Snowed in for Christmas

by Adams, Noelle

  He shook his head. “But I would get a tattoo with you. About our kid, about each other. About anything.”

  “Not each other.”

  His smile grew, more on one side than the other. “Not taking that chance?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “But maybe the baby’s initials, worked into something...” She took a deep breath, her heart suddenly pounding again. “We have to name the baby.”

  “At some point before he or she arrives, yep.”

  “We have to agree on a name.”

  He laughed out loud. “Now you’re just inviting trouble.”

  “Seriously, Tom. What would you want to name a baby?” She scrambled to her knees.

  He rolled onto his side and lazily swept his hand over her naked thigh. “Whatever you want.”

  “That is not how real life works. I suggest Finnegan and you veto it. That’s how real life works.”

  “Finnegan Davis Minelli is a mouthful,” he said wryly. “But veto is a harsh word. I’d rather convince you there are alternatives that don’t remind people of puppets from childhood.”

  She gasped. “It’s a good name.”

  “Great name. How about Hank?”

  “No. Veto. Hard veto.”

  “Hank Williams, come on.”

  She shook her head.”

  “Johnny.”

  “As in Cash?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are all your suggestions going to be vintage country music signers?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  He slid his fingers up over her hip and onto her soft belly. “We have time for serious later. I’m having fun right now. And so are you.”

  “Am I?”

  He circled her navel, then stroked lower. “Are you?”

  “What about Hazel?”

  “I like it.”

  “Then we better have a girl.”

  “I like Mabel better.”

  “That was a secret veto on Hazel, wasn’t it?”

  “You learn fast.” He stopped trying to distract her with sex and stretched his arms wide on the bed. That was distracting, too, though. She loved his body. The rough honestness of it, the parts that were strong because of endless work, the parts that were pale for the same reason. The sun-kissed parts were lovely, too. But she’d demanded a conversation about baby names, and now she was going to get one. “Okay, Hazel or Finnegan. Those are your top choices?”

  “You say that like they’re preposterous. And yours are Hank and Johnny, so you don’t have much of a judgement leg to stand on.”

  He gave her a look of soft, mock reproach. “And Mabel.”

  “We aren’t sure if we believe that one was suggested in good faith.”

  “It was.”

  “Oh, then I like it. Mabel Davis Minelli.”

  He blinked up at her. “Damn, that’s good.”

  It really was. She tumbled to the side again and laughed. “Wow. The baby that Christmas named.”

  He followed, nestling his face into her hair. “I will tell her about this someday. The PG-13 version.”

  “How her name was almost Hank Williams Minelli?”

  “Hank Davis Minelli.”

  “You keep doing that. Adding my name in there.”

  “I like it that way.”

  “Good. Me too.” She yawned again. “We should get up and make breakfast.”

  He nodded. “We could. Or you could get back down here and we could go back to sleep, since it’s still dark outside.”

  A much better plan. She curled up against him and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Nine

  IT WAS LATE IN THE morning when they woke up again.

  Late, and bright. Blue-sky bright.

  Tom’s stomach sank as he realized this meant the storm was well and truly over, and it wouldn’t be long before Chloe would be hoping for a plow so she could hit the road.

  So she could leave him behind, and get on with her search for a safe place to be single and pregnant.

  He hated that his town wasn’t that for her.

  But if she weren’t single...

  God, that was such a tempting and dangerous thought. It was way too soon. It could take him a year, he knew that. He’d promised her as much, that he would take it slow and show her he was committed to her. But it would be so much easier if they lived in the same place. The same town, at a minimum, even if not the same house.

  They showered together again, then he put another packet of bacon in the oven before checking his phone.

  When he still didn’t have a great signal, he did a secret dance of joy.

  “How’s your cell signal?” he asked as Chloe came into the kitchen, newly dressed.

  She shook her head. “Not good. I managed to refresh a forecast, but it said storming, and...” She pointed at the sunny sky out the window. “Clearly not accurate. Maybe it was an old forecast, maybe it’s just not right. But either way, I think we’re stuck here another day. Do we have enough bacon?”

  He grinned the biggest shit-eating grin he’d ever grinned in his life. “Oh yeah. We’re good for another two days.”

  She pressed up onto her toes and kissed him right on the mouth. “Excellent.”

  And it was. They played cards, finished their books, traded their books, recreated a scene in the dirty book where Tom went down on Chloe in front of the fireplace because wasn’t that conveniently written—and neither of them checked their phones again the entire day.

  Dinner was bacon sandwiches, which led to a debate about what percentage of their diet could be bacon and bread before it bordered on an imminent heart-health concern, and that led to making out in a chair in the kitchen because they just couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

  By the time they headed outside for their post-dinner walk, Tom was quite convinced this was the best day ever.

  That ended ten steps into their walk, when headlights appeared at the far end of the causeway. The rumble of an engine promised it was a truck, and from the wall of snow being thrown up all of a sudden, pretty clearly one with a plow.

  Tom swore.

  “What?” Chloe shouted.

  “Nothing,” he muttered. “Let’s get back to the porch.” He wasn’t sure he trusted any of his friends or brothers not to run Chloe over.

