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Part 1

I don’t know how many times I’ve looked out this window, at this same view—but it never gets old. The rounded slopes of fluffy snowdrifts that line the road, the gobs of white hanging from branches and streetlamps like melted marshmallow, the diamond sheen on the sidewalk, and the feathery flakes that drift down endlessly from the sky, dotting the air.

It’s magical. Beautiful. Especially now.

I catch the reflection of the room behind me in the window—all gleaming oak tables, and warm walls of paneled wood. Bright orange flames glow in the fireplace below five hanging stockings with names sloppily written in silver glitter. Pine-green garland and mistletoe are strung all around, and a tall, real Christmas tree stands along the wall with colored lights and shiny balls. Finally, there’s Walter—the moose head above the mantle—with red velvet bows on each antler, that I tied myself.

The Christmas season has always been my favorite time of year, but three days before Christmas Eve at the Black Diamond Bar? That’s a whole other level of Norman Rockwell, Funny Farm, It’s a Wonderful Life, kind of awesome.

The only thing missing is some cheesy Christmas music—the kind my roommate and fellow waitress, Heather, and I lobbied hard for. And got vetoed on.

So Love Song by Tesla comes from the jukebox in the corner. But it’s okay—it’s a good song.

As the pretty opening guitar notes play, however, I’m more focused on the conversation coming from the bar.

“Snow gnomes are fucking evil.”

“What the hell is a snow gnome?”

“Little guys, red hats, pointy ears, they hang out in gardens. You know—snow gnomes.”

Stealthily, I watch my boss behind the bar.

Jace Winters.

Cue the heart-eyes and internal swoonage. Just thinking his name makes me weak.

He’s got thick dark hair, a full strong mouth, gorgeous straight white teeth and a dimple when he smiles. The dimple wrecks me. I want to lick it—then work my way down from there.

And his hands . . . they’re my favorite. I follow them with my eyes as he wipes down the bar. They’re strong hands, rough and large. Capable and controlled. A man’s hands.

I watch Jace. A lot. Because that’s me, Evie Sanders—mild mannered, twenty-five-year-old waitress by day—sneaky, hopeless, almost-stalker . . . the rest of the time.

It’s kind of pathetic.

Jace narrows his eyes at Zack—the wiry, tattooed guy across from him.

“You mean elves?”

“Nah, man—elves are clean shaven, gnomes have beards. Everybody knows that. Creepy bastards. Their eyes follow you. Like they’re just waiting to fly across the yard and grab you with their fat sausagey fingers so they can sink their razor-sharp teeth into your throat.”

Zach’s a writer. Vivid imagination, highly talented, fairly weird. He lives most of the year in LA, but comes up here for a few months to hibernate so his creativity can percolate without distraction.

“Up here” is Alpine, Colorado, a cozy nook of a town known for its pristine trails, exhilarating slopes, quaint shops, and above all . . . privacy. Aspen is the place rich people go to party, get glammed up and be seen. Alpine is the place people go to ski, kick back and disappear.

“Wait—that’s actually good.” Zack toys with the metal ball piercing on his lower lip. “Elves vs. Snow Gnomes, the Winter Wonderland War. Give me a napkin, I gotta write this down.”

A burst of cold air and a few frantic snowflakes swirl in as the door opens. Charlie Butters—the local owner of the snowplow company, Plow U Right—walks in, with his six-year-old son, Charlie Jr. beside him. They take off their hats and hop up onto two barstools.

“It’s really coming down out there,” Big Charlie says and sighs. “It’s like money from the sky, but still—hell of a day.”

A minute later, Jace slides Charlie’s regular end-of-the-day drink—an Irish coffee—in front of him.

Charlie Junior pulls off his mittens with his teeth—they’re stitched with SNOW BLOWS across the knuckles.

“What’s it going to be today, kid?” I eat up the way Jace’s forearms bulge as he crosses his arms. “A Shirley Temple or a hot chocolate?”

