Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That at Christmas

"Nice guys don't kiss like that..."
She would quote Bridget Jones right now. "Oh yes, yes, we do."
That smile has me ready to prove exactly how nice guys can make her beg, how we're the ones who remember every gasp, every shiver, every way to make her fall apart.

Pro tip: When your best friend sets you up with a temporary nursing position in a small town for Christmas, maybe ask if the local vet happens to be your former video-chat almost-boyfriend—the one you ghosted seven years ago while stress-binging iZombie (thank you, commitment issues). Because falling for the guy with shoulders that broad, eyes that intense, a voice that deep—and a heart so good it's downright disarming? That could really screw with your priorities.

Yeah. That would've been nice to know.

Now I'm stuck sharing the honeymoon suite with Dr. Adam "Large Hands" Harrison (thanks, burst pipes), and let me tell you—those hands are even more impressive in person. He's got my anxiety-ridden Great Dane rolling around for him and my usually-hostile dachshund wearing a Santa hat.

Traitors, both of them.

Between saving lives at the clinic, dodging Sally's mistletoe schemes, and trying not to think about how Adam seems hell-bent on proving my ex wrong about "Ice Nurse" Foster by making my every romance novel fantasy come true, my carefully constructed "focus on your career" walls are crumbling faster than a sugar-rushed kid's gingerbread house.

They say Christmas is a time for second chances. But am I, Eve "Stubborn" Foster (his words, not mine), ready to risk my heart on the nice-guy vet who's been haunting my Taylor Swift playlist for seven years?

(Spoiler alert: Nice guys are the most dangerous of all. And those large hands? Definitely worth the wait.)