When was the last time I’d been this honest with someone? When was the last time I’d even wanted to be?
“Well,” she said softly, eyes locked on mine, “at least you’re honest.”
“Sometimes.” My mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “When it matters.”
She studied me for a long moment, and I swore I could feel her gaze on my skin, warm and searching. It should have made me uncomfortable. It didn’t. It made me want to close the space between us.
My eyes flicked down—God help me, I couldn’t stop them. The curve of her waist beneath that coat. The flare of her hips. The way her legs looked in those dark jeans, strong and feminine all at once.
She was built like temptation wrapped in red wool, and I wanted to unwrap her more than I wanted my next breath.
“You hungry?” I asked, my voice rougher than I meant. “Beyond tacos, I mean. There’s a diner across the street. They make decent pie.”
Her brows lifted just slightly, the teasing curve of her mouth making my pulse hammer even harder. “Are you asking me out, Jonas Urban?”
The question hung between us, sparking in the cold December air. This was it. The fork in the road. Play it safe, shrug it off, claim I was just being neighborly. Or take the damn leap.
I took the leap.
“Yeah,” I said, steady and certain. “I am.”
For a moment, I thought she might laugh. Or worse—walk away.
But then her smile bloomed, slow and radiant, and I’d swear the Christmas tree lights dimmed in comparison.
“Then yes,” she said softly. “I’d love some pie.”
Relief hit me like a punch. My shoulders loosened, though my pulse didn’t slow an inch. If anything, it sped up as we fellinto step beside each other, leaving the music and the crowd behind.
Every brush of her arm against mine was a jolt of electricity. Every time her eyes flicked up to meet mine, I felt something sharp and dangerous crack open inside me.
For the first time since childhood, Christmas didn’t feel like something to endure.
It felt like something to celebrate.
3
PAIGE
“Okay, I’ve changed my mind,” I said between bites of warm pecan pie, the sugary scent mixing with the faint aroma of hot chocolate drifting from the counter. “I’m going to shut down my online shop and open a diner like this one.”
“In Bakersfield?” he asked, his fork pausing midair.
I nodded. “We have one restaurant, and it’s a meat and three.”
“That means it serves meat and three vegetables,” he said, looking unreasonably pleased with himself. “I was stationed in Kentucky for a couple of years and got my fill of the southern way of life.”
“We’re known for our sweet tea and grits.” I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t like either. But this pie—” I scooped up another bite with melting vanilla ice cream clinging to it— “this pie is giving me life right now.”
Jonas tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Giving me life?”
“It’s a saying,” I explained. “Your mayor would probably know it.”
I meant it teasingly, and I hoped he took it that way. Judging by the faint smile tugging at his mouth, he did. I pegged him mid-thirties—ten, twelve years older than me—but even with that gap, I felt a spark with him I couldn’t explain.
“So you plan to stay in…what was the name of your town again?”
“Bakersfield. South Carolina.” I shifted in my seat, aware of the Christmas tune floating down from the speaker above—“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”—soft and almost wistful. “And yeah, I guess. I never thought much about it, actually. I’ve done a few festivals this fall, leading up to Christmas, and I’ve liked traveling around.”