“Hot chocolate, Jace. Better make it a double.” Little Charlie sighs—the mirror image of his dad. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

The Black Diamond’s hot chocolate is another thing Alpine is known for—created and custom made by the owner himself. He uses real melted chocolate and whole milk. It’s not as thick as Italian hot chocolate, but still luscious and rich. The mug of steaming goodness is capped off with a mound of handmade whipped cream sprinkled with cocoa powder, marshmallows and crushed peppermint granules, and served with a flaky, chocolate-dipped wafer.

It’s like drinking a Christmas miracle.

He slides the chocolate masterpiece in front of Charlie Junior and the kid dives in.

Then Jace looks up. Across the bar . . . right at me. Pinning me with those piercing, crystal-blue eyes, like an icicle straight through my heart.

A frantic, fluttery feeling fills my stomach, and it’s like time stretches and the music fades and the whole world stops—even the snowflakes outside pause mid-flight.

Because Jace Winters is looking at me.

Until the chime of the silver bell dings from the kitchen.

“Order up!”

And by the time I blink, his chin has dipped and he’s back to wiping down the bar. Mr. Cool and obviously unaffected.

I can be unaffected too.

But I’m not as good at it as he is. So instead of walking to the kitchen, like a normal person, I turn too fast, rush without looking . . . and walk right into the motherfucking Christmas tree.

My momentum sends it tipping, almost going over, but I wrap my hand around the trunk and jerk it back—stabbing myself in the left eye with a branch.

Jesus Christ

“Shit,” Jace murmurs.

Zack hops off his stool. “You okay, Evie?”

Both of them head toward me. I cover my wounded eye with one hand, and hold up the other to keep them at bay. Because I’m already embarrassed—anymore humiliation and I’m going to start eating mistletoe.

“No, I’m good. It’s fine.”

But Jace is already in front of me—so close I can feel the solid warmth of him, and smell the clean, fresh, scent of his flannel shirt. “Lower your hand, Evie. Let me see your eye.” His voice is rough and low. It’s an order.

It’s hot.

“I said I’m all good, Jace.”

The bite of frustration and the snap of firm anger seeps into his tone. “I’m not gonna say it again, Eves.”

Wow, even hotter.

I lower my hand and do my best to give him a rebel glare through one good eye, and one squinting, blurry one. Jace peers down at me, his jaw tight, and I lean forward—to soak up every second of being this near to him. His shoulders are even broader this close-up, and beneath his shirt I can make out the prominent cut muscles of his chest and arms.

Jace swipes his thumb along the apple of my cheek slowly, wiping away a tear from the leaky eye. And the feel of his touch . . . dear God . . . I don’t know how I keep from moaning, but thank you baby Jesus, I do.

“It’s looks okay. You’ll be all right, Evie.”

He says my name softly now. Gently. A tone I’ll hear in my dreams and fantasies—a pillow-talk, late night kind of whisper that makes me grow hot and wet between my legs.

But after a moment, I step back and force a smile. Because I have some pride.

At least, I think I do.

“Told you. Totally fine.”

I’m not fine. Not even close to fine.

I’m a mess.

Because I love him.

Love. Him.

Deeply. Soul-wrenchingly. The yearning is a constant pulling weight in the center of my chest.

He’s the perfect man. I didn’t know men could be perfect, but Jace is.

It’s more than the outside package—though speaking of packages, he’s either carrying a big pet cucumber around in his jean’s pocket—or his is superb.

But it’s who Jace is on the inside that really has me hooked. It’s the welcoming, kind way he treats everyone around him—employees and friends and even strangers. It’s the sweet way he hugs his older sister off her feet when she visits, and lifts his giggling little niece up onto his shoulders.

