Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Mason

Frosty’s windows glowed warmly over the snow-dusted street. I paused at the door and swiped my hands over my wool coat.

Sweaty palms in 40-degree temperatures? I was officially ridiculous.

Not a date. Just friends. Ford is straight.

I took a deep breath, the cold air burning, and promptly had a coughing fit.

“You okay?” Ford’s deep voice rumbled next to my ear.

I jumped in surprise, eyes streaming, and croaked, “Great.”

He grinned, his smile a little lopsided, and somehow that made him even more attractive. Shoot. I never should have let Mrs. Lil finagle us into this. She looked sweet, but there was a mischievous spirit beneath those cashmere sweaters.

Ford looked hot as fuck in a button-down charcoal shirt, dark jeans, and a leather jacket. He rocked the lumberjack vibe in flannel, but this was a whole other level.

I wheezed, but luckily he chalked it up to my coughing fit, not a reaction to his sex appeal.

“We better head in and get you a drink before you die on me.”

I chuckled weakly. “Good plan.”

Ford pulled the festival vouchers from his pocket as we stepped inside. “Let’s see. We get two free drinks, a raffle ticket, a holiday dessert, and?—”

“Whoa.” I gazed at the packed bar. The tables were all taken. More people stood around in little groups holding festive-looking drinks accented with cinnamon sticks and candy canes. “And I thought the Santa pics event was packed.”

Ford chuckled, the low rumble raising goosebumps on my skin as he leaned close to my ear to be heard over the chatter. “Welcome to Christmas Falls madness.”

I spotted Rebecca with her gorgeous Italian boss. Taylor certainly had good taste. Not that I was interested in Rocco. I was far too aware of Ford at my side, his towering height, his broad chest, the beard that seemed to both soften his face and make it more ruggedly handsome at the same time.

It would be better if I were interested in Rocco Moretti. Or maybe that sweet Hank Beaufort I’d met at the Single Mingle. Or Elias or Kody. Literally anyone but the straight, unavailable guy at my side.

A chalkboard sat propped on the bar, drink specials written on it with little candy canes drawn in around them.

“The wassail cocktail is good,” Ford said. “They’ve had that one before. It’s got bourbon, cranberry, and cinnamon.”

“Sold.”

Ford leaned forward to place our drink orders with Mik, one of the bar owners.

My treacherous gaze slipped down to the amazing fit of Ford’s jeans.

Bad Mason. Bad.

Marigold Fairchild nudged me as she passed by. “Good for you, Mason.”

“What? No, he’s not…” I trailed off as she rejoined her date, old Nicholas Willoughby, who winked at me from their spot in the crowd.

A crowd that was staring at me.

Me and Ford.

“Here,” Ford said, turning to hand me the wassail cocktail. It was cranberry colored, with a stick of cinnamon, and smelled sweet.

But anything would do.

I took a big gulp. The sooner I got some liquor in me, the less awkward it would be under everyone’s stares. Because everyone was watching.

“So, what now?” Ford asked, blissfully ignorant of the crowd’s attention. “Shall we go enter the raffle or just meander? Mik said they’ve got a few games going. An antler ring toss over in the corner, Christmas charades across the bar, and um…a jingle bell hunt? Not really sure what that is.”

Just then a loud ringing cut across the bar, followed by cheers. Laura Mills—who I’d briefly met as the wife of a job candidate for the city manager position Taylor wanted—held up a bell, wildly ringing it. “That makes three! I’m winning that date with Heath Kelly!”

“Uh-oh,” Ford joked. “A date with Heath Kelly? Do we need to get in on this action for you?”

My face grew hot. “Uh, no, that’s okay. I’m a fan, but I’m not, you know, interested like that.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Huh.”

I licked my lips. “And, um, you should probably know…”

He leaned in to hear me better. Which was making the stares, winks, and whispered asides even worse. “What is it, Mase? Why do you look worried?”

“I didn’t really consider this, but um, I’m pretty sure everyone here thinks we’re on a date.”

Ford drew back, brow furrowed. “A date?”

“Yeah, like…” I waved a hand between us. “You and me. At Cocktail Hour together.”

Ford glanced around, noticing the onlookers.

“I’m sorry,” I rushed out. “I’m gay, and people know that, but I didn’t consider— I mean, obviously you’re not and they should know that too. Everyone gets so hung up on the gossip that they forget to think straight!”

Ford barked a laugh.

“Why is that funny?” I asked, taken aback.

“Think straight.” He laughed again. “They’re not thinking straight .”

“Oh.” I chuckled, catching on. “They’re really not.” I bit my lip. “Sorry.”

Ford captured my chin in his big hand, using a thumb to tug my lip free of my teeth—which did nothing to put those rumors to rest, or the traitorous flutters of hope in my gut, for that matter.

