Things were…predictable.
If someone had told me this morning that I’d end the day sitting in The Rusty Stag, cheeks still warm from flirting with Drew Benedict while Christmas lights twinkled in every direction, I would’ve laughed them out of the room.
And yet, here I was sitting in a corner booth, trying to remember how to breathe normally while he moved behind the bar like hebelongedthere.
Which, of course, he did.
The man was maddeningly at home in this place with his voice low and easy as he chatted with customers, and laughter deep and warm enough to fill every corner of the room. The fire in the stone hearth crackled softly, a pine garland draped across the mantle, it was…nice.
Outside, the snow kept falling, catching the glow from the string lights on Main Street. Every time someone opened the door, a swirl of winter swept in, carrying laughter and the faint sound of carolers.
If Norman Rockwell and Hallmark had a baby, this was it.
And somehow, I was in the middle of it, still flushed from his teasing about Seattle men in suits and trying very, very hard not to look like a woman who’d been caught staring at his forearms all evening.
The door jingled again, and I looked up to see Callum stepping in, brushing snow from his hair. Behind him, Lydia followed, glowing like a Christmas ornament personified.
“Finally!” I said. “I’m starving.”
“So what you’re saying is you’re ready for dinner.”
“I was ready five hours ago,” I said, laughing.
“Mel, you mind if we just eat here? I can’t feel my fingers, and this place smells too good to leave, and I’m having a craving.”
Hearing her say she had a craving made my heart tighten and a sloppy grin plop on my face.
“For what?”
“Don’t laugh.”
“Never.”
“Chili cheese fries with extra onions and mustard on the side.”
My mouth puckered instinctively. “Mustard?”
“Don’t ask. I need it on everything.”
“I’m not sure if I should be excited or worried. Will our child inherit this taste?” Callum grimaced.
Lydia swatted his arm. “Pregnant cravings are not a character flaw. How do you know your child isn’t the one demanding mustard?” She stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed, leaning over to kiss her temple.
I smiled because they were ridiculous and happy and so clearly in love that it made something ache deep in my chest.
I turned toward the bar, half to hide the look on my face and half because I couldfeelDrew watching.
He caught my eye and smirked, like he’d just read my mind.
“I’ll grab menus,” he said, voice low enough that it felt like a secret.
Before I could respond, he wandered over to the old jukebox near the wall, the one with the soft crackle in its speakers.
He punched in a number, and a few seconds later, the opening notes of Baby, It’s Cold Outsidedrifted through the room.
I groaned audibly. “Really?”
He turned, that grin spreading slow and unapologetic. “Seemed appropriate.”
