Fuck the cowboy while you’re at it, and I expect a librarian-worthy star rating and review delivered to my inbox afterward.
That means I wish to be blessed with ALL the spoilers.
Cowboy has a sexy ass, a sexy truck, andhoooooly shit… a sexy as all hell home among these mountains.
Excuse me while I pick my jaw up off the floor.
The log cabin vibes are immaculate. With a sprawling porch set up to face the snow-covered ridgeline to the south, perfectly positioned for what I’m sure are long summer days, enjoying the sun out here when it’s baking hot, rather than knee deep in snow.
This place is grand, but feels cozy. Kind of like Reid himself. What might under other circumstances come across as oversized and imposing actually feels warm and comforting.
Just like the way he held my hand.
I can still feel the tingling in the center of my palm from where his touch lingered.
This is unfathomable.
If it looks like a serial killer lives here, I’ll just keep driving. “I’m the kid prepared to risk it all for Turkish Delight. How completely dumb is this idea?” I mutter to myself.
Yet, here I am, finding myself in what can only be described as a ranch life fever dream. I’m following the back of his truck along a winding shingle driveway surrounded by snow, as we both pull up to the place he calls home. My fake boyfriend, whom I get to pretend to be swept up in, for the next three days.
There will be nopretenserequired where that man is concerned.
My bigger issue is going to be how I continue to go about my mundane, quiet, single life when I get back home. Knowing someone as perfect as him exists out here? That’s gonna be the hardest part.
Three days of living out a fantasy. Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and then it’s all wrapped in a bow the day after.
I’m excellent at disappearing into other worlds, they’re just usually within the pages of my books. This, however, is the very real picture postcard version of a snow-bound dream. Mountains. Horses. Cattle. Complete with a cowboy I’d quite like to take a bite out of.
Better make the most of it, I suppose.
Double-checking my phone, I look back over my last text exchange with Keri. You know, just to make triple certain that I didn’t smack my head on the ground and hallucinate her enabling me in this madness.
I’ve pulled to a stop, and before I know it, myboyfriendis opening the door for me. From the startled look on my face, he must see just how unaccustomed I am to having anyone do anything like this. Not even while dating douchebag Dale.
“Just getting a little early practice in, sugar.” He leans down, giving me a look that should be illegal.
Dimples. This cowboy has dimples when he smiles, and I’m in so much trouble.
As I try to step out of my car and avoid the embarrassment of my knees buckling beneath me for a third time in front of this man, I hear a few excited yips from Stella followed by a sound that catches me by surprise.
Something drones over the stillness of the snowy mirage surrounding us. High-pitched and metallic. Is that… grinding?
My gaze drifts to an open barn door next to the house, and an acrid smell of burning metal wafts our way. But that’s not the most striking or unexpected thing about the scene.
A figure is hunched over, working inside what appears to be a garage converted into a studio. The noise and smell are accompanied by a peacock tail of flying golden sparks. And as I stare, captivated by the warm orange glow and noise of whoever it is at work, I see broad shoulders straighten up. The machinery cuts off, those sparks dying down at the same time, to reveal the sight of someone with a welder’s mask covering their face.
The male figure raises his head, lifting his concealed gaze to look our way, and my pulse does a little kick. With one gloved hand, he reaches up to pull the protective shield off. In one smooth motion as he does so, he shakes unruly dark hair out.
My mouth goes dry. I bite my tongue to stop myself from gasping out loud.
That mask is tossed onto the workbench, revealing a dark mustache, scruffy jawline, tattoos climbing up the front of his throat, and a glint of silver in one ear.
He’s an absolute work of art, striding toward us, with the dog weaving circles around his ankles… and he pulls his gloves off to reveal yet more ink, along with silver rings to match the small hoop in his ear that I can see more clearly now.
“Well… hello,ma petite chérie.”
Oh my god. French?
