I’ve been delivering the milk from my father’s dairy farm since I turned sixteen.
Now twenty-one, the route in our small mountain town of Linesworth, WA, is filled with regulars.
Including the rugged, bearded hottie who just moved into the cabin at the end of Cookie Lane, who orders six bottles of whole milk each week.
When I’m in his driveway and a snowstorm hits on Christmas Eve, all hell breaks loose.
I didn’t think this mountain man even knew who I was – turns out he has been ordering all that milk for one reason.
He isn’t just thirsty. He’s parched.
And the only thing he wants to drink is me.