“Yup.” He tugged her pigtail. “That means that this tree is free.”
The mother’s face blushed with embarrassment. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” Jake said. “But I bet that your daughter is on the Nice List and all nice little girls deserve the perfect tree.”
It was annoyingly sweet. The kind of moment that made Georgia’s chest flutter and her mind shout, “Don’t do it. Don’t get sucked in!” But her heart, her stupid treacherous heart, had already RSVP’d to the party.
Jake Evans—one of the sexiest men alive and last night’s mistake— standing in the middle of Pine Village Christmas Tree Farm with a Douglas fir so enormous it made the other trees look like they’d been on Ozempic.
And Jake, he wasn’t looking like such a mistake right then.
He was looking like a hero who went out of his way to make Christmas wishes come true.
“Thank you,” the mother said with a shy smile.
“So we can get it?” the little girl asked.
“I guess so.”
The girl’s eyes went wide with magic, and she threw her arms around Jake. She was so tiny that she was hugging his legs. He picked her up and tossed her in the air, then made a bench seat with his arm. She sat there beaming up at him as if he were Stanta himself.
Georgia slowed, embarrassing morning-after forgotten, and pressed a hand to her chest when he set the girl on her feet.
Before Georgia could process what she was feeling, Jake bent over, his delicious ass on display and braced the tree. With a grunt of pure determination, hefted the massive pine onto his shoulder and walked it toward the family’s car without even breaking a sweat.
The girl clapped. The mom protested — something about it being too much, too big, too expensive.
Jake just shook his head, eyes warm and certain, and kept walking toward the family’s economy-sized car.
There was clearly no way the tree was going to make the ride home without breaking some laws of geometry.
But she was too busy watching the way Jake’s biceps flexed to care. Before she knew it, he’d had it strapped down and ready for transport.
The mom reached for her wallet but Jake waved her off.
“Let me at least pay you something,” she said.
“You’d be doing me a favor. I need to do a few last-minute good deeds to make it off Santa’s Naughty List.”
The mother gave an emotional laugh. “Thank you for making my daughter’s Christmas.”
“Thank you for making mine,” he replied.
Jake waved as they drove off and something in her chest warmed, like chestnuts roasting on an open fire.
How had she forgotten about this side of Jake? The side that made him Connor’s hero. The side that made her fall in love with him.
This was a man who gave without hesitation, made impossible things possible for people who needed it most, and who made a little girl’s Christmas perfect. In no way was she looking for a savior, but the kindness he exuded made her want to be near him.
Georgia was still standing there like her feet had been frozen in giant ice cubes when he spoke.
He didn’t turn around, didn’t face her, just said, “Enjoying the show?”
“I was just admiring your tree wrestling technique.”
Then he turned, a smile on his face like he was holding a secret. “Was that all you were admiring?”
“Okay, I was touched by the way you were with that family.”
His smile softened. “That family helped me remember what this season is all about. It made me think the upcoming party with Ben and how I almost passed up that opportunity. So thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me?”
He slowly strode toward her, his work boots crunching the gravel with every step, not stopping until they were but a snowflake’s width apart. “Because if you hadn’t come back to ask me a second time, I would have missed out on all this.”
“You mean that family?”
“That too,” he whispered, his eyes landing on her lips.
The snow was falling so softly it felt like the world had been muted, every sound wrapped in white. Georgia’s breath curled in front of her, mingling with Jake’s as they stood too close in a forest of Christmas miracles, like the universe had conspired to shrink the space between them.
She hadn’t meant for it to happen. She’d spent all day telling herself last night was a mistake, that keeping her distance was safer, smarter.
But then he’d caught her running, and somehow she’d been laughing with him in the square, cocoa warming her palms, his words burrowing under her ribs where they refused to leave.
And now here he was, inches away, snowflakes clinging to his hair and melting against his lashes. He looked like every foolish, impossible thing she’d ever wanted but never let herself believe she could have.
Her heart thudded, wild and uneven. She should say goodnight. She should turn and go inside, lock the door, and build a wall high enough to keep him out.
Instead, she tipped her chin up. Just barely. Just enough.
His lips brushed hers like a question—gentle, unhurried, as if he was giving her every possible chance to pull away. But Georgia didn’t. She leaned in, closing the distance, and the kiss deepened into something warm and dizzying, snowflakes dissolving against their skin.
It wasn’t fireworks or lightning. It was softer, steadier. The kind of magic that felt like home.
When they finally broke apart, her forehead rested against his, breathless and laughing at the sheer impossibility of it all. For once, she didn’t think about tomorrow, or mistakes, or how far they might fall.
For once, she just let herself be held in the snow.