Never Sleigh Never (Man of the Month Club: Christmas Novella)

7. Cara

Cara

T he boutique’s holiday playlist has cycled through at least twice today, but I can relate to Mariah Carey and all she wants for Christmas as I ring up another purchase. My gaze keeps drifting across the street to Lowcountry Lumber and Hardware, and I have to force myself to focus on the transaction at hand.

Fortunately, the trio of ladies I’m helping is too busy debating whether to grab some dinner or hit another shop before they call it a day to notice. I hand over their wrapped purchases. “Have a great evening.”

The bell above the door jingles as they make their way out, and I glance around. The boutique has been bustling with holiday shoppers all day and looks as if a tornado has blown through. But the real reason for my distraction is a certain hardware store owner I can’t get out of my mind.

Thomas and the generous bulge in his jeans that pressed against me last night when he held me tight, that is. The stiff length definitely wasn’t a figment of my imagination. And the realization Thomas is attracted to me made me feel sexy in ways I haven’t felt in a long time. Because he’s so…rugged and gruff and I could see him being rough—in the best possible way—in bed. But there’s also the generous, thoughtful side to him I can’t help but think would make him a generous lover. The kind of man who makes sure his partner is taken care of. Nothing like Wayne, who didn’t notice I didn’t finish half the time.

But if Thomas was interested, why hasn’t he dropped by? And it’s that question—and the way my panties are wet thinking about him all day long—that has me inventing increasingly ridiculous reasons to pop over to the hardware store as I straighten up. Maybe, I need some lightbulbs or perhaps a new hammer for hanging garlands?

But each time I’ve been ready to head out the door today, I’ve talked myself out of it. Because Thomas is helping me with the festival. He’s there to support the community, not deliver the orgasm I’m craving.

Even if his words from last night still echo in my head. “ He’s an idiot if he doesn’t realize how lucky he was .” The gruff sincerity in his voice, the intensity in his eyes…it’s all I can think about. Which is ridiculous, because I’ve sworn off men. Even rugged, flannel-wearing hardware store owners, who smell like sawdust and make my heart race and my lady parts throb when they’re not supposed to.

Once the clock hits eight, I flip the sign on the door and start closing out the register, but my gaze keeps drifting to the warm glow radiating from the hardware store windows. Thomas and I texted earlier today about festival business. We updated the running to-do list we have going, but I was tempted to add another item on his list to do . Me.

Before I can overthink it any longer, I grab my coat and lock the door behind me then hurry across the street. After all, we’re two consenting adults who clearly have chemistry. Plus, I swore off dating men, not sleeping with them, right?

The night is crisp, the air carrying the scent of pine and smoke. I have a fireplace at home, but I never light it. I’ve always figured once I had a man, he’d take care of that. Kind of like outdoor grilling. But maybe, it’s time I learn to do it myself. My heels click on the sidewalk, and I have to resist the urge to smooth my hair or check my lipstick. This isn’t a date , I remind myself sternly. I’m just…checking on festival preparations and feeling him out, right?

Inside the hardware store, I’m immediately enveloped by warmth and the comforting smell of lumber. And I notice a massive Christmas tree in the corner that most certainly wasn’t here the other night. It’s fresh, fragrant, and twinkling with white lights.

“Can I help you?” a voice asks, and I turn to see Brad, one of Thomas’s employees.

“Oh, I was just looking for Thomas,” I reply, trying to sound casual. “About the festival. And,” I add quickly, “some firewood, too.”

Brad shakes his head. “Thomas is out on a delivery. Not sure when he’ll be back. But I can help you with the firewood.”

Five minutes later, I’m at the register buying a bundle of firewood and a package of fire starter logs. After paying for my purchases, I gesture to the Christmas tree. “That’s new, isn’t it?”

He shoots a glance at it. “Yeah, Thomas put it up this morning. Said something about new traditions.”

My heart does a little flip at his words, but I push the feeling aside. “Well, it’s beautiful. Have a good night!”

I hurry out of the store, struggling under the weight of my load, disappointment rocketing through my core. Here I am sworn off men but acting like a hormone-crazed teen with her first crush.

Once home, I change into my coziest, reindeer-covered flannel pajamas and fuzzy socks. I pour a generous glass of merlot and cue up Home Alone on the TV, determined to distract myself with holiday cheer I can recite from memory.

