“I guess…”

  “If it turns out you have a shitty personality, I’ll make a snow angel, hop the next flight for the southern hemisphere, and we’ll both pretend we didn’t accidentally meet on the internet. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds like it could be a Hallmark movie … or a Dateline special. But definitely nothing in between.”

  “Since I don’t do anything half-assed, that sounds about right.”

  She hums her agreement, and I can’t help it. I like the sound. And my dick does too—he twitches with curiosity.

  “I’ve got to go. I have a company just begging me to hack into their networks.”

  “I’m not surprised. As good as you are, I bet you get a lot of people begging. I might be one of them someday. You know, after Christmas.”

  “Thanks for the licorice, Logan. I’ll send you my dental bill if I end up with cavities.”

  “Thank you for answering. You had me wondering there for a few rings. And, Demi?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Delete your profile.”

  Another laugh hits me, and this time it’s a little darker. Like a dare. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Have a good day, hacker.”

  “Bye, Logan.”

  She hangs up, and I do a quarter spin in my chair. The sun is setting over the Harbour. I leave soon to make the flight back to the States. I’ll book another flight and hotel in Winter Falls the day after Christmas.

  For the first time in a very long time—so long, I can’t even remember the last time it happened—I’m actually excited to meet someone.

  Until then, I have work to wrap up before the holiday. I’ll be gone until the new year.

  A lot can happen in that time.

  Chapter 7

  Demi

  Scratch the Itch

  “What is normally a white Christmas here in Winter Falls could turn whiter. If you like to hit the slopes over the holidays, this might be your year. There are two systems headed our way, and that means fresh powder for the mountains…”

  “Your dad has to work Christmas,” my mom explains over the phone as I wrap presents with the TV keeping me company in the background. “We’ll have a small dinner on the day, but I’m doing a big get together the day after.”

  I freeze in the middle of tying a bow. “Mom, I have plans that day.”

  “What do you mean, you have plans? It’s Christmas!”

  “No, the day after. I have plans.”

  “With whom?”

  “I have a date.” I don’t explain further, because the incident with Sam was enough for my parents. I think I’d rather walk through a blizzard barefoot before telling them I met someone else online.

  “With whom?” she demands.

  “A guy.” I think for a hot second. “Posey set me up with him.”

  “I don’t know if that’s good or not. Who is it?”

  “His name is Logan. It’s no one you know. He doesn’t live here.”

  “I don’t know, Demi. After what happened last time—”

  “Mom, not everyone is a stalker. I did my research. He seems … normal.”

  Normal is the wrong word to attach to Logan Carpino. From what I can tell, there’s nothing normal about the man.

  All of sudden she perks up. “Bring him to dinner! That way your dad can do his thing.”

  “I haven’t met him in person yet, and you want me to bring him to a major family holiday? You’re crazy.”

  “No, Sam Valder-what’s-his-face was crazy. I am a concerned parent.”

  “Even so, there’s no way in hell I’m bringing him to a Christmas dinner.”

  “Well.” She exhales loudly enough to be heard on the next peak. “I don’t know why you have to be so hard headed.”

  “Gotta go, Mom. I have presents to finish wrapping. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Wait, you saw the weather? We’re supposed to get a lot of snow. Are you prepared, just in case?”

  “Finally. We need some fresh powder.” I grab another package of Twizzlers to wrap. “There’s a knock on my door. Gotta go. Love you.”

  “Whatever, you’re ruining Christmas for a blind date.”

  “Seriously,” I mutter. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  I hang up before she manages to dump another layer of guilt on me and climb to my feet. When I open the door, the wind is blowing a fury and someone is standing in front of me holding an enormous basket covered in cellophane. It’s exploding with mugs, cookies, bags of coffee, and I think I even see a French press.

  “Can I help you?” I ask.

  “Demetria Benjamin?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Here.” He shoves the basket my way, and it’s so heavy, I have to turn and set it on the floor. That’s when I see the same delivery guy who brought me the Twizzlers. “Sorry it’s so late. That was a rush order and they insisted it had to be delivered tonight.”

  I look down at the basket and pluck the card off the top. Before I open it, I turn back to the delivery guy. “Was the tip included again?”

  He stuffs his gloved hands into his pockets. “Sure was. I’ll deliver all night if the tips keep coming in like that.”

  I smile. “I appreciate you driving out here this late. Merry Christmas.”

  His teeth chatter. “Merry Christmas.”

  I shut the cold out and pull my thick cardigan around my middle. I guess we are going to get some weather with the way that wind is whipping.

  I open the envelope and it’s typed out on the same thick cardstock the Twizzlers came with.

  Something to keep you warm until we meet.

  I can’t help but smile. I wonder if his note is as basic as the words typed on it.

  Or if he means something else entirely.

  Because I can’t help thinking of other ways to stay warm after we meet, which is ridiculous. I’ve had one conversation with the man, a few exchanges on text, and another through a dating app.

  I mean, I feel like I know everything about him. I combed through his pictures, contacts, and text messages. His emails were boring as hell—all numbers, profits, losses, and other mumbo jumbo that means nothing to me. I put two and two together that his younger sister is a GRAMMY award-winning songwriter in Nashville. And there are enough Carpinos in his contacts to make up their own phone book thick enough to be used as a stepstool.

