She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “I saw a deck in the boardroom.”
I grin. “Strip poker?”
“Sure. But after a movie, getting me out of my clothes was a given anyway.”
A low growl rumbles out of me before I can stop it, and I steal a quick kiss, hot, messy, not nearly enough, before forcing myself to pull away and head for the doors.
“I only said that so you’d stay warm going back out there!” she calls after me.
“Thoughtful,” I toss back, grinning. “It’s going to be much easier to melt a path to the car.”
Her laugh chases me outside, wrapping tighter than my coat as the wind whips and snowflakes sting my face. The car’s buried under six inches, but I scrape at it until I can wrench the handle open. In the dim glow, I dig around, finding the bag with the sweaters and her beast of a tote from the front seat. It weighs at least ten pounds. What the hell does she carry in this thing, bricks? But I sling it over my shoulder and trudge back, snow clinging to me like a second skin.
The second I step back inside and lock the door, Jaylynn looks up. Her whole face lights, and that smile… damn. It’s not just happy. It’s like she’s relieved, like she’s glad I came back at all. It hits me dead center in the chest, a warmth that burns hotter than the fire will.
“Find everything?” she asks, still smiling.
“Yup.” I shake snow off the bags and hurry to her side. I grab the long matches from the mantel, strike one, and touch it to the paper. Flames lick to life, crackling bright and hungry. The dry wood catches quickly, filling the room with the sharp, sweet scent of smoke and the kind of heat you can lean into.
I shrug out of my damp coat and drape it over a chair, then drop down beside her. She’s cross-legged on a thick mat, her hands stretched toward the blaze, palms open to soak in the warmth.
For a while we don’t say anything, just sit shoulder to shoulder, listening to the wood pop and watching shadows flicker across the old stone. The silence feels easy; we feel like we belong.
“This is nice,” she finally says, voice quiet.
“It is nice,” I echo, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.
Her gaze drifts over, soft and steady. “I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather be snowed in with.”
That’s all the invitation I need. I lean closer, slow enough to give her every chance to stop me, and brush my lips over hers. Just a whisper of a kiss, unhurried, unashamed. A promise of all the hours we have stretched before us, uninterrupted.
Except, of course, my stomach decides to ruin the moment.
It growls loud enough to echo. She jerks back and laughs, her eyes sparkling. “Oh my god. Penn, you’re ridiculous. Come on, let’s go find some food.”
Groaning, I push to my feet and offer her a hand. She slips hers into mine, warm and small, and lets me pull her up. The second she’s standing, she waves her hand in front of her face. “Wow, it got hot in here fast.”
“Come here.” I tug her closer, unzip her coat, and slide it from her shoulders. I drape it over the chair beside mine, then dig into the bag for her ugly sweater. She pulls it over her head, her hair puffing up wildly with static.
I laugh, reaching out to smooth it back down. The second my fingers touch, a zap cracks between us. She yelps, I curse, and then we’re both laughing so hard the fire crackles in sympathy.
And just like that, the whole world outside disappears.
I yank my hand back and shake it out dramatically. “Jesus, I knew there were sparks between us, but come on.”
Jaylynn throws her head back, laughing, before fishing in the bag and pulling out one of the two sweaters she’d picked for me. “I want you to wear this one.”
I eye it with suspicion. “Of course, you do.”
Still, I tug it on, the wool scratchy and ridiculous, and she immediately bursts into laughter, doubling over as she reads it out loud.
“Deck the halls? Nah, deck my lap with dances.”
I look down at the bold red letters stretched across my chest. “What does that even mean? Doesn’t deck mean decorate? How exactly do you ‘decorate my lap with dances?’ Because unless this comes with an instruction manual, I’m lost.”
Her grin is wicked as she pokes me in the chest. “Play your cards right tonight and you’ll find out what it means.”
“Looking forward to it,” I say, smoothing the sweater with exaggerated care. “But for the record, I am not wearing this in public. I can’t decide if it’s funny or offensive. What I am sure of is that whoever designed it was in cahoots with the creepy elf.”