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“I don’t think so, shortcake. I’ll help you get ready to go outside. Can’t have you getting chilly after only a few minutes and needing to come back inside. I’m talking a big snowman, huge. How about you go to the kitchen and grab stuff to make his face while I change and then I’ll help you get ready?”
She could’ve told Linc she could do it herself—because she could—but he was taking his apparently self-appointed duty to let her have some Little-time very seriously and she didn’t want to discourage him. That was a great trait in a Daddy and would make some Little girl feel attended to and loved.
“Okay.” Nova gave him her apartment number and directions to the residential complex.
“Good girl. Now go rustle up some snowman face makings.”
It had beena simple matter to head to the kitchen and get a kit of items that could be used to make snowmen faces. Chef Connor actually had a few tin pails lined up at the back of one of the counters that were ready to be handed over. It was almost like he expected Littles to be stopping in and asking pretty please for a carrot and other things.
“Have fun, Nova,” he told her, “but remember that candy is for snowmen faces, not for a Little girl’s tummy.”
He smacked his palm meaningfully with one of his wooden spoons, and Nova clutched the handle of her pail and swallowed. “Yes, Chef. Thank you, Chef.”
“And don’t forget to come warm up at the hot chocolate bar when you’re done,” he added, softening his expression and his tone which, in turn, made the corners of her mouth turn up.
“Yes, Chef. Thank you, Chef.”
Linc was already waiting by her door when she got back to her apartment. He didn’t appear to have changed, but he was carrying what looked like insulated coveralls over his arm and had on snow boots instead of work boots. He’d still probably look all manly and hot bundled up, and she’d look like a marshmallow. Great.
She opened the door and let him inside, mortification stealing over her at the last second. Somehow, Nova’s brain had skipped over the part where allowing Linc to help her get ready would mean that he would be in her quarters. It was ridiculously awkward letting him into her space since her studio apartment was decorated like her brain had exploded all over the walls. If she hadn’t already told Linc she was a Little, he’d sure as heck know now.
There were stuffies and pillows and blankets all over, and she had a princess canopy draped over her bed. There were stacks of coloring books and puzzle boxes on the coffee table, and so many decorations on the walls and tchotchkes littering every surface. She might be a teeny bit of a hoarder, although she preferred the term collector. They all featured her favorite movie, TV, and book characters or were just plain cute and made her happy.
“You can sit for a minute while I get my stuff. Feel free to move my…”
She trailed off. She usually referred to her stuffies as her friends, and everyone at the Ranch understood that but she wasn’t so sure Linc would.
It felt good in an embarrassing way that Linc gently shifted a few stuffies to make room to sit down on the couch. She didn’t think of him as a particularly careful person, more like a bull who charged through life without much regard for the people and things around him, but maybe she’d been wrong. Or maybe he’d changed and wasn’t so careless and callous anymore. Not that she was in a hurry to test that theory.
Nova knelt down in front of her dresser to dig in her bottom drawer for some leggings, and then stood up to get a long-sleeve shirt, and some warmer socks from the top. With her hands full, she gestured toward the bathroom. “I’ll just go change in there.”
“Not so fast, little girl.”
Something inside her turned squishy at his use of the endearment. If he was going to keep calling her that, her brain was going to get mushy. Which was kind of the point, she supposed, but she also didn’t want to catch feelings. And having a strong, handsome man attending to you and calling you “Little girl” seemed like a recipe for falling for him. Novalie would really like to believe that she’d gotten not only older but also wiser in the intervening thirteen years.
“What?”
“C’mere,” he said, with a lift of his chin and a come-hither motion of his fingers.
Her brain wasn’t even going to be mush. It was going to be a puddle.
She shuffled toward him reluctantly and having lost ninety-nine percent of her vocabulary, repeated, “What?”
“Lemme see,” he demanded, holding out a big, callused hand.
Heat gathering in her cheeks and wetness gathering between her legs, she handed over the clothes she’d picked out.
Linc tsked as he went through them.
“Shortcake, you grew up in Idaho, and you live in Montana. Don’t you have any warmer clothes? Long underwear? Sweats?”
“I do, but—”
“No buts. We’re gonna be out there for a while and I won’t have you getting cold. If you get too warm it’s easy enough to take off layers. Let’s try this again.”
He stood and took her hand and led her back to the dresser. The feel of his large hand practically swallowing her smaller one made her feel Little indeed.
“Where are your long johns?”
