Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Come on, Jack,” Iris said. “It’s for the dogs.”

“Tell me again why the dogs care if I wear a fluffy piece of polyester on my face?” he asked, standing in a small walk-in closet at the shelter.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a Santa beard.”

“Nooo…,” he drawled, tugging at the itchy prop strapped to his face. “It’s a torture device.”

“To-may-to, To-mah-to.”

But it wasn’t Iris’s voice.

He glanced over his shoulder at Maisie, who stood in the doorway watching in amusement. “Exactly how many people have worn this thing?”

She started ticking off her fingers. “River. Finn. Dustin—”

“Dustin? The guy who lives off blue cheese Danishes?” he asked in a panic.

“He never eats them while he’s wearing the beard,” Maisie said. A wicked smile teased her lips. “At least not that I know of. But the dogs were especially fond of him the last time he wore it. It could have been the cheese.”

Jack made a face and tugged off the beard, tossing it back into the cracked plastic bin from which Iris had pulled it.

“It’s for the dogs, Jack,” Iris said again as she snatched it back out. “You know we got a crazy good response when I posted that photo of you with Ruby last week. This is bound to kick up the social media reach.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “I thought you hated the attention that post got.”

“Fine,” she said with a groan. “I did and still do. Women were drooling over you, and it was totally gross, but I’m also a pragmatist. It got shared like five hundred times. If we can keep that up, imagine how many people will come in and adopt dogs or donate to the shelter.”

“My little protégé,” Maisie said, her voice full of pride.

Jack couldn’t help thinking her plan had been influenced by Adalia. A week ago, Adalia had told Iris about her marketing campaign for the brewery. She took artsy photos of customers in the tasting room and paired them with simple comments about what they were drinking and why they’d come in. The campaign was simple yet effective—it made Buchanan Brewery seem approachable. Friendly. And one of the hashtags she’d created had gotten pretty big (#HomeSweetBrewery). They’d seen a gradual increase in visitors to the tasting room, a significant number of them out-of-towners, which suggested her efforts were working. While Iris hadn’t completely thawed to Jack’s Buchanan half-sisters, she at least respected Adalia enough to follow her advice. She’d applied what she’d learned to that photo of Jack holding Ruby.

Nevertheless, there was no disputing Iris had latched on to Maisie’s attention in particular. She’d started off by working two afternoons a week at the shelter and then added shifts on the weekends. She’d even recruited several other high school kids and, thanks to a Nextdoor ad, a couple of retirees to help out with various projects.

All that volunteering had left her with little time to spend with Jack. But he’d found a solution: last weekend he’d started volunteering at the shelter too. He told himself it was because he wanted to be with Iris, and that was true, but he’d also hoped to see Maisie—and to his relief and consternation, he had.

His first day had been Sunday, and Maisie had arrived soon after they did. One of the volunteers had commented that she rarely came in on Sundays. Jack wasn’t a fool. He knew she was there because of him.

Not that he’d complained.

He and Maisie had spent the afternoon cleaning out a storage shed. Alone. Innuendo had flown back and forth as they sorted through the boxes of junk that had sat in the shed since her parents had acquired the property. It was more fun than he’d ever thought he’d have in a dirty shed. They’d spent three hours talking about anything and everything, including his dysfunctional childhood and her idyllic one. But she’d avoided talking about her parents’ death or what had come afterward, including the shelter’s early days. Still, he’d picked up on some things. She’d taken time off college to finish raising her little sister, and she’d never gone back.

Jack was used to glossing over his past too, but for some reason he didn’t want to do that with Maisie. Maybe it was because he was letting his seventeen-year-old sister hold his romantic life hostage, but he wanted Maisie to understand his need to put Iris first.

She’d listened, intently, with a gaze that made him think she was seeing into the depths of his soul. When he finished, she put down the rusted bicycle pump and took his hand, staring up into his eyes. The gold flecks in them had mesmerized him.

“You’re a good brother,” she’d whispered softly, her face cast in shadows in the dimly lit shed.

But he wanted to be so much more than that. Especially when Maisie’s hand was cradled in his, and she was close enough for him to smell the green apple scent of her shampoo. He felt a closeness to her that he hadn’t felt with anyone since his grandmother had died, and he didn’t want to lose it. She was friends with River and Finn. Maybe she could be his friend too. At least for now.

It had taken everything in him to pull his hand free. “I want…”

“I know,” she said with a weak smile. “I have the worst luck with timing.”

Then she’d walked out, and he hadn’t seen her until this afternoon, four days later, when she’d greeted them both, all smiles, and convinced him to play Santa for the dogs. And sure, he would have done it for Iris. But he was doing it for Maisie too.

“Okay!” Maisie exclaimed as she clapped her hands, shaking Jack out of his stupor. “When River does this, he usually squats next to them and we get a quick photo.”

“No,” Iris said, shaking her head emphatically. “That won’t work.”

“Why not?” Maisie asked with a laugh. “We’ve been doing it like that forever.”

