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It intrigues her more than anything. Surprises her, for sure, but the word she'd use is intrigue. Mel watches Langdon run between the trees, his tracks in the snow and the snow under his tracks. For a moment, she worries he'll trip over his boot laces or even a pinecone. She also worries he'll end up at work if he keeps running with the axe.
He is not one for precaution around Christmas trees.
Soon enough, he pulls her by the hand to introduce her to the spruce that's going to live in their foyer until ... March, realistically.
Langdon swings the axe right in. He's bundled up so his ear muffs shake at every blow. Even if Mel can't see it, she knows his muscles are pulled taut under his coat, flexed and ready to deliver another blow. Her eyes gloss over like they're X-ray. It sends a shiver south.
"Let me take you home, sweetheart."
"Me or the tree?"
"The tree, obviously. Unless you want to be tied to the car too." He quirks a brow. Flirtatious. She laughs at his insanity.
Mel is a summer girl through and through, but she'd let Langdon pull through a million Christmas tree farms. Only if it means he never quits tackling her to the ground and kissing her into the snow, next to the tree he just knocked down.
Some part of her wonders if the little one will have his holiday spirit too. Speaking of—she should probably mention that soon.