  But most importantly, he had no text strings with women who weren’t Carpinos or work associates. And I scrolled and scrolled and scrolled.

  Nada.

  Which makes me believe he’s too busy to be a stalker or a player. Not being a stalker doesn’t surprise me. The man is hot. He has no need to be a stalker. I’m sure women throw themselves at his feet at every opportunity.

  But the player part?

  Again, he’s hot. He could play every field, court, or rink of any sport, and my guess, most women wouldn’t care.

  I mean, I would care. If I had someone like him, I wouldn’t share either.

  Which is probably why my mind went to him keeping me warm.

  I should not know this much about a man whom I’ve communicated with so little.

  Shit. Maybe I’m the stalker.

  I’m just about to pull the ribbon to see what he sent me when another rap at my door startles me. It can’t be another delivery.

  I’m about to turn and reach for the handle, but I hear a quick click and it shifts on its own.

  I don’t have enough time to reach for the bolt when the cold air flows into my house.

  “Demi, long time no see.”

  Logan’s card flits to the floor as I put a hand to his chest to stop him from moving in farther. “Sam! What the hell are you doing?”

  “It’s cold, and the door was unlocked. I saw your light on. Can I come in and warm up?”

  “Are you serious? No! You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I wanted to bring you something. You know, for Christmas. I thought maybe this would be a good time to talk about what happened.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. You know where I stand. I told you. My dad told you. And half the town told you when you wouldn’t stop asking around about me.”

  “Look, I might’ve come on a little strong.”

  What the hell is wrong with this guy? “A little strong? You were lurking around my house and looking into my windows! I told you I didn’t want to see you again, and you refused to leave. And now you’re back, even after my father had to tell you to stay away—”

  “About that.” He tries to reach for me, but I swat his hand away. “Honey, please. Let me explain—”

  He did not just honey me. Gross. But he doesn’t have a chance to explain, because my phone interrupts. “Don’t you dare take a step farther in my house.” I reach over the enormous gift basket and grab my phone from the floor. I press go before looking to see who it is. “Hello?”

  “Just wanted to make sure you got the coffee. You did say it’s your only vice—”

  “Yes,” I snap as I stare at Sam. “It was just delivered. It’s amazing, thank you. And for taking care of the tip.”

  “I don’t know you well, but it doesn’t sound as if you like it,” Logan drawls.

  “Who’s that?” Sam demands.

  “Who’s that?” Logan echoes. I feel like I’m in a stereo from hell.

  I keep my glare on Sam as I speak to Logan. “It’s the guy I told you about the other day. The persistent one. You know? The stalker.”

  Sam lowers his voice. “Fuck that. I’m no stalker, Demi. I just want to talk to you.”

  “Are you alone with him?” Logan grits. A chill runs down my spine, and it has nothing to do with the frigid wind, but everything to do with Logan’s tone. I might know everything about the man that hacking into his cell has to offer, but this side of someone is impossible to learn from reading their personal texts.

  “Yes. I don’t want to be alone with him, but he won’t leave.”

  “Don’t hang up, Demi. I’m going to make a call on the other line. Give me thirty seconds, but stay with me.”

  Sam takes another step inside the door. “Who are you talking to?”

  I do my best to steady my tone. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Stay on the line,” Logan growls in my ear before the sound over the phone is muffled. He’s talking, but not to me.

  Sam tries to move in, but I hold my ground so he can’t step in farther or shut it behind him. He pulls in a big breath and forces his jaw to go slack. “We ended on a bad note. I came on too strong. I get that now. I only want to talk, Demi. Give me five minutes to talk.”

  “We ended exactly the way we needed to end, as far as I’m concerned. You’re clingy, demanding, and we have nothing in common. You were grumpy when I wanted to read and you don’t like pizza. Hell, you didn’t even slow down for chipmunks running across the road. Who doesn’t like chipmunks? I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.”

  “I don’t not like pizza,” he claims. “I’m lactose intolerant.”

  “Demetria?” Logan calls for me.

  “What?” I snap.

  “The only thing better than extra cheese on a pizza is sex.” Of all the pictures I found of Logan on the internet, he wasn’t smiling in many of them. But right now, as he describes his love for dairy, I’m pretty sure he’s as jolly as old Saint Nick. “And I’d be willing to do some questionable shit that borderlines illegal for an ice cream cake.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter.

  “Get off the phone so we can talk,” Sam demands again and puts a hand to my hip and pushes.

  I smack him in the chest, and my foot connects with his shin.

  “Ouch,” Sam snaps.

  That wipes the jolly right out of Logan’s voice. “You okay?”

  I try to keep my tone steady, but it’s hard. “I’m fine, but he won’t leave.”

  “Stay with me, Demi,” Logan sooths. “I called Winter Falls’ Sheriff’s Department. Someone should be there soon.”

  My breath catches. “You did what?”

  “What?” Sam echoes.

