Page 90 of Mistletoe All the Way

He shoots me a lopsided grin that seems to say he’d like that gift. At least I take his smile that way. I’m practically patting myself on the back that this man is starting to see that pessimism isn’t the only path through this world.

But as much as I’m having fun, I do want to know what’s next on the intel front. I downshift to a more serious look. “What do you want to do about the Stephen stuff?”

He pauses his stirring as he cooks, gaze thoughtful. “I thought about that.”

“While you were fucking me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure I was only thinking about making you scream my name again, and you did.”

“Fine,” I say, with a playful pout.

He resumes stirring. “I thought about it afterward as I was grabbing ingredients. The thing is, I love what you did, how you went to the shop, how you tackled it, giving one thousand percent. And I feel vindicated that we were right. I’ve never trusted him, but I didn’t just want to hang on to something that happened in college as the reason. I didn’t want to just operate on hunches or past things he’s done. The fact that you’ve uncovered he’s been lying about his business troubles—well, it gives me the foundation I need.”

My brow knits. “To tell your grandfather?”

With a sly smile, he shakes his head. “Nope. To go after Mr. Holiday with everything I’ve got. What you learned underscores I’m the right man for the job and Stephen’s the wrong one. But I want Gramps to believe that too. I want to win the farm fair and square, not simply by default if Gramps learns Stephen’s bad at business. I want to win it on my merits. Then manage it aboveboard.”

My heart swells with pride. My throat tightens with lovely emotions. I don’t mind one bit that he’s not going to do a thing with my intel. Since, really, that’s doing everything. “Shut up. That’s so sexy.”

He wiggles a brow. “You want to ride me later, don’t you?”

I shoot him a look like Duh. “Obviously. A man who likes to play fair is seriously hot.”

“In bed though, I’ll play dirty.”

“You better,” I say, then sigh happily, watching him cook for a few more seconds till the rustle of paws on the tile catches my attention. Chris’s Jack Russell mix has dragged herself out of her dog bed and is wagging her tail by the back door. Rusty pops up too. “I’m going to take these little cuties out to the backyard.”

Noah tosses me a look from the stove, his expression soft. “I think that might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“More than feed me and fuck me?”

He pauses. “Second sexiest.”

“I thought so.” I grab my coat, slip on my heels, and let the pups into the backyard.

Snow fell yesterday, so the crisp night air still has that fresh, clean smell to it. I draw a deep inhale, letting it fill my lungs. The dogs traipse across the yard, leaving paw prints in the snow, leaping like snow dolphins. The sight is so delightful it makes me giggle.

When they’re done, I call them back inside, wipe off their paws with a towel, and head back to the kitchen as they return to their beds, like good little pups.

As Noah grabs plates from the cupboard, he tips his forehead to the back door. “What made you laugh out there?”

“You heard me?”

“I might have been watching you through the window.”

My heart dances, a dangerous little jig. “And you say I’ve got it bad for you. Maybe you’ve got it bad for me, Mr. Holiday,” I say, and wow—that was kind of ballsy, wasn’t it? But bold seems justified tonight.

With one strong arm on the cupboard door, he shoots me a heated gaze. “I do. So what made you laugh?”

My breath catches for a beat. From the easy way he said that—I do. Zero hesitation. It’s so different from what I’d become accustomed to in romance. From the games most guys play, to the milquetoast professions from Bryan over the two years I invested in our long-distance relationship. The I’m trying to make this work, the I’ll call you tomorrow, and finally, the So sorry, I don’t love you anymore.

Stark reminders of a romantic future I’d rather avoid.

But this thing with Noah is just for now. For the holidays. So I’m getting to let myself enjoy this man in the kitchen, simply, and without fanfare, saying he has it bad for me.

I try not to get too caught up in the fizzy feelings, focusing instead on his question. “I was laughing at the dogs. They made me smile, watching them run through the snow. Jump around in it. It was what I always wanted as a kid. Dogs roaming the yard. Cats wandering around the house,” I say. Then I laugh, with some self-deprecation. “I probably sound like someone talking about wanting to see their kids play in the yard, only in this case it’s cats and dogs.”

“You’re speaking my language, Eloise,” he says, turning off the heat and bringing the plates to the counter. He slides behind me, pushing up my shirt and then placing a hand on the paw print etched into my skin. “Now would be a good time to tell me about this.”