Stuck With You: A Christmas Romance

by Lara Swann

  Stuck With You

  A Christmas Romance

  Lara Swann

  Copyright © 2020 Lara Swann

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Image: Photo Credit Oleh Phoenix, Shutterstock.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogue and everything else are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to people or events, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Mailing List

  More Books by Lara Swann

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Lauren

  “This place is pretty isolated.” The driver says, his tone light and friendly as he glances up into the rear-view mirror to meet my gaze. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay all alone up here?”

  “Isolated is exactly what I’m looking for.” I say with a smile, before looking out at the landscape again, hoping to get a first glimpse of the small cabin I’ve rented.

  It’s beautiful out here, with light snow still falling onto the blanket of whiteness that glistens as it stretches away from us to either side of the small track, disappearing into the fading light. A few scattered trees provide shadows and outlines that make it feel even more otherworldly and enchanting - totally removed from the rest of my world - and with every moment that the car advances carefully forward, I become more certain that I've made the right choice.

  “Ohh. You’re one of those.” He says, with a knowing chuckle. “Okay then - but take a card anyway. Aspen is gorgeous at this time of year and there’s always a lot going on - it’s a good place to take a look around even if you’re not into all of the festivities of the season. I’ll be working over the holidays, so give me a call if you do want to venture into town at any point.”

  “Thanks.” I say, reaching over to take the card that he hands back to me, a smile playing around my mouth. He’s not quite right about me there. “I might just take you up on that, you know.”

  It’s not the festivities that I’m trying to get away from this year. It’s the people.

  “Great. I’m Max, by the way - and I’ve got the best cabs in Aspen - ask anyone, they’ll tell you. There’s not many that will brave coming up this way in winter, but I’ve been doing this all my life.” He says, in the same warm manner that makes me smile, before turning the car in a wide, slow arc, taking care on the scattering of snow before bringing it to a stop. “Here we are.”

  He gets out to open the trunk and I follow automatically, fumbling with my wallet as the cool wind blows my hair back and snow swirls around me, before finally glancing up and then pausing, confused.

  “Ah…”

  The scene around me looks the same as it has for the last fifteen minutes. White snow, a vague road and darker outlines of trees surrounding us in the fading light. There’s no cabin in sight.

  “Yeah, I know.” Max gives me a wry smile, pulling my case out of the trunk and handing it over to me. “Doesn’t look like this is it, does it? But see there—the track narrows—that’s the path that leads up to the cabin. If it were summer you’d see it easily. The guy who built this place - Greg, he’s a friend of mine - swears that tucking it around that corner and out of sight of the road adds to the charm of the place.” He shakes his head. “If you ask me, it just confuses everyone I bring up here. Go a little bit further along that path and you’ll see it. Don’t worry. I’ll wait here with the car in case you have any trouble - and keep the headlights on for you too.”

  Now that he points it out, I can see the path he’s talking about through the light snow settled across it and I nod, taking my bag with just a little trepidation.

  “Thanks.” I say again, offering him a grateful smile and tipping him well before I start up the path.

  Well, you did want somewhere rural and out of the way for Christmas this year…

  That thought doesn’t quite dispel the slight tension as I make my way along the path Max pointed out - maybe it’s a little disconcerting out here all alone, as twilight approaches - but the moment I get past the little clump of trees to my right, that thought disappears. I stop, my breath leaving me in an appreciative sigh as I take in the sight in front of me.

  The cozy wooden cabin is surrounded by a log fence, feeling hidden and totally picturesque in the surrounding snow. Someone has left a light on inside for me, and the warm orange glow at the windows only draws me in closer, excitement tingling through me as I realize that for the next twelve days, this place is all mine.

  Greg was right.

  Hiding the cabin away like this is pretty magical.

  I step forward, my feet crunching in the snow as I make my way up the path. It’s not until I get away from the beam of the taxi’s headlight that I notice the small path lights lining the side of the trail, giving off a faint white glow and only compounding that magical feeling.

  Yeah, I got really lucky with this place.

  Behind me, the light shifts and then the headlights disappear entirely as Max turns around and drives off. I glance around as my eyes adjust to the light and then smile when I realize I’m finally truly alone out here. With a small sigh of relief and a feeling of lightness in my chest, I carry my case up the rest of the path and let myself in through the quaint wooden gate before stopping under the porch.

  The triangular overhang above keeps the light spattering of snow off me as I set the case down and dig out my phone. There are wooden lattices on either side of me with vines crawling up them, interspersed with small, twinkling lights that make it feel like I’ve stepped into another world entirely.

  The person designing this place has simple done an incredible job.

  Which is no doubt why it cost me an arm and a leg to come here.

  Not that I’m regretting it for a moment. This year, I wanted to treat myself.

