David had deliberately lied to her when he said he was three hours away, since he somehow, magically, got to Wiarton two hours after he texted. Natasha clenched her jaw, letting herself process that realization.

Did he not trust her to tell him the truth of the situation?

She had nothing to be ashamed of here. And for now, the furnace was working again. Sort of. Tentatively. Guaranteed to break again before the season was out, but whatever. Her ex didn’t need to know that.

Maybe she didn’t tell him the whole truth, but she was as straight-up as she needed to be. And beyond that, her life was none of his business. She kept her nose out of his insanity. Why couldn’t he return the favour?

“Merry Christmas,” she called out as Matt gave her a look she couldn’t quite figure out. Sometimes she really hated her compulsive need to be the better person.

I’m sorry, she mouthed to her boyfriend—and how wrong was it that she hadn’t had time for that lovely new term to settle in before this rude interruption? This wasn’t how she wanted him to meet David.

Matt just shrugged. And then he smiled, his eyes warm, and she felt it to her core.

With a nod, she moved into the living room, where David was standing looking at her wall of ideas. It was the only thing he could look at, other than the red velvet couch, because the room was otherwise completely empty.

“Nice place,” he said completely without humour.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matt sizing him up. In comparison, David was sleek and urbane to Matt’s honest country boy looks. But the starkest difference was in how they interacted with those around them—David hadn’t even acknowledged Matt yet. He never cared about who a stranger was. Everything was always about him.

“It’s a work in progress.” She turned sideways, including both men in her gesture. “Matt, this is Emily’s dad, David Costello. David, this is Matt Foster. My boyfriend.”

“Emily has a lot to say about you,” David said, holding out his hand.

Matt closed the distance and took it.

Natasha imagined she heard bones crunching, enjoying the testosterone show-down a little too much. Matt had David beat in every single way that mattered, and a bunch that didn’t.

“She says you don’t like tomatoes,” Matt responded. If Natasha were to say that it would sound bitchy, but Matt pulled it off as charming, an invitation for David to bring a bit of self-deprecation to the table.

Her ex didn’t, of course, but he offered a ghost of a smile.

Natasha realized he was alone. “Is Sable in the car?”

“No. Uh…” He made a face. “She made me drive up on my own, first thing, to get Emily. She had some shopping still to do, so she’ll meet us at the cottage.”

“She made you get up early?”

“Woke me up at six with a thermos of coffee.” Another faint smile. “She said if you needed our help, I needed to be early.”

Huh. Maybe the Selfie Queen was more than just nice enough. “Well, tell her thank you. I appreciate it.”

He turned to Matt as if she hadn’t said anything. “Are you helping Tasha with this…house?”

“She’s more than capable on her own,” Matt said, his words just tight enough for Tasha to know he was clipping them. But he still sounded affable and easy-going. It was a mask, she realized suddenly—one he probably had to use all the time at work.

One that had slipped recently, because of stress. Well no shit. Nobody liked to have to constantly pretend.

Just then the furnace kicked in, like the tech had promised it would, and Tasha’s knees threatened to give out. “Ah, the furnace is back online. I’m sorry about the panic in that regard. I should have waited to call you until after I had the appointment. I could have driven her to you after all.”

“Listen—” David looked down at Emily, twirling on the end of his arm. “Is two nights enough time to…” He glanced around her empty house. “Do whatever you need to do? I need to get back to work on the twenty-seventh, but I could take Emily to Toronto. Sable has the week off between Christmas and New Year’s Eve.”

Panic flooded Natasha’s chest. She wasn’t ready to be separated from her daughter that long. Not yet. Not ever. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t have any furniture, and you called me last night, freaking out because your house didn’t have any heat. Are you sure you’re fine?”

Where was Sable to put him in his place when Natasha needed her? “One thousand percent fine. Okay, you guys should go. See you in two days. Have a wonderful time, baby girl.” She crouched down and held her arms out. Emily flew in for a hug and Natasha tried to block everything else out. Skinny little arms around her neck, sweet kisses on her cheek. Nothing else mattered.

As she helped Emily into her snow pants, Matt gestured to her wall of ideas. “It’s pretty impressive, isn’t it?”

“It might be if I knew what it was,” David said.

“Renovation plans.” She stood up and patted Emily in the direction of the front door. “Put your boots on.”

Matt shot her a quick look.

Was she telling David the whole plan? She was genuinely torn. She wanted to show him she had a plan, but she also didn’t want to open herself up to criticism from someone whose opinions didn’t matter.

Actually, no. She didn’t want to show him she had a plan. She wanted to show that she had vision.

And not for him—his opinion of her no longer mattered.