“Don’t worry about it, Mase. I know who I am. I don’t care what they think.”

I swiped my tongue over my bottom lip, nervous under Ford’s intent gaze. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He smirked. “But your blush is real cute.”

“Oh my god.” My face blazed like a heater and I lifted one hand to my hot cheek.

Ford grinned and tossed back half his drink. “Come on. Let’s do that raffle.”

There were a number of door prizes, including a handcrafted Christmas village, a snow globe depicting Christmas Falls, and in honor of the festival organizer, Griff—who was fondly called Grinch—a whole set of grinch-themed ornaments.

And of course the grand prize: a date with Heath Kelly.

Ford showed the volunteer at the table his festival voucher.

“You can use this for our door prize raffle—or you can buy a ticket to play the games. Each time you win a game, you get an extra entry for the grand prize.”

“What do you think?” Ford said, cutting his gaze toward me. “Last chance to take a run at Heath.”

I swatted his arm. “Shut up and get us a regular raffle ticket.”

Ford chuckled and filled out the ticket.

A cozy two-top table had opened up in a corner. I grabbed his wrist and tugged. “Come on! Hurry!”

I raced across the room, winding between groups of people and slammed my butt in the chair before two tourists could claim it. They veered away, the older guy loudly complaining. “Apparently you have to be an Olympic sprinter to get a seat around here.”

Ford pulled out the chair across from me. “I didn’t realize I was on a date with an Olympic athlete.”

“Very funny. You’ve seen me, right? I’m a total shrimp.”

“But fast,” he said with a wink.

My brain caught up to what he’d said. “A date?”

He shrugged. “If you can’t beat the gossip, join it, right?”

I frowned. “Not really proper for us to be on a date. Given that you came to the Holiday Hope Foundation for assistance, not a boyfriend.”

His lips quirked. “Well, thankfully we’re changing that arrangement. I’m not your charity case anymore.”

“Because you’re going to work on my house…”

“Yeah. I already made some calls about renting a sander to refinish your floors.” He paused. “Unless you’re having second thoughts about hiring me?”

“No.” I leaned in, so it was easier to talk above the background music. “It’ll be a huge relief, honestly. I wanted to do it all myself, but I thought I’d have more time, you know? With my family coming for Christmas and work so busy…”

“Between your place and a couple more festival odd jobs that Griff called about, I’m in a better place, Mason. I don’t know if I can give Charlie everything she deserves. The kid’s been through a lot with her mom, you know? But I can give her what she needs.”

“Sometimes that’s more important.”

He nodded. “So your family is visiting? Tell me more about them and what you’d like to get done at your house.”

The next hour flew by as I told him about my little brother, Sawyer, who had made me so damn proud by deciding to invest in co-owning a business. About my mother, who was a talented chef at a resort in the Ozarks. About Sawyer’s boyfriend, who ran a food boat and helped in the resort kitchen. About my childhood living by a lake, my house, and everything I wanted done before they arrived…

I talked so much. Too much.

Ford was a great listener, seeming genuinely interested in my life story.

I paused, my mouth dry. “I’ve been rambling. What about you? Tell me about your family.”

Just like that, he clammed up.

“Not much to tell. You know the basics.”

I cringed, remembering his sister had died. His mom moved away because memories here were tough. His wife left him.

“Sorry, yeah.” I hesitated. “Why do you still live here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, your mom left because she had too many memories here. But you must too, right? It can’t be easy.”

“Yeah.” He picked up his drink and finished it off. “I could say it’s because I had a job here. A house. Friends like Dottie.” He shrugged. “But the truth is…it’s just home. And I guess, unlike Mom, I wanted to stay close to the memories. Nicole feels more alive here than anywhere else, you know?”

“Sometimes all you have is memories, but…that doesn’t make them any less real.”

“Exactly. Did you lose someone too?”

I shook my head quickly. “Not the same way. Just…someone who disappeared from my life. My dad. It’s more complicated, all tied up with resentment and guilt, you know? I don’t want to miss him, but I do, and then I’m sure he doesn’t deserve my love, but those memories—” I stopped abruptly. “I’m so sorry. It’s really not the same thing. My dad is alive somewhere.”

Ford tapped my foot with his. “Don’t worry. There’s no scorecard here. You’re allowed to grieve for that loss. Fuck knows I’ve grieved over LuAnne a time or dozen.”

“Right. Charlie’s mom. Do you still…”

“No,” he said gruffly. “That love died years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

He suddenly laughed. “This is depressing talk for a date, huh? Let’s get another drink and play a silly game.”

I smiled. “Yeah. Too bad there’s not an ugly Christmas sweater contest. I’m going to get you into one of those yet.”

He chuckled. “In your dreams.”