  I glance through the arrival instructions again - and sure enough, the moment I look up, I see the lockbox attached to the cabin in the dim light. I punch in the code and it springs open…to reveal an empty box. No key. Nothing.

  I frown, glancing around again, and can’t help noticing the orange glow from under the doorway.

  Maybe whoever left the light on for me left it unlocked to make that easier too? I mean, we’re far enough out of the way that I can’t imagine they’d be concerned about theft, but still…

  I try the door just in case - and sure enough, it swings open. I shrug, still frowning slightly as I close up the lockbox again and walk into the cozy open plan living area. Two couches separate off a corner with a large wooden bookcase, fireplace and television just to my right, and there’s a dining table in the back half of the room. Ambient lighting along the walls provides the warm orange glow that invited me in, framing both a door to my left and one further back that must lead to other parts of the cabin.

  A low table in front of the couches has the keys I was looking for sprawled across it, as well as some local magazines and a binder, and my frown turns into a slightly wry smile as I se
e them.

  A nice gesture, but probably not the best idea…I’ll have to mention that to Greg.

  From what I remember of a slightly bumbling phone call to book the place, he seemed like a jovial, friendly character…but maybe not the most savvy.

  I set my bag down and shut the door behind me, shrugging off my jacket and stomping my boots on the mat before removing them. I sigh in relief as I wander over to the table, already eyeing up the fireplace in anticipation as I start to flip through the binder Greg has left me, looking for instructions and helpful information. A warm, crackling fire is exactly the way I want to start this trip…and then some food.

  “Can I help you?”

  I jump at the unexpected voice, recoiling as I look up from the binder to see a half-naked man standing in the doorway opposite me. Steam billows out from behind him and the towel wrapped around his waist does nothing at all to hide the athletic physique of someone who obviously keeps himself in very good shape. Droplets of water glisten on the prominent muscles of his chest, running down the hollows between them in rivulets that draw the eye, and damp hair curls over his forehead from the shower he’s obviously just stepped out of.

  It takes me a moment to recover, and as I look at him in shock, I swear I see an amused glint in the attractive deep blue eyes that gaze back at me, one eyebrow raised. Despite the fact that he’s the one who’s standing there almost buck-naked, I seem to be the one getting flustered.

  “I—uh—who are you? What are you doing here?!” I blurt out, stopping myself from taking a step back.

  There’s something disconcertingly vulnerable about finding a strange man in a place that’s supposed to be all mine, when I thought I was all alone. Even if he is only wearing a towel…or maybe because of that.

  “I’m staying here…” He says, speaking slowly, as if I’m particularly stupid. He waves his hand around at the cabin and I tense up, half-afraid the towel might fall down. “I’ve rented the cabin for the holidays.”

  “No, you—you can’t have done.” I shake my head, still too distracted for my mind to start working properly.

  “Oh?” His lips twitch upward, the hint of a smirk playing across his mouth and I swear this infuriating man is actually amused by all this…and not least by my own inability to form a sentence.

  “This is the cabin I rented.” I say, finally getting my thoughts together enough to explain, and then I hesitate, frowning slightly. “I mean, unless there’s another one around here somewhere, but…”

  “This is the only place for miles around.” He shakes his head. “That’s why I rented it.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” I mutter, slightly irritated. “Look…”

  He’s already moving before I can continue, walking over to the dining table at the back of the room and picking up something I hadn’t noticed sprawled across it before now.

  “Here, I’ll find the reservation for you.” He says, flicking through his cell phone.

  “Oh. Oh right, of course.” I blink, then move to do the same thing, fishing my own cell out of my bag.

  “Here it is.” He continues, before I’ve found my own email confirmation. “Aspen Hideaway Mountain Lodge, right?”

  My stomach drops as I load up my own email to see the same title blazoned across the top.

  “Uh…yeah.”

  He walks over toward me, apparently totally unperturbed that he’s still just wearing that towel, and shows me what he’s looking at. I shift ever so slightly away from him, trying to focus on the phone despite his bare skin being this close to me. The fresh scent of something woody and pleasant wafts toward me and despite my preoccupation with whatever has gone wrong with this booking, I can’t help the tingle of awareness in my body at the physically commanding presence standing right beside me.

  “See here? My confirmation from Booking.com - I’m here through to New Year’s Day.”

  “Me…too.” I repeat, that sinking feeling in my stomach growing. “I’ve got an email here from the owner of this place…Greg Thorne…”

  That counts for more, right? Surely it does.

  “Hm…mine was booked a few days earlier.” He points out, and I glance at the dates on the emails to see what he means.

  Oh c’mon. Damn it.

  “I called earlier than that though.” I say, remembering the phone call. Greg had sounded enthusiastic and bubbly when I’d made the booking, if…well, maybe not the most tech savvy. “It just took a few days for the email to come through…”

  I glance up at him and for a moment we just look at each other, pausing in uncomfortable silence as we realize we’ve reached an impasse. Obviously, with our whole holiday plans at stake, both of us are standing firmly by our claim to the place and…it’s hard to deny we both do have a claim.