For herself. Because she was proud of what she was doing here.

“I have two rental units on the back of the house,” she said. “Small studio apartments, really. Not small by Toronto standards, though. I’m renovating them. That’s why I don’t have much furniture on this side. Most of my energy is being poured into those.”

David looked at Matt, and in that moment, she wanted to punch him so hard, right in the mouth. It didn’t matter what another man thought.

He glanced at the wall again, and finally to her. “Rental units, eh? You used to talk about having an inn. Is this the more realistic version of that idea?”

She laughed. “No. This is the first step in the very realistic plan to eventually get to that inn. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I—” He cut himself off and nodded. “Okay. See you in a couple of days.”

They followed him to the entranceway, where Emily was still tugging on her second boot. Matt got a hug goodbye, then Natasha got another before Emily put on her coat and mitts and hat.

By the time the door shut behind them, Natasha felt like a wrung-out dishcloth. But at least she could be grateful that she had Matt at her side and the hum of her furnace—

She cocked her head and swore under her breath. “Did the furnace die again?”

It did.

“It mother-fucking-did,” she whispered. “On Christmas Eve. After I paid—” She swallowed a cry as Matt pulled her in close for a hug.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you swear quite like that,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. We’ll fix it.”

She laughed slightly hysterically. “How?”

“I can go down and see if I can figure out where the thermometer is inside it. Or…here’s a radical thought. It’s going to warm up tonight. The house is fine to get a bit cool. How about I take you back to my place? It’s warm and I have a big bed.”

“Your plan is to distract me with orgasms?” She gave him a wide-eyed look. It wasn’t the worst idea, but she needed to get her furnace fixed. She couldn’t just hide out under his covers, no matter how nice that sounded.

“No distraction. Just a bit of dedicated care while we figure out a plan. Plus you still need to open your presents.”

Another laugh burbled up from deep inside her. He’d brought her presents, and she’d forgotten all about them. She took a deep breath. He hadn’t slept after his shift yet, and the thought of his bed sounded pretty good to her, too—with or without orgasms. “Can we save those for after a nap? I want a do-over on Christmas Eve.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

While Natasha went upstairs to pack a bag, Matt jogged downstairs to look at the beast that was distressing his girlfriend. He didn’t know shit about furnaces, but a quick Google search explained that a failing blower motor would make the furnace turn off instead of overheating. While he was down there, it fired up again, worked for a few minutes, and shut off.

Back upstairs, he found Natasha putting away the dishes he’d washed.

“I heard it come back on,” she said. “I guess it’s going to just cycle like that until I fix it?”

He held up his phone. “I did a quick search and that sounds about right. But it is working, at least intermittently.”

“Fine, take me away from this madness. I’ll buy you a coffee on the way because you must be exhausted.”

“I can sleep when I’m dead,” he joked.

“Or in an hour, with me…”

“Oh, that’s a much better plan. Lead on, gorgeous.”

They took his truck. He liked seeing Natasha curled up on the other side of his cab, her bright eyes flashing at him from under a brimmed toque. It was a bright day, the sun glinting off the snow as he drove up the steep hill out of town.

Rocky outcrops on either side of the highway marked the shift in geography. Wiarton, at the base of the peninsula, was a dividing point between his world and the rest of the province.

It was also an invisible but palpable line to cross with Natasha.

Their entire courtship had been in her space. Now he was bringing her home, to a place where she’d invested some hopes and dreams in the past, however fleeting, and had them dashed.

He reached across the console between them and took her hand.

She squeezed back. “Did this disrupt any family visiting before you were going to come to my place tonight?”

“Nah. Dani’s sleeping today, because she’s got another shift tonight, so Jake will take Calvin to my dad’s for a visit. Sean and Jenna might meet them there, but we’re not doing a family meal until next week when Dani’s off and Dean and Liana are back from Nashville. I wasn’t kidding before when I said Christmas isn’t really a thing for us. If it weren’t for the wives, us guys would just exchange a group text and be done with it.”

She looked out the window. “I miss my sister more than I thought I would today. She always went all out with the decorations. I’m glad Emily’s getting that with her dad this year.”

A different kind of tension pulled at Matt’s chest. He didn’t want to overstep, but he hoped that this time next year, they’d be decorating her house together from top to bottom. “I will do my best to make tonight as festive as possible. It may require a fair bit of improvisation, but I can be a creative guy.” It started to snow as he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building. “See? I live in a snow globe.”

“Pretty,” she said with a real smile.

