4. Hudson

4

HUDSON

“ I t’s a date?” Not your finest work, Hudson.

Maybe not, but I liked Moody, and I didn’t think I was guilty of giving mixed signals. I’d been brutally honest about being a tourist with trust issues. I’d even mentioned the business venture that sounded a hell of a lot more interesting to me after my meeting at the ranch.

See, I didn’t want to work for someone else for the rest of my life, but I couldn’t afford to buy my own business outright. Investing in a successful, well-established enterprise run by experienced and reputable folks was a nice option.

Oak Ridge was a sprawling dude ranch that catered to equine and agricultural lovers and wealthy clients who wanted to play cowboy for a week…with a twist. Real cowboys didn’t have spa treatments after working in the fields, nor did they dine outdoors under a crystal chandelier artfully hung from an oak branch and eat meals prepared by a chef with Michelin-star cred under his belt. It was borderline ridiculous, and yet those exclusive getaway packages made the ranch serious dough that they funneled into crops and distribution.

They also had a fledgling winery and were poised to release their newest Pinot Noir. I’d tasted it on my visit earlier in the day, and damn, I’d been impressed. I wanted in. I had the capital they needed to expand, and I had experience in just about every aspect of ranching from land management and maintenance to breeding and animal care.

I’d grown up raising cattle and sheep on my family’s farm in Colorado. I was no stranger to hard work, and I wasn’t shy about pitching in to help at any hour of the day. But ownership wasn’t something my uncle was willing to share.

“Why not?” Moody asked, spearing lettuce with his fork.

“Uncle Jim is old-fashioned. My mom inherited cash and a small share of the ranch from my grandfather’s estate when he passed. He left the majority ownership to my uncle, who happens to have three sons of his own. I’m not a greedy man by any stretch, but I don’t want to be working for someone else my whole life. I want to build something and God willing, leave something for my kids someday.”

Moody bugged his eyes out. “Your kids. Do you have those?”

“No, but I’d like to…eventually. How about you?” I buttered a slice of warm sourdough with the patience of a heart surgeon in an operating room. I wasn’t sure what had gotten into me, but I hadn’t stopped talking since we’d sat down for dinner. Moody could take the reins for a while.

“Children? Oh…well, I don’t know. I like kids, and I think my practical nature and my dedication to education would be an asset in paternal care, however…I’m not fun.”

I snort-laughed. “Sure you are.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, fussing with his glasses. “I am quite self-aware. Fun is not in my repertoire.”

“I think you’re fun.”

Moody rolled his eyes. “That’s because you don’t know me. I might live in a village where people actually believe in peace, joy, and goodwill toward their fellow citizens, but none of that makes me fun. Bah humbug.”

“Bah humbug? Are you Scrooge?” I teased.

“I’m widely regarded as Scrooge’s ambassador to Christmas Town, so…yes.”

I hooted merrily. “You? No way.”

“Way. I don’t mind the nickname. In fact, it’s oddly endearing. The point is…I would never be the fun parent. I had one of those, so trust me, I know that a lighthearted approach makes a world of difference when raising young ones.”

“I think the capacity to give unconditional love is more important. I got lucky in the parent department. My dad was cool under pressure and he could be fun, but he was tough too. My mom was the softie. Still is.”

“Yeah, well, my father was literally Santa.”

I dropped my fork with a clang for comedic purposes. “For real? Does that mean you’re an elf?”

Moody’s lips curled in a reluctant smile. “A South Pole elf, perhaps.”

“Ah…still cool.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight. “My dad embraced all things silly. As far as he was concerned, the fact that he was a big man with white hair, a beard, and a belly meant that he had a particular calling when he moved to a holiday-themed town. Dad bought himself a suit with faux-fur lining and a hat and shiny black boots and shouted ‘Happy Holidays’ at the top of his lungs as he waltzed down Reindeer Lane beginning the day after Thanksgiving. Needless to say, he was a hit. Sam Barnham took over two years after Dad passed, but it’s not the same. As Vicki says, ‘Sam’s a sorry second.’ ”

“Well, I admit that’s pretty cool. Your dad sounds like a good guy.”

“He was the best,” Moody said matter-of-factly. “He’s been gone almost four years now, and he’s sorely missed by everyone. Town hall dedicated a statue to him…right next to the giant Christmas tree. You’ve probably seen it.”

I cocked my head curiously. “The Santa statue? That’s your dad.”

“ Mmhmm . A decent likeness, too.”

I reached across the table and touched his hand. “I’m sorry for your loss. My father’s been gone ten years, and not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. Working at the ranch has been a good way to feel connected to him…if that makes any sense.”

