“Definitely perfect.” Ronan is still wearing a Buttercream and Booze apron, but his focus isn’t on the decorations.

“You’re not even looking.” I motion to the shop.

“I don’t need to. I helped put them up, so I already know how they look.”

“But it’s everything put together. That’s what makes it perfect.”

“And you’re the cherry on top. Or maybe you should be one of those little Eat Me candies instead. Those are delicious. You got any lying around?”

“You realize that made no sense at all, right?”

“Sure it did. This place looks perfect and not just because the decorations are on point, but because you’re in the middle of it, looking radiant and proud as hell, as you should be. Now where are those Eat Me candies?”

“There aren’t any Eat Me candies.”

“Well, that’s a disappointment. I guess I’ll have to settle for a leftover cupcake.” He plucks one from a box—that’s all there is left—peels off the wrapper and devours it in two bites, groaning his enjoyment.

When he’s done, we head over to The Knight Cap and enlist the help of his staff to decorate. Much to Ronan’s dismay, I hang mistletoe above the bar and over the tables.

“Aren’t we a little late for this?”

“It’s never too late for mistletoe.”

“Like people don’t already have an excuse to make out on New Year’s; now you’re adding this?” He motions to the pretty sprig tied with a red, gold, and black plaid ribbon hanging from one of the lights above the bar—which I’m standing on top of, while wearing a pair of the steel-toed boots reserved for the axe throwers.

On account of tonight’s festivities and the very high likelihood that many if not most of the patrons will be “super wasted,” as Lars put it, the axes have all been locked away. Standing tables have been set up and stools line the walls so there’s more room for mingling and dancing.

“Oh, come on, don’t be a Scrooge. These should have been up all month!”

“I’m just saying, Lars doesn’t need an excuse to make out with the customers.”

“Maybe some poor shy girl who would never in a million years have the guts to kiss the guy she’s interested in will find herself under this mistletoe and end up kissed by her very own Prince Charming.”

“More likely a bleary-eyed, horny, drunk guy, but I get that you’re throwing off your wonderland vibes tonight and prefer to live in a land of fairy tales and make-believe where college guys aren’t a bunch of dirtbags.”

“Were you a dirtbag?” I ask. Ronan is flirty, but not in a slimy way.

“Not as a general rule, no.”

I move down the bar to the next hanging light so I can wrap the glittery garland around it, affixing yet another sprig of mistletoe. “So that means you occasionally were a dirtbag.” It’s more statement than question.

“I’m not perfect, and I was once a drunk, horny twentysomething. Try not to judge me too harshly.”

I move on to the next light. “How old were you when you started with the body art?”

Ronan hands me another set of ribbons. “When I was eighteen, but it wasn’t until after I lost my parents that I started on the sleeves. Why?”

“I bet the college girls loved you, all tatted up and badass.” I tap my lip. “And I’m sure that hasn’t changed at all.”

He barks out a laugh. “Lars is more the college girl catnip.”

I glance at Lars and shrug. “I mean, he’s a cute kid, and I’m sure there are plenty of college girls who would fall all over themselves to get his attention, but he’s got the grace of an elephant trying to be a ballerina when he’s hitting on women. I mean, he told me he’d love to take a ride on the cougar express.”

Ronan’s jaw drops. “He said what?”

“It was a joke.” At least I’m going to pretend it was.

“Like hell it was. When did he say that? Was it recently? It better not have been recently.” If looks could kill, Lars would be the ashy remains of a cremated corpse.

I prop a fist on my hip. “I think it was actually meant as a backward compliment.”

“He was trying to get into your pants, like he tries to do with every single female he encounters that he isn’t related to. Or under your skirt, since I’ve never seen you in a pair of pants. Ever.” His gaze moves over my legs. I’m wearing a pair of sparkly tights.

“So really you’re saying he’ll screw anything with a pulse, no matter what she looks like?”

“He’s not very discerning.”

“Well, thanks.” That’s a blow my ego certainly doesn’t need from the guy I’m crushing on. “I know I’m not a model-esque, highly fashionable beauty queen, but I’m not an ogre, either!”

“I didn’t mean that you’re unattractive—”

“No, just that Lars will bone anyone with a vagina, so don’t be flattered that he hit on me. I get it.” I’ve reached the end of the bar and crouch so the jump down isn’t as far. The last thing I need tonight is to roll an ankle. I’m super tired and stressed about the event tonight, and for whatever reason the whole Lars thing gets my back up.

“Let me help you down.” Ronan holds out a hand.

I swat it away. “I don’t need help.”

“Are you serious right now? Why are you suddenly all pissy?”

“I’m not pissy,” I say rather pissily.

“Really?”

“Move out of the way so I can get down.” Now I’m snippy to go with the pissy. And because I’m extra overtired, and maybe a little too hopped up on caffeine, I’m also very close to irrational tears. I better not be getting my period on top of everything else.

“Or you could just let me help you.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” I put a hand on the edge of the bar so I can hop the three and a half feet to the floor.

But before I can make a move Ronan steps closer and wraps his hands around my waist. I don’t expect him to lift me off the bar, so I tip forward. Grabbing his shoulder, I slide down the front of his body. His very firm, hard, muscular body.

Ronan has a lot of ridges and planes and angles. But as my hips glide down his abs I’m suddenly aware of a very significant, prominent lump as I make the trip past his fly.