  There’s been a mistake somewhere.

  “Well…” I say, stepping back and trying to break some of the awkward tension. “Why don’t I call him up - Greg - and explain what’s going on? Maybe he can resolve this.”

  Mr. Half-Naked Towel Guy - whose name I still don’t know - takes a moment, before finally nodding. “Hm. Okay.”

  He steps back himself, withdrawing to the other side of the couch and leaning against the wall next to the door he came through, watching me intently. I wish he’d go and put some clothes on instead - his intensity only serves to multiply the butterflies in my stomach - but I try not to notice that as I dial the number in my email. I can’t blame him for wanting to listen to the call as much as I want to be the one making it.

  “Hello?” Greg picks up on the third ring. “This is Greg.”

  “Hi!” I start, a little too enthusiastically. I won’t deny I’m hoping he might remember talking to me, however long ago it was, and that might give me an edge over dark-stranger-towel-guy’s impersonal internet reservation. I mean, I’d feel bad about it too, but this is my Christmas vacation we’re talking about—the one I so desperately need. I’m not sure I could cope if it went so badly wrong on top of everything else.

  “This is Lauren - Lauren Moore - I called a few months ago and booked your Aspen Hideaway Mountain Lodge for the Christmas period—”

  “Oh yes, yes of course. You found it alright? Everything okay with getting settled in up there?”

  “Ah, well, actually…” I glance up at the stranger still looking at me, trying to feel relieved at Greg’s friendly attitude and lack of any obvious concern. Hopefully that’s a good sign. “I just arrived and, well, there was someone else already here. A man—”

  “Tristan. Tristan Moore.” The stranger interjects, giving me his name for the first time, and I glance at him again before repeating it.

  “Tristan Moore.” I clarify. “He says he’s booked the cabin too…”

  “Oh…” Greg says, and just that tone is enough to give weight to all the fears I’ve been trying to ignore. “Oh…he does?”

  “Yes.” I say, wishing I could hear some kind of confidence or certainty in Greg’s voice. “He booked it through a website - Booking.com, I think—” A quick glance at Tristan’s nod confirms it. “—yes, Booking.com. Whereas I called you a few months ago and got an email confirmation directly…”

  There’s a muttered curse on the other end, and the sound of movement.

  “Yes, yes.” Greg says distractedly. “Damned websites. Okay, I—ugh, I’m very sorry about this, Lauren. Will you give me a few minutes? I’ll look into it down here, try to work out what’s happened, and then come up to talk to you both. Is that okay?”

  “Ah…yes. Yes, of course. We’ll…see you in a bit.” I look at Tristan as I say it, and he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t otherwise interrupt as Greg hangs up the phone, leaving me not at all confident how this is going to play out.

  “He’s going to look into it and then come up to talk to us.” I say in answer to Tristan’s unspoken question, then sigh and sink into the couch. “It sounds like there’s been some mix up with the website or something.”

  Tristan doesn’t say anythi
ng for a moment, then finally nods, his expression unreadable. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “No.” I agree, feeling just as concerned as he seems to be.

  Tristan shrugs. “Well, nothing we can do right now. Let me know when he arrives?”

  I nod and then Tristan disappears back into what I assume is the bedroom - what was supposed to be my bedroom - and I sigh again as I settle in to wait, feeling far less comfortable or confident than I had only a few minutes ago.

  This wasn’t how I was hoping to start my ‘getting away from it all’ vacation. Not at all.

  Chapter Two

  Lauren

  Greg arrives almost an hour later.

  A totally awkward hour that I could have done without, sitting idly while knowing there’s a total stranger in the next room and sensing the tension slowly building between us as both of us wonder how all this is going to play out. At least, I’m pretty sure the tension is there. It certainly is on my end - and how could he be feeling anything else - but since he doesn’t come back out while we wait, it’s impossible to tell for sure.

  I find myself torn between wishing he’d come out so that we can make a couple of jokes about how awkward this is and dispel some of that feeling, and being quite glad that he doesn’t because I’m not entirely sure what to make of him at all. I can’t get the image out of my head of him standing there nonchalantly in a towel while he challenges me, that somewhat intimidating presence he has…and those seriously impressive abs. It’s probably for the best that he stays in the bedroom.

  My bedroom. Ugh.

  I try to distract myself with the brochures of all the fun activities around Aspen at this time of year and browsing the cozy-looking books left on the shelf by various guests, but it’s hard to focus on any of that with the nagging concern in the back of my mind that this isn’t going to work out. Eventually, after an interminable amount of waiting, there’s finally a knock on the door.

  Tristan reemerges without me having to call him - thankfully finally wearing clothes - and I answer the door to a very apologetic looking, red-faced man.