Snowed in for Christmas

by Adams, Noelle

  She nodded. “Oh. That. No, we’re not going to talk about that. Not until after coffee.”

  He rocked his jaw back and forth, half-smiling, half-glowering. “Sure. We’ve probably got tons of time, anyway.”

  She shook her head. “You have a giant truck. We are not snowed in here. You can leave whenever you’ve said whatever it is you came here to say.”

  “You just said you didn’t want to talk yet.”

  That tripped her up.

  “But when I go, I think I should take you with me, because it’s not safe for you to stay here without any food or a functional winterized vehicle.”

  “You aren’t taking me anywhere.”

  “Then I guess we’re staying here.”

  “We’re not staying here. I’m staying here. You can—”

  He put his Thermos lid down on the counter. “I’m staying. Either in here or in the cab of my truck. Your choice.”

  “That’s a terrible choice,” she exclaimed. She was mad at him, but she wasn’t evil. “I’d feel bad if you froze to death.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Go home, Tom.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I need to make this right. I’ve messed up, and there’s a lot we need to talk about, and I’m worried about you.”

  There it was. And it was all there, too. All the things one should say when one has pissed off one’s pregnant...person.

  She wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t his anything—by her own choice. But still he was trying to make it right, and how could she explain to him that it was still so much more complicated than he imagined?

  Sharp, agonized longing stabbed in her chest. She wanted him to be this guy, for real and not out of some misguided sense of righteousness. But he was a thirty-three-year-old man who had never shown an whiff of interest in a wife and kid before this week. He’d loved the casual, no-strings sex she’d offered him because deep down, it was all he’d ever really wanted. He had lots of romantic notions and no real commitment to day-in, day-out relationships.

  None of this was the right thing for him. He was going to sacrifice himself on the mantle of masculinity because he thought that’s what she wanted.

  It wasn’t.

  “There’s nothing to make right here,” she said tightly. “You’re right. We do need to talk. I haven’t had a chance to gather my thoughts, though, and I don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

  Fingers shaking, she refilled her mug, and then stalked back into the living room in search of her crackers.

  Tom followed.

  She didn’t offer him any saltines.

  “So...crackers and hot chocolate and a stack of books. That’s what you have here?”

  She gestured at the unlit logs she’d carefully stacked in the fireplace the night before. “It was all supposed to be in front of a roaring fire, but I forgot matches.”

  “I’ve got a lighter in the car.”

  She wanted to decline the offer. The company. All of it. Go away, her hormones raged.

  But she also wanted a fire. And they needed to talk.

  “Chloe?”

  “What?”

  “Can I light the fire for you?”

  She exhaled roughly. “Yes. Please. Thank you.”

  He nodded, his gaze unreadable. “I’ll be right back.”

  She followed him to the door, and when he opened it, she groaned. A squall had blown up outside.

  Tom raised his eyebrows at her. “What did you say? There’s no need to be dramatic?”

  “Where is this all coming from?”

  Tom looked up at the sky, thick with clouds dropping even more snow on them. “The goddess of being snowed in with your favourite person?”

  There was something in how he said it that made her squirm. Something familiar that pricked at her resolve. “I am not your favourite person.”

  “Yes, you are.” He zipped up his coat and dashed down the steps before she could reply.

  She stayed at the door and watched him jog through the silent blanket of snow now falling heavily. She couldn’t even see the lake on either side of the causeway.

  The question of whether or not he should stay was moot.

  Now he’d have to stay until it stopped. Merry Christmas, you doofus, she told herself. This felt like an awful trap she’d set for herself, because what did she expect Tom to do? Just leave her be?

  Yes. That would have been nice.

  Ugh, except there had been that wee pulse of happiness when he’d shown up.

  It was a week late, though.

  But it was something. When she heard the rumble of his truck, she’d jumped up, knowing it was him, and before she remembered she was mad at him, that had made her day. That was only natural, of course. He’d been a person who’d brought her a lot of happiness over the last year. Usually in the form of orgasms, but sometimes just laughs. Some company.

  Mostly orgasms.

  The more she thought about it, they hadn’t had much in common other than sex. She’d kicked herself out of his place pretty soon after, every single time.

  She hadn’t even bought him any Christmas presents. She glared at the box he’d brought in on arrival.

  That just wasn’t their deal, and how dare he pretend otherwise?

  She grabbed the box and moved it out of the way, pushing it against the staircase as reckless outrage surged inside her. She felt like she was on an emotional rollercoaster the likes of which she’d never experienced before. It wasn’t fair to be outraged, though. Tom hadn’t asked for this situation any more than she had. He was trying to make the best of it in the only way he knew how—it just wasn’t the way that would work for her. Tell him that. Breathe. Calm down.

  Easier said than done.

  Especially when Tom returned from his truck, and he didn’t just have a lighter. He had a full gym bag over his shoulder and a canvas shopping bag in his hand.

  “What’s all that?”

  He gave her a tight smile as he stepped in the cabin. “Supplies.”

