“Well, you’ll have to come by for hot chocolate,” she offered. “Mrs. Patterson makes the most amazing holiday drinks. In fact, she should be setting up right about now…”
“That’s very kind,” Kenai replied, “but I’m not really one for cocoa.”
Okay, that was one strike against him—but with that jawline, I could forgive him.
He still hadn’t taken his eyes off me. “It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Hartwell. Sylvie, a pleasure to see you again.”
I was sure I was beet-red. He turned and walked away before I could respond:This is the first time we’ve met.
He was definitelynotout of earshot when my mother squealed. “He’s so handsome, Sylvie. Go after him!”
“Mom, one thing I will never do is chase a man down.” Even if every single—very, very single—part of me wanted to. “Besides, today is about you and me. Let’s sell some ornaments. No more distractions, I promise.”
She sighed, but I saw her smile creeping back. “Alright, sweetheart.”
It was barely past one, and we were already close to selling out. I beamed with pride for my talented mother as I packed ornament after ornament for safe transport to their new homes.
The crowd broke temporarily as people gravitated toward the food trucks, and I caught a flash of a bright red sweater from the corner of my eye.
“Hi, Mrs. Patterson. Looking for an ornament?” I called, waving her over.
She smiled, and the wrinkles around her eyes deepened. “No, I got to choose from your mother’s lovely work before the market started,” she explained. “I was just watching you work so hard and brought you a little something.”
My head throbbed slightly. “I honestly don’t think I can handle any mulled wine right now,” I said with what I hoped was a sympathetic smile.
She laughed softly. “No wine, darling. I’m not a complete degenerate, despite the stories your grandmother might tell about bridge night. I brought you some hot cocoa, just to keep the chill away.”
I couldn’t wear gloves while handling the ornaments, so my fingers were frozen. The steaming mug she held out was a warm beacon.
“I insist, dear,” she urged, pressing the mug into my hands with surprising firmness. “You look like you could use something warming.”
The cocoa smelled incredible, rich chocolate and spices. Mrs. Patterson’s smile seemed particularly bright as she watched me take the first sip.
“This batch is extra special,” she added. “I included a little something just for you.”
The first sip was like liquid comfort—creamy chocolate with hints of cinnamon and something that tasted like…nutmeg? Whatever it was, it worked. The tension in my shoulders began to ease almost immediately.
“This is amazing,” I moaned, taking another sip. “What’s your secret ingredient?”
Mrs. Patterson’s eyes twinkled as she looked me up and down in a way that felt a touch too knowing. “Oh, just a little something from an old family recipe,” she replied lightly. “Drink up, dear.”
I took another sip—and when I looked up, she had disappeared.
Damn, this cocoa was good. Before I knew it, the entire mug was gone, and I was feeling warm.Verywarm, in fact—burning hot. I felt strangely sluggish and bumped the table beside me as I peeled off my oversized jacket.
“Careful, sweetheart!” my mother exclaimed as the ornaments jostled dangerously. “Sylvie…Sylvie, honey, what’s wrong?”
I could barely hear her. The winter air that had been crisp and cold suddenly felt almost tropical. The market around me took on a dreamlike quality—colors brighter, sounds sharper. Icould hear individual conversations from across the square, as if every one of my senses had been turned up to eleven.
My skin tingled, and I was so damn hot. Not only that, but my nipples were hard, and I was throbbing between my legs.
Once while ovulating, I’d been so feral I took a man home from a bar just for handing me his card, outstretched between two long, thick fingers. This felt like that, but about a thousand times worse. The snowbank behind our booth suddenly looked very appealing, but before I could toss myself into it, my mother’s soft hands guided me to a bench, doing her best to keep me from peeling off more clothes as she fussed. “I’m calling your grandmother to have her come get you.”
She walked away, and I rubbed my thighs together, the seam of my jeans agonizing as I rolled my hips against it. The back of my mind was screaming,What the fuck?I was out in the open, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except?—
What would Kenai taste like? He smelled so good. What would it feel like for him to fuck me with those long, callused fingers?
What the fuck was wrong with me?
