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I pull his sweatpants off only enough to expose his cock. His skin is warm under my hands. He’s already hard, so I take him into my mouth without preamble, loving the small, helpless sounds he makes.

“Foster.”

I take my time and use every trick I know because after ten years of getting to know Griffin Hall, I can read him like a book. I watch his face until he stops being able to keep his eyes open and then I hollow my cheeks and suck him to the back of my throat.

He comes with a soft, broken sound and my name on his lips.

I stay on my knees for a moment after. My cheek on his thigh. His hand still in my hair.

I stand and hold my hand out. He takes it, then follows me to his bedroom.

“Can I return the favor?” he asks, but he yawns at the same time.

“That’s not why I’m here, Finn.” I strip down to my boxers and settle behind him with my chest against his back and my arm around his waist. His hand comes down and finds mine, weaving our fingers together.

“Are you staying the night?” he asks, his voice already slurred.

“I can’t.”

He sighs.

“Just close your eyes, Finn. I’ve got you.”

His breathing evens out within a few minutes. I stay behind him with my hand curled around his and my face pressed into the back of his hair for as long as I can, warring with myself about whether I should fight temptation or do the right thing.

At one-thirty, I carefully peel myself away. He doesn’t stir, so I dress in the dark and then kiss the top of his head one more time before I leave.

I drive back to Hall Farm with the heat on blast and the sprig of mistletoe in my coat pocket.

I fall asleep at three a.m. with the taste of Finn on my lips and his scent on my skin.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

FINN

The town hall is packed.

Every folding chair is full. People are standing at the back and along the side walls. I recognize almost every face. Mrs. Peterson is in the second row with a notebook in her lap. Marge Harding is next to her, wearing her purple coat like a soldier in uniform. Mr. Barlow from the hardware store is standing near the door with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. Noëlle and Sam are three rows back. Emmett is at the small table next to the podium with his laptop open and his stylus poised over his tablet.

Mayor Caldwell taps the microphone.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you all for coming out. I know it’s cold, and I know you’re all busy, so we’ll keep this as quick as possible. I’m going to hand things over to our events coordinator, Griffin Hall, who’s going to walk us through the plan and take your questions.”

I step up to the podium and take a deep breath, already bracing myself for the incoming questions.

“Thank you, Mayor. And thank you all for being here.”

I keep it short. In a town like Winterberry, all the conversations have happened before we got here today, so I know what they want to know.

I lay out the new location for the Christmas Festival, the safety inspection results, the timeline, the vendor process, and the marketing plan. I tell them the tree lighting will happen on schedule. The parade route has been remapped but will still happen in town. The market and the festival will happen as usual but with a much larger footprint, and we can also run it longer. The festival will end on Christmas Eve.

Then I open the floor.

The first question is disappointing but not unexpected. Emmett told me the latest rumor going around town a couple of days ago.

“Are the Halls being paid to host this festival?”

Mr. Barlow isn’t asking out of malice. He’s just the kind of man who thinks about money first.