“My point exactly,” Iris said. “Hardly anyone has seen them. Sure, you put some on social media, but taking photos and putting them up with hashtags isn’t enough. People want pretty pictures now. Artistic pictures.”

“You mean photos of hot men,” Maisie said dryly, but her gaze shifted to Jack for a split second in a way that made his blood boil.

“Gross,” Iris said with a shudder. “Stop saying that about my brother, but…” A pained look crossed her face. “It is true that the subject matter is almost as important as the quality of the photo. Addy gave me some pointers on how to get good photos with my phone, plus a couple of filters that will help with lighting.”

That information caught Jack by surprise, but he was smart enough not to comment. Adalia’s efforts were apparently paying off. She’d gone above and beyond to include his little sister, showing a level of patience that had surprised him. Iris saw much less of Georgie but seemed more tolerant of her than she’d been in the past, perhaps because Georgie had asked for her input with the bridesmaids’ dresses. Both of those developments were surprising, but most shocking of all was Iris’s acceptance of spending Christmas in Asheville instead of going back to Chicago as she’d originally pleaded.

Maisie crossed her arms over her chest as she gave Iris the side-eye. “It sounds like you have something in mind.”

“That’s because I do. Dustin was kind enough to get the backdrop set up.”

Jack laughed as Maisie dropped her arms, obviously caught by surprise. “He what ? You just got here, and he’s not officially on duty today. When did you talk to him?”

Iris held up her phone. “There’s this newfangled thing called texting. I showed him a few photos I’d found on Pinterest, and he said he’d hook me up.”

“Why am I suddenly terrified?” Maisie asked.

“ You? ” Jack retorted with a laugh. “ You’re not the subject of the photos.”

“I thought the dogs were the subjects of the photos,” Maisie teased. “Are you available for adoption?”

Iris shook her head as if she found them tiresome and headed for the door with the beard in hand. “Come on. Let’s get started. Dustin said he set up in the playroom.”

She headed in that direction, well-versed on all the locations in the shelter now, and left them to follow.

“You forgot the Santa coat,” Maisie called after her, picking up a flimsy red piece of fabric with tacky white fur attached to some edges.

“I’m supposed to wear that?” Jack asked in disgust. “How old is that thing?”

She propped a hand on her hip as she held up the coat. The way it was wadded into a ball didn’t increase its appeal. “River wears it and never complains.”

“Well, good for River, but I can’t imagine Finn wearing it.” He was too impeccably well dressed to agree to such a thing.

She made a face that told him he was right.

He motioned toward the jacket. “The only way I’m wearing that is if you delouse it first.”

“Dramatic much?” she asked with a grin. “You’re not going to catch lice.” Her grin spread. “But I can’t guarantee you won’t get fleas.”

“Maybe you should try it on first,” he said, his voice turning husky. He hadn’t meant for it to sound like an innuendo, more like a taunt. But now all he could think about was Maisie taking off her shirt, and what she might be wearing underneath. If anyone could make that Santa coat sexy, surely it was her.

From the way her mouth parted, a soft whoosh of air escaping her lips, he knew she was thinking about changing in front of him too.

“Are you guys coming?” Iris called out from down the hall.

“We’re getting the Santa jacket,” Maisie said, her gaze still locked on Jack’s.

“Leave it,” Iris said, her voice fading. “We don’t need it.”

A grin of victory spread across Jack’s face, and before he could stop to think about what he was doing, he pushed Maisie backward a couple of steps until her back was to the closet wall. His hand grabbed her hip, pulling her to him to satisfy his desperate need to feel her close. His other hand cupped the side of her face, and she stared up at him in such shock he nearly laughed. It took a lot to catch her off guard, and he considered it a small victory.

He lowered his face, inches above hers, and slowly slid his hand up her side, stopping short of the curve of her breast.

“I’ve been aching to touch you since Sunday,” he whispered. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Hell, Iris was twenty feet away, but Maisie made him drop his usual reserve and forget reason.

Something flashed in her eyes and she grinned. “Just since Sunday, huh?”

He grinned back. God, he loved her quips. She always kept him on his toes.

His thumb brushed her lower lip, and she sucked in a breath. Images of that night at her house flashed through his mind. But he was greedy. He wanted new ones.

She nipped lightly at the pad of his thumb and the remaining blood flow to his brain shut off, and it all flooded down south.

He lowered his mouth over hers, and their lips came together in a crash of heat and lust.

She wrapped an arm around his neck, holding him close, as her free hand roamed his chest and arm.

“Jack!” Iris called out. “What’s taking so long?”

Hearing his sister’s voice was like being doused by a vat of icy water. He took a step back, horrified that he’d wanted Maisie so badly he’d been willing to do God knew what in the closet. What had gotten into him?

“Maisie. I’m sorry.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” she hissed.

“We can’t do this right now,” he pleaded. “You said so yourself.” At least she knew his reasoning. He still had no idea what was holding her back. Was it Iris? But he couldn’t make that fit. Maisie seemed to genuinely like Iris.

