Even with her windblown hair and crazy lie about walking around the block without a coat, Mallory Conner is still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. It has been far too many years since I’ve seen her live and in color, and she sounds determined to continue her disappearing act as soon as her Christmas break ends.

I’m equally as determined to make sure that doesn’t happen. By any means necessary.

“Let’s get you inside, buddy.”

With a sixty-five-pound dog in my arms, I hurry into the house and deposit him onto his bed. The dog gets more attention than I do, that’s for sure.

“Mom, Dad, where are you two? I brought Banjo home for you.”

Mom joins me in the living room and goes straight to Banjo. “Thank you, Hunter. Your dad is in his man cave, hanging upside down on the inversion table. His back still hurts, and he refuses to go to the doctor. There’s no way he could’ve carried Banjo all the way from the car. I’m so glad you were around to bring him back home. I’ve missed my buddy.”

“He was only gone for one night, Mom. He just got neutered—it’s not a big deal. He didn’t even realize you weren’t around.”

“Of course he did. I bet he was glad to see you at the vet’s office, wasn’t he?”

“He was,” I admit. Too bad he was the only one glad to see me. “I’m heading out now. I’ll see you later.”

After a quick kiss to my mom’s cheek, I rush back to my truck and head right back into town. On my way to my parents’ farm, I noticed a few familiar faces in the picture window of the best restaurant in town, Diner on Main. Max Kenrick and Shaine Prescott were walking out, looking a little cozier than last time I saw them. Camry and Tessa, a couple of sisters from the area I’ve known forever, were there too. And Jackie, Mallory’s mother, was also there. She was sitting alone at a table for four, so Mallory, Amelia, and Pete must be joining her soon. One more place setting at that large table shouldn’t be a problem. The window of opportunity to win Mallory back won’t stay open for long, especially when she’s made it clear she intends to slam it shut as soon as her break is over. This is a now-or-never situation. Good thing there’s no time like the present.

After snagging the last available parking spot at the end of the block, I jump out of my truck and sprint toward the restaurant, zigging and zagging around the window-shopping tourists. After living here all my life, I should be used to the crowds that show up around Christmas. And I know I should be grateful to them for helping to make my business so successful. But right now, it feels like every single one of them is standing between Mallory and me.

After what feels like an eternity, but in reality has only been about sixty seconds, I’m finally inside the swanky bistro with one Mallory Conner sitting directly in my line of sight. She’s busy talking to her mom, her arms and hands animatedly adding to the conversation, so she doesn’t notice me approaching the table at first. The closer I get to her, the stronger I feel the pull inside my chest. The invisible connection isn’t one-sided either. I know she feels it too.

She proves my theory when her mouth abruptly stops moving and her head turns toward me before I’ve said a single word. Time slows to a crawl as I wind through the tables and chairs separating us, undeterred from my goal. Our eyes meet from across the room, and neither of us is able to look away. That is, until a passing waitress unwittingly steps too close to Mallory’s elaborate arm gestures and gets caught in the cross fire.

Mallory had stopped talking with her mouth, but her arms were still very much in motion. When we were kids, I’d always tease her by saying she’d be mute if I tied her hands behind her back. Apparently, her hand catching the waitress’s tray just right and causing every plate and glass on it to crash to the floor in front of a packed restaurant also does the trick. Mallory’s hands fly to her mouth, covering the gaping hole in her face. Her eyes are wide open, unblinking and unmoving from the mounds of wasted food and drinks.

Even with pure humiliation creeping up her neck and covering her face, making Rudolph’s nose pale in comparison, she still completely captivates me. The smile spreading across my face has nothing to do with the disastrous scene set squarely between us and everything to do with this fiasco fitting exactly how I remember Mallory. Well-meaning but a walking disaster. Somehow equally graceful and clumsy. How she pulled off that combination always amazed me, and I’m glad to see some things never change.

Mallory grabs the linen napkin from her lap and flies out of her seat, facing the soaked waitress, Tasha, according to her name tag. I can read Mal’s every thought like an open book from the emotions crossing her face.

She starts to reach out with the napkin to dry Tasha’s shirt.

But where do I start?

She tentatively extends her hand then quickly withdraws it.

I probably shouldn’t touch her there.

She puts the napkin down on the table before her knees slightly bend.

