Page 4

Nico

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, watching snowflakes dance in the truck's headlights. Bear's massive head rests on the center console, his amber eyes fixed on Holly's front door.

"You're pathetic, you know that?" I scratch behind his ears. "One pretty girl shows up with treats, and suddenly, you forget whose side you're on."

Bear's tail thumps against the seat.

"Don't give me that innocent act. I saw you yesterday, rolling over when you saw Holly. What happened to being the fierce guard dog?"

He huffs, and I swear he's laughing at me.

"Holly is temporary help," I say, but the words taste bitter. "As soon as she lands a fancy marketing job, she'll leave faster than you can say 'Christmas spirit.'"

Bear fixes me with those soulful eyes, head tilted.

"Stop looking at me like that. I'm being realistic." I lean back, crossing my arms. "Come on, look at her. She's young, beautiful, and smart as hell. Do you think someone like that stays in Riley's Ridge? Works at a struggling tree farm with a grumpy old man?"

Bear lets out a low growl, and I ruffle his fur, seeking comfort as much as giving it. "Guess I can't blame you, though. She has a way about her."

Snow drifts past my headlights in the pre-dawn darkness. My grip tightens on the steering wheel as Holly bounds out of her house, a wicker basket swinging from her arm. Bear's tail picks up a hopeful rhythm against the seat before she even reaches the truck.

"Good morning!" Holly climbs in, bringing a wave of vanilla and cinnamon with her, the wicker basket clutched to her chest. "I made muffins for breakfast."

I shift the truck into drive and pull away from the curb, my eyes fixed on the road as she rustles through her basket. "You didn't need to do that."

Bear stretches forward, nose twitching. "Yes, handsome boy. Special peanut butter ones for you."

"Nico?" Holly holds up a muffin in my peripheral vision. "They're still warm."

I lean forward, uncomfortably aware of the steering wheel pressing against my stomach. "I'm good, thanks. Trying to watch what I eat."

"Please. You can lift things that would break most men in half. Pretty sure one muffin won't hurt those impressive muscles of yours."

I focus on navigating the empty streets, ignoring how her casual compliment sends heat crawling up my neck. Holly's just being nice. That's all.

"Cranberry Orange or Blueberry?" she asks, waving a muffin under my nose.

The simple question catches me off guard. I don't remember the last time someone baked for me—probably my mother, a decade ago. "Either flavor is fine."

She breaks off a piece of muffin and presses the warm morsel to my lips. "Open up."

I open my mouth, hyper-aware of her closeness in the confined cab. Her fingertips barely graze my lips, but my brain short-circuits. The first taste hits–butter and berries and something else that reminds me of Sunday mornings from a lifetime ago.

"See?" Holly's soft voice is triumphant. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Something loosens in my chest, a tension I hadn't even realized existed. I roll my shoulders to shake off the unfamiliar feeling of being cared for.

"Fine," I grumble, but there's no heat in it. "One muffin. That's it."

Bear whines from the backseat, and Holly laughs, breaking his tension. "Don't worry, big guy. You're next."

I swallow hard, the spot where her fingers brushed my lip still tingling. Holly turns my carefully ordered world upside down, making everything wonderfully and terrifyingly alive.

It's like she threw open the curtains and let the sun pour in, warming places I thought had gone cold for good.

The drive passes in comfortable silence, though her presence beside me buzzes like electricity under my skin. Bear's contented sighs from the backseat match my mellowing mood. As we wind through town, the dark sky bleeds into dawn, Christmas lights twinkling in shop windows like leftover stars.

I park near our assigned spot, tension coiling at the sight of the early morning crowd. Holly leaps out, transforming from my quiet companion into Bennett's Tree Farm's secret weapon. Her boots crunch through the fresh snow as she surveys our spot. "This is perfect! Right by the entrance where everyone can see us."

