I took it from her and smiled. “Thanks. Hey, do you want a piece? I can’t eat it all.”
But she was already walking away, back to her family.
Swallowing a sigh, I turned toward the gazebo and stared at the gigantic tree, its boughs weighed down with tinsel and ornaments. On the other side of the gazebo someone had hung a large sprig of mistletoe, and a woman stood beneath it, gazing up at the thing as if she couldn’t understand what it was.
Or as if she was waiting for someone to kiss her.
Tufts of her light-colored hair—maybe pink?—stuck out in every direction from beneath her knit hat, as if her long braids had started unraveling in the wind. Her cheeks were ruddy from the cold and her unbuttoned coat flapped in the breeze, revealing a long, soft-looking dress. I couldn’t decipher many other details about her, other than the lipstick-red scarf tossed jauntily over her shoulder.
She was cute. Maybe even beautiful if I could’ve made out more of her features in the darkness.
I threw out my empty plate and strode toward the gazebo steps, clutching my bag of fried dough as if it was a bouquet of roses.
I stopped on the top step. This was stupid. What was I even doing in this town? As soon as my car was ready, I’d drive away and never look back—except for coming back for my custom car work appointment. When I was in the mood for company, I was all about enjoying Syracuse’s city scene, visiting nightclubs and trendy eateries downtown. Most of the time, I simply didn’t bother.
I definitely didn’t approach random women in gazebos on a snowy night too close to Christmas, when my loneliness tasted like chalk in my throat.
Then she looked over at me and smiled, and I couldn’t have stopped the forward motion of my feet if I’d tried.
I forgot the fried dough. Forgot the moms and dads and eager kids swarming about, pushing and nudging to get where they were going. That nameless woman drew me like the North star, a jewel glimmering in the darkness.
Words stuck in my head. I was usually so glib, so prepared with a ready remark. Not here. The dough slipped out of my hand as I reached her and simply lifted my hands to her icy-cold cheeks.
She was already rising on her tiptoes to meet me, her glossy pink lips parted and waiting.
We collided on a rush of breath, her mouth molding to mine as I gripped her jaw. I tilted her upward, taking her unspoken invitation and slipping my tongue inside. She sucked on the tip lightly, igniting a fire in under my skin as she rubbed against me. She fisted a handful of my coat, tugging at the material, bringing me down to her level so she could kiss me back with the same intensity.
She tasted like vanilla ice cream. Pure, sweet. Innocent somehow, as if she was daring me to break my control.
She didn’t know she already had.
My teeth skimmed over her full lower lip, and she moaned as my hand moved of its own volition to her breast. I had the briefest sensation of its weight in my palm, round and perfect, before she tore her lips away.
Fuck, I’d gone too far.
She stared at me for a moment before darting around me and fleeing down the steps, her scarf slipping off and sliding to the ground.
“Wait.” I followed and picked it up, but she never looked back.
I pressed my lips together. They were still tingling from the pressure of hers.
“It’s mistletoe, you pervert.” Someone jostled me from behind, and I turned to see I’d been bumped by an older woman’s cane as she descended the steps. “Not a peep show.”
She gave me another wack on the ankle for good measure before letting out a “harrumph” and shuffling down the walk.
I fingered the baby-soft scarf my mystery woman had left behind. She didn’t know it, but I’d be sketching her tonight wearing this.
And only this.
Chapter Two
CALLUM
My day was not off to a rip-roaring start. And it wasn’t even the same day of the car-ditch mishap.
Maybe I’d finally learn that sweet small towns weren’t necessarily meant for everyone.
“You don’t recognize it?” I held up the bright red scarf as if it was the spoils from a prizefight. “Are you sure? It has your shop’s tag right here.” I jabbed at the embroidered Kinleigh and August’s attic emblem near the fringe.
“No, I’m sorry.” The woman who owned the store I was currently standing in glanced over her shoulder as a baby let out a wail. “That’s my daughter. She needs lunch.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll wait while you give her a bottle or whatever.”
Kinleigh smoothly pulled her long curly red hair over one shoulder. “Her lunch comes from my nipple.”
I blinked. A sleepless night had left me on edge, and admittedly, I wasn’t processing as fast as I would have normally. But that didn’t compute for a good half a minute. “Oh. Oh.”
“Yes, oh. And I’m afraid I can’t share client lists in any case, even if I knew who had purchased that particular item.”
“You do know. I can tell. Look, I’m not a crazy stalker, I swear. I just want to talk to her.”
“As all crazy stalkers have claimed since the beginning of time.”
I let out a breath. She did have a point. “No, it’s not like that. She kissed me. We kissed each other. You know that mistletoe at the gazebo?”
Kinleigh raised her ginger-colored eyebrows and waited.
“She was standing beneath it, and it was snowing, and God, she looked—”
“Willing to sleep with a handsome stranger who was a good kisser?”
“Obviously not, since I slept alone at the bed and breakfast.” I frowned. “Did you just call me handsome? Pretty sure you’re the only person who’s said something nice to me since I drove into town. Except Dare, but you’re a lot prettier than he is.”
Wordlessly, she held up a hand and tapped her sparkly wedding ring.
I had to laugh. “I wasn’t hitting on you. Just saying the welcome mat in this town has not been rolled out in my direction.”
“Yet a beautiful woman kissed you thoroughly enough you’re ready to search to the ends of the earth for her. Sounds pretty welcoming to me.”
“So far, I’ve only been here. That’s hardly searching to the ends of the earth.”
“We get a lot of tourists for the winter festival.”
“And she happened to have bought a scarf from you just before she met me?”
“Met you with her lips, you mean, since you haven’t even said her name.”
I had no answer for that.
“It’s Christmas,” I finally implored as her daughter released another cry from her white carriage a few feet away. Her mother’s attention was obviously split, so I’d take advantage of any moment of weakness I could. She might not know I wasn’t a serial killer but I did. “You have a baby and a husband. Or wife,” I amended when she glanced back at me. “Surely you believe in romance.”
“Making out under mistletoe is not necessarily romance, but okay, fine. How about this? I’ll meet you halfway.”
I waited.
“I’ll contact her and let her know you’re looking for her. If you leave your information with me, I’ll pass it along if she’s interested.”