I nod. “Yes. I needed to pay my bill and wanted to thank you for the meal and the wine and—” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder toward where the kiss that was heard around the world happened. “And the inspiration.”

“Glad to be of service.” His smile widens and I melt. “The food and drink are on the house.” He holds up his hands to stop me from refuting. “I’m not budging on it. It comes with the cottage.” His eyes flicker down to my lips and then back up to mine. “Is there anything else you needed?”

You.

Another kiss.

You to knock on my door tonight.

All the above.

“No,” I stutter over the thoughts that want to manifest into words. Words I’ve written a thousand times in my books but would never dare be brave enough to utter in real life. I offer a tight smile instead. “I’m good. Thank you. I . . .” I throw my hands up, obviously at a loss for words. “I appreciate the hospitality.”

His eyes hold mine as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m happy to have provided it.”

Move feet.

Move out the door.

“Good night.” Another smile. A lame little wave that only serves to highlight my awkwardness.

And then I turn my back with Saint’s eyes still on me and leave the saloon.

I’m greeted by the bitter cold immediately. It stings my cheeks and lungs, and my breath turns into white puffs that envelop my head as I make my way to my place.

To technically his place.

“You need help,” I mutter as I put my key in the lock.

8

Saint

“You purposely trying to be the last one here tonight so no one sees you sneak off to your love shack?”

“You mean to my house?” I ask and play it off because I love Vix to death, but she is such a hopeless romantic that I know she’s already mentally planning a happily ever after for me.

One I’ll never find or have.

One that is case in point with Harley’s reaction to Saint Nick’s Hollow. A joke. A tourist trap. A dot on a map that will be forgotten as soon as she drives across its boundary line tomorrow.

And it’s a place I’ll never leave. Can’t. It’s part of who I am and my family history.

So why did I kiss her then?

Why did I give in to the urge?

Because it was more than sexy to read her words and picture her as the heroine.

And to want something like that.

To think maybe someday someone who stops by might come back, just for me.

Quit being a goddamn sap.

Go home.

“Yeah. Sure. Your house. The one next door to a woman you kissed senseless. That one.”

“That was nothing.”