“Do you want to come with us?” Jill asked. They had grilled him about the best runs on the mountain.

“I really should get some work done.”

“Go ahead,” Clare said. “This place isn’t going anywhere.”

“I’d love to,” Aidan admitted. “I haven’t been yet this year.”

“Good,” Maggie said as she finished putting the game away. “I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow, Aidan.”

“I’m going up, too,” Jill said with a big yawn.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” Clare called after them.

“They’re great kids,” Aidan said as he pulled on his coat.

Clare walked him to the front door. “I like them.”

Smiling, he took a step toward her. “I can see why.”

“It’s really coming down out there. You should go.” His nearness stirred butterflies in her belly. She didn’t know what made her more anxious—that he might kiss her again or that he wouldn’t.

He ran his thumbs along her jaw. “I missed you,” he said, dipping his head to touch his lips to hers.

Clare’s senses were filled with the fragrance of Christmas pine and sawdust and a hint of the cologne he’d worn on Christmas Eve. She felt his arms close around her and relaxed against him. Under his coat, her hands found his back as he brushed his lips over hers again.

“Aidan,” she whispered against his lips.

“Hmm?”

“I missed you, too. I really did.”

Encouraged by her confession, he tugged her closer. When he nudged at her lips with his tongue, she opened her mouth to let him in. The swirl of his tongue against hers made her weak, and before long they both were breathless.

Reluctantly, he took a step back but kept a firm hold on her hand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve looked forward to anything the way I look forward to seeing you every day.” He kissed her hand and then her cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

Before she could think of anything to say to that astounding statement, he was out the door.

Aidan returned early the next morning with a shovel. He cleared off the sidewalk, stairs, and porch before there were any signs of life inside. More than a foot of snow had fallen overnight, and the rumble of snow blowers and the scrape of shovels filled the air on Maple Street. When he was done shoveling, he used his key to go inside. The silence told him the three ladies were still sleeping, so he quietly brewed a pot of coffee in the kitchen. He’d been impressed last night by the way Clare had made the gutted kitchen look warm and inviting for her girls. She’d dragged the kitchen table back in from the living room and covered it with festive placemats. An arrangement of evergreen, holly, and winterberry sat in a jug on the table.