by Sivec, Tara
I don’t know what is wrong with me that I feel so weird about Bodhi not being there when I woke up, and it’s annoying the hell out of me. It’s not like I’m all boohoo-ing we didn’t wake up wrapped in each other’s arms with our limbs intertwined like that crap in those books he makes me read to him before bed. I’m not a snuggler unless we’re on the couch watching something on TV. If we’re not having sex, then get the hell away from me and let me sleep comfortably without all your gross body heat and itchy leg hair. I just like waking up and… having him there. And let’s not kid ourselves here—half-asleep, warm-under-the-covers morning sex is the best sex. But did we have half-asleep, warm-under-the-covers morning sex this a.m.? No, we did not. Because I woke up alone, and for fuck’s sake why do I feel like crying?
Probably because I woke up this morning in an empty bed and all of a sudden I had this image of what my life would be like if Bodhi woke up and decided to peace out because he was tired of staying in one place with a woman who is a hell of a lot of trouble. God, I want to punch my own self in the face. I am not this needy.
Get it together, Tiny Tim! At least wait until after Christmas to continue with this emotional insanity.
“Hey, Tess, how did you sleep?”
Blinking out of my daze staring down at my sweatshirt, I look up and find Allie standing next to me in front of the desk with a tray of assorted Christmas coffee mugs in her hands, while Millie speaks to a guest who just came in from outside.
“Best night of sleep I’ve had in a while, thank you,” I tell her, shoving my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie as I follow her when she turns and walks over to the hot chocolate and coffee bar table nestled between two of the Christmas trees and sets the tray down. “Have you seen Bodhi?”
She points to the wide-open archway on the other side of the tree that leads into the dining room. “Look out those windows.”
My eyes follow where she pointed while she goes back to work refilling glass jars with marshmallows, candy canes, and other assorted treats for the bar that were running low on the table. Through the archway and into the dining room, I can see a wall of windows outlined with garland and white lights that face out into the front yard. And through those windows, out in the snow flurries, I see my boyfriend wearing black cargo shorts, a red T-shirt, and big, fluffy red mittens, while he frolics around in a foot of snow with another man.
All I can do is shake my head and smile at how ridiculous he looks out there in a blizzard in shorts and a T-shirt, not even showing a hint of being cold.
“He recruited my husband earlier to go outside and help him build a snowman,” Allie informs me. “They’ve been out there for over an hour now, and just an FYI, there was an intense snowball fight about fifteen minutes before you got down here that my idiot husband got a little carried away with, and Bodhi might have a teensy little bump on his forehead.”
“Oh my God, I’m sorry he took your husband away when I’m sure you probably have a million things he should be doing around here,” I tell her with a quick sheepish smile before my eyes automatically go back out to the windows, because no matter how ridiculous Bodhi looks with what he’s wearing, damn his ass looks good in those shorts.
“It’s fine!” Allie reassures me as I laugh to myself when Bodhi slips on something, his feet shooting out from under him, and he falls flat on that hot ass in the snow. And then he proceeds to start making a snow angel once he’s down there. “Jason gets a little high-strung this time of year, trying to help out at the bed and breakfast as much as he can on top of his regular job. He needed a little break this morning to stop looking at the to-do list in his damn planner and just have fun. Bodhi’s pretty good at that, as you can see.”
I can see Jason out in the snow with Bodhi, now bent over at the waist, pointing and laughing at him, wearing a more winter-sensible outfit of a thick-lined flannel coat on top of a cable knit sweater with jeans and work boots. He’s a pretty good-looking guy if you like the clean-cut, mountain man vibe. That stupid warm and gooey feeling all throughout my body is back, because I do indeed know how good Bodhi is at getting people to stop being so anal, looking at their planners all the time, and just have fun. He’s been doing it to me for the last six months.
“Did you get the goodies Bodhi came down in search of for you earlier? He was so adorable, rushing around in a panic, loading up his arms with everything I offered from the kitchen.” Allie laughs softly as she pulls a mug from the tray and hands it to me before arranging the rest of them neatly in the corner of the table next to a ceramic snowman cookie jar.
