Page 7 of Frosty the Farmhand (12 Days of Christmas)

6

REID

H arlan and I work in a comfortable silence as we move through the trees. I’d been defensive about tracking them, but the more I replay the conversation and picture the way he looked, I can’t help but think I misjudged him.

My cousins like to razz me about my need for data and the techie side of the creativity pool, but it makes me happy—calms my nerves. It’s fluid and concrete, allowing for change in the variables but still providing tangible feedback that can drive the direction of the business.

“Harlan?”

“Yeah?” he says, standing to his full height and wiping the sleeve of his jacket over his forehead. He looks edible. Hot and sweaty with the scent of pine clinging to his skin along with some kind of manly soap that makes my mouth water every time I catch a whiff.

And I’m getting sidetracked.

“Were you serious when you said what I’m doing here,”—I wave toward the trees—“is impressive?”

“Yes.”

Yes.

Not yeah or sure or what?

Yes.

“Thanks,” I say, my cheeks heating furiously. “Sometimes I get a little carried away and forget that most people don’t care about the nuances of what I do.”

“I think it’s good to know what you like. You should never apologize for that.”

My mouth wants to fall open for the second time this morning. The double meaning laced in his words is obvious.

Telling.

And I’m getting turned on despite standing in the snow cutting down trees.

This is wildly unhelpful so I don’t respond, instead turning back toward the trees and moving to the next one.

“You always lived here?” Harlan asks, his voice like a smooth shot of whiskey as he moves to the tree across the way.

“Um, no, I lived in Ohio but vacationed here every summer growing up. I went to college not far from here and then my cousin and I moved in together.”

“Which one is that?”

“Cousin? Wren. Her brothers are Jesse, Beau, and Lake.”

“Yeah, I met them,” he replies as his tree falls to the ground with an audible whoosh , a cloud of white powder glistening in the sunlight. It makes me smile. “You’re really like this all the time, aren’t you?”

I’ve gotten this question a million times in my life, but for some reason, when Harlan asks, I’m not upset by his underlying amusement. It’s honest instead of being cruel.

“I love it here. And I love my family. Things haven’t always been easy, but when I think about summers here, I remember that constant feeling of being on an adventure. Of exploring the land and water, getting dirty, and coming home just before the sunset.” I shrug. “I’ve never been as happy as I am right here.”

“That’s pretty remarkable,” he says, looking surprised. “You make the nostalgia sound romantic.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had anything that comes close to what you’re describing.”

This time I frown, hating that for him.

I startle when Harlan’s thumb brushes against the corner of my mouth, his skin scorching mine with a single touch.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, his gaze locked on my lips.

“Do what?” I whisper, trying desperately not to break whatever spell we’re under.

“Frown. It looks so unnatural on you.”

His thumb grazes my bottom lip as I gift him a small smile. His answering one takes my breath away.

It’s stunning.

He’s stunning.

“Wow,” I breathe, caught up in the moment as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest.

Blinking hard, Harlan shakes his head and takes a step back before clearing his throat. “We should get these trees over to the front before the rush.”

“If that’s what you want…” I let the words trail off and wait. Harlan’s pupils dilate and the muscle in his jaw tics, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side.

“We need to go.” His voice is hoarse, his body strung tight, and I know I’m not imagining the way that reaction is entirely for me.

“Lead the way, Mr. Frost.”

He growls, lifting the first tree and throwing it into the trailer. I do the same, rolling my lips inward to keep my look of victory modest instead of absolutely beaming. I can do subtle—I just don’t like it.

We work in tandem, and feeling brave, I stand close enough that my arm brushes against his. The connection feels like fireworks are exploding between us and I gasp. It’s barely audible but he hears it, his body moving to box me in against the trailer.

We’re pretty evenly matched in size, but the way he’s staring at me makes him large and imposing, sexy and gruff.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he rumbles, the smell of his soap making my knees go weak as his chest heaves.

We’re so close like this—all I’d have to do is lean forward and we’d be touching everywhere.

“Seeing how far I can push you.”

If he’s surprised by my answer he doesn’t show it.

“Why?”

“Because I hate pretending.”

“Pretending what?”

“That I don’t feel this wild pull when I’m near you.” He doesn’t move but his eyes are absolutely blazing, so I drop mine to his mouth and add, “That I don’t want to find out just how wild it would be.”

“Reid, I?—”

His plea is cut off by the crackle of the radio.

“Farm opens in fifteen minutes!” Winston announces, his voice cheery and completely destroying any and all progress I just made with Harlan.

Harlan opens his mouth, and I nod as I move around him to the front of the trailer. “I know—we gotta move the trees.”