Winter Heat

by Kennedy Fox

Words stuck in my head. I was usually so glib, so prepared with a ready remark. Not here. The dough slipped out of my hand as I reached her and simply lifted my hands to her icy-cold cheeks.

  She was already rising on her tiptoes to meet me, her glossy pink lips parted and waiting.

  We collided on a rush of breath, her mouth molding to mine as I gripped her jaw. I tilted her upward, taking her unspoken invitation and slipping my tongue inside. She sucked on the tip lightly, igniting a fire in under my skin as she rubbed against me. She fisted a handful of my coat, tugging at the material, bringing me down to her level so she could kiss me back with the same intensity.

  She tasted like vanilla ice cream. Pure, sweet. Innocent somehow, as if she was daring me to break my control.

  She didn’t know she already had.

  My teeth skimmed over her full lower lip, and she moaned as my hand moved of its own volition to her breast. I had the briefest sensation of its weight in my palm, round and perfect, before she tore her lips away.

  Fuck, I’d gone too far.

  She stared at me for a moment before darting around me and fleeing down the steps, her scarf slipping off and sliding to the ground.

  “Wait.” I followed and picked it up, but she never looked back.

  I pressed my lips together. They were still tingling from the pressure of hers.

  “It’s mistletoe, you pervert.” Someone jostled me from behind, and I turned to see I’d been bumped by an older woman’s cane as she descended the steps. “Not a peep show.”

  She gave me another wack on the ankle for good measure before letting out a “harrumph” and shuffling down the walk.

  I fingered the baby-soft scarf my mystery woman had left behind. She didn’t know it, but I’d be sketching her tonight wearing this.

  And only this.

  Chapter Two

  CALLUM

  My day was not off to a rip-roaring start. And it wasn’t even the same day of the car-ditch mishap.

  Maybe I’d finally learn that sweet small towns weren’t necessarily meant for everyone.

  “You don’t recognize it?” I held up the bright red scarf as if it was the spoils from a prizefight. “Are you sure? It has your shop’s tag right here.” I jabbed at the embroidered Kinleigh and August’s attic emblem near the fringe.

  “No, I’m sorry.” The woman who owned the store I was currently standing in glanced over her shoulder as a baby let out a wail. “That’s my daughter. She needs lunch.”

  “Oh, okay, I’ll wait while you give her a bottle or whatever.”

  Kinleigh smoothly pulled her long curly red hair over one shoulder. “Her lunch comes from my nipple.”

  I blinked. A sleepless night had left me on edge, and admittedly, I wasn’t processing as fast as I would have normally. But that didn’t compute for a good half a minute. “Oh. Oh.”

  “Yes, oh. And I’m afraid I can’t share client lists in any case, even if I knew who had purchased that particular item.”

  “You do know. I can tell. Look, I’m not a crazy stalker, I swear. I just want to talk to her.”

  “As all crazy stalkers have claimed since the beginning of time.”

  I let out a breath. She did have a point. “No, it’s not like that. She kissed me. We kissed each other. You know that mistletoe at the gazebo?”

  Kinleigh raised her ginger-colored eyebrows and waited.

  “She was standing beneath it, and it was snowing, and God, she looked—”

  “Willing to sleep with a handsome stranger who was a good kisser?”

  “Obviously not, since I slept alone at the bed and breakfast.” I frowned. “Did you just call me handsome? Pretty sure you’re the only person who’s said something nice to me since I drove into town. Except Dare, but you’re a lot prettier than he is.”

  Wordlessly, she held up a hand and tapped her sparkly wedding ring.

  I had to laugh. “I wasn’t hitting on you. Just saying the welcome mat in this town has not been rolled out in my direction.”

  “Yet a beautiful woman kissed you thoroughly enough you’re ready to search to the ends of the earth for her. Sounds pretty welcoming to me.”

  “So far, I’ve only been here. That’s hardly searching to the ends of the earth.”

  “We get a lot of tourists for the winter festival.”

  “And she happened to have bought a scarf from you just before she met me?”

  “Met you with her lips, you mean, since you haven’t even said her name.”

