Reviews for Lane Hayes

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Court shook his head at my amazing, incredible Christmas tree on his way to the door. “I can’t get over that thing. It’s wild.”

I beamed. “I know. I love it. I buy a regular tree too, even though it’s holiday overkill. But who cares? This is my favorite time of year, and I celebrate to the nth degree!”

He shoved his arms into his jacket, a playful grin on his handsome mug. “And do you celebrate by watching scary movies and stringing candy corn and plastic spiders into garland?”

“No, smartass, but damn, that’s a great idea for Halloween next year.”

He chuckled. “So…what do you do for Christmas?”

I braced my left hand on the doorjamb and cast a quick glance at the fireplace to keep from staring at my guest. Standing a foot apart in the cramped doorway between my foyer and living room felt oddly intimate. Court took up space in my tiny abode, with his broad shoulders, towering height, and big muscles. I was more aware of him than ever. It took me a second to gather my thoughts and remember what we were talking about.

Christmas. Right.

“The usual—decorate my house, string lights outside, drape fresh garland everywhere. And yes, there’s always mistletoe. I also watch holiday movies and listen to Christmas music from mid-November till the end of the year. I bake cookies too, which always turn out to be a hot mess, but baking is festive and fun, and my family and friends are kind enough to compliment me anyway. And…I sign up for every holiday event in town, including the Skate with Santa party at the rink, caroling at Wood Hollow’s Home for the elderly, Toys for Tots Sled Fest next to the Christmas Tree Farm in Fallbrook, and of course, Holiday Bingo. By the way, all of those, including Bingo, have volunteer positions…if you’re interested.”

“I’d rather shovel snow in Siberia,” he deadpanned.

I grinned. “Your holiday spirit needs a tune-up.”

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t do holiday spirit.”

“That’s an awful thing to say!”

“Why? There’s no point. I’m usually on the road, so I’ve never bought a tree and I don’t always remember to buy gifts, either. My brother shamelessly shows me up every holiday. Oren bought our folks an oil painting of their ten-year-old golden retriever a couple of years ago. And it was really nice. I bought Mom the same gloves I bought her the previous year and the wrong-sized slippers for Dad.”

“Oh, dear. Well, I’m happy to help you this year. I’m an expert at gift-giving and—what’s so funny?”

Court’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “You’re Elmwood’s emo elf, aren’t you?”

“Ha. Ha.” I moved by him to unlock the door. “Good-bye, Grinch.”

He snickered. “Later. And thanks for tonight. It was fun.”

“Yeah. It was,” I agreed, smiling as he stepped closer.

This was where I was supposed to shuffle out of the way to give him room to slip outside without letting the cold inside, but my feet were seemingly glued to the floor. And now, we were inches apart. So close I could see flecks of gold in his blue eyes and a scar half-hidden in his left brow. I should have jumped away and laughed off this little dance before I accidentally made it awkward.

Too late.

Ugh. Now I was staring at him and he was staring at me and…his mouth was right there, hovering over mine. I could feel his breath on my lips and smell gin and something woodsy and masculine on his skin. And nope, I couldn’t resist.

I leaned in, set my palm on his chest and pressed my lips to Court’s.

And that was the match that started the fire.

The Elmwood Stories Series

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