Page 40 of Mistletoe All the Way

The look he lasers at me is pure venom. “Didn’t you want me to keep decorating?”

I don’t stop filming. “Beware of encounters with this rarely seen mountain man. He might hiss, but don’t worry—his bark is worse than his bite.”

Noah rolls his eyes. “And don’t forget to tip your waiters on the way out of the comedy club.”

I grin and reach for another ornament from a bag on the coffee table—a wooden reindeer with a too-big red nose, my phone camera still trained on him. “Here you go.”

Rusty watches from in front of the fire as Noah searches for a spot and hangs the decoration carefully on a branch near the top of the tree, then imitates my tone. “And now, the queen of sarcasm continues her relentless climb up the Mock-a-Client Mountain, capturing every single second on her camera until—”

He suddenly whirls around and snatches the phone from my hand.

“Hey! No fair.”

He holds it above his head, playing keep-away. “All’s fair,” he taunts.

I stretch up onto my tiptoes, but he’s got at least six inches on me and he knows exactly how to use his height as he easily evades me.

“Noah!”

“Eloise,” he taunts, then relents with a sigh, lowering his arm.

Before I can grab it, he snaps a picture of me. “And now it’s the intrepid publicist with the tables turned. How will she handle it?”

I plant my hands on my hips. “You’re infuriating.”

He takes another pic of me, then checks it out on the screen. “Yup, full of fire and cheer.” With a smirk, he hands my phone back. “Here you go. You going to post that on your social? Maybe next to the picture of you dressed as an elf?”

I freeze. He looked at my socials.

This man—the anti-people, anti-everything man—looked at my feed.

Something warm sparks in my chest, spreading fast. It’s not just the fire. It’s… him. But there’s no room for that. Not in my plans. Not in this season. Not after the way the distance fractured my last relationship. So I take the phone and say, “Just decorate, you big old grinch.”

“That’s big, strapping grinch to you,” he says, grabbing a snowman made from a recycled tin can from the bag on the table. “This one’s cute.”

“I made that one in a class,” I say proudly.

“The ornament-making one you had the day we met,” he says, hanging it carefully in the middle—a prime spot.

I pause my photo taking, caught by the quiet recognition in his voice. He remembered where I was heading that night.

“Yes,” I say softly. I’m touched—more than I should be. I’ve been holding on to the mini wreaths for the tree in the town square, but this one I hoarded for myself. Did I really save it for him?

Nah. I saved it for the project, that’s all. I’m a businesswoman, and this is business. “All these ornaments are either handmade or secondhand,” I explain, gesturing to the red canvas bags. “I picked them up at a thrift shop today.”

“Did you think that would be good for my brand?”

“I thought it would be good for the planet. Which, by extension, helps your brand. I always try to find eco-friendly options for clients—it’s part of my brand.”

“I like that.” There’s no teasing or snark this time in his voice.

“Glad to hear,” I say, then nod toward him as he hangs a mini cowboy hat after careful consideration.

“You’re very methodical when you hang ornaments,” I point out. “I assume that’s the doctor in you?”

He seems to think it over, then nods. “It’s a job where you need to react fast sometimes, but mostly you have to be patient. Careful. Detailed.”

“And those skills carry over to other areas,” I say, “like ornament hanging.”