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Burning.
“What the—”
Jake opens the door, and I find that Ariel’s full of smoke, and Jake’s borrowed my apron. He’s currently attempting to wave the smoke out of the Airstream, looking completely ridiculous as he does.
“Are you trying to burn my house down?” I demand. “Because—”
“No,” Jake says, coughing at the smoke. “I was trying to make cookies in your toaster oven.”
I duck inside the Airstream, immediately turning on a desk fan that I have on the dashboard for moments like this one. Then, as the air clears, I find a baking sheet bearing roughly a dozen blackened circles.
“I got desperate,” Jake explains, coming up behind me. “You ate all the cookies that were here.”
“Duh,” I tell him. Like what else does one do with cookies?
Jake grins, looking relieved that I’m not pissed at him for nearly burning down my Airstream.
I pick up a burned disc and put it back down. “These can be a treat for the goats when we get home tonight.”
“We? Home? Come again?” Jake stares at me, one brow arched in question.
Yeah, I admit, there’s a lot to unpack in what I just said. And I didn’t mean to insinuate anything about us coming “home,” especially since it’s still up in the air whose home this actually is.
“We’re going out,” I declare. “It’s Christmas time, and you’ve barely done any Christmas stuff.”
“Sutton, I used to live in Reindeer Falls. I guarantee you, I’ve done all of the Christmas stuff.” Jake crosses his arms and leans against the counter, observing me like I’m up to something.
“Not this year you haven’t,” I reply. “Besides, I’ve got a few holiday tricks up my sleeve that you don’t know about yet.”
“Oh, I bet you do,” Jake drawls, eyeing me from head to toe, a sexy smirk spreading across his face.
“Not that!” I swat him with a dishtowel, laughing. “I promise you, goat-caroling is both a hidden gem and the highlight of the Reindeer Falls Christmas season.”
Jake blinks at me for a moment. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.” I pop the word teasingly, slowly shaking my head while I poke his hard chest with my finger.
He grabs my hand, brings it to his mouth and kisses the inside of my wrist. “Are you sure goat-caroling isn’t code for seducing me in new and inventive ways?”
I shiver, because the wrist kiss is a very effective distraction. But he’s not getting out of this, so I remove my hand from his grip and take a step backward, holding up a finger.
“First step: bows on every horn,” I announce. “Second step: we load them up. In your car,” I add, just for fun.
“Wait a minute,” Jake says, looking more horrified with every passing second. “We’re taking the goats caroling? In my car?”
“Don’t be silly.” I shake my head, hands on hips. “Not all of them. I’m thinking Sharon, Farmer John, and Martha. They’re generally the best sports and have the best voices.”
Jake stares me down, tapping a finger against his bottom lip while he thinks. I’m waiting for him to say ‘absolutely not.’ I’m waiting for him to call me crazy. I’m waiting for him to realize he’s in way over his head with me.
Which is fine. He can run. He can prove that I’m right to be doubtful. Right to be putting my walls up.
Except he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he shrugs and grins, pushing off the counter and stepping closer to me. “Whatever you say, Sutton,” he says, giving the end of my braid a tug. “Though I think it would be more comfortable for all of us if we take your truck.”
And that’s it. With just two sentences, I’m right back to believing things I have no right believing.
We manage to securely tie bows onto the goats’ collars, and Jake even manages to attach a few to their horns via some creative knotwork. Then we load them into my truck and head for downtown. I drive, and Jake points out the different spots that have changed—or, more often, the spots that haven’t.
“Damn,” he says. “I remember that bar. Ryan, Carter, and I got shitfaced there when we came back for Thanksgiving the year after Carter turned twenty-one. You wouldn’t believe how dumb those two get when they’re drunk.”
I laugh. “And you don’t get dumb?”
“I can hold my liquor. Unlike those two.”
“Ohh, are you secretly the responsible nerd amongst the three of you?”
“Hmm, I like to consider myself the most logical. I have a hard time doing anything without ensuring I know how the next ten steps are going to play out. The consequence of being a lawyer, I guess. Never ask a witness a question you don’t already know the answer to, and all that.”
“Yikes, how boring,” I say without thinking. “I love asking people crazy questions I have no idea how they’re going to answer.”