Only on the outside. His apartment was as basic as it could be, because he literally just needed a place to store his shit and be horizontal every sixteen to thirty-six hours. He’d never thought about bringing her here before. Hadn’t wanted her to see the starkness of what he was—and wasn’t—splayed out like a tableau. The old Matt would have felt super self-conscious about Natasha sizing up his space and finding it wanting.

He’d wanted to be something better for her, in a way he’d never cared about before with any other woman.

But now he knew he could show her any and every part of him and it would be just fine.

They climbed the stairs, then he ushered her inside first before setting down their bags—her overnight clothes, his tote with her presents still in it, and his present from them, the passport he wanted to talk to her about later that night, over a bottle of wine and under whatever twinkly lights he could commandeer.

“So this is your bachelor pad, eh?” She turned in a slow circle, taking it in just as he’d expected. “Wow. Barbells stacked in the corner, big-screen TV taking up literally half the wall.”

“I know. I’m a cliche.”

She stopped in front of him and pressed her hands to his cheeks. “No you aren’t,” she breathed. “You surprise me at every turn. Even when it’s discovering that you are such a completely conventional country boy.”

He grinned. “Want to make out on my navy blue comforter?”

“You know it.” But she didn’t really feel the bright, false confidence she projected, and he saw right through her.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” He shrugged out of his coat and pulled her close for a soft, gentle kiss. “I’m tired, how about you?”

“Exhausted.” She sagged against him.

“Presents after our nap, okay?”

“Whatever. Just peel me out of these clothes and tuck me in right next to you.”

He did just that. As she stretched out, her head nestled on his pillow—a Christmas gift in and of itself—he grabbed his phone to set his alarm so they didn’t sleep the entire day away.

He showed her the text message group chat Dean had started an hour ago. “See? I told you this is how we do the holidays.”

She laughed and rolled onto her back. He fired off a couple of messages to his brothers, then set the phone on the bedside table and joined her under his navy blue cliché of a comforter.

“Christmas is looking up,” she murmured as she melted into his arms.

If by Christmas she meant his erection, that was accurate to the nth degree. But now that he was horizontal, he was also exhausted, so he kept his dick in his shorts and just kissed her, over and over again, until they were both warm and giggly.

Sex could wait. Right now they had cuddling, and that was everything.

Cuddling is everything was his last thought before he fell asleep.

His unconscious self was more mercenary, though, and when he woke up hours later, both of his hands were down the back of Natasha’s panties and he was holding her tight against his body, her legs spread on either side of his rigid thigh.

From the way she was nuzzling his neck, he was pretty sure she was horny, too.

And he would have done something delightfully filthy about both of their needs if his alarm hadn’t gone off at the same moment as a happy knock sounded at his door.

He grabbed at his phone first to silence it. There were a bunch of text message alerts, too.

He stumbled out of bed to tell whoever was at the door to go away, Merry Fucking Christmas-style, before realizing that the most recent message in the group chain was related to that.

He scrolled back up and read the rest of the messages, then grabbed a hoodie from the chair in the corner and tossed it at Natasha. “Put this on.”

She zipped it over her bare breasts and climbed out of bed, gasping when her bare feet hit the floor. “Holy cold! Where are my—”

He knelt in front of her and tugged a clean pair of his wool grey work socks onto her feet. “There.”

She laughed at him. “What is going on?”

“Christmas surprise. Come on.” He led her back into the living room and then held up his hand. “Close your eyes.”

She grinned and did as instructed, standing in the middle of his apartment in nothing but his sweatshirt and socks. Insanely gorgeous.

He opened the door, expecting to see a box of stuff. There was that, but…

Sean and Jake had outdone themselves. Fucking perfect.

“Matt?”

“Yeah…” He stared at the Charlie Brown Christmas tree in front of him, already on a stand. How was he going to get it inside? “Ignore any noises you hear for the next thirty seconds, okay?”

“This is really assuming a level of trust I’m not sure we’ve discussed,” she said with a giggle. “But sure.”

The tree brushed the doorway with a quiet rustle. Needles dropped everywhere, but he didn’t care. He dragged the cardboard box in, too, then shut the door. A quick check inside the box showed everything he’d requested and then some. Jake had probably taken the Christmas lights off his own tree.

“Keep your eyes—”

“Closed, I know,” she murmured as he moved around her. He grabbed one of the strands of lights and plugged it into the wall before stringing them haphazardly up and over his TV.

Next from the box was a dubious sprig of greenery that he was ninety-seven percent sure was not mistletoe, but it was a close enough approximation for his purposes. He shoved that into the DVD stand next to the kitchen door, and then swung past where Natasha was waiting so he could kiss her before finishing up.

“Still closed?” she asked, laughing at him.

“One more minute.”

“Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…” As she counted backwards, he jammed the Santa hat on his head and shoved the USB stick into the side of his TV.

Sean had downloaded a video of a burning fireplace. Apparently his brothers were more festive than he’d ever given them credit for.

“Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen…”

He grabbed her presents, shoved them under the tree, then stopped in front of her and hit play on the Christmas music on his phone. “Open your eyes,” he said as the first few notes of Silent Night started.

She blinked her eyelids, then focused on him first before her gaze jerked to the TV behind him, and then slid to the ugliest Christmas tree she’d probably ever seen. “Oh.”

“Merry Christmas, Tasha.”

Her eyes sparkled suspiciously as she poked at the white fur trim on his hat. “Look at you,” she breathed. “My real-life Santa.”

“I ordered us our own little Christmas and my brothers made it happen. That was the, uh, unexpected tumble out of bed that interrupted our dirty wake-up.”

“You are forgiven.” She glanced around. “They all did this?”

“Well, Dean is in Nashville, so it was just Sean and, uh, Jake. Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“They know how important you are to me,” he added.

“This is so sweet.” She unzipped her—his—hoodie and leaned in, brushing her lips against his jaw. “Really thoughtful.”

The tip of her tongue found his skin and electricity jolted straight to his balls.

Oh, God. “Anything for you,” he said thickly.

“Mmm. I don’t know. It’s Christmas and Santa has a long night ahead of him. I think it should be anything for you, don’t you agree?”

He hefted her in the air and she shrieked, but when she slid back down his body, her legs wrapping around him at just the right spot, the lusty sigh came back.

It had been a long day. And she was right. He did have a long night ahead of him. They could both use some restorative affection first.

He turned and lowered himself onto the couch, holding her against him the whole time. When he sprawled his legs and arms wide, she stayed clinging to him. They were down to their underwear, except his hoodie hung off her arms and he was wearing the Santa hat.

“I don’t have any condoms close at hand,” he growled.

“We don’t need them for this,” she said, reaching between them. “You like my hand, right?”

Fuck, yeah. “Damn straight I do.”

She licked her lips and looked between them.

“I want to make you happy,” she said softly, then looked at him.

Yeah, he wanted her mouth. But he wanted something else even more.

“I want to be inside you.” A rough, hungry admission that was one hundred percent true.

She climbed off him, all long limbs and loose smiles. He watched from beneath hooded eyes as she jiggled her way to her bag and produced a string of condoms.

Excellent. He’d burn his way through all of them tonight.

When she turned back to him, she stumbled to a stop.

“What?”

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said huskily.

“Never.”

“It’s indecent.”

“That’s me.”

She shook her head slowly. “No. You’re the best man I’ve ever met.”

“Take off your panties.”

With a grin, she hooked her thumbs under the cotton and wiggled free. Gloriously bare, she sashayed back to the couch and resumed her position straddling him. This time when she reached for his straining erection, he said nothing. They had everything they needed now.

She freed him from his briefs and stroked his length firmly. Her touch made him groan and sent more blood to his already throbbing cock. He was more than ready to surge into her, hard and fast, but having her rub and slide against him was the sweetest kind of torture.

He cupped her breasts with his hands, played his thumbs against her nipples. Two could play the torture game, and he could up the ante with his mouth, too. He sucked on her until she fisted her hands in his hair and tugged him off.

“Enough,” she said as she gazed down at him, her eyes glassy and her mouth swollen.

When she rolled the condom on to him and rose up on her knees, he had to fist his hands into the couch cushions to keep himself from squeezing her hips and pulling her right back down again.

“This is what you want?” She rubbed him against her slick entrance. “Like this?”

“I want you.” His voice was hoarse. “Every way. Any way I can get you.”

“You’ve got me,” she whispered as she brought him into her body.

She was tight and hot, a sweet, agonizing glove he had to work his way into. It took three slow thrusts until he was fully buried inside her. Countless more, each one a little less controlled than the last, each one making her tremble and shake and grind against him. Sensations overwhelmed him and his thoughts scattered as she rode him roughly.

He found her breasts again. Like in his sleep, holding her possessively felt right. Handfuls of Tasha for the rest of his life. That’s all he wanted. Maybe more kids if she was game. A dog.

A white picket fence she’d long sworn off.

This was everything he wanted. The best gift in the world.

“Fuck, Tasha,” he growled, which was a long way off from the sweetness rioting around in his head. “I…You…”

“Come,” she urged.

He crushed her against him and took her mouth as they came together. A kiss, a promise, a plea. He couldn’t tell where he ended and she began, and he knew he’d never want to have it any other way ever again.