  I had no answer for that.

  “It’s Christmas,” I finally implored as her daughter released another cry from her white carriage a few feet away. Her mother’s attention was obviously split, so I’d take advantage of any moment of weakness I could. She might not know I wasn’t a serial killer but I did. “You have a baby and a husband. Or wife,” I amended when she glanced back at me. “Surely you believe in romance.”

  “Making out under mistletoe is not necessarily romance, but okay, fine. How about this? I’ll meet you halfway.”

  I waited.

  “I’ll contact her and let her know you’re looking for her. If you leave your information with me, I’ll pass it along if she’s interested.”

  I frowned. “That’s smart and very kind of you. Thank you for being so protective of your customers.”

  It was her turn to blink. “Are you warming up for her? I have to admit that’s a good line.”

  I laughed as I scrawled my cell number on her mailing list signup pad and pushed it toward her. “Tell her my name is Callum. MacGregor,” I added after a second. “I’m twenty-nine, single, and oh, I love vanilla ice cream. I’m staying in town a bit longer.”

  Mostly due to her, since my car would be ready in not too long. But I couldn’t just walk—drive—away without making a real effort to find this woman.

  Why? Because she has soft lips? Because she can kiss? Because her moan made you want to hear it when she was naked and on top of you?

  I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very thankful for my long coat. I hadn’t expected to develop a semi in the middle of Kinleigh’s vintage clothes and home goods shop, but Crescent Cove was turning out to be an experience in a number of ways.

  “Maybe you should stop before the ice cream part,” Kinleigh suggested, jotting down what I’d said just the same.

  “She’ll know what it means.” Maybe, if I’d pegged her taste correctly.

  “If you say so. Now if you’ll excuse me…” She trailed off. “Luna, c’mere a sec.”

  A bouncy blond emerged from the back, jingling from her impressive collection of earrings and bracelets. “Sure thing, boss. What’s up?”

  Kinleigh unbuttoning her blouse was my cue to split. “Thanks again,” I said before heading out. “Tell her to call day or night,” I added just before I closed the door behind me.

  Way to sound desperate.

  I glanced up and down the block. I wasn’t even certain I could recognize her in the daylight. Her hair had seemed pinkish in the dark. But I didn’t know if it was straight or curly, since she’d had it in braids.

  Hell, for all I knew, she’d run because she was dating someone. Or engaged. Or married. Maybe she’d done both of us a favor, and I’d just have to chalk it up to a good moment not meant to be repeated.

  A great moment.

  Feeling moronic, I wrapped the red scarf I still carried around my neck. Then I lifted the fringes to my nose and took a long sniff. Not even the faintest scent of vanilla. Nothing but cold, crisp air singeing off my nose hairs.

  I didn’t have a clue how to spend the day. My Christmas shopping for my family and Bryce and a few other friends had all been done before November 1st. I wasn’t one for putting things off. But my mom might enjoy a trinket I found in one of the shops here.

  Just give her the scarf. Pretty sure it’s cashmere.

  Nah, I’d just bide my time there.

  I wandered in and out of a few shops. I found a kitten sun-catcher in one o
f them with a lake motif that I thought my mom might like in the dead of winter. A cat steering a boat was kind of weird, but she had a wacky enough sense of humor to appreciate it.

  Then I took a walk near the water. Last night, I’d gotten a few clothes at a funky store called Vintage December so that I wouldn’t have to wear the same outfit today and possibly tomorrow. Most of them were back at my room, but my messenger bag was still bulging from the sweater I’d brought with me for the day. The button-down was soft and a hell of a lot nicer than most of the things in my closet. I’d dropped a few hundred dollars in that shop since I hadn’t exactly been prepared for an impromptu vacation in a lakeside town that had to be at least ten degrees colder than Syracuse.

  After I shrugged on the cardigan, I closed my bag. The army green fabric was covered in old stamps in faded ink along with hand-sewn patches from all sorts of random cities in New York. I wondered if Crescent Cove had a patch I could add to my collection.

  Maybe I’d have more interest in browsing later. For now, I was shopped out.