  The wall of snow curved as the truck cleared the causeway and plowed past his truck, Chloe’s car, and around the corner of the house, pushing as much snow as possible out of the way.

  And when it backed up, the passenger window was rolled all the way down.

  It wasn’t one of his brothers, or his friends.

  It was his sister-in-law, Olivia, and Chloe’s friend Jenna was driving her husband’s truck. “We’re the rescue squad,” Liv said as she hopped down. “Sorry it took us so long, but we couldn’t sneak away without attracting attention because of the storm. Kind of hard to steal a plow when they’re all in use.”

  Sneak away? Rescue?

  Tom bobbled his head back and forth between Chloe and Olivia twice before he realized she wasn’t talking to him.

  She was looking right at Chloe and trying to do some Woman ESP thing with her. With his Chloe. In front of him.

  “We’re fine,” he said. “Thanks, though.”

  Liv nodded, but her gaze was still locked on Chloe. “Are you?”

  He looked at the mother of his future child, who’s mouth was hanging open. She snapped it shut. “Yep. Yeah. We are. All good.”

  “Okay...” Olivia looked back at Jenna, who’d joined them.

  Now he was outnumbered three to one. He could take them, but he wasn’t sure he understood exactly what was going on. They were worried about Chloe, clearly. But she’d said they were fine.

  “So are you heading out soon?” Jenna asked. “Do you need any help packing up here?”

  Chloe blinked. “Uh...”

  For a second, Tom thought she might ha
ve had a change of heart. I’m staying with Tom, she could say. She didn’t.

  “Yeah, in the morning I guess. Do you guys want to come in for hot chocolate?”

  “Sure.”

  “Yes.”

  Both of them swept past him as Chloe opened the door.

  Now it was Tom’s turn to gape, speechless. “I guess I’ll go chop some wood,” he finally muttered, not that anyone was listening.

  “TELL US EVERYTHING,” Jenna said as Chloe put on the kettle. “Why does Tom look like he wants to murder us? He doesn’t want to murder you, does he?”

  “We interrupted their love nest,” Olivia said. “No murders.” She looked at Chloe. “Right?”

  Chloe went to the fridge and got out the milk.

  Jenna sat down. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course she’s not okay.” Olivia had an answer for everything. They could really have this conversation without Chloe. “Tom loves her, but he’s hurt her—clearly—and he hasn’t had enough time to convince her that this time, he’ll do right by her.”

  Chloe dropped the box of hot chocolate she’d picked up. “Wow, that’s creepily accurate, actually. How did you do that?”

  “Practice.” Olivia sat down, too.

  Okay, so they were staying a while.

  That was on her. She’d invited them inside, but she hadn’t known what to do. Telling people to go away was really not her strong suit.

  “Besides, you were...upset...the last time I saw you,” Olivia continued. “And now you look...better. Are things on the mend?”

  “So...” Jenna looked back and forth. “This is a good thing? I thought you wanted to get out of town because Tom wasn’t ready to—” She cut herself off.

  Chloe sagged back against the counter. “Oh my God, I can’t handle all of this. Both of you, stop being nosy. I don’t know what’s going on with Tom. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I don’t know where I want to go or when I might leave. Okay? I really just want to...” She trailed off.

  She really just wanted to have another snowball fight with Tom.

  Anything beyond that was still terrifying for her. Sure, last night they’d talked about baby names, but that had been a sex-fuelled hormonal connection thing. That wasn’t real.

  She might call the growing fetus Hank Williams, though. That had a certain ring to it.

  She looked at her friends. Really looked at them. “Who else knows about me?”

  Olivia shrugged. “About the fight? Or about the baby? Not many on the first point, and I think just the two of us on the second.”

  Chloe gaped at her friend. “How did you know I was pregnant?”

  “You were a hot mess and mainlining saltines when I saw you. I’ve been there, done that. And then Jenna didn’t need a reason why we had to come and rescue you, so I figured if you’d confided in the midwife and not me...”

  Chloe laughed weakly. “I will never, ever cross you again.”

  Liv smiled. “Hey. Your secret’s safe. I promise. I don’t know if Tom told Zander, but I think he’d be the only other person. I didn’t tell Rafe.”

  Jenna nodded. “I haven’t told Sean. Some secrets, husbands don’t need to know about. Zander probably doesn’t follow that same rule, so maybe Faith knows?”

  Four people. And Tom had been right. The world was still standing.

  Chloe took a deep breath and held it until she started to see spots at the edges of her vision. “I don’t know what to do,” she finally burst out. “At all. I was freaking out, and then—” The kettle boiled, and she cut herself off to make four cups of cocoa. She set two of them in front of her friends.

  Both of them were looking at the other two mugs sitting side-by-side on the counter.

  She shrugged. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Olivia gave her a dorky smile. “I think it does.”

  “He’s outside chopping wood. He’ll be cold when he comes in.” His big, strong hands would be red and rough, and they’d wrap around the mug and warm up so when he touched her, they wouldn’t be ice cold.

  She was selfish, that was all. She didn’t want freezing hands on her skin.

