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“Thanks.” I hurry to my own mailbox, matching her pose.
But when I lean on mine, it gives way. The post snaps in half, and I tumble into the snowbank.
“Mac!” she cries and hurries across the street as I pick myself up and brush the snow from my knees. “Oh my God, are you okay?”
Her hands.
Her. Hands.
She’s touching me, running her palms along my arms. “Hurt?” she asks.
I should make words. I can’t. All I can do is stand here and look at her. Smell her. Sense her. She’s warm and inviting, and I could swear she smells like hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.
“Mac?” she peers up at me, those beautiful eyes so bright in the daylight. “Did you hit your head?”
“No.” I can answer that. Then I swallow hard. My mouth dryer than ever.
When she drops her hands, I almost groan in disappointment.
“Sorry.” She steps back. “I just was checking for injuries is all.”
“No.” I need to say more than that one stupid word, but I can’t. Nothing is firing except my thoughts of her.
“Okay.” She smiles despite my fucking weirdness that I can’t seem to control. “As long as you aren’t hurt.” She drops her gaze to my mailbox. “But I’m going to need to fix that. Might take some time.” She picks up the box and the splintered wood stake. “Can I borrow this for a while?”
“I, uh, I—”
“Great!” Her smile brightens even more. “I have just the thing. I’ll bring it back when I’ve repaired it.” And with that, she turns and dashes across the street, taking her bright, sparkly perfection with her. And, just like that, I suspect she’s made off with more than just my mailbox—she’s taken my heart as well.
2
JOCELYN
Istare at the broken mailbox and wonder what’s wrong with me. That was not how I anticipated my exchange with Mac going. I keep making this worse. He’s never going to see me as anything other than the quirky girl that lives across the street at the rate I’m going.
It’s a title that never bothered me before I met him. But I don’t want him to think of me as being a girl. I want him to see me as a woman. One he desires. One he wants to kiss and decorate a Christmas tree with.
I sigh and stare at the splintered wood. The man is so out of my league. The first time I saw him, I almost took a tumble off my ladder. I was out checking on my gutters, and there he was. Never in my 22 years had I ever seen a man and wanted to jump into his lap. Yet that was my reaction when I saw Mac for the first time. He looked intimidating and cuddly at the same time.
He’s so big, so damn tall. I barely come up to the center of his chest.
I run my fingers over the spot I intentionally weakened in his mailbox. It hadn’t taken me but a second to do it. It would take an expert to notice the small notch I’d put in it. Someone who understood the lines and grooves of the wood. I knew when I did it that Mac would never notice it with a mere glance.
I had it all planned out. I would back my car softly into it. A small amount of pressure to the wood, and the crack would expand, snapping it in half. Then I could swoop in and save the day by fixing it for him.
Thathadbeen my plan. I should have known better. All the plans I have that involve my hot neighbor always seem to blow up in my face. I was horrified when he leaned against the box. I knew exactly what was going to happen.
Before I could say anything, he was already on the ground. Thank goodness it happened so fast. I swear if I’d had time to tell him to stop I would have. It’s probably for the best, because then I would have had to explain how I knew the mailbox was going to break to begin with. Trying to get my neighbor’s attention is exhausting. Every day I try to come up with a new plan to get him to notice me.
I wish I could say that it ended there. But it didn’t. I switched to plan B once I saw what a disaster plan A had turned into.
What was Plan B that I made up on the fly? That I would run over there and help him up. I thought maybe he would be all thankful and invite me inside for some hot cocoa. Then as a thank you for the yummy drink, I could invite him over for dinner. I could lure him over to my house where I’d spent part of my morning putting up homemade mistletoes everywhere in hopes that we would land under them.
Mac would kiss me because those are the rules and BAM! He’d be madly in love with me. He would no longer think I’m the girl next door that he only did stuff for because it’s the neighborly thing to do. He’d see me as a woman and ask me out. Maybe ask me to marry him. Crazier things have happened. It’s kind of the story of my life. For someone who is so good at mixing and making creations, I am just as good at destroying them too.
Instead, all I got was a look of horror on Mac’s face when I tried to help him up. He couldn't get away from my hands fast enough. I swear I thought for a second he was scared of me. My giant hairy man bear doesn't look like anything could scare him. How could it with hands like his? He could easily snap anyone in half. That thought sends a deliciously inappropriate thrill racing between my thighs.
But Mac never seems to want to get close. He just talks from across the street.