I can’t use my hands to clean up that mess.

The thing is, I can hear her saying all of this like she’s in my head. The truth is, she’s been in my head for many years now.

“What can I do?” She finally just asks Tasha for direction.

“You don’t have to do anything, ma’am. It’s okay—I have another shirt in the back. It’ll only take me a minute to go change.”

Without even realizing I’m doing it, I shift my weight to one leg, cross my arms over my chest, and watch her with rapt attention, a smile permanently etched on my face. My Mallory is back in town, and it’s way past time for the two of us to get up close and personal again.

The manager rushes over and reassures Mallory he will take care of everything. After he convinces her to take her seat, several busboys work together to clean up the mess until no trace of it is left. The other patrons lost interest immediately after the initial collision, resuming their conversations so a dull roar carries through the room. Everything returns to normal, with customers coming and going, yet Mallory still hides her face behind her napkin. When she finally lowers it back to her lap, I know the very second she remembers I’m standing nearby. Our eyes lock again, and fury replaces her embarrassment.

That is the moment when I realize I’m still smiling.

“Oh shit.” I mutter the words under my breath when she excuses herself from the table and stomps toward me.

“What’s so funny, Hunter?” The fire in her eyes is meant to intimidate me, but all it does is stoke the old flame between us.

“I wasn’t laughing, Mallory.” The hint of laughter in my voice definitely makes me sound like a liar. In my defense, I actually didn’t laugh.

“Care to explain what that shit-eating grin’s all about, then?”

“Why do you sound like you’ve been south of the Mason-Dixon line for more than the last few years?”

“Amelia’s a bad influence on me. Stop changing the subject. I asked you a question.”

With a slight bend at the waist, I invade her personal space and put us at eye level. “My shit-eating grin is all about you, Mal. Always has been. Always will be. I’m glad to see you haven’t changed much since you’ve been gone.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Hunter. I absolutely have changed.”

“Hunter, good to see you. Have you had dinner yet?” Pete appears next to Mallory before she makes another scene.

“No, sir. I haven’t.”

“That’s great—come join us. We haven’t ordered yet, and there’s plenty of room.”

Mallory’s head may do a three-sixty any second now if the glare she’s giving her dad is any indication. But then, her spunk always was the spice of our relationship.

“Thanks, Pete. I appreciate the offer. I’d like that.”

When he returns to the table to grab another chair, her gaze swings back to me and her bottom jaw drops. “What the fuuu—”

Leaning toward her, I whisper in her ear. “Wow, that Southern accent is more pronounced than I realized. Very sexy. You’ll want to hold on to that. I’d like to hear you screaming my name in that sweet, twangy sound.” The bright red sunburned look she’d only recovered from a few seconds ago is back in full force.

I step around Mallory and greet her mother with a hug and a kiss on her cheek. “Hi Jackie, how are you? You look beautiful as always.”

“You’re so sweet, Hunter. Thank you. I couldn’t be better. I’m so happy to have my baby girl home for Christmas. How are your parents? I haven’t seen them around town lately.”

“Same as always. Dad threw his back out again and refuses to see the doctor. So he stays home and drives Mom crazy.”

Four of the five people at the table laugh, understanding all too well how family members can be. Everyone but Mallory. When I look across the table at her, a small smile plays on her lips, but she’s trying to fight it. As if she doesn’t want to remember what it’s like being around her family and old friends more often.

Interesting.

After we place our orders, I catch Mallory staring at me several times while we tell Amelia stories from our past. Not our past as a couple, but our collective past as kids growing up in this winter wonderland getaway. The sly childhood antics we tried to pull that were obvious to every adult around us. The way Mallory looks at me gives me hope and pushes my agenda even more to convince her we belong together.

“You actually poured the whole bottle of bubble bath in the town fountain?” Amelia obviously hasn’t heard this story from Mallory before now, judging by the shocked look on her face. “I mean, you know what happens when you put a capful in the bathtub. But you poured the whole bottle in?”

Mallory releases a heavy sigh before explaining what happened back then. “I blame the cartoons we watched. They set unreasonable expectations of what would happen. I thought it would fill the town with tiny bubbles, floating through the air and making it even more magical than it already was. Reality was much different, though. Picture an episode of I Love Lucy on bubble-powered steroids. Rather than the small, delicate orbs I envisioned, it was an unending wall of foam that covered the entire fountain, crawled over the edge, and across the entire lawn in front of city hall. They had to cancel the Easter egg hunt that year because of me. The more they used the water hoses to try to clear it all off, the worse it became.”

