Whispers of Winter: A Limited Edition Collection of Winter Romances

by Nicole Morgan

  When we approach the inn, it seems almost magical: the place is alight with twinkling white lights. The sight brings a smile to my frozen face and quickly chapping lips.

  The portly driver unloads my large suitcase and wishes me a Merry Christmas before driving off, leaving me alone to contend with dragging my bags up the stairs and into the inn.

  I struggle to wheel the overburdened suitcase across the cobblestone sidewalk, while juggling my purse and large carry-on bag. I didn’t exactly pack light, but rather for every possible contingency—though being a warm-blooded Floridian, I didn’t realize what this biting cold would actually feel like.

  Once I’m at the base of the stairs, I attempt to pull the suitcase up the first step. It has other ideas and topples backwards, almost taking me with it. I’m able to save myself from embarrassment and possible injury, but my purse and carry-on land in a heap.

  “Let me help you,” says a masculine voice behind me. Turning, I’m struck by ocean blue eyes, which are perfectly placed on a devastatingly handsome face. The hottie is giving me a dazzling smile and I stare, noticing a hint of dirty blonde hair peaking out from his grey knit hat.

  My nipples tighten almost painfully with him so close. Must be the cold. I can’t be affected by a complete stranger, hottie or not.

  “Thank you,” I manage to whisper.

  Shivering, I move away from the suitcase and allow the hottie to approach. As he brushes past me, I can smell the cold radiating off of him, mixed with an intoxicating scent that I can’t place.

  “Are you planning on moving in?” he asks, helping me right my suitcase and handing me my fallen bags.

  “Just here for Christmas,” I say through chattering teeth.

  Could we please save the chitchat until we’re inside? Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been this cold.

  “You don’t have a sensible jacket anywhere in all this crap?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed as he watches me freeze to death before his eyes.

  “Excuse me?” I say irritated at the man’s rudeness. Maybe he isn’t as hot as I first thought. Jetlag must be seriously affecting my judgment.

  “Didn’t you bring another jacket with you? You’re going to freeze in just that fleece,” he says, effortlessly dragging my suitcase up the stairs.

  Following him through the door, I reply tartly, “No, I didn’t. I didn’t realize it was going to be this cold.” Then, feeling like I need to legitimize my thinking, I lamely add, “I’m from Orlando.”

  “So am I, but I still own a proper jacket,” he says. Looking him over, I’ll admit his dark grey wool jacket looks a lot warmer than what I’m wearing. A traitorous part of my brain can’t help but wonder what he looks like beneath all the bulky clothing.

  By now we’ve reached the vestibule. Noticing the sign pointing towards reception, I grab the handle of the suitcase from him and reply, “Well, we can’t all be as smart as you! Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Wait, I didn’t mean to sound rude,” he says, seemingly genuine is his apology.

  I’m already cold, tired, annoyed, and not exactly in the most generous mood, so I retort back, “Well congratulations, you did a stellar impression.”

  “Wait, let me help you. Where are you going?” he asks, reaching for the handle of the suitcase again, which I yank out of his reach.

  “I’m checking in. Excuse me,” I say, and then add, “Merry Christmas!” before walking away. I attempt to forget the rude hottie’s effect on me, but the image of his blue eyes and smile seem to follow me.

  Upon reaching reception, I begin the seamless check-in process. All coordinated by Sue, the warm and extremely welcoming receptionist, who seems genuinely thrilled that I will be spending the holiday there.

  While waiting for a porter to be summoned to carry my bags, I’m finally able to take in all of the inn’s wonderful holiday decorations.

  Several Christmas trees stand in various corners of the room. All strung with colorful lights and decorated in an assortment of beautiful ornaments. Wreathes are hung on the windows and doorways, while garlands are strewn along the fireplace’s mantle, where a fire is now blazing. The warm smell of burning wood, fresh pine, and cinnamon fills the air. Just standing in the festive room makes it begin to feel like Christmas.

  A friendly porter helps me drag my luggage up the large staircase, chattering away about the lack of snow. Walking into my room feels like a fairytale come true. The inviting four-poster bed, the small decorated Christmas tree, the electric candles sitting on the windowsills, and the fireplace with a pile of chopped wood waiting to be used next to it.

