Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

LIGHTS, AMBER ALE, ILL-ADVISED ACTION

Holly

F or all my grumbling about the tree lighting, it’s probably my favorite Mistletoe Mountain holiday tradition. Or at least it was until two years ago, when Anderson dropped to one knee in front of the entire town and asked me to marry him. I’ll admit, I was over the moon to marry him, but I would have preferred a more private proposal—especially coming just a year after Merry’s “Santa Baby” performance.

But Anderson loves the spotlight, and getting engaged in front of the town’s spectacular tree was a surefire way to garner attention. It helped that he tipped off the local newspaper and an engagement and wedding photographer from Virginia who managed to get a shot of our magical moment placed in a glossy magazine read by all his mom’s friends at the Loudon Horse and Country Club. (Did I fantasize about sending The Elegant Horsewoman a blind item about their favorite native son’s adulterous ways? Yes. But Ivy stopped me before I could do it.)

In contrast to the hot glare of hundreds of pairs of eyes on me, last year’s tree lighting is nothing more than a vague, slightly fuzzy, sepia-toned image in my mind. It was the first Christmas after my mom died, before Noelle rescued my dad—and us—from our miasma of grief (although she’d argue he did the rescuing). Anderson was by my side, I know that much. But beyond that? I assume the tree was lit, songs were sung, and cheer filled the air.

I’m jostled out of my admittedly morose memories by an excited tug on my sleeve. “You came!”

I turn to see Delphina, who’s lost the elf hat but still sports the ornament earrings. They bounce off her shoulders as she pulls me into a tight hug and squeezes me.

“I came,” I admit, hugging her back.

Her eyes widen as her gaze lands on Jack. “And you brought … a date?”

“Jack is a client,” I quickly correct her. “It’s a long story.”

One of her impeccably threaded eyebrows quirks. “Sure.” Then she reaches behind her and drags a large, muscular guy forward. “This is my date, Titus. Titus, this is my bestie, Holly. And her client , Jack.”

Titus drapes one arm over her shoulder. “Charmed.”

Noelle leans in to peer at him. “I know you. You’re the bartender from Dancing Ladies.”

Titus grins. “Guilty as charged.”

“Dancing Ladies?” Jack asks.

“Strip bar,” Ivy explains.

“It’s a gentlemen’s club with exotic dancers,” Dad corrects her. Ever since he joined the town’s motorcycle club, his views have really evolved.

“I need a drink,” Ivy whispers.

“Amen to that. Delph, tell me you brought your flask?” I flash her a hopeful smile.

“Sorry, sister. I came straight from the coffee shop.”

I shoot Merry a look, but she shakes her head. “After the lecture I got about pacing myself and water? Are you for real right now?”

“Ah, the ‘Santa Baby’ debacle of ’21,” Delphina says fondly. “Good times.”

“Don’t worry,” Titus tells me, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Frosty Brewery is sponsoring a beer garden after the lighting—big heated tent, the whole works.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Mmm, I don’t like beer.”

My best friend and sisters exchange a look. Not just a look, a look. It’s laden with subtext and unspoken agreement.

“What?” I demand.

Ivy’s eyes slide to the ground. Merry examines her nails.

Delphina sighs. “Really, you two? You’re going to throw me under the sleigh?”

Noelle clears her throat and places a hand on Delph’s arm. “I’ll field this.” She fixes me with her emerald green eyes.

When she speaks, her voice is soft and her tone is kind. But her words cut me to the quick. “Holly, honey, you actually do like beer. Or you did. But you spent so long being told what you did and did not like that I—we—think you may have lost sight of your own preferences.”

My cheeks heat and my pulse races as I realize she’s right. I look up at the cold sky and let the snow hit my face, hoping it will fend off the hot tears pricking behind my eyes. Anderson is the one who doesn’t like beer. Correction, he likes beer just fine. He didn’t like it for me. He didn’t want his future wife to be seen guzzling from a bottle. Even drinking an overpriced IPA from a glass was unseemly. It would make me look unsophisticated.

