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But Everett swears he doesn’t’ mind. He says life together is better than life alone.
Everett props up the tree and asks what I think.
“It’s perfect.” It’s a Charlie Brown tree for sure, but with enough branches that we can string at least several hundred lights on it. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Anything for my wife and daughter.”
A week after Everett proposed the two of us eloped. Of course, my sister and my friends thought we were crazy.
But this life wasn’t theirs. This life is ours. And we were ready to start it.
Everett tells me he’s going to put the tree in the stand, and I turn toward the record player. As I put on the Bing Crosby album we listened to a year ago, warmth spreads through my belly.
And I know the time is right.
“Remember last year, Everett, when we were put on the naughty list?”
It’s been two months since Lorelei was born and longer than that since Everett and I have properly been together.
It’s time.
“Oh, I remember.” He blushes when he says it, and I know I am going to make him a very happy man tonight.
“Well,” I tell him, coyly. “You haven’t been naughty this year, Everett. You’ve been anything but. You’ve been the best man, the best husband, the best father.” I sidle up to him, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“So I’m not on the naughty list? That’s what you’re telling me?” he asks.
“Nope. You are on the nice list. Which means you get a special treat.”
“And what do you get when you’re on the nice list?”
I take his hand and press it to my full breasts. And I press my hands to his growing cock, the cock that is already twitching, ready for me.
I smile, whispering, “You get milk and cookies.” I take his hand and drag him to the bedroom. I face my mountain man, letting my shirt fall to the floor. “Well, we might just get back on the naughty list after all.”AboutWhen I arrive in Linesworth with my daughter to celebrate the holidays, I’m not looking for love.
I already have more than enough.
The last thing I expect to find at the bakery is the cutest Christmas cookie I’ve ever seen.
Noelle is kind and generous —the sort of woman men move snow-capped mountains for.
One taste of Noelle’s frosting and she’s all I crave.
But she has other things on her mind—and finding her own happily ever after seems like someone else’s Christmas wish.
I didn’t come to Linesworth to find a bride, but I’m not leaving this mountain until I make Noelle my wife.
Dear Reader,
This Christmas romance is nice and sweet, but once you read this you’ll be on Santa’s naughty list. You can thank me later. *wink, wink.
Xo, FrankieBrooksThis sugary town is over-the-top. I’ve visited once before, when my parents moved to Linesworth, helping them settle in - but that was in the summer. Now, it’s a few weeks before Christmas and everything about this place makes my cold-heart melt.
Well, the fact that my four-year-old daughter, Scout, thinks we set foot in a snow globe is the catalyst for the temporary, literal, change of heart. How can I not smile when she sits on Santa’s lap and asks for a pony?
I may be a jaded mountain man but I’m a father first. Wasn't the life I expected, but hell, it’s sweeter than the candy cane my little girl is licking right now.
“Papa, can we get hot cocoa? Please?”
Maybe it’s the golden ringlets bouncing on her shoulders. Maybe it’s her rosy cheeks. Maybe it’s the fact that she has me wrapped around her little finger. I don’t say no because I don’t want to say no.
I want Scout to be happy. More than happy — I want her to know that miracles can come true.
God knows she is mine.
I run a hand over my beard, wondering just when I became such a sap, but before I can get any more sentimental, she has her tiny hand placed in mine and we’re walking down Main Street toward The Three Sisters Bakery.
“Granny said this was the best place ever. She got her cimmon rolls here.”
“Cinnamon,” I say gently as we walk into the shop. It’s as Bavarian-themed as the rest of the town — only on overload. Gingerbread houses are perfectly iced and are on practically every surface, Christmas carols ring through the rafters, and red and green-aproned employees smile brightly as they place frosted gingerbread men and powdered sugar concoctions in boxes for customers.
In line, I’m so distracted by the jingling bells at the doorway, the long line of anxious shoppers, the rows and rows of sugary delights — that it takes me a moment to realize a woman is asking about my order.
I do a double take, remembering where I am and with whom. If I were at a bar, I wouldn’t be able to resist asking her out. Buying her a drink. Running my hand over the curve of her waist and cupping her heart-shaped face with my hand. Pulling her in for—