I like Allie even more than I did yesterday when she hands me a black mug with Jack Skellington in his Santa suit painted on it, instead of a mug with a regular boring Santa on it. The Nightmare Before Christmas is the only Christmas movie I actually like. And don’t tell me it’s not a Christmas movie. It’s as much of a Christmas movie as Die Hard.
As I pour myself a cup of hot chocolate from the silver carafe, I mumble out a quiet “yep” in reply to her question about the goodies. The annoyance of waking up alone is put on the back burner when Allie’s question reminds me what I found on Bodhi’s pillow when I woke up and rolled over. Even though I woke up to the horror of Santa hippo eyes alone and without the comfort of morning sex, I still have the sweetest boyfriend ever.
I was so dead to the world I didn’t even hear that stupid hippo song when Bodhi left the room in search of breakfast, according to the note he left behind on a piece of Santa hippo paper from the complimentary pad on the nightstand. Along with a bag of assorted Christmas chocolates, a tin of homemade Christmas cookies, a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, a box of Cheez-Its, and a bag of homemade chocolate-covered pretzels, as a “Pre-breakfast warmup so you don’t go downstairs hangry and light a small child on fire. Text me when you wake up, and I’ll meet you in the dining room. Love you the most-est.”
There was definitely something in both of my eyes that made them water as I ate everything—without even sitting up in bed—that my boyfriend went in search of for me, because he knows me so well, and he’s just always thoughtful like that. It was obviously yesterday’s mascara I didn’t give two shits about washing off last night before I passed out in bed that caused the wetness in my eyes. Good thing I took a quick shower before I came down here and that shit won’t be happening again right now, thank you very much.
“Millie, there you are! I need to talk to you about one of the gifts you bought from my list.”
A guest in her early sixties shuffles past Allie and me through the foyer as the other guest walks away from the counter, and Allie finishes refilling a mug with chocolate-dipped spoons covered in crushed-up bits of candy canes.
“Oh, Tess, I forgot to tell you the good news!” Millie claps her hands as the guest sets a white gift box on the counter in front of her. “I have found my true calling while here at The Redinger House, and I have offered up my services as a personal shopper for the guests. You just give me a list, and I’ll hustle over to the civilized part of the mountain where there’s a Starbucks and Prada and get whatever you need. It’s been going superbly; isn’t that right, Barbara?”
The woman gives Millie a sheepish smile. “That’s actually what I wanted to discuss with you, sweetie. I know my handwriting isn’t very easy to read, and I’m sorry about that. On the list I gave you last night, I actually wrote that I wanted a Craftsman cordless drill for Eugene. It’s the only thing that stubborn man asked for this year. He’s not gonna want… this.”
She slides the gift box closer to Millie, and Millie slides it right back with a smile, while I bring my mug up to my mouth. Allie stops me to lean over and squirt a pile of whipped cream on top, adding a couple of shakes of red-and-green Christmas sprinkles before I can stop her, and then zooming right over to the check-in counter like some sort of Christmas cocoa ninja.
“Does someone need a drill?”
For the first time in my life, I actually jump, and scream like a little gir
l, when stalker Sheldon pops up right behind me, the reindeer antlers still perched on top of his bald head paired with a dark-blue Christmas sweater with white reindeer and snowflakes stitched on it.
“I’ve got two cordless drills in my trunk with multiple attachments for drilling into really thick and hard stuff if you need one.”
Do you mean a skull, Sheldon? Is that what you mean?
When no one answers Sheldon, he just shrugs and heads into the living room, and Millie turns her attention back on the guest.