Why in the name of all that is hoppy and delicious had I listened to him? The answer comes immediately: because I’d rather accede to his dumb, but ultimately, unimportant request than admit that I was wrong about him, wrong about us. The problem with that plan was the unimportant requests piled up, I never asserted myself because I wanted to keep the peace, and he still cheated on me in a public display that left no doubt how very wrong I’d been.

I fill my lungs with cold, crisp air and breathe out slowly. When I’ve successfully reigned in my emotions, I turn back to Titus. “A beer garden, huh? So long as they’re serving their amber ale count me in.”

My sisters and Delphina whoop and squeal loudly enough to draw attention. I feel the eyes on my back and turn to see Anderson and Tabitha talking to a wildly gesticulating Vicky Swanson. I shoot them a wide smile. Anderson and Mrs. Swanson give me twin frowns but Tabitha returns my smile with a tiny one of her own. I look away quickly. She was my boss, but I also considered her a mentor and, stupidly, a friend. She was clearly not that.

“Hope you like beer,” I whisper to Jack.

“I’m easy,” he whispers back. “My motto is roll with it. So sure, the beer garden sounds like fun.”

Roll with it. Who is this man, and more importantly, what’s that like?

Before I can inquire more about Jack’s life philosophy, Dawn Min, our town manager, takes the stage in front of a towering white pine. She waves to the crowd and flips on the microphone.

“Welcome everyone, to the annual Christmas tree lighting! How about this snow?” She grins, and people start clapping and hooting. “We couldn’t have asked for a better night to kick off Merriment Month in Mistletoe Mountain! We’ll get to it, but first I have a few quick announcements.” She checks her notes. “First, let’s hear it for Pete Swanson, who went out to White Pines Tree Farm to bring back the fabulous tree we’re about to light.”

“Thanks, Pete!” A shout goes up from somewhere in the crowd.

Mr. Swanson, wearing a plaid hat with ear flaps, raises one hand in acknowledgement. He’s standing with Clem Stillwater and some other friends rather than his wife and the DA and her boy toy (as Delph likes to call Anderson). I have to wonder if Pete agrees with Vicky’s latest crusade.

“New this year, we have a beer garden courtesy of the Frosty Brewery. It’s located beside the chapel, in the lot in front of Marley Jacobs’ law offices. In addition to Frosty’s full lineup of beers, they’ll be serving handcrafted root beer for the little ones. Speaking of Attorney Jacobs, she’s sponsoring Sober Sleigh rides home for anyone who’s not walking. And finally, our sincere thanks to the merchants and business owners who make up our chamber of commerce for funding this display and so many of our other events. Now, without further ado, let’s get this party started!”

She signals the Mapleville Merrymakers, and the band strikes up a steel-drum version of “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree.” Then her adorable, precocious daughter Sunny hits the oversized switch, and the majestic tree lights up in a burst of color to enormous applause. A moment later, the intricately decorated street lamps that line the square turn on and white lights outline leaping reindeer along all four streets. Santa’s gazebo is next. The lighted snowflakes hanging from the roof twinkle on, all while the band plays, the crowd sways, and the snow softly falls. Beside me, Jack sighs a mixture of contentment and amazement, and I smile to myself. Despite my reluctance, I’m so grateful to be here, in this place, at this moment.

The crowd breaks up and people start drifting off in pairs and groups. Griselda comes over to Dad and Noelle.

“Some of us are going to the North Pole Social Club,” she tells them. “Care to join?”

“You’re not going to the beer garden?” Merry asks.

Griselda waves a hand. “Speaking only for myself, I’m too old to trade comfort for free beer. I’d rather pay for my drinks and have them indoors.”

Noelle giggles. “Sign me up.”

Dad gives us a playful finger wag. “Have fun at the beer garden—but not too much fun. Remember, we’re going to get our tree tomorrow afternoon when Noelle’s done at the library. So I need everyone to be fully functioning.”

“Have fun,” I call as Dad, Noelle, and Griselda melt into the crowd streaming away from the square and walk toward High Street. I catch myself flicking my gaze over to Anderson and Tabitha. Presumably they’ll also trade comfort for free booze, and I won’t have to worry about running into them in the beer garden. At least I hope so, because this is the first time I’ve been in a social situation with the two of them since I stumbled on their adult version of Five Minutes in the Closet.