“Mal, why didn’t you ever tell me about any of this before? What happened to that fun, spontaneous Mallory?”

“You mean the one who was grounded and had to clean animal poop from every cage, every single day, from Easter until the end of summer? That Mallory learned her lesson and didn’t pull that stunt again.”

“That’s right,” Jackie adds. “That Mallory didn’t pull that stunt again. She pulled all new ones, like sneaking out of her window at night to go skinny-dipping in the lake with her best friend, only to be brought home by the chief of police. You know, Chief Land still warns kids against that in his own version of scared straight stories at the high school.”

“Oh, thank God, the food is here. Everyone feel free to stuff your mouths and stop talking about me now.”

The adventurous Mallory is still in there—I see the gleam in her eyes while she relives those memories. I’ll be glad to help her find that side of her personality again…but hopefully without joining the Polar Bear Club while she’s home.

“Hey Mal, remember that year when Old Man Kirkman played the town Santa Claus? Did you ever tell your parents about that?”

“Um, let me answer that. No. She didn’t. Mallory, would you like to share with us now?” Pete lowers his fork to his plate, steeples his fingers together, and lifts one eyebrow at Mallory. That has been his signature move to elicit a confession for as long as I’ve known him.

“No, I’m good. Thanks for asking, though.” Mallory stuffs an extra-large bite of her food into her mouth and chews exaggeratedly, moaning occasionally for added effect. “This is so good. You should really eat while it’s hot.”

“Every kid makes cookies for Santa, right? Mallory made a special batch of Oreo cookies for him. She scraped all the white filling out of them and replaced it with toothpaste, presented them to Mr. Kirkman while she sat on his lap, and waited for him to eat a couple of them before she would get down.” I smile widely and work hard to hold in my laughter.

“Mallory Alexandra Conner—you did not do that to Mr. Kirkman!” Jackie looks horrified while Amelia giggles uncontrollably.

“That was just the first day.” All eyes turn to me as I throw gasoline on the fire. “The second day, she climbed up on his lap and gave him an ice cream cone.”

“Well, that was a nice gesture. What am I missing?” Amelia asked.

“The ice cream was actually Mom’s leftover mashed potatoes,” Mallory admits, and Jackie hides her face.

“It was after day three when Mr. Kirkman banned her from seeing or talking to Santa ever again.”

“She was banned from Santa? What in the world did she do?” Amelia’s eyes dart between Mallory and me, waiting to see who will respond first.

“Day three was a multifaceted attack. She’d planned these pranks all year. With all the tourists in town, the public restrooms stayed full, and Santa couldn’t be away from his public throne very long while he used the private throne. There was only one restroom Mr. Kirkman could use—the one in the veterinary clinic, because it was the least-used by tourists.”

“What did you do to that poor man?” Pete stares at the top of Mallory’s head, because she has her face practically buried in her plate, actively avoiding making eye contact with anyone.

“She took a pair of your old pants and work boots and set them up like someone was in the stall. She locked the stall door and crawled out from underneath. Mr. Kirkman must’ve gone in and out of the clinic ten times before he was able to do his business.

“Only, when he finally got inside the stall, he didn’t realize she’d covered the toilet opening with clear plastic wrap. We could hear him cursing all the way down the hall. Then, she replaced the bar of soap with one she’d covered with clear nail polish so he couldn’t lather up no matter how hard he tried.

“He rambled all through the clinic, mumbling about how there had to be soap somewhere since you worked with animals all the time. He heard her giggling from her hiding place, so he yelled that she could never tell Santa what she wanted for Christmas again because he had put her name on the Naughty List.”

“Wait just a minute. Let me get something straight.” The expression on Amelia’s face doesn’t bode well for me. I can feel it in my gut. “You were there with her during all these pranks where Mallory got in trouble?”

I suddenly feel the need to plead the Fifth.

“Of course. We were best friends as kids—we did everything together.”

“Well then, Hunter. It sounds to me like you were the bad influence on her.”

I’m stunned speechless for a moment before my gaze moves over to Mallory.

Now who’s wearing a shit-eating grin?