One glass turns into two as I laugh at Kevin’s antics. But maybe, I shouldn’t have turned on a movie I’ve seen a hundred times because it doesn’t hold my attention. My wandering thoughts return to Thomas and the way his muscles flexed through his flannel shirt when he was working on the lights last night. The rare, genuine smile that makes me feel seen in ways I haven’t in a long time. The warmth of his body when I tripped, and he caught me against him…

Shaking my head, I pause the movie and head to the fireplace. Carefully, so as not to break a nail, I arrange a few pieces of firewood in the grate, then pick up the fire starter log, squinting at the tiny print on the wrapper. As I’m trying to decipher the instructions, there’s a knock at the door.

Frowning, I pad to the entryway. Who could be stopping by at this hour? Gabby surely would have called or texted first. I open the door, and my jaw drops.

Thomas is standing in the glow of my porch light, looking deliciously rumpled in a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His worn ball cap is twisted in his hands, and his hair is deliciously mussed.

“Thomas?” I squeak, my heart rate spiking as I’m suddenly very aware I’m in pajamas with reindeer on them. “What are you doing here?”

“Brad said you stopped by. I wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything.”

Does he know I popped over with a booty call in mind? Can he see right through me right now? Is that why he’s here?

But the answers to those questions don’t matter one bit. All that matters is Thomas is standing on my doorstep asking if I need anything. And I do.

Him.

But I can’t say that.

“Oh, well, actually…,” I say instead, gesturing behind me. “I was just trying to start a fire. Maybe, you could help?”

Thomas cocks his head to one side, his eyes roaming over my outfit as my cheeks flare with heat. “You sure about that?”

As if he knows what I’m really asking.

I nod. “I thought maybe we could make the most of today, er…tonight.”

He raises a hand to grip the door jam. Tight. “Before we get ahead of ourselves, hmm?”

“Right, yeah.”

He blows out a long breath and then dips his chin and steps inside. And I’m hit with the realization I’ve just invited Thomas Crawford into my house while I’m in pajamas and slightly tipsy, fully intending to sleep with him when it was only a week ago I swore up and down he wasn’t my type.

I push aside the thought as I show him into the family room clicking off the TV thanks to a more desirable form of entertainment. Thomas kneels down by the brick fireplace, his jeans hugging thighs as thick as tree trunks and a shapely ass I can’t tear my gaze from as he expertly rearranges the wood. I could watch him work all day.

“Here,” he says, his low voice snapping me out of my reverie. “Let me show you how to do this.”

I kneel next to him as he explains why he stacked the logs crisscross and then demonstrates how to tuck the starter log into the center of the pile to light it. We’re so close the heat radiating from his body has my blood pumping before a match is even struck. The smell of sawdust clinging to his clothes fills my lungs. Who would’ve thought it’d be headier than Bleu by Chanel? It’s been my favorite cologne for years, but there you have it.

He reaches for the matches, and within seconds, the lick of flames casts a warm glow over us. Thomas turns to me, our faces only inches apart, and suddenly, my family room feels like a sweltering summer night. The air between us is sticky with tension and possibility, and there’s a needy heat buzzing through my veins that even an iced sweet tea couldn’t cool.

“Thomas,” I whisper, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure he must hear it.

And then, before I can talk myself out of it, I’m closing the distance between us. After all, if one thing was clear the other night, when I was in his arms, it’s that this man wanted to kiss me.

Sure, the fact he didn’t was like a cold plunge, but tonight, all bets are off. Mainly, because I can’t keep my hands from lifting to rest on his chest, the solid warmth of his rock-hard pecs flexing through his soft shirt under my fingertips. I rise on my knees, bringing my face close to his.

For a heartbeat, we’re suspended in this moment, our breaths mingling. But before I can press my lips to his, Thomas makes the move, capturing my mouth against his. The kiss is soft at first, tentative. But within seconds, his powerful arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against him, and the kiss intensifies, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest.

The sound shoots straight to my core as my fingers twist in the flannel of his shirt, holding on for dear life. My thighs clench as the sensation of being kissed by this man commands every fiber of my being. Thomas tastes like peppermint and possibility. And the voice of reason that was already losing ground in the back of my mind flies out of my brain like Santa’s sleigh lifting off from a snow-covered rooftop to disappear into the night.