Jack asks Titus a question about his tattoo, and Delphina uses the opportunity to pull me aside, looping her elbow through mine.

“He’s your client?”

“Yes.”

“And Anderson is on the other side of the case?”

“Also, yes. By the way, he wants to be called Anders.”

She snorts. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

And this is one of the million reasons why I love Delph.

“So how long have you been dating Titus?”

“We’re not dating. He’s my date.”

“What’s the difference?”

She sighs. “I know it’s been a while, but you go on dates with someone to decide whether you want to date them in a more long-term fashion.”

“Got it. Is this your first date?”

“I know him from Dancing Ladies and we’ve been talking for a while. But it’s been more of a business mentorship because he’s interested in opening his own small business. So yes, this is our first date-date.”

“What kind of business does he want to open?” I’m thinking maybe a record shop or a piercing studio. Possibly a tattoo parlor.

“A cat cafe.”

“A cat cafe?”

“Yeah, he plans to partner with the animal rescue to sponsor adoptable cats. And since he’s going to specialize in tea service, it won’t cut into my business.”

“Or, hear me out, he could serve actual coffee, which would also not compete with the Snowflake Cafe.”

In response, she pinches my arm playfully. “I’ll ignore that since I’m so happy to see you out and about.”

“You can thank Jack and Judge MacIntosh for that.”

“Come again?”

“Jack was charged with unlawful trespass for putting some books in Mrs. Swanson’s Little Free Library. Tabitha must have been out of the office when the police picked him up—she usually goes shopping with her sisters on Black Friday. The best I can figure is she left Anderson in charge, and he decided to bring criminal charges.”

She stops walking and yanks me backward. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish.”

“Anyway, Anderson requested no bail, and rather than let Jack sit in county lockup until after the holidays, Judge McIntosh remanded him into my custody.”

“Your place is miniscule. What are you going to do with him? Make a bed on your kitchen counter?”

I laugh. “It’s not that small, but we’re staying at the guest house at the inn.”

Her eyes widen. “How?”

“The Bryants canceled at the last minute so Dad said we could have it. There’s only one bed, but we’ll work it out.”

“What you should work out is having a fling with a hot out-of-towner.”

I’m shaking my head before she finishes the sentence. “No way. That would be messy for a lot of reasons.”

“Name one.”

“He’s my client.”

“Okay, name another one.”

“I’m not ready.”

“You don’t need to be ready to have a fling.”

Luckily, we reach the entrance to the beer garden and she drops the topic.

T hree Christmas ales later, I’m reminded that I really do like beer. I’m also slightly past tipsy. Merry slides a glass of water in front of me, and I give her a woozy smile. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says before returning to her good-natured argument with one of the Marino brothers about active yeast versus sourdough starter.

Ivy got swept away by a group of her friends as soon as we walked in the doors. Last time I saw her, she was dancing. And now Delphina and Titus have joined the dancers, which leaves just me and Jack at the table we snagged right under a heater.

I turn to him. “So, what do you think?”

His eyes crinkle. “About?”

I wave a hand. “All of it. The beer garden, the lighting, the town, the people.”

He takes his time responding, sipping his lager. “I think,” he says, then his eyes flick over my shoulder and whatever he was about to say dies in his throat. He looks down into his glass and says, “That ADA just walked in.”

My chest tightens and I steel myself before I turn around to see Tabitha, impossible to miss in her long scarlet coat, with Anderson standing stiffly beside her, looking like he wishes he was anywhere but here. His obvious discomfort sparks a tiny bit of joy in me.

“Let’s dance,” I say brightly.

Surprise flashes in Jack’s eyes, then he shrugs. I’m guessing his internal monologue is roll with it , because he drains his beer and says, “Sure.”

He takes my outstretched hand and I lead him to the temporary parquet dance floor that’s been put down in one corner of the tent.