“I know.” She ran a hand over her head and then straightened her shirt. “Why don’t I go out first? You can take a moment to get things under control.” Her gaze shot to his crotch, and he had to close his eyes for a moment.

“Maisie,” he said softly, pleading for her to understand, but he had no idea what he wanted her to comprehend. That he hadn’t stopped voluntarily, maybe, which was an issue in and of itself.

“I know,” she said again, sounding weary this time, and shot out of the room.

He took several deep breaths and headed to the bathroom, splashing his face with cold water and shifting things around. The last thing he needed was to draw his sister’s attention to his crotch…or get it on camera.

He headed to the playroom, bracing himself for whatever his sister had planned. When he walked in, it looked innocent enough. A chair was covered in an off-white, fake fur throw. A scrawny four-foot Christmas tree was perched next to the chair, covered in dog bones and toys as ornaments. Several wrapped presents sat under it.

“What took you so long?” Iris asked, sounding annoyed. “Ruby is already getting antsy.”

Sure enough, Maisie had Ruby on a leash, and the dog was trying to make a break for it.

“I had to go to the bathroom.”

Iris shrugged. “Yeah. Good idea. Especially with all these dogs about to sit on your lap.” She shot Maisie a challenging look. “No squatting. The setup is that the dogs are sitting on Santa’s lap.”

“So I’m supposed to sit in the chair?” he asked, gesturing toward it, hopeful Iris had meant it when she’d said he could go without the jacket.

“Yeah.”

“He needs the Santa coat first,” Maisie insisted, holding out the wadded ball of fabric. “His blue shirt’s not going to cut it as Santa.”

Iris made a face. “Actually…we’re not going to need it.”

“Ha!” Jack exclaimed in triumph and shot a smug look at Maisie.

“It’s tradition,” Maisie said, shaking the fabric. A three-inch piece of fur trim fell to the floor. “We can glue that back on.”

“We’re going to try something new,” Iris said in an assertive tone.

“If it ain’t broken, why fix it?” Maisie shot back, then added, “The jacket trim aside.”

Jack was about to intervene, but Iris held her ground. “You’re missing an opportunity, Maisie. You’re barely bringing in enough money to run this place, and I have no idea what you’re living on. Beatrice showed me that most months you don’t take home your full salary. People want to like dog shelters, and they want to give their money to cute animals. You just need to rope them in differently. That Instagram post last week got us attention. Did you know there was a ten percent increase in donations over the last week?”

“Everyone donates at Christmas,” Maisie countered.

“No.” Iris shook her head. “Beatrice showed me the books for the past five years. That money comes in the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Charitable donations for tax write-offs. This was different.”

Maisie turned to the side, and Jack could see she was struggling with the call to change. He longed to comfort her, but something told him she had to do this on her own.

“Okay,” Maisie finally said. “We’ll try it your way. For now. What’s your plan? Because you obviously have one.”

“We’re going to call it the Dog Days of Christmas,” Iris gushed. “In the week leading up to Christmas, we’ll feature a new dog every day. We’ll have a picture and a short blurb for each of them, encouraging people to adopt not shop and also to donate to the shelter. If this works, we’ll look at bringing other guys in to model for future campaigns. Volunteers, of course.”

“What do you mean model ?” Jack asked, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

“Here’s where it gets slightly gross,” Iris said with a gagging face. “I need you to take off your shirt.”

“Say what?” Jack asked.

Iris held up her hands. “Before you freak out and think I’m a pervert, just know the shirtless part was Addy’s idea.”

Maisie burst out laughing.

“The Santa jacket is lookin’ pretty good right now,” Jack grumbled. On reflection, maybe Iris and Addy were getting too close.

“Not a chance,” Maisie said, holding the coat behind her back. “You had your shot and you blew it.”

“And no beard either,” Iris said. “I texted Addy and she agreed that the beard was a bad idea. Especially this beard.” She leaned over and pulled a Santa hat out of her bag. “Just the hat.”

“I am not posing nude!” Jack shouted.

Maisie burst into laughter again.

“Ew!” Iris shrieked. “No one asked you to! Gross! You can leave your jeans on, just nothing above the waist except for the hat.” She cringed. “Believe me, I’m not any happier about this than you are.”

Actually, he was plenty happy that he could keep his jeans on, but he was even happier Maisie was agreeing to break with tradition. It was obvious she was mired in her past, and he wanted to help pull her free. Posing for some pictures was an easy price to pay.

He started to unbutton his shirt. “All right, ladies. Let’s get down to business.”

Iris made a gagging sound. “Now I feel like I’m shooting a porno.”

The amusement in Maisie’s eyes suggested she was enjoying every moment of his striptease, and the lust that washed over her face when he slipped off his shirt let him know she remembered seeing him bare-chested. Then her text alert went off and she pulled her phone out of her back pocket, her expression becoming pained as she stared at the screen.

“It’s River. I have to call him.” She hurried out of the room, and Jack wondered what that was about.

Something told him it was nothing good.