  For what? But he turned away before she could ask him that question. And besides, she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

  Tom shrugged out of his coat, hung it on a hook on the wall, then crouched in front of the fireplace.

  Okay, it was time to play dumb. She closed the door and lifted her voice. “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t look away from his task. “I’m lighting the fire for you.”

  So he was being literal about this. Fine. She’d meant in general. With the supplies. This tracking-her-down business. She watched the muscles play on his back, the soft cotton of his shirt bunching as he flexed effortlessly beneath it. “Are you rearranging the logs?”

  He paused. “Nope. They were perfect the way they were.”

  She craned her neck. He was totally fixing her log set-up.

  With a final adjustment, Tom lit the fire, then stood and turned around. “Can I make you something more substantial than crackers? I brought bacon and orange juice.” Behind him, the kindling popped and sizzled as the flames grew.

  Maybe it would go out. It wouldn’t, but a girl could hope the park ranger would have an off day.

  She glared at him. “Why are you being so nice?”

  “Because I wasn’t nice before and I have to make up for that. So how about some bacon?”

  Chapter Four

  TOM KNEW HE WAS SKATING on thin ice with Chloe. Somehow, somewhere, they’d gone wrong, and it wasn’t when she’d realized he wasn’t prepared to hear she was pregnant. It was long before that.

  He needed to figure out where that point was and bring her back to that fork in the road. He wanted to try another path, but right now, that seemed like an impossible fantasy.

  So he was cooking bacon. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  He’d found a baking sheet in the warming tray under the oven, and when he’d packed up, he’d thrown his winter camping gear in
the truck just in case she’d refused to let him stay inside—so he had a frying pan, too. Score one for the outdoorsy pack rat, he thought to himself.

  He used that to keep the bacon warm while he made toast in the oven.

  As he was buttering the last slice of that toast, Chloe came into the kitchen. She wiggled her now empty mug. “I’ve had coffee now, if you want to talk over breakfast.”

  He nodded slowly. “Sure. Yeah. Thanks.”

  She moved around him, grabbing his empty Thermos lid cup on her way to the sink. After she rinsed them out, she poured them both orange juice from the carton he’d had in his fridge at home. “So... I’m pregnant. And you’re the father, by the way, but you’ve got that figured out already.”

  A familiar stab of guilt cut him deeply. She didn’t know what he’d yelled after her last week, but he did, and he regretted it to his core. “I’ve been thinking about nothing else for the last week.”

  “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “I just didn’t hear from you. Must have been some silent thinking.”

  He gave her an exasperated look. He couldn’t help it. “Isn’t thinking usually silent?” Then he realized how that sounded and sighed. “I could have thought faster. I admit that. But I wanted to be sure of what I was going to say.”

  She lifted her chin. “And now?”

  “Now I’m sorry about how I reacted, and I’m grateful to be here to talk about this news, however you want to talk about it.”

  She grimaced and took a big sip of juice.

  That expression sliced through his gut as the worst possibility seemed to loom true. He took a deep breath. “This isn’t good news for you.”

  She shrugged, her gaze guarded. “It’s....complicated.”

  “That’s understandable.” And it was. God damn it, it was. He swallowed any other response he might have because nothing mattered more than acknowledging how much her life had just changed.

  Her eyes shifted back and forth as she searched his face. “You come from a big family.”

  “I also come from a complicated family. The two adjectives go hand in hand sometimes. I can understand messy feelings.”

  “Can you?”

  He clenched his hands into fists. “The messiest. I promise.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m already attached to the idea of a baby. And I’m really surprised at that, I have to be honest. I’ve never wanted kids. I still—right now, in this moment—don’t want to have a kid.” Her voice cracked and she pressed her hand to her belly. “But I will want this baby when it arrives. I will.”

  Inside, he sagged in relief. He hadn’t ruined her life. She wanted this baby. That was the best thing he’d ever heard. “Good. That’s great.”

  “It’s not great.”

  “No, of course not.” Fuck, it was hard to keep up. She laughed, and he joined in. “Come on, Chloe, give me a chance here to say the right thing.”

  She took a deep breath. “There isn’t a right thing to say, though. This is an awkward accident with big consequences. And it’s going to be tough to navigate. Neither of us wanted this.”

  “But I’m responsible, and I want to do the right thing.”

  “Do the right thing, say the right thing... Tom, I don’t think that’s the right way to think about it at all. All I want is for you to be real with me. This is terrifying. I can only imagine what it’s like to have it dumped on you. I’d much rather that you admit that than go radio-silent while you figure out the ‘right’ thing to say.”

  He swore under his breath. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

  “I know.” She shook her head. “Like I said, it’s messy. And if I’m being honest, I don’t think either of us was truly real with the other, and I bear as much responsibility for that as you do. What we had was a lot of fun. But it wasn’t real.”

  His jaw flexed, a hard, painful twitch.

  She didn’t blink and she didn’t look away.

  She wasn’t wrong, but damn it, she was wrong.