Delphina gives me a surprised look of approval as we join the dancers, and Ivy flashes me a completely cheesy and not at all discreet thumbs up. I start moving to the beat and I swear I can feel Anderson’s eyes boring into my back. I ignore the feeling of being watched and focus on the music. I love to dance, but much like beer, my ex-fiancé found it unseemly. I raise my arms over my head and shake it off. Jack moves his hips with mesmerizing grace, smiling the whole time.

The song ends and the DJ puts on a slow dance. Ivy and her friends filter over to the table. Delphina wraps her arms around Titus’s neck and they start swaying back and forth.

I give Jack an uncertain look and he holds out his hand. I hesitate, but only for a nanosecond, before I take it. He pulls me close and presses our clasped hands to his chest.

He’s tall enough that even in my heeled boots, I can rest my head on his shoulder. We turn and my hip brushes against his. Heat crackles through me.

In my peripheral vision, I see Anderson leading Tabitha to the floor. I turn away, looking up at Jack. His bright blue eyes darken as he looks down at me, and my breath hitches.

He cups the side of my head then runs his big hand over my hair to my cheek and then down to my collarbone, and I take a deep, shaky breath. We’re barely moving now.

He lowers his cheek to mine, and the scratch of his beard rubs against my skin.

“Holly,” his voice is a rasp. “I’m going to kiss you now, unless you say not to.”

I swallow hard, my heart a trapped bird in my chest. “Kiss me,” I say.

He dips his head to drop a series of soft, fluttering kisses along my clavicle before tilting my chin up with two fingers and covering my mouth with his. My lips part, yielding to the firm pressure as he kisses me hard. I press against him, desperate to get closer.

I don’t realize that we’ve stopped moving until someone jostles us from the side. It breaks whatever spell we’ve fallen under, and he removes his mouth from mine. I feel the absence acutely.

“Sorry,” he says to the dancers who’ve collided with us.

Then he turns to me. “Why don’t we sit?” he rumbles deep in his throat.

He leads me off the floor, back to our table where we sit, side by side, our fingers still entwined. He rubs the underside of my wrist with his thumb, and I shiver with need and desire.

Then as suddenly as I lost myself in his kiss, my head clears. A wave of horror washes over me. I’m flooded with shame. I ease my hand out from his and grab my water glass.

I drain it in one swallow before I say, “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“For that. ” I gesture toward the dance floor. “It was completely inappropriate. I’m your lawyer.”

“We’re both adults, Holly.”

“It’s unethical, Jack.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know what came over me.” This is a lie—I do know what came over me. I’m wildly attracted to this man.

“Holly—” he begins.

I cut him off. “Hold that thought. I need to use the bathroom.”

He frowns skeptically, but it happens to be true. I suddenly desperately need to pee. Eight hundred glasses of water will do that to a girl.

As I weave my way through the crowd, I run into Merry and Ivy.

“We were looking for you. A bunch of us are going to Rudy’s for late-night cheese fries and greasy burgers. Do you and Jack wanna join?” Ivy asked.

“Oh, no, but thanks.”

“Are you sure? We’ve already called the Sober Sleigh. Delphina and Titus are coming.”

“I think we’re done for the night.”

My sisters exchange a knowing look.

“Got it,” Merry smirks.

“It’s not like that.”

“You sure about that? You guys looked pretty cozy on the dance floor.” Ivy raises an eyebrow.

“He’s my client. There are rules of conduct.”

Merry scoffs. “Live a little. You don’t have to follow every rule.”

I gape at my youngest sister as if she’s speaking a foreign language. “I really do.” Before she can argue I say, “Listen, have fun at Rudy’s. I’ll see you tomorrow when we go get the tree.”

We share a quick hug and I wend my way to the corridor where the line for the ladies room starts. The line inches forward, and right as I reach the front, the door swings open and Delphina walks out.

“Saw you kissing,” she says without preamble.

“Bladder’s gonna burst,” I respond.

She sighs. “Fine. We can debrief at Rudy’s.”

I shake my head. “Jack and I are done for the night. Talk tomorrow?”

“Talk tomorrow.”

She gives me a quick peck on the cheek and I rush into the bathroom.