  On my way back to the bed and breakfast, when I was shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk with the midday shopping crowd—and yes, apparently the holiday festival was still in progress, judging from the amount of signs—I caught sight of a small art shop tucked beside the library. It was obviously new, and when I stepped inside, there were still dropcloths all over the floor.

  “We aren’t open yet, sorry,” a woman on a stepladder called out.

  Though it wasn’t in my nature to be rude, I’d noticed two things I needed. I grabbed the sketch pad off an easel and plucked a hunk of charcoal out of a cup. “I have to have these. Name your price.”

  Her laugh was as airy as the windchimes tinkling from the eaves. “Well, seeing as you’re my very first sale and I intend on framing that dollar, I won’t overcharge you. But I’m really not open yet. I don’t even have the register online.”

  “How’s fifty bucks for you to frame?” I was already prying out my wallet. If I’d ever needed the supplies more, I couldn’t remember it. “Extra because you’re really helping me out of a jam with these.”

  “Sold.” She held out a hand, and I gave her the money. Rings winked on every finger. “You’re not spending your last dollar for those, are you? Here, let me get you a bag.”

  “No, I have a few left. Thanks.” I let her take my purchases and put them in a paper sack before returning them to me. Then I slid my items into the messenger bag I’d grabbed from my car before turning it over to Dare.

  True to her word, she slipped my money into a small frame she had waiting before hanging it on a hook on the wall. “There. Every Line A Story is officially in business. Thank you. I hope you’ll come back when we’re open for real in a couple weeks.” She turned back and dusted her hand on her hip. “I’m Colette.”

  “Callum. Nice to meet you. Afraid I don’t live here or travel this way, but I wish you all the luck.”

  She smiled, her long brown hair ponytail slipping over her shoulder. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  Inwardly, I sighed. If only I’d met her the day before. Now my head was full of possibly pink hair and unforgettably soft lips.

  I nodded to her and went back outside, taking a bracing breath of the crisp, water-tinged air. At least the snow had stopped, although the slate gray sky warned it wouldn’t be long.

  We’d just see how long I would get.

  I crossed the street and got lucky with a bench near the lake, just beyond the bulk of the festival mayhem. Even on the gloomy day, the small lapping waves of the lake glittered.

  A giant snow globe had been set up near the shore. Fake snow whirled inside as children leaped around like little maniacs. I hoped the structure didn’t take flight in the wind, but it seemed securely tethered.

  If not, Sheriff Unfriendly would have something else to grouse about.

  Christmas carols played brightly from unseen speakers, and the scent of real roasted chestnuts carried on the air. I drew in deeply and considered making a lunch of them—after I worked on my sketch.

  I dug out my newest acquisitions from my bag and flipped to the first page in the pad. I skated my fingertips over the fine weave of the paper. It wasn’t super high-end, but there was nothing like the promise of a fresh start.

  Perhaps that was what Crescent Cove could be for me too. Even if I hadn’t realized I was searching for one.

  I started sketching the snow globe first to warm up my fingers, stiff from the cold. I rarely remembered to put on the gloves, which was a problem when stilted movements would affect the piece.

  The shape took form quickly. I added in the snow now playfully meandering from the thick clouds above, an interesting juxtaposition to the world of faux flakes inside the dome. Kids tumbled over one another while their smiling parents lingered outside, talking and sipping cups of coffee or cocoa. I wondered if they’d laced them with something stronger. If those screeching children were mine, I’d probably imbibe before mid-afternoon too.

  I swallowed over the sudden lump in my throat, moving my fingers faster to compensate. Coming from a large family myself, I’d never had the great desire to have kids. I’d grown up with the triplets climbing over everything that was nailed down—and some stuff that wasn’t—and the idea of willingly filling my own quiet home with so much noise and activity was…

  Not so bad. Not anymore.

  I sat back on the bench and finished one of the kids’ faces. I couldn’t see that clearly from this distance, but I imagined her cheeks were flushed, and her long braids were bobbing over her shoulders.

  Braids. Like my pink-haired mystery woman who might never be anything but that.

