Back with His Twins for Christmas

Chapter 15

POV Charlotte

The forest clearing looked like something torn from a magazine spread—snow-dusted pines reaching toward a crystalline sky, golden afternoon light filtering through branches in slanted beams that my Seattle team couldn't stop raving about.

And Dean at the center of it all, splitting firewood with an axe.

His flannel hung open despite the cold, sleeves rolled to his elbows, each swing of the blade showcasing the kind of effortless masculine competence that algorithms devoured.

The wood split clean with every strike, falling in perfect halves, and the cameras captured it all—the flex of muscle, the controlled power, the slight sheen of sweat on his forearms that caught the light like he'd been designed for this exact moment.

Damn, he was so attractive.

I watched from behind the crew, my tablet clutched against my chest, telling myself the heat spreading through my cheeks and pooling somewhere lower was from the cold. From nerves. From anything except what it actually was.

"He's ridiculously hot." Alicia, my lead content coordinator from Seattle, sidled up beside me with an appreciative whistle that carried far too well in the mountain air. "You know we're going to have women booking rooms just to catch a glimpse of the lumberjack handyman, right? We'll get inquiries from neighboring resorts, maybe even other states. This man is going to single-handedly save your parents' business just by existing on camera."

She glanced at me with a knowing smirk that made my stomach clench.

"Does he have a girlfriend? Because I'm extremely available, and I'm not above using a professional connection as an excuse to get his number."

I kept my voice neutral, my eyes fixed on the monitor showing the live feed.

"He's married to his job. Too much work for relationships. The man barely sleeps—he's been holding this entire resort together single-handedly for years. Romance isn't exactly on his priority list."

Alicia hummed skeptically but let it drop, her attention returning to the footage as Dean set down the axe and ran a hand through his dark hair.

The cameras kept rolling, capturing the way he surveyed his work, and I pretended not to notice how my pulse quickened when his steel-blue eyes lifted toward our position.

We moved to the next setup twenty minutes later—Dean on a snowboard, carving down a gentle slope in his work clothes.

No helmet, flannel flying behind him like a flag, his body moving with the kind of natural grace that came from growing up on these mountains. He made it look effortless, like the board was simply an extension of his legs, and the footage was going to be spectacular.

I made pointed notes for Millie, the copywriter hovering at my elbow: safety disclaimer required, do not attempt, professional on familiar terrain.

"We can't have liability issues if some tourist tries to recreate this in jeans and breaks their neck," I muttered, and Millie nodded solemnly, fingers flying over her tablet.

Alicia and Millie exchanged glances—the kind of silent communication between colleagues that usually preceded terrible ideas—and then Alicia's face lit up with the particular inspiration I'd learned to dread over three years of working together.

"What if you ride with him? Double on the board—he's clearly skilled enough to handle it, and you're small enough that it wouldn't throw off his balance. We can write whatever caption you want, something about trust and adventure and the Evergreen experience. Come on, Charlotte, it'll be incredible footage. The kind of authentic moment that goes viral."

"Absolutely not." I stepped backward, shaking my head with more force than necessary. "I haven't been on a board in years, Alicia. It's dangerous, it's unprofessional, and I'm supposed to be directing this shoot, not starring in it. Find someone else—one of the ski instructors, maybe, or—"

"What's happening?" Dean's voice cut through my protests as he approached, board tucked under one arm, his breath misting in the cold air. His gaze moved between me and my crew with the wariness of someone who'd learned to expect ambush.

Alicia explained the concept before I could stop her, her hands gesturing enthusiastically as she painted a picture of romantic adventure content that would have sponsors fighting over collaboration opportunities.

Dean listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable, and then his eyes found mine. Something shifted in his gaze—challenge, maybe, or amusement, or something darker that I couldn't name.

"Great idea," he said, and I opened my mouth in astonishment. "Let's do it."

I sputtered that they'd all lost their minds, that this was a terrible plan, that I was the director and I refused to participate in my own campaign like some desperate attention-seeker, but Alicia was already removing my heavy coat with the efficiency of someone who'd stopped listening three sentences ago.

The cold hit me immediately, brutal and absolute, leaving me in just jeans and a cashmere sweater that did nothing against the mountain air.

I shivered violently, wrapping my arms around myself as my teeth began to chatter, and Dean beckoned me closer with a tilt of his head.

"Come here," he said, and his voice dropped into something low and warm that made my stomach flip despite the cold. "I'll warm you up, birdie."

The crew giggled. I glared at all of them—traitors, every single one—but my body was already moving toward the heat Dean radiated like a furnace.

"Aren't you freezing?" I demanded, gesturing at his open flannel, his rolled sleeves, the casual way he stood in weather that was turning my fingers numb. "You're barely dressed. This is medically irresponsible."

He shrugged, something almost like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Years on this mountain. I've hardened to it. You spend enough winters fixing frozen pipes at three in the morning, the cold stops feeling personal." He positioned the board and gestured for me to step on in front of him. "Come on. I won't let you fall."

I stepped onto the board with the grace of a newborn deer, my balance immediately threatening to abandon me, and then Dean's arms came around me from behind to grip the edges.

His chest pressed against my back, solid and warm, and heat enveloped me so completely that I forgot I'd been shivering.

The thin cashmere did nothing to buffer the contact—I could feel every breath he took, every shift of muscle as he adjusted our position.

"I hope we crash," I muttered, staring straight ahead at the slope that suddenly looked much steeper than it had from the sidelines. "So I never have to feel this embarrassed again. This is going to haunt me forever. Alicia will put it on the company Christmas card."

Dean's arms tightened around me, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us, and his breath ghosted warm against my ear.

"You need to stay alive for those wonderful kids of yours," he said, and his voice had changed—something raw beneath the words, something that made my heart stutter in my chest.

A pause stretched between us, heavy with things unsaid, and then he spoke again, so quiet the cameras couldn't possibly catch it. "Besides, I want to watch them grow up."

My breath caught. The words landed somewhere deep and devastating, somewhere I'd been trying to protect, and before I could respond—before I could ask what he meant—someone called that they were rolling.

Dean pushed off down the slope, and I had no choice but to hold on.