  The look on her face said it all, though. He needed to accept this was her perspective right now. She was looking back at their relationship and judging it harshly. He understood that. Their choices had led to her current situation, and she felt alone. Unsupported.

  “So what’s your plan, exactly? You moved out of your apartment.”

  “I need some time away. Time to myself, away from Pine Harbour. I’ll be back, in the area if not the town, but I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  He looked out the window. “I don’t think either of us is going anywhere tomorrow.”

  “I’m leaving at the earliest opportunity, then. I can’t be the knocked-up single librarian in a town of six hundred busybodies, Tom. Don’t ask me to do that.”

  He raised his hands, ignoring the panic that had returned to his body. “I won’t. Where’s your stuff?”

  “A sea container in Owen Sound. I paid for a month of storage. I’ll figure out where I want it delivered when I find a new job.”

  “You quit your job?” He couldn’t believe it. Of all the insane overreactions... “What the hell?”

  “I don’t need to justify myself to you.”

  That tripped him up. No, she didn’t.

  But she couldn’t just leave for good. Could she?

  “It feels sudden,” he said carefully. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  Stay. Fall in love with him. Make it work, even if it was work. It wouldn’t be awful.

  But Chloe wouldn’t settle for not awful.

  And he didn’t want her to. He just didn’t want her to leave, and he wasn’t going to say that again.

  “Right now, I want you to eat breakfast.” He scooped up the plate of food and gestured to the living room. “Come on, let’s eat in front of the fire.”

  She scowled as she followed him into the living room. “I’m not hungry.”

  That was a familiar refrain from her. Chloe was never hungry when she was stressed. At the end of a bad day of work, she wanted sex. She wanted to move her body and work out the frustration through physical release. He’d tried to feed her a few times at his place and it never went well.

  He wasn’t stupid enough to offer sex right now, though. So he set the plate of bacon and toast on the coffee table and went back to the kitchen to get her more orange juice.

  “You need to get away,” he finally said. “Where are you going to go?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s tomorrow’s problem.”

  “Day after tomorrow at the earliest.” Tom hoped it never stopped snowing.

  “Tomorrow,” she repeated stubbornly.

  That just made him feel like he a countdown clock on getting her to change her mind.

  He couldn’t let that thought dominate. It wasn’t helpful. He’d go nuts if he let himself get tangled up in an unreasonable hope for a miraculous turnaround.

  Right now, it was a long shot whether or not she’d eat his toast, let alone agree to stick around and try to work out a whole relationship with him.

  He was used to Chloe being headstrong and opinionated. Not only used to, but he usually found it all very attractive.

  He found it very attractive right now, even as she blithely talked about leaving him in her dust. She was a force of nature.

  But it also made a part of him mad.

  What about him? He had a job here, a life. She had a life here, a great job. Why was she throwing all of that away?

  He couldn’t figure out how to ask her that without making it about himself, though.

  So he let her finish breakfast in silence. She ate a few pieces of bacon, he got up to feed the fire a few times, and eventually she started nibbling on toast.

  Replaying the last week in his mind didn’t bring any clarity.

  Replaying the year that stretched before that in one gorgeous, sexy fever dream didn’t help either. He missed that time already. Had missed it fr
om the second she threw herself into her car and tore away from the training centre.

  He was terrified he’d lost her in that moment, and nothing would ever be okay ever again.

  He didn’t like that feeling at all, so he gathered up the dishes and took them to the kitchen, where he washed them the best he could without a tea towel and left them to drip dry on the counter.

  When he returned to the living room, Chloe was curled on the couch. She watched him cross the room.

  He found it unnerving how she watched him now. It was different from before. She was looking for something different now, that was a big part of it. She was looking for the truth of him, where before she’d been looking for a co-conspirator in an affair. The truth hadn’t had much to do with anything when they were hooking up.

  Now it had everything to do with everything, and he was scrambling to keep up. Never before in his life had he felt so deficient.

  “Do you want to know the truth?” she asked.

  He squatted in front of her, his forearms braced on his thighs. “Of course. I want to be as real as possible with you.”

  “I’m scared,” she admitted.

  That made two of them.

  “I’ve spent the last five years being gloriously, perfectly selfish, and that was a lot of fun. But that time is done, and now I need to figure out how to be a selfless, giving human being again in eight and a half months, maybe less, and honestly, I’m not sure I can do it.”

  “You aren’t selfish.”

  “Shut up.”

  Something in how she said that was a familiar call-back to safer, more familiar ground—shut up and fuck me, maybe—and he responded without thinking. “Now who’s not being real?”

  “I just told you I was scared.”

  “And when I said you aren’t selfish, you pushed back. Take a compliment, Chloe.”

  “How about you?” she challenged. “Are you scared?”

  “Fuck yes. Terrified, because I don’t know how to be a good father. Or a good partner, clearly. So...yeah. But I’m trying here.”

  “Then why does it feel like we’re fighting all of a sudden?”

  She was right. This felt like a tug-of-war neither of them would win. He stood up, too, and they stared at each other. He needed to do something physical. “I don’t know. Let’s take a breather from this.”