  Quickly, I flipped the page and moved the charcoal in rapid strokes. I was guessing at her shape, especially in this stage of undress. In any stage of undress. Bulky winter coats could hide a lot. I didn’t even know her true hair color or its texture.

  But I had a good imagination.

  She came together even faster than the snow globe. All sinuous lines and curves. A hint of fullness here and there. Rounded and then slight. Long hair trailing down her back like water, free and flowing. And that scarf still wrapped around my neck protecting her modesty—just barely. The soft material cupped her and teased at what she might reveal if the urge struck. Those tantalizing bits of fringe trailed along her inner thigh, caressing her flesh like a lover.

  Or like a man driven to sketch her, since he might never see her again.

  I spent the most time on her lips. Their perfect bow, the divot on the top one, the slight dent in the bottom. So plump and glossy and bitable. This was the only part of her I felt like I knew without question, though I wouldn’t mind a lifetime to learn about the rest.

  “Oh my God. What are you doing? Are you—is that—oh my God.” At my side, a woman covered her mouth.

  I blocked my sketch pad with my arm. This little town was driving me nuts. “It’s my girlfriend,” I said quickly. A lie, sure, but not entirely.

  Fine, yes, entirely. One kiss—no matter how hot—did not a relationship make.

  “Where is she?” the woman asked accusingly, glancing around. We were surrounded by some adults, but children were definitely more prevalent.

  “I’m going to meet her now.” I flipped the snow globe sketch over to cover the scarf one, although in retrospect, that might not have helped considering the subject of that one was kids. Which she noticed with a narrow-eyed stare the sheriff would have applauded. “I’m an artist,” I muttered. “I’ve sold pieces. I have an agent.”

  “You aren’t from Crescent Cove.” Her statement whipped my skin with as much force as the snow-laden breeze. “Are you here for the festival?”

  “I live in Syracuse.” Defense and outrage laced my voice as I stood and shoved my supplies into my messenger bag. “I’m a professor, dammit.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She crossed her arms. “I’m friends with the sheriff, you know. So, you might just want
to find your girlfriend,” I half-expected her to do air quotes, “and move along.”

  Clearly, there was no point trying to explain myself. The woman in my sketch was quite obviously a fully grown woman, but maybe that also made me a pervert. The suggestion was there.

  I’d been branded with a scarlet P in bucolic Crescent Cove.

  With a quick salute, I crossed the snowy slope to the sidewalk. I was probably being a fool by sitting around and sketching as if the woman I sought would just fall into my lap.

  Last night had been my chance, and I’d lost it. But maybe I would get a good commission out of the piece I’d just drawn, so it wasn’t all bad.

  I headed up the street, dodging dogwalkers and joggers and pedestrians toting a million shopping bags. It would be impossible soon to get through town. If Dare wasn’t quite done with my car, it looked like I’d be spending the rest of the day in my room at the bed and breakfast. Ideally, I’d manage to dodge the far-too-nosy proprietress, Sage Hamilton, who had practically asked for my time of birth so she could run a report on me.

  Seemed a common thing in this town.

  I didn’t get it. The place was crawling with tourists, and from what I’d seen with others, they seemed to be treated well. But something about me set off alarm bells or something. Not that Sage had been mean to me. Far from it. She’d acted as if she expected me to buy a home in town immediately, as if I’d fall under the Crescent Cove spell and never leave.

  As if I could do nothing else.

  I watched a couple embrace, the woman reaching up to cup the man’s cheeks. Something about the moment pulled at me, and I knew I’d be sketching them later as well. The whole scene tugged at me. Her bright blue coat and her flushed cheeks and the snow swirling around them as he hauled her up off her feet so that she came half out of her impractical soft-soled shoes. She should have boots in this weather. The snow was piling up again, despite the heavy crowds clogging the sidewalk.

  Everyone had somewhere to go. Someone to be with.

  Except me.

  I yanked out my phone. Maybe it was time I called Dare to nudge things along. At least I had some inspiration for my holiday break so I could spend time sketching around the family stuff, of which there would be plenty. My mom usually put up three or four trees and blasted Christmas music at levels typically reserved for teenagers.