Tic-Tac-Mistletoe - N.R. Walker Page 0,8

start. I had these visions of being eaten by a bear.”

“A bear?”

“Yes! You have those here, right?”

“Uh, sure. But it’s winter and they hibernate.”

“Oh, thank fu—” He baulked. “I mean, thank goodness for that.”

I chuckled, remembering what he’d said about being too pretty to be bear poo when I opened his car door. “You thought I was a bear?”

“Your coat was brown and your hat was brown, your gloves were black,” he said. “It was snowing and I couldn’t see because I was crying because my life is a bit of a mess—just gonna put that out there from the get-go. And I’m jet-lagged to hell and I thought it’d be a great idea to drive to my sister’s place, but the plane was diverted to the wrong state. In a car where the steering wheel is on the wrong side, and you all drive on the wrong side of the road, mind you. In a freaking blizzard, no less. Where running the car off the road is just a cherry on a very big pile of steaming . . .” He paused. “Not-cake.”

I smiled at him, the way he rambled, the way the tips of his ears went red, the way he chewed on his bottom lip. I’d always thought it’d be a miracle should some cute guy ever walk into my life, but maybe he didn’t walk. Maybe he ran his car off the road and almost froze to death instead. And I didn’t even know his name.

“My name’s Reynold Brooks, by the way,” I said. “People around here call me Ren.”

He stared at me for a long moment; his lips played with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Ren. I’m Hamish Kenneally.”

I don’t know why, but hearing him say his own name woke some butterflies in my belly. “Well, Hamish. It’s nice to meet you too.”

Chapter Three

Hamish

When I stopped shivering and could finally breathe properly, I could appreciate Ren a whole lot more. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated him when he pulled me out of my car, stuffed me into his truck, then all but carried me into his house. I appreciated the thick socks and the hot chocolate too; don’t misunderstand.

I mean appreciate.

He was taller than my five ten by a good few inches. He had blue eyes, sandy brown hair, short and kinda messy from his beanie. He had big hands, working hands, rough and strong. He wore a blue flannel shirt and long work pants with heavy boots. He had a lumberjack vibe going on, and not some faux look the city boys tried to aim for. He was the real deal.

His house was a big log cabin from what I could see of the one room I’d been in. I’d been alert enough to notice the wrap-around veranda out the front and some sheds and outbuildings by the side of the house when we’d driven up. His place was surrounded by trees, and I was fairly certain I’d managed to run the car off the road in the exact middle of nowhere.

Well, a few miles outside of Hartbridge, Montana, apparently. Wherever the hell that was.

And as far as the serial-killer thing went, the location was probably right. But I was guessing serial killers didn’t make hot chocolate and give their victims fluffy socks. That’d be traceable evidence, right? I really should broach that subject again.

“Uh, I’m sorry for asking if you were serial killer as well. That was probably rude. But you said no, right?”

Ren chuckled and drained the last of his hot chocolate. “Yeah, I said no.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” I replied. “Not that I’d suspect a serial killer to just straight up admit it, but I’m guessing serial killers don’t name their dogs after characters from Legally Blonde.”

He aimed a smile right at me. “And I’m guessing serial killers wouldn’t get the reference to Legally Blonde, so you’re not a serial killer either, right?”

I put his hand to my chest, horrified. “Me? I can’t even kill spiders and blood makes me squeamish, so that’s a definite no. Plus, how would I overpower anyone so I could actually kill them? I have the upper body strength of wet paper.”

He laughed at that, the sound warm and rumbly. “Well, I’m glad we’ve established neither of us are serial killers.”

And I don’t know if it was the relief, the warm fire, the hot chocolate, or the fluffy socks, but I was so tired I couldn’t stifle a yawn. “I’m sorry, I’ve been awake