The farm hands beat us here, muscling the big trees into perfect rows before sunrise. While I haul supplies from the truck bed, Holly studies the space like a general plotting strategy. Bear trots at her heels, positioning himself between her and passing strangers. His protective instincts mirror mine—my shoulders tense when someone walks too close to her.

A young couple approaches during my battle with the tree stand. The guy wears that familiar look—someone bracing for his wallet to take a hit. Usually, I'd nod an acknowledgment and let them browse, but Holly approaches with a friendly smile.

"Good morning! Are you looking for your first Christmas tree together?"

The woman clutches her partner's arm, face brightening. "How did you know?"

"Call it instinct." Holly winks, beckoning them closer. "Plus, you radiate that 'new home' glow. Here, feel these branches—" She trails her fingers through a fir's needles. "Feel how soft? Notice how evenly spaced they are. Perfect for showcasing ornaments."

I stack the remaining trees, stealing glances as Holly weaves her magic. She transforms selling Christmas trees into something personal, like sharing secrets with old friends. She reveals details I've overlooked, making me see my inventory through fresh eyes.

"The Balsam has this amazing citrusy scent," she's saying, crushing a needle between her fingers for them to smell. "But if you're worried about needle drop, the Nordmann holds them longer."

Her enthusiasm spreads like wildfire—even the guy's expression has shifted from resignation to interest. The couple share a knowing look, already envisioning their Christmas morning.

Watching Holly work, I see what I've missed all these years. She isn't selling trees—she's offering people their future memories. Something squeezes in my chest, and I can't blame the heavy lifting this time.

The morning rush dies down, leaving a scattered handful of trees where dozens stood before. Holly surveys our depleted stock with satisfaction before spinning toward our showcase tree.

"Time to make this Instagram-worthy!" She hauls over a box of decorations, circling the tree with a critical eye. "The top needs something special."

She stretches on her tiptoes, grasping at branches well beyond her reach. The hem of her sweater rides up, revealing a strip of skin above her jeans. I force my eyes away, suddenly fascinated by our stack of business cards.

"Nico? Little help?"

I step closer, reaching for the tinsel. "Let me get that."

"Not what I had in mind." She flashes a grin. "I need a boost."

"There's a ladder in the truck," I point out.

"This is faster." Before I can protest, she grabs my shoulders, using me for leverage. "Hold still!"

Her hair spills around my face, flooding my senses with vanilla and cinnamon. She wobbles, clutching my shoulders. My hands instinctively grip her waist, fingers spanning her ribcage.

"Higher?" Her voice floats down, cheeks pink with exertion. "Almost there."

I lift her those crucial inches, my hands spanning her waist. She wobbles, fingers digging into my shoulders, and the movement pulls her closer. Soft curves press against my jaw, and every muscle in my body turns to stone.

"Careful," I manage, my voice rough.

"I trust you." She tosses the words out like they cost nothing while they slam into my chest with the force of a falling tree. So many years alone, she breaks through my walls with three simple words.

Blood rushes south.

My brain fights to focus on anything safe—inventory counts, delivery schedules, equipment repairs. Anything but how perfectly she fits in my hands or the warmth bleeding through her sweater.

"Thanks!" She beams, her cheeks flushed. "See? Much better than a ladder."

I grunt in response, not trusting my voice.

Holly slides down my chest, and I force myself to step back. Bear watches from his post, tail wagging in what looks suspiciously like amusement.

"Not a word," I mutter under his knowing gaze.

Movement at the edge of our lot catches my eye. Jack cuts an imposing figure—six-two of muscle wrapped in flannel and worn jeans, with unnerving eyes that see too much. The striking woman beside him, looks like she stepped out of a magazine, her fancy coat a jarring splash of city style among my evergreens.

"Good to see you, Nico." Jack clasps my hand. "Looks like business is booming."

"Yeah, sales are up." My attention drifts to Holly as she weaves through the trees at the far end of our lot, something about her purposeful stride making my shoulders tense. "Your tree's ready whenever?—"

Jack follows my distracted gaze. "Having trouble with your seasonal help?"

