Page 38 of Dumped for a Christmas Tree Farmer

“Yes, you can.” Holly’s lips form a flat line, her eyes rolling as if she knew this was coming. Is that what this song and dance was about with her father? Dangling the carrot she knew I was desperate to have?

“No, Holly.”

I should tell her I’m not going to be someone’s second choice, but I don’t give a shit about that. It’s not about her at all—it’s about Indy and me. I can’t do this with Holly, not when losing Indy will soon become my biggest regret.

“I’ll rent you the bakery, if that’s what you want, but we’re done.”

“Rent? You own the building, Mav. I’m not paying rent.” She scoffs, her hands on her hips.

I shrug. “Suit yourself. I’ll find someone else.”

I sidestep past her, making my way to the foyer as Holly follows me, screeching. Hugh sits on the same couch we had our conversation earlier. His eyes flit between us, and I see him sigh, rising to his feet.

“You’re going to regret this, Mav. You think you can land all those deals without me? You think you can get a foot in the door anywhere without my name?” Her laugh is shrill, but my focus remains on the sharp, raised eyebrows of her father. “You’ll never build another thing without my help.”

I turn around, running a hand over my mouth, taking a final look around the house I’ll never spend a Christmas in. “Holly, I think you and James are good together. If you give it a shot, you could be very happy.”

“Is this about Indy?” Her voice is no more than a whisper now.

I glance at her dad one final time, give him a small nod. “Yeah, Holly. It’s about Indy.”

Chapter Sixteen

December 29

Indy

“I’ll be in Room 7 doing a clean-down if you need me,” I say to Henry as I pull the cleaning cart out of the supply closet. It’s not technically my role here as management, but really I do a little of everything, and I actually like cleaning rooms. I mean, as long as the guest hasn’t left any nasty surprises. My five freakouts are pee, poo, vomit, blood, and OFs, also known as Other Fluids. Best not to think about it too much.

The work is methodical, routine. I strip the bed, bundling the bedding with the used towels before tackling the bathroom. I always like to let the mattress air before replacing the sheets, spritzing some scented fabric cleaner on top. The winter scent I use is pine and crisp cotton. As I pull it off the cart and spray around the room, the door slams open.

I twist my head, expecting to see Henry, but it’s not him. Mav stands at the door, his fingers gripping the frame so hard I swear it’s close to cracking. His chest is heaving as he sucks in deep breaths, his eyes dark, blown wide as they slip down my body. The pink rubber gloves and the sweat on my brow do nothing to stop his eyes raking over me.

“Mav, what are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” His voice is rough, gravelly, as if his lungs have been working overtime and it’s left him raspy.

I take a tentative step toward him and nod.

“I need you to understand what I’m asking, Indy. Can. I. Come. In?”

My breath catches in my throat, his grip on the doorframe the only restraint he has.

This is it.

This is happening right now, here in my mother’s B&B, not in my bed like I’ve imagined the past few nights. I don’t know what’s made him break now. I don’t know if it’s James walking me home last night . . . maybe he’s jealous, maybe he’s just as bad as James, only wanting something he can’t have. But I’ve seen the way he looks at me. I’ve seen the way he defends me in front of others, not afraid of what they might think. Despite all his misgivings about being incapable of caring, he does. He punched Griffin in the face for me. He brought me to the bakery to watch James and Holly because he wanted me to have my vengeance.

“Indigo,” he pleads.

My name . . . He knows my name, and he saved it for this very moment, the moment he knew I would break, that I wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Yes.”

He launches through the doorway, slamming the door so hard the picture frames rattle against the walls. His boots thump against the floorboards as he strides toward me. I snap off the gloves, flinging them on the floor as I meet him at the foot of the bed.

His lips crash against mine, and instantly we’re in a battle of teeth and tongue, gripping fingers and tugged hair. My hands run down his chest, his rough fingertips pull the strands at my nape, tugging until my chin lifts.

He ceases his assault on my mouth for long enough that I can catch my breath. My eyes dip low to his swollen lips, parted and breathless.