There’s an integrity that emanates from him. He’s hardworking. He bought The Black when it was a rundown dive of a place and single-handedly worked his ass off—and that part of him is fine too—to turn it into the diamond it is today. Jace has an inherent honor, an easy charm, dedication, caring strength and protectiveness. He’s a good man.

A sexy, hot-as-hell, good man, that I want to ride like my own personal mechanical bull. Who I want to cherish and worship and adore. Forever and ever.

Because I love him. I’m in love with Jace Winters.

There, I said it…even if just out loud in my own mind. I can’t remember ever not being in love with him.

And it’s turning me into a total fucking idiot.

A few minutes later, once I can see clearly out of both eyes again, I’m in the kitchen, arranging purple kale garnish on the two plates of burgers and fries, as Ryan, the Black Diamond cook, makes conversation. Ryan’s name is on one of the stockings hanging from the mantle below Walter. There’s one for each of us—me, Jace, Ryan, Heather, and Kevin, the back-up cook and bartender who’ll be in later. We’re one big Black Diamond family.

“You heading back east for Christmas this year?”

Back east is New Jersey, where my parents still live. I wouldn’t say we’re close, but we’re not distant either. I’m an only child but my parents are the types who didn’t actually mean to have a kid—it just sort of happened. So while I know there will always be a place for me in their home, when I flew the nest and relocated to Colorado four years ago, they weren’t exactly brokenhearted about it.

I shake my head. “Not this year. Can’t afford the plane ticket. I finally saved up enough to buy the car I’ve been eyeing at Dooney’s Garage. She’s my Christmas present to myself.”

“Cool.” Ryan pushes a hand through his short blond hair, and runs his teeth across his lower lip. “We’ve got a gig the day after Christmas just outside Aurora—you want to come? It’ll be a good time. Maybe you and me could grab something to eat after?”

Ryan’s an Alpine local—born and raised. He’s about my age and plays lead guitar in a band that’s not half bad. Jace lets them play live here on Wednesday nights. Heather’s been crushing on Ryan forever—almost as long as I’ve been obsessed with Jace.

And even if she wasn’t, I don’t date. The hunk out behind the bar may not realize he’s got my heart under lock and key—but I do. Leading someone else on, giving another guy the idea that I might be interested in him, when I know there’s no chance, just wouldn’t be right.

Before I can answer, the hunk himself is standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, his eyes cold with impatience.

“You got that order or what, Evie?” Jace jerks his dark head out toward the main room. “Customers are waiting.”

I give him a nod. “Coming right up.”

I pick up the plates and smile at Ryan on my way toward the door. “Thanks for asking, but I can’t.”

Not now. Not ever. Not with him.

Yep . . . totally pathetic.

“You want another round?” I ask the young, trendy couple, as I set their burgers in front of them and point to their almost-empty mugs of dark Guinness.

They each nod and I head over to the bar to fill the order.

The girl kind of reminds me of me—with her full, wild wavy hair and dark brown eyes. The me I was four years ago—back when I used to date.

Dating is how I ended up here.

It was Dylan McCaffery—he wasn’t Mr. Right or even Mr. Right Now—he was more Mr. Pass-the-Time. And when he suggested a cross-country road trip, my twenty-one year-old self quit my job as a dental office receptionist, emptied my savings account, and hit the road for some good old life experience.

The first few days went well, but by the time we stopped in Alpine two weeks later, Dylan and I were bickering like two people who couldn’t stand each other.

Because we actually couldn’t stand each other.

The final straw came when I showered first—using all three minutes-worth of the hot water in our motel room.

That’s when Dylan, and his car, ditched me.

My plan was to grab something to eat, spend the night in the motel and head back to New Jersey the next day. But then, I walked into The Black Diamond for that something to eat. Jace was behind the bar, and Heather was my waitress and by the end of the night—I had a new roommate and a new job, and the start of a whole new life.

It’s funny. Sometimes life is like a maze in those activity books for kids. You take a swirly, roundabout path, just to end up right where you were supposed to be all along.

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