"Redheads," I grumble, shaking my head. "Going to be the death of me." I catch myself before adding how she's transformed our sales. How she's transformed everything.

Jack introduces Eden before heading toward the premium section, his hand resting casually on her lower back. They move through the trees with easy familiarity, hands brushing as they examine branches. The sight settles like a weight in my chest, heavy with possibilities I keep denying myself.

Holly's laugh pierces the quiet, drawing my attention back. Bear circles her, pinecone dangling from his mouth, tail slicing the air with each wag. Something in my chest expands at the sight of them together, warm and dangerous.

Bear lunges forward, dropping the pinecone to nose at her legs until she topples backward. She lands in a puff of snow, squealing with delight as he licks her face.

"Bear! Stop!" Her giggles bounce off the trees.

I should intervene. Instead, I drink in the moment—red hair splayed across white snow, cheeks flushed with joy, eyes sparkling. She fits here, in my world, like she's always belonged.

She rolls to her feet, and Bear pounces into action. They dart between the premium trees, her boots spraying snow, his tail raised like a victory flag. My usually stoic guard dog bounds after her like a puppy, transformed by her presence.

Just like his owner.

They vanish behind our showcase display. A tree wobbles, and my contentment evaporates. "Holly? Careful back there?—"

Bear bursts through the gap. Holly spins to avoid him, grabbing a branch to steady herself. The tree rocks. Her eyes meet mine as it tilts.

"Oh no," she cries.

Bear's barking pierces through my panic. The only two beings in my world that matter are in danger.

"Holly!" Time slows as the first tree slams into the second. Then the third. Our perfect display transforms into a line of tumbling evergreen dominoes.

My body moves before my brain catches up. I launch forward, measuring distance against gravity. Three strides. Two. Our eyes lock; hers are wide with surprise but not fear. Never fear. One stride.

I catch her around the waist just as the nearest tree groans. Spinning us away from danger, I curl my body around hers, shielding her as we fall. The impact drives the air from my lungs, but I barely notice. All I register is Holly's warmth pressed against my chest, her heartbeat racing in time with mine.

The last tree crashes beside us—pine needles scatter like rain, then... silence. Holly's sprawled across me, her face inches from mine. Snowflakes catch in her eyelashes, and her breath comes in little puffs against my lips. I hold her close, my hands spanning her waist, shielding her even though the threat is over.

"My hero," she whispers, and before I can process the softness in her voice, she presses a quick kiss to my mouth.

The contact blazes through me like a forest fire. God help me, I want more. Want everything. But I can't. I grunt and ease her aside, pushing to my feet before I do something foolish like haul her back into my arms. "You okay?"

"Never better." Her grin lights up her entire face as she accepts my offered hand. Rising, she shakes pine needles from her hair like confetti. "Although we just redesigned your display. Sorry."

Bear shoulders his way to us, checking Holly first—traitor—then me, his concern morphing into that wolfish grin dogs get when they know they've caused trouble and gotten away with it.

A kid's voice pierces the quiet. "That was awesome!"

A small crowd has gathered, wearing expressions ranging from sympathy to barely contained laughter. There's nothing like a bit of slapstick to draw the afternoon shoppers.

"I'll handle cleanup," Holly offers, brushing snow from her jeans, cheeks pink. "It's my fault, after all."

"Probably safer if I do it." I fight to keep my voice gruff, ignoring how my lips still burn from her kiss. "You stay where I can see you."

"Spoilsport." She steps closer, voice dropping so only I can hear. "You can't protect me from everything, Nico."

"Watch me," I mutter, but she's already turning to the waiting customers with unshakeable cheer.

"Welcome! Don't mind the chaos—we're just trying something new with our displays."

I shake my head, watching her work her magic on the crowd. The sight of her among my trees, covered in snow and pine needles, Bear at her heels like he's appointed himself her personal guardian—it hits me then. My world's been tilting off its axis since Holly arrived, but maybe it wasn't properly balanced in the first place.