Moody raised a brow. “Of course it does. I moved to the area after my father’s first heart attack. I was also in between jobs and hadn’t relished the prospect of a return to Wall Street. My dad showed me the property next to Vicki’s café and asked me what I would do with it if I could do anything in the world.”

“Sell books?” I guessed.

“Yes. My initial plan was to start a business and hire a manager to run it for me, but I’m still here.”

“You must like it.”

“I love it. Belle from Beauty and the Beast was my childhood idol. I envied her more than I could possibly put into words. I wanted a room filled from floor to ceiling with books and a ladder that whisked me from one end to the other. Teenage me added the coffee shop next door to the equation. Tea and books and comfy chairs to snuggle up in…” He fluttered his eyes as if in a euphoric trance. “But adult me became terribly busy, bought an e-reader, and was happy enough ordering online publications. Owning a bookstore seemed outrageous. Way too big of a dream.”

I grinned, loving his passionate speech and glowing eyes. Geez, this guy was magnetic. I felt drawn to him in a way I hadn’t been to anyone in a long time. “But you did it.”

Moody inclined his chin as if taking a mini bow. “Yes, and I’m proud of it. I should be thinking about how to expand, but maybe someday. So to answer your question—I like that part of my dream has come to fruition. I also like that Vicki is here.”

“Vicki the soup vixen?”

“That’s the one. Vicki’s my dad’s widow, and she’s family. We look out for each other. And Santa Ynez Valley is a truly lovely area, so yes…I’m happy here. Ish.”

“Ish?” I prodded.

“It’s a quiet life. Sometimes, I think a little more action would be nice. I miss New York City, but going back to long hours and cold winters in a fast-paced city doesn’t appeal to me. Neither do the holidays,” Moody added scornfully.

I narrowed my gaze. “You seriously don’t like the holidays?”

“That is correct.”

“Yet…you live in Christmas Town,” I continued in a measured tone.

“Also correct.” He tore a piece of bread in half and took a big bite.

“Everyone loves the holidays.”

“I’m not everyone.”

“No…you’re not,” I agreed with a laugh.

“I have my reasons and I won’t bore you, but suffice it to say, that the lighthearted joie de vivre required to embrace the magic of the season is not wired into my system.”

“I see.” I wrinkled my nose in barely masked confusion. “Look, I know we just met, but you strike me as a jolly guy. Happy to the core.”

“Thank you. I am.” He paused a beat. “Until December and the holiday season and blah…”

“Blah?”

“There’s an existential argument to be made that we’re conditioned to enjoy the holidays and part with money with smiles on our faces. It’s a genius ploy, really, but gosh, it grinds my gears. And the rush of endorphins is often accompanied with a January crash and a case of the blues.” Moody paused when a team of servers swooped in to deliver our meals. He thanked our waiter, complimented the presentation of his salmon, her hair and necklace, and asked after her mother. The moment we were alone again, he picked up his fork and finished his thought. “It’s simple science, Hudson. For every positive, there’s an inverse reaction. What goes up must come down. Faux December high, real January low.”

I wanted to argue that there were exceptions to the rule, but I didn’t want to dwell on negatives. If Moody wasn’t a fan of Christmas, that was his prerogative.

While we ate, we abandoned the holiday conversation in favor of neutral subjects, like the weather, the hundred and fifty wineries in the area, the sixty-plus restaurants, and the amazing variety of wildlife. Especially birds.

His face lit up as he talked about unusual species he’d encountered like the burrowing owl, the white-throated sparrow, and Lawrence’s goldfinch.

Let’s face it, Louis Moody was a quirky dude. He was animated, interesting, engaging, and thoughtful. I liked him. A lot. His intensity was counterbalanced by the sweetest smile, the pretty eyes, and the unexpected virtue of not taking himself too seriously. I knew far too many people whose big opinions made them seem alternately annoying or difficult…or both. Not Moody.

Then again, the only thing we really disagreed about was the holidays. Or perhaps I was still confused by the notion that this generally jolly guy was Christmas Town’s resident Scrooge.

We squabbled over the check, but I insisted on paying. “This is the nicest meal I’ve had in ages. Great food, and even better company. Please. My treat.”

“If I cannot change your mind, I grudgingly acquiesce.” Moody sighed. “Thank you.”

I grinned. “You’re welcome.”

We walked to the parking lot in silence. I should have been thinking about my follow-up meeting with the owners of Oak Ridge in the morning, but my mind was securely locked in the present.

On Moody.

We’d driven separately, which had made sense since we were coming from opposite directions. However, I wasn’t ready to say good-bye now.