“Oh, Barbara, you’re so precious.” She sighs as I grab a chocolate-dipped spoon and mush all the whipped cream and sprinkles down into the hot liquid. “I once had to read a ransom letter on camera for a Columbian drug lord that was written by his brother-in-law who had an unfortunate hand tremor, due to the knife that was sticking out of his hand while he wrote the ransom letter. Your penmanship was a piece of cake; trust me. Eugene is a good man, and a good man should have a cashmere sweater from Neiman Marcus. Don’t worry. The $1,500 extra I spent is my gift to you. Help me help you help Eugene this Christmas, Barb.”
With a nod and a confused look on her face, Barb takes the gift box and heads into the living room toward the stairs to go up to the rooms, and hopefully nowhere near wherever Sheldon disappeared to while thoughts of sugar plums and skull-drilling dance in his head.
“You have got to stop buying people what you think they should want, instead of what they actually want,” Allie reminds her as Millie waves her away with one perfectly manicured hand.
The two of them bicker back and forth for a few minutes, and it makes me miss my friends. Not enough to get in the rental and head right back to Summersweet or anything, but enough to make me wish they were here for just a second.
Allie stops arguing with Millie long enough to tell me there’s still breakfast food left in the warming trays in the dining room if I want to help myself before she clears everything away and gets ready for lunch. I head through the archway, sipping my hot chocolate as I go, shaking my head and smiling when I glance out the windows to see Bodhi and Jason putting the finishing touches on their giant snowman that is taller than the two of them, before setting my Jack Skellington mug down on an empty table in the middle of the room.
The dining room is as overly decorated as the rest of the house I’ve seen so far, with several small round tables covered in red-and-green tablecloths and mini pine tree centerpieces set up to look like a small restaurant. I grab a plate from the stack at the end of the long table against the far wall and fill it with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, shredded hash browns, a pancake, and some fresh fruit before heading back to my table and digging in. I’m suddenly starving even though I ate almost an entire grocery store junk food aisle no more than a half hour ago.
By the time my plate is empty after one more trip to the breakfast buffet, and I’m happy I had the good sense to put on stretchy pants when I got out of the shower, Bodhi is coming in from his playtime in the snow. He jogs into the dining room as soon as he walks through the front door and sees me sitting in here.
With a ridiculous squeal that makes me glad we’re the only ones in this room as Bodhi nuzzles his freezing-cold nose into the side of my neck, I swat his cold face away until he moves back. He grabs my cheeks with his mitten-covered hands and pulls me in for a quick peck on the lips before flopping down into the chair next to me.
“What’d ya eat for breakfast?” Bodhi nods to my empty plate as I shake my head at his red shirt with a green pot leaf in the middle that says Merry Cannabis.
“The usual.”
“The souls of your enemies? Must be a new menu item Allie added after I ate.” He smiles.
“It was a special.” I shrug.
Bodhi’s smile grows wider, making my heart flutter like it always does when I can see his dimples, as he pulls his mittens off and tosses them onto the table before leaning closer to me to rest his elbows on his bent knees.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“You know I hate surprises,” I remind him, finishing off the glass of orange juice Allie brought out for me after I filled my plate the first time.
“I know. Ever since that one time a girl from your high school shit her pants in front of the entire school when her parents threw her a surprise birthday party.”
“She’s thirty years old, has three kids, and is the CEO of a major corporation, and everyone still calls her Poo-Poo Patty.” I shiver, remembering that cold, dark day our sophomore year.
“I let you torch the hippo pillow in the bathtub before bed last night, didn’t I? Work with me. I promise you’ll love it.”
Bodhi’s smile gets all lopsided and adorable, and I reach out and brush some of his shaggy hair off his forehead. When I notice the small red bump up by his hairline that Allie mentioned from the snowball fight, I lean forward and press my lips to the injury before I even realize what I’m doing.
The shock on Bodhi’s face when I pull back probably mirrors my own WTF expression, because this shit sure is a new freaking development in our relationship, me acting all comforting and… sweet. Gross.
“Did the doctor call yet to tell you I’m dying?” I quickly ask as I drop my hand from holding his hair off his forehead to bring both of us back down to earth and not in some alternate universe where I kiss booboos away.