After I use the facilities, I take my time washing and drying my hands. Then I touch up my lipstick, which has been kissed off. My lips are tender, almost raw and I picture Jack’s demanding mouth.

On my way back to the table, someone grabs my elbow. I wheel around to see Anderson.

“Let go of me.”

“I saw you, Holly. You’re completely out of line.”

He’s right, I know he’s right. But instead of admitting as much, I stiffen my spine. Who is he to tell me what I can and cannot do? My temper rises. “It’s none of your business, Anderson.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. As your opposing counsel, I’m not going to have this case thrown out because you’ve violated your ethical obligations to your client.”

I laugh. “You want to file a bar complaint, Anderson? Go right ahead. I’ll counter it with one of my own.”

“My ethics are above reproach,” he scoffs.

“You think so? I wonder how the taxpayers would feel knowing the district attorney’s office is a hotbed of sex.”

His nostrils flare and his face reddens. “You wouldn’t.” His voice is loud, almost, but not quite, a shout.

“Try me,” I say evenly.

Tabitha races over and places a hand on Anderson’s arm. “Anders, it’s time to go.”

“You heard the boss. Bye-bye.”

He holds my gaze for a moment longer before turning away.

Tabitha gives me an apologetic smile as she leads him away.

I wait until they’re halfway across the tent before I walk over to Jack, my legs shaking from the confrontation. My mouth is dry and my heart is racing. Of all people, it had to be Anderson who voiced the professional concerns already gnawing at my conscience. Even worse, he’s right, though I’d rather eat fruitcake than admit it to him.

“Are you okay?” Jack asks, rising halfway from his chair when he sees my face. “What was that all about?”

I drop into my seat, the pleasant buzz from the Christmas ales completely gone now, replaced by a knot in my stomach. The warmth of his kiss lingers on my lips, which feels like an indictment. “Nothing,” I say, then I stop myself. “No, not nothing. Anderson threatened to report me to the bar.”

The muscle in Jack’s jaw tightens. “Over a consensual kiss?”

His indignation would be sweet if it weren’t so misplaced. I’ve worked so hard to build my professional reputation. A moment of weakness—delicious as it was—isn’t worth risking my career.

“There are rules, Jack.”

“Well, they’re crap.”

I sigh. I don’t really want to sit here and explain the rules of professional conduct in the middle of a raging party. “Let’s just—can we go back to the cottage?”

For a moment, I think he’s going to object, but he doesn’t. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get our coats.”

We walk back in silence under the twinkling lights. The only sound is the faint music from the tent and the crunch of the snow under our feet. My mind whirrs as I try to figure out what to say, how to make this not awkward.

On the porch, before I tap in the code to unlock the door, I turn to him. “I want you to know it’s not that I didn’t like kissing you.”

He parses the double negative, and his mouth quirks up. “Oh, I could tell you liked it.”

My pulse races and I look away from his mouth. “But it’s complicated.”

I unlock the door and push it open. He follows me inside and we stomp the snow off our shoes on the mat in the entryway.

“It’s only complicated if you make it complicated,” he tells me.

I am suddenly bone-tired and weary. I slip out of my boots and walk into the kitchen to pour us each a large glass of water. I hand him one. “We’ll have to agree to disagree, at least for now. I’m exhausted.”

He leans against the island and holds my gaze for a beat. Then he tips the water glass toward me. “Cheers.”

My fingers itch to rake through his thick hair and tug him toward me so I can cover his mouth with my bruised and swollen lips. Instead, I take a long drink.

He drains his glass, places it in the sink, and brushes past me, heading toward the sofa.

“No, take the bedroom. I told you, you’re a guest.”

He turns and shoots me a look. “And I’m not letting you sleep on this couch.”

I throw up my hands. “How about this? We’ll alternate. You take the bed tonight. I’ll sleep there tomorrow. I don’t want to stay up and argue about this. I really want to get some sleep. Please.”

“Have it your way,” he says with a shrug before heading toward the bedroom. He pauses at the threshold and gives me a long, searing look. “Sweet dreams, Holly.”

“Good night, Jack.”