Page 18 of All Snowed Gin

“Depends. Will every run end like this?”

“Preferably.”

“Then hell yes.”

8

PIERCE

Pops and crackles fill the air from the freshly stoked fire, the late afternoon sun streaming in through the large living room windows. My body is tired and sore from all the trips up and down the side hill we made, but it was worth it. Rose’s bright smile and the sound of her giggle ringing through the air was magical. Not to mention the kiss every time I jerked us off the sled at the end of the run. That hadn’t been intentional the first time—simply me being very out of practice on stopping. But it quickly became intentional based on the reaction it got.

Hell, for her kisses, I’d do pretty much anything right now.

Rose saunters into the living room, holding two very full mugs of hot cocoa. She insisted on making some when we finally ran out of steam on the sledding adventure, telling me how it would be the perfect way to warm up by the fire. Handing me one of the mugs, she levels me with her smile, making my already hard dick twitch. I’ve been sporting a hard-on since the second she wiggled that luscious ass into me on the sled. Proof positive that she’s dangerous—giving me a boner while sledding of all things.

I take a long sip of the hot cocoa, watching as she settles into the armchair I put her in last night, admiring how cute she looks. She’s back in her normal clothes—sweatpants and a Southern Brothers Brewing T-shirt—and it’s taking everything I have not to walk over there, drop to my knees, and devour her. Trying to push that thought out of my head, I sit back on the couch, one of the wayward springs poking me right above my kidney.

No wonder Rose didn’t want to sleep on this thing last night…

“Thank you for sledding with me. I had a blast.”

“I haven’t been in years, and I’d forgotten how much fun it is,” I admit.

“Oh, if I lived up here, I’d be going every time it snowed. We didn’t take a lot of vacations when I was little—farming is kind of a year-round gig—but when we did, it was around Christmas, since things are a little calmer. No active crops in December.” She giggles again and I swear the lights flicker from all her extra energy.

“On your fruit and nut farm?” I ask, as if I know anything about them, which I don’t. The closest I’ve been to a farm is a farmers’ market.

“It’s not ours; we just run it.” The look on her face says that should be obvious, but she’s lost me. Which thankfully, she picks up on. “The Adlers have worked for the Hayes family for three generations now. My brother, Cary, is actually Chief Horticulturist—so big farmer in charge. But Daddy and Granddaddy have been helping run the show for years. They all take great pride in growing the best Georgia has to offer.”

“Hayes…as in the gun company?” I know the name. I’ve traded their stock for years. It’s a healthy one to invest in, generally providing decent returns.

“That’s part of what they do. How they got their start actually. The original Hayes brothers built guns for the Civil War. But now, they’re a massive company who, on top of guns and ammo, have divisions for agriculture, paper, and personal safety. One of the Hayes kids also owns The Booby Trap, which is the local bait and tackle shop, and then Milo, my boss, owns Southern Brothers Brewing. All headquartered in our little town of Hickory Hills, Georgia.”

“Can’t be that small of a town if they do all that.”

“Number one employer in Knox county. We joke that either you work for Hayes, or at a business supporting those that work for Hayes.”

“Ahhhh.”

“What about you?” Rose asks, not letting the conversation lag. “Did you grow up here?”

I pause, trying to figure out how I want to answer. I don’t want to lie—and I won’t—but how much detail do I want to go into? Looking at her, my heart softens. I want to keep talking to her, and more than that, I want more of those kisses. So maybe it’s time to reciprocate the sharing.

“Not in this house. But in Mistletoe Creek, yeah.”

“When did you move in here?”

I suck in a deep breath, trying to prepare myself to answer. I know her inquiry is simple curiosity and a desire for us to get to know each other, but that doesn’t make it easier.

“Last spring. After my grandparents died.”

“Oh gosh!” She lurches forward in the chair. “I’m so sorry. Was this their house?”

“Yeah. It was their dream home.” I smile, memories flooding back. I can feel myself choking up, all the emotion I’ve tamped down for so long trying to make its way to the surface. Inhaling long and hard, like I’m taking a drag of a cigarette, I exhale even slower, giving myself a moment. “They talked about wanting to move up here for years. That this is where they wanted to live out their days, in a quiet mountain spot overlooking the town they loved so much. So, a couple of Christmases ago, I surprised them with a custom-built house. Found a builder who specialized in mountain cabins and told him to build them what they wanted. He did. They moved in last year, just before Christmas. Then died in February.”

Rose gasps, her eyes watery as if she’s fighting back her own tears. This was not the mood I’d been hoping for post sledding.

“Parents?”