“That’s my vehicle.” Moody gestured to a white SUV under a lamplight.

The whoosh of the ocean crashing on the beach below us and crickets chirping in the nearby bushes soothed my nerves as we wordlessly walked toward the row of cars. Yeah, I was nervous. I couldn’t figure it out. Nothing was going to happen between us.

Look, I was over Kylie for sure, but I wasn’t ready to start something new—especially not with someone I’d potentially bump into again if I did end up investing in the ranch. And Moody wasn’t a one-night-stand option. Don’t ask me how I knew that…I just did.

“Hey, um…it was great to meet you. Thanks for having dinner with me and giving me insight about the area. It was nice of you.”

“I’m nice.” Moody’s sassy wink went straight to my dick.

Whoa. Wait. Was he flirting now?

I crossed my arms and regarded him with faux skepticism. “I thought you were the Grinch.”

“Scrooge,” he corrected. “One doesn’t want Christmas at all, and the other is a curmudgeon who wants less holiday fuss.”

“They’re both grumpy as fuck.”

“Absolutely. The worst.”

I made a mini production of studying Moody: his fit, compact body, the proud tilt of his jaw, his twinkling eyes. My gaze lingered longer than necessary on his mouth and— Shit …this was reciprocal flirting for sure. I couldn’t seem to stop, though.

“Not you. You’re a great guy. I know these things.” I tapped my temple. “I have good instincts, and?—”

“Oh, no. Stop.” Moody wrinkled his nose. “Darn it.”

I frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I was attempting amorous wooing, or…I think I was.”

“Wooing,” I repeated.

“Yes, I’m terribly out of practice. But you ruined it.” He threw his hands in the air and paced to the lamplight and back again. “‘Good instincts.’ Two words later, and my cover is blown.”

“Uh...still not following.”

“My curiosity, which I’ve somehow managed to control for two hours straight, has reared its ugly head, and my insatiable interest for information that is none of my business is demanding to know what happened. Why? And how could she?” Moody stopped in his tracks and gestured wildly at me. “Look at you. You’re hopelessly handsome, seemingly intelligent, charming without trying too hard, and though of course, I can’t be sure of this, the substantial bulge in your jeans indicates you also possess a large penis. I see no downside whatsoever. So…enlighten me, please. What on earth was your ex-fiancée thinking?”

Yeah, I had nothing.

I stood there, speechless, unsure where to begin. The breakdown of the wedding that didn’t happen, the ex whose name I could barely remember after an evening with Moody, the fact that he was interested in me…all of it.

But I started with the easy stuff.

“My dick is larger than average.”

Holy shit. Really, Hudson? Really?

We stared at each other, the air suddenly thick and potent with desire. Maybe that was all on me, but no—no, it wasn’t. He wanted me.

Moody stepped closer. “I believe you. I’m about to utter words that I may regret in the morning, but I don’t think I can stop myself.”

“What kind of words?” Christ, was my voice always this deep?

“Show me.”

I swallowed hard. “Show you…my dick?”

“So I can judge for myself,” Moody replied evenly.

Yep, I was gobsmacked.

I glanced around the parking lot, looking for witnesses. Was he serious?

Did it matter? My cock was on board. It twitched against my zipper, hopeful for some unexpected action.

But I was the one doing the thinking here, not my dick.

“Moody, that’s?—”

“I was joking,” he intercepted with the world’s phoniest laugh. “I’m practically incapable of issuing dastardly invitations. That was my inexpert way of voicing solidarity and quite frankly, amazement that…”

He circled his wrist as if searching his internal data bank for PC terminology.

I took pity on both of us and supplied, “That I got dumped?”

Moody nodded. “Yes.”

“So, let me get this straight…you were flirting with me earlier just for fun, and now you’d rather know why my ex left me.”

“Well…I’m still flirting, but with less voracity. I’ve turned down the heat, you might say.” He pushed at his glasses, chuckling at his joke, quickly adding, “Out of respect. It’s rather in poor taste to seduce a brokenhearted man. Or perhaps not, but it’s not something I’d be good at.”

“It happened a year ago, Moody. I’m fine.”

“Oh, good. That’s excellent.”

We stared at each other for a beat. “You’re still curious, huh?”

“Terribly,” he admitted.

I snorted. “It’s kind of chilly out here. My hotel is up the road. Did you want to come by for a?—”

“Glass of water. Yes, please. I’ll follow you.”

And with that, he marched to his SUV.

Okay…I’d either invited a cute guy to my room for a glass of water to discuss a breakup or my dick size. Or both.

This was going to be interesting.