No, I definitely would’ve remembered someone who looked like him. There was something about his presence that made my heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. “Are you being deliberately mysterious, or is that just your natural charm?”
His laugh was warm and genuine, even better than I’d imagined. It did things to my insides that probably weren’t appropriate for a public Christmas market, especially just outside the local church. “A little of both, maybe. I’m Kenai, by the way.”
“Sylvie.” I held out my hand, and when he took it, the contact sent a jolt through me that was definitely not static electricity. His skin was surprisingly warm despite the cold, and he held my hand just a moment longer than was strictly necessary.
“Sylvie,” he repeated, and the way he said my name made something flutter in my chest. “Pretty name for a pretty woman.”
I felt heat creep up my neck despite the brisk winter air. “That’s quite a line.” If a man in Manhattan had used it on me, I would’ve laughed in his face. But here, as snow started softly drifting down around us, catching on Kenai’s pale eyelashes, it had my stomach in knots.
“It’s not a line if it’s true.” His silver eyes seemed to see right through me.Too much, in fact. “You know,” he went on, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone, “there’s something about you that seems familiar too.”
“Familiar how?” I asked.
“Like maybe our pathshavecrossed before.” His luminous gaze searched my face. “You have kind eyes—the kind that notice when someone needs help.”
“That’s…oddly specific.”
He shrugged, though something almost grateful flickered in his expression. “Not everyone stops when they see someone in trouble. Most people are too busy, too focused on their ownproblems. But some people…” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “Some people have the kind of heart that can’t just drive past when someone’s hurt.”
The way he said it made me think of yesterday’s drive, of the injured deer I’d found by the side of the road. The one with silver eyes…
But that was impossible. There was no way this man could know about that.
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” I remarked, studying his face for clues, my lawyer instincts kicking in.
“Maybe I am.” His smile was soft, almost tender. “Maybe I know what it’s like to be helped by someone who didn’t have to stop—didn’t have to care—but did anyway.”
Something in his tone made my chest tight with emotion I couldn’t name. “Well,” I said quietly, “I think most people would stop to help if someone really needed it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you live in New York City?”
I laughed. “Yes, and yeah, maybe a lot of people wouldn’t—but sometimes people can surprise you.”
“Yes, they can,” he agreed, and there was something almost reverent in the way he was looking at me now. “I’m glad there are still people like you in the world.”
“It’s funny—when people find out I’m a lawyer, they assume the exact opposite about me.”
“People shouldn’t make assumptions just because you dedicated your life to a career known for being cutthroat.” He was grinning, and I hated how unbelievably handsome it made him.
“Are you teasing me?” I batted my eyes just a bit. He started it, after all.
His smile turned enigmatic. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t want to end up on the naughty list, this close to Christmas. But Imust be doing something right to end up in a beautiful town like this, just before the holidays…talking to you.”
He hit me with a smile that would have won him any jury in court. The market around us seemed to fade into background noise, and all I could focus on was him—the way his breath misted in the cold air, the way his eyes never left mine, the way the snow swirled around him, like it was under the same trance I was, totally captivated by him.
“Sylvie!” Mom’s voice cut through whatever spell had been building between us. “There you are! I’m glad you decided—oh.”
She appeared at my elbow, taking in Kenai with the kind of interest mothers get when they spot a potential romantic prospect for their single daughters. All irritation over my earlier behavior vanished, replaced by purpose.
“Mom, this is Kenai,” I said, trying to ignore the way my heart was still racing. “Kenai, this is my mother, Grace Hartwell.”
“Mrs. Hartwell,” Kenai greeted, inclining his head politely. “Your daughter was just telling me about your beautiful ornaments.”
“Oh, how lovely! Are you visiting for the holidays?” Mom asked, and I could practically hear the gears turning in her head.
“Just passing through,” Kenai answered, but his gaze remained fixed on me. “Though I’m finding the local scenery more beautiful than I could’ve imagined.”
Oh, he was dangerous.The compliment was delivered so smoothly, with just the slightest crooked smile, that I knew my neck was turning red. Mom, naturally, noticed immediately.
