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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.