Bodhi just chuckles and shakes his head at me.
“You’re not dying, and no, he hasn’t called yet. The only call I’ve received was one from Palmer that was just a good five minutes of him screaming at me for leaving him alone with Shepherd. There was a small scuffle last night that resulted in someone falling face-first into a box of glitter, and let’s just say Palmer is going to be very pretty tonight on that follow-up ESPN interview they’re filming of him and Shepherd for the holiday sports special.”
Bodhi grabs his mittens from the table and shoves them in the pockets of his shorts before pulling me up from my chair right as Allie joins us in the dining room, waiting by the doorway that leads into another part of the house.
“I’ll meet up with you when you’re finished with your surprise,” Bodhi tells me, kissing my forehead before grabbing my shoulders, turning me to face Allie, and giving me a gentle push in her direction. “I packed the pointy elf ears. We can have some naked elf fun with them before dinner.”
When Bodhi leaves the room, Allie guides me through to the back of the house to a room that looks like another living room, which Allie tells me is private from guests and just for the Redinger family. It looks like your typical family’s living room at Christmas containing a huge, comfortable-looking sectional with a couple of Christmas throw pillows on it, a tree in the corner with a ton of mismatched ornaments, a crackling fireplace with stockings hanging down from the mantle, and a flat-screen television hanging on the wall above it. With the snow falling heavily outside through the windows on either side of the tree, the dark clouds blanketing the sky make it feel like dusk instead of early afternoon, and it’s actually kind of nice and cozy. The only thing out of place in this living room is a big massage table right next to the fireplace.
“Welcome to your private, two-hour relaxation massage given by Christen Powers, one of the best masseurs in Snowfall Mountain,” Allie informs me as a younger blonde woman gives me a small wave from where she’s standing at the head of the massage table. “Bodhi gave me strict instructions that this massage needed to happen as close as humanly possible to some sort of fire in order for you to be happy. He was very adamant about the fire.”
I chuckle to myself even as the room suddenly gets blurry, blinking rapidly as Allie leaves me to my massage. Once I’m naked and warmly cocooned on my stomach under a pile of heated blankets, I turn my face to the side as Christen rolls down the blankets just enough to start using her magical hands on the backs of my shoulders.
Staring into the flickering flames and listening to the wood popping and crackling in the fireplace, with Christen massaging me into a coma, my e
yes drift closed with thoughts of fires and first dates blazing through my mind.
CHAPTER 6
Tess
“My little firestarter.”
Six months ago
“…and then my ass and my dick were just flopping in the ocean breeze as I ran across the sand and dove into the water to start a new life.”
The hot, homeless-looking surfer and professional caddie I agreed to a date with gives me a lopsided smile that turns my legs to jelly, while I stand here leaning my back against the railing on the upper deck of the Summersweet Island ferry, just blinking at him.
“I know, you’re still shocked about the short hair thing, aren’t you? It’s hard to imagine me without a head of glorious, shaggy golden locks.”
He runs a hand through those glorious, shaggy golden locks, and I just shake my head at him.
“I’m actually shocked our first date started literally ten minutes ago down on the ferry dock, and I already know your entire life story,” I reply. A blast of the ferry horn signaling we’re getting ready to leave the dock punctuates my point as I continue to shake my head at him. “That’s really what you want to lead with on a first date, huh?”
It’s actually pretty genius he led with that damn Christmas Eve story. Even though I’m still in shock that we no more than got our tickets and walked up here to the top deck before he started word-vomiting, I just want to wrap my arms around him and hug the hell out of him for what a shitty father and miserable earlier existence he had. And I’m not a fucking hugger. Gross.
Bodhi turns around to rest his arms on the railing and look out at the ocean as the ferry’s engine revs, and it slowly starts to pull away from the dock. I turn and do the same, refusing to acknowledge the goose bumps that pop up all over my body, when Bodhi slides his arms down the railing a few inches to close the distance between us, until the side of our arms are pressed together.