  Except if Tom wanted to...

  She closed her eyes.

  Jenna coughed.

  Olivia sighed.

  Chloe opened her eyes and both of her friends were grinning. “Shut up,” she said. “Shut up, drink your hot chocolate, and get out. I’m not ready to be rescued yet.”

  “BYE, TOM!”

  He set the axe down and turned around in time to see Olivia and Jenna pile into the truck they’d rode in on not that long ago.

  He lifted his hand to wave goodbye, and a snowball pelted him on the shoulder.

  Without looking back, he leaned down, made his own ammunition, and then spun on one foot.

  Chloe was nowhere to be found.

  It was dark, and he was far enough from the house that there were long shadows around the trees and between the windows. She could have come out the front, where her friends left, but probably...

  He pivoted and stalked toward the mudroom on the back of the cottage.

  Another snowball sailed in his direction and he batted it out of the way. “So this is how you want to go,” he yelled out. “In battle?”

  “Always,” she called back, and then he saw her, just a blur, sprinting around the side of the house.

  He gave chase, and when he rounded the corner she was waiting for him.

  Her eyes bright, her stance wide. Her smile huge.

  “Hey,” he said. He was grinning, too.

  “You’re going down.” She stepped back and wound up.

  He lobbed an easy one right at her chest. She twisted to avoid it and he pelted the other snowball he had ready right at her ass.

  She tumbled sideways into the snow, and he pounced, ready to declare victory. But Chloe played dirty, and she was waiting with a pile of fluffy cold stuff to shove in his face and then, as he howled in protest, down the back of his coat.

  “Take that,” she crowed, climbing on top of him. “What do you say?”

  “I love you.”

  Her smile dropped and she gave him a wide-eyed stare. “What?”

  “I love you.” He struggled to sit up in the snow, with her perched on top of him like a pleased kitten. He gave up. Flopping back, he sank a bit further into the snowbank as he looked up at the sky. “I love this woman, and I’m tired of keeping that secret inside! I. Love. Her.” He looked back at Chloe. “Do you hear me?”

  “I think everyone north of town hears you,” she whispered.

  “I know it’s too soon to say it again, but it’s true. And I think you should know it, because it might help you make a decision.”

  “What decision is that?”

  “I will follow you anywhere you want to go. I know I stumbled when you told me about the pregnancy, but nothing is more important than you and the baby. I think you should let me move with you. Wherever you want to go. I can take a leave of absence from work.”

  “What?”

  “I have to follow you. Wherever you go, like a creeper. Except a creeper who will respect your boundaries and live arms-length away, whatever you want. But damn it, Chloe, if we’re going to do this, I need to be near you to do it.”

  “What would you tell people?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care. People can get fucked is what people can do. They don’t matter. You matter. Our baby matters, and snowball fights matter, and I love you. That’s it. That’s as real as it gets.”

  “That’s pretty real.”

  “Also, I’m freezing my nuts off right now.”

  She scrambled off him and held out her hand. “Come on.”

  He jumped to his feet, suddenly feeling ten feet tall. She hadn’t run away screaming. Maybe there was some hope for this new plan. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

  “Right now, I just want you to follow me inside and get dried off.” She laughed and shook her head. He was pretty sure she
muttered something else under her breath, but she didn’t let go of his hand.

  Inside, she dragged him over to the fireplace, and then left him there. She disappeared, then returned a moment later with a cup of hot chocolate. “Here,” she said, shoving it into his hands. “This is still warm.”

  “Thanks...” He watched in confusion as she stripped out of her own winter gear. “Do you want some cocoa?”

  “I have a cup, too. Be right back.”

  She was scurrying, that was the weird vibe. And she wasn’t looking at him.

  Slowly, he laid his wet stuff by the fire and found a new, dry shirt for himself. “Do you want to wear one of my shirts,” he asked, turning around.

  Chloe had stripped all the way down, and was wearing just a tank top and a pair of panties. “Sure.” She smiled and reached for the flannel shirt in his hand. “This one looks cozy.”

  His brain scrambled to keep up.

  He leaned down to grab another shirt from his bag and his gaze caught on the cardboard box he’d stubbed his toe on two nights ago. “Hey.” He reached out, caught her wrist as it popped out the arm of his shirt. “You look good, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” She searched his face. “What is it?”

  He sat on the couch and pulled her on top of him, her legs spread so she was straddling his lap. “You haven’t opened your presents yet.”

  She looked sideways at the offending box. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not true.” He rubbed his fingertips over her belly. “Yes you did.”

  “Tom...”

  “Shhh. I want you to open your presents.”

  “I don’t feel right. I know you got them for me before—”

  He cut her off, kissing her lips until she softened against him. “You don’t know anything,” he whispered. “On the when or how or what of the present situation, that is. I didn’t buy any of them until after you told me you were pregnant.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “We didn’t have that kind of relationship.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and he kissed her again, enjoying the sweetness of her surprise. “That’s what I thought when you gave them to me,” she said softly. “I was like, you big jerk, I didn’t get you anything, we don’t have that kind of relationship.”