  “I had no choice, baby. I’m in Sydney, half a world away from you. Hell, even if I were in New York, I’d be useless. Dammit. You’ve got an asshole on your doorstep, I’m calling someone to help you. When I explained the situation, they assured me you’d be a priority.”

  I groan internally. “I’m sure they did.”

  That’s when it happens. I hear them before I see them. Sure, it’s Christmas. In any Hallmark made-for-TV movie, there would be sleigh bells and the sounds of hoofs on freshly fallen snow. But not when it comes to me. Instead of a chivalrous knight in shining armor, I get sirens bouncing off the mountains through the dark, cold night. When flashing lights come into view as two cruisers round the corner on what seems like two wheels, Sam finally takes steps out onto my porch and hisses, “Fuck.”

  “I told you to leave,” I complain. “But you wouldn’t listen, just like before.”

  “They’re there?” Logan asks.

  “Yes. They’re here.”

  Logan exhales a sigh of relief, and for some reason, it feels like a thick, gooey mug of hot chocolate on this otherwise dreary, frigid night.

  Chocolate as dark as his eyes.

  But that’s beside the point.

  “You called your dad?” Sam complains.

  “No, I didn’t call anyone. My…” I pause because I have no idea what Logan is to me besides my own personal hot Santa from Oz, who sends thoughtful gifts and makes me think dirty thoughts. I shrug as I struggle for words. “Someone … someone called for me.”

  “Someone who isn’t lactose intolerant. I reserve the right to be clingy and demanding, though. We’ll see how we hit it off when I get there.”

  My teeth sink into the tender skin of my lip because this is not an appropriate time to think of Logan being demanding in any way, let alone the good ways. I’m not sure what would be more inappropriate as my father climbs out of his SUV, the cruiser lighting up my mountain like a crime scene. I think the only thing worse would be imagining the stranger that is Logan Carpino going down under in a whole other way that has nothing to do with kangaroos or koala bears.

  “Demi!” my father yells as he takes the steps up to my front door with one of his deputies trailing him. “You okay?”

  I don’t have the chance to nod when Sam steps in front of me and puts a hand up to my dad. “Sheriff Benjamin, calm down.”

  Oh shit.

  Well, that wiped the smile off my face.

  My father doesn’t afford me a glance. His rage is off the charts and focused on the idiot standing between us. He grabs Sam by the bicep and flings him around. The man who just won’t take no for an answer, has the side of his face smashed up against the stacked stone of my front porch.

  Sam moans, “Let me explain—"

  My dad snarls, “You have the right to remain silent.”

  Logan pipes in, “I hope I never get on your bad side.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Demi,” Sam begs. “Tell him we were just talking.”

  My dad’s gaze darts to me, and I give my head a small shake.

  Handcuffs circle Sam’s wrists. Their click-click and my father informing him of his right to representation seals the deal.

  Sam glares at me. “This is crazy. I haven’t done shit to you.”

  “In my town, when a woman tells you to leave, you leave. You sure as fuck don’t come back and sneak around her house or barge in her front door uninvited. You were warned, you ignored it, and now we’re making it official.”

  “What are you arresting me for?”

  “Trespassing. You know what? Let’s make that criminal trespassing. And disorderly conduct since you’ve been belligerent, and I have a witness. Keep acting up, and we’ll add to the list.” Dad turns to the deputy and hands Sam off. “Get him back to the department and start processing him. I’ll be right there.”

  Sam’s grumbles trail off into the darkness, and my dad steps in front of me. “You’re okay?”

  I nod and sigh, still connected to the strange man who doesn’t seem like a stranger anymore but is all the way around the world and still managed to help me. “I’m good, Dad.”

  “You still on the phone with the guy who called this in?”

  “That would be me. You’re welcome.” Logan sounds proud of himself.

  “I’ll be calling him.” Dad leans in and kisses my forehead. “Lock up. I’ll call you later.”

  I give him a small wave. “Love you.”

  Logan interjects himself again. “Feels early for declarations of love, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

  “Logan Carpino,” I start as I shut my door, turning both the lock and deadbolt. “Who the hell are you? You’d think after going through your phone, I’d have you figured out, but I’m left clueless.”

  I hear him move as he speaks. “I don’t date, Demi.”

  I stop going through the gift basket that contains enough coffee to outlast my supply of Twizzlers. “Sorry? I must have misunderstood you. You know, about meeting. If you think I’m only in this for a hookup—”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  I exhale and fall back on the sofa. “You know, this might be a bad idea. I appreciate what you did tonight. Really, I do. But I’m mentally exhausted from dealing with Sam as it is. We’re not even on the same continent—”

  “We will be in a couple of days,” he argues.

  “But even when you’re not traveling, we don’t live near each other. And you just admitted that you don’t date. I appreciate the candy and caffeine, but there’s nothing about this that will work.”

  “Stop right there. I said I don’t date because I don’t have time. I also haven’t made the time by choice. I’ve worked night and day for years to get where I am. There’s no other way to make it to the top without working myself to the bone to prove I can do what others have taken decades to do. I made it a priority, but it didn’t come without compromise, Demi. I gave up a life outside of work.”