Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 122216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I pretend to shovel my driveway, hoping she doesn’t notice I already shoveled it this morning when she first started putting out her decorations.
“You sure you don’t need any help?” I call as I poke at the snow pile on the curb.
“I’m good.” She turns, and even from here, I can see her light blue eyes are sparkling and her cheeks are pink from the cold. “I only have a few more strands. I don’t go as big as the lady down the street used to.”
“The travel agent?” I sort of remember her.
“Yeah, she and the guy across the street went all out, but now that they’ve moved away together, I’m trying to pick up a little bit of the slack.” She shrugs and pulls at a string of colored lights on her holly bush.
“It’s looking great, Jocelyn.” I eye the tangle of lights and the slightly dumpy Santa blowup that stares at me from the porch.
“Thanks!” She waves and gets back to work.
My offer of help is denied. Again. Dammit.
I even wore a stupid sweater out here, one with reindeer on it and snowflakes. It seemed non-threatening. I’m a big guy. Burly, my mom always said. Pretty much a bear, I guess. So I tried to wear light colors and fix my wild hair so Jocelyn might trust me.
But she doesn’t. She still won’t let me help her out.
I sigh and go back to knocking the snow into my drive again when she’s not looking. That way I can spend another hour out here pretend-shoveling and keeping an eye on her.
Hmmm. Maybe I should’ve shaved my beard? No. Chicks dig beards. I googled it and everything. It’s well-trimmed and dark like the hair on my head. I’m not some scary boogaloo from the woods or anything. Well, I mean, I am from the woods but not in a bad way.
I shovel some more, watching as she bends over again and again. My mouth goes dry, and my cock has been fighting the cold for hours. It won’t go down. She does this to me every time I see her outside.
Jocelyn is a big do-it-yourselfer. Cuts her own grass in the summer, pulls her own weeds, shovels her own walk. Well, she used to do all that—but then I started doing it for her when she was away. Beating her to it whenever I could. It just made her do more. Like fixing the creaky front steps and painting her door. She even finds old furniture and refinishes it out in front of her garage.
Every time I ask if she wants help, she wipes the sweat from her brow, thanks me sweetly, and declines.
She’s handy. She can make all sorts of things with nothing more than her hands and a few rough ingredients. Amazes me all the time.
I’m the proverbial bull in a china shop. Once I got out of my old life, I decided I wouldn’t use my size to intimidate people anymore. No more enforcing, no more working for the syndicate. I wanted to be a different person. And when I saw Jocelyn and talked to her that first time? Well, I thought she’d be the one I could show my softer side to. But she still keeps me at arm’s length. I must still be scary.
I frown down at my stupid sweater. It didn’t work.
“I love the sweater, by the way,” she calls.
I look up. She’s leaning on her mailbox, her breath puffing out in white clouds.
“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?”