I shrugged, because yeah, Ford Donnelly did sneak into my dreams now and then, no matter how I tried to keep him out. But if he was going to play along with the date that town gossip insisted we were on, I wasn’t going to fight it.

For one night, I’d enjoy this crush.

We got two more drinks—we each bought a round—and we laughed ourselves silly over the ridiculous charades, moaned with appreciation as we ate the gingerbread truffles on the dessert menu, and finally staggered outside into the cold, crisp night.

I didn’t want the evening to end. I was warm and boozy, a little too content to lean against Ford’s side.

“What now?” I asked, my evil little heart spinning fantasies of him taking this date to the usual conclusion.

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

“It says here we get a sleigh ride around Santa’s Village as part of this date night.”

“Really?” I leaned over his arm to peer at the text on the festival vouchers. Because they were generally given out as door prizes, they often included a few extras.

“You want to?” he asked. “It’s kind of…”

“Kind of what?”

He hesitated a beat, but then shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s do it.”

There was a sleigh across the street, with two reindeer hooked up to it. Gus, the volunteer who’d driven the sleigh when I’d delivered Thanksgiving meals, waved.

Tonight, he was dressed in a top hat and coattails, looking as if he’d just stepped out of a Victorian Christmas in a Dickens novel.

“Merry Christmas!” he called as we approached.

“Hey, Gus! Great costume. Very snazzy.”

“Thanks, Mason.” He chuckled. “Are you two taking a moonlit ride?”

Ford handed him the festival ticket, and he nodded to the sleigh seat behind him. “Up you go. There’s a blanket back there. It may be a bit cold.”

“Thanks.” I climbed in, Ford right behind me, my nerves jangling as his thigh pressed against mine.

Perched in the sleigh, we had an amazing view of the Christmas lights flickering all along Christmas Boulevard.

Gus clicked a few times and bells jingled as he shook the reins. The reindeer took their first lumbering steps.

The sleigh moved slowly enough we could really take in all the sights, but it was freezing. I dipped my chin, trying to nuzzle into my scarf, and shivered hard.

“You’re cold.” Ford grabbed the blanket pooled on the floor of the sleigh and draped it over our laps. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and tugged me against his side. “Better?”

I leaned in closer, tucking my cold nose into his neck. “Mm-hmm.”

Ford shivered, and I drew back.

“Sorry, am I making you cold too?”

“I’m fine.” He guided my head back to his shoulder. “Can you see the lights from this position?”

“Yeah, thanks. They’re beautiful.”

Ford glanced down to meet my eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Beautiful.”

I tilted my face up, my lips buzzing, a tension crackling under my skin.

Kiss me. Please.

“Ford,” I whispered.

He licked his lips. “Yeah?”

“If this really were a date, would you, um, kiss me right now?”

“Yeah, I think I probably would.”

“Well, we’ve been pretending all night, so…”

I held my breath, sure he’d laugh and brush my comment away. Instead, his gaze dipped to my lips, lingered, and between one breath and the next?—

He kissed me.

Ford tipped his head, brushing my lips so lightly it was more the idea of a kiss than an actual one. My fingers curled into his hair, so silky, and I made a soft, needy noise that would probably embarrass me later.

Ford cupped my face, drawing me in, kissing me more firmly. My lips parted, and just as I captured a hint of his taste, the sleigh jolted to a stop.

Ford pushed me away.

Not roughly, but carefully. As if I were a bomb about to explode all over him. Something precarious and dangerous.

“Sorry,” we said at the same time.

“I was just caught up in all of this,” I said quickly, waving to the sleigh and postcard-worthy view.

“Yeah, it wasn’t— I’m not?—”

“I know,” I said. “It’s okay.”

Gus turned in his seat. “All right, folks, hope you enjoyed your ride around Santa’s Village. Have a good evening and a wonderful holiday!”

I smiled weakly. “Thanks, Gus. It was lovely.”

Ford jumped down from the sleigh, and I followed. We crossed the street together, in silence, and my heart tried to hammer out of my chest.

I never should have asked Ford to kiss me. What had I been thinking? The whole night had been like this waking dream, and I’d gotten caught up in the fantasy.

Those Wassail cocktails hadn’t helped me keep my head either.

When we reached the sidewalk, he turned toward me so suddenly I startled.

“I guess this is goodnight,” he said. “I’ll see you Saturday to get started on that work at your house.”

“Okay…”

He clapped my upper arm. “Bye, Mase.”

Before I could answer, he spun on his heel and walked down off into the darkness. Okay. I guess we were pretending nothing happened, then.

That was for the best.

I couldn’t help wishing that maybe Ford would have liked the kiss. Wanted to kiss me again, even.

But that was a pipe dream. Because Ford was straight, and I’d just gone and fallen for him like a huge cliche.

I turned and trudged to my car, for once hardly noticing the chill in the air. I was too numb.