  Suddenly I remember why I journeyed all this way, and smile brightly. Who knows, maybe I’ll get my white Christmas after all.

  I take my time settling into what will be my home for the next few days. I hear the chime on my cellphone, alerting me to an incoming text. After digging it out of my purse, I read the message from my sister.

  Jessica: WTF? Aren’t you in VT? Love you >

  I quickly reply to her text.

  June: Yes, inn=beautiful. Can’t wait 4 the spa 2morrow! Have fun in TX ;)

  Even though the bathtub looks inviting with its jets and assortment of complimentary bubble baths, I decide to take a refreshing shower. I need to rinse off the smell and feel of the airplane.

  As I exit the shower, I hear the faint ringing of my cellphone. Thinking it could be Jessica, I make a mad-dash into the bedroom. Upon seeing whom the caller is, I ignore the call and toss it onto the bed. I plan on enjoying my vacation and not letting anyone get in my way.

  After dressing and blow-drying my unruly brown hair, I make my way downstairs, into the nearly empty restaurant for an early dinner. I learn from my server that I am one of only three guests who are staying at the inn over the holiday. The large party of snowmobilers that had been booked canceled, due to the lack of snow on the ground.

  I briefly wonder if Rude Hottie is one of the other guests in residence.

  Chapter Three

  Monday, December 23rd ~ June ~

  I wake early the next morning, feeling completely refreshed. Normally I’d sleep in as much as possible while on vacation, and even though it’s still early, I decide to start my day. There may not be any snow, but I have a town to explore, and several spa treatments booked for later today.

  Digging through my suitcase, I search for the warmest clothing I brought: skinny jeans, a black tank top and a bulky V-neck grey sweater. My favorite pair of black-heeled boots completes the outfit, and adds to my practically nonexistent height.

  In my research planning for this trip, I had discovered there are several boutiques in town. I’ll have to see if I can find more weather-appropriate clothing there. Despite his ill manners, Rude Hottie had a point yesterday; I’m going to freeze wearing just my fleece.

  After getting showered and dressed, I head out in search of breakfast and life-giving coffee. Walking towards the stairs, I’m met in the hallway by none other than Rude Hottie himself—who has somehow become even more gorgeous since the last time I saw him.

  Today he is wearing a blue plaid flannel shirt under his open jacket, which makes his eyes even brighter than I remember them being. His short hair is messy from sleep, but he smiles, wide-awake and says cheerily, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” I say, returning his smile. How could I not, when one look from him has me feeling completely jittery? Must be caffeine withdrawals since I haven’t had my coffee yet this morning. It’s the only sane explanation!

  “Ladies first,” he says, indicating that I should descend the stairs in front of him.

  I briefly wonder if it’s a ploy to be able to check out my ass on the way down.

  I wish!

  “Tom,” comes his odd announcement from behind me, which I’m guessing is his name.

  Turning, I reply, “June,” and I am greeted by a grin that has me stumbling slightly and my body reacting like it has never done before. Clearly I’m still suffer
ing from jetlag.

  When we reach the doorway leading into the dinning room, he’s next to me. Stepping even closer, he whispers, “Mistletoe,” into my ear, and points to the weed hanging above us.

  I’m too absorbed with how delicious he smells, like soap and sleepy warmth blended in a perfect masculine scent, to realize the meaning of what he’s saying.

  Apparently Rude Hottie—no, Tom—is actually somewhat of a gentleman; although he could’ve completely ignored the tradition, he presses a gentle kiss on my cheek.

  I come back to myself just as he begins to pull away. Turning my head, I catch his smiling lips with mine in an all too quick kiss.

  “Merry Christmas,” he says, blushing. Then adds sincerely, “I’m sorry about yesterday. Friends?”

  “Friends,” I barely breathe out, feeling like an idiot for being so affected by him.

  Following him into the dinning room, the next thing I know, we’re sharing a table and he has ordered us both a hot chocolate. Insisting that I try it before ordering my beloved coffee.

  “What brings you here for the holiday?” I ask as we await our order.

  The setting seems oddly intimate for strangers, since there’s only the two of us in the room. Though, despite my first impression, it isn’t awkward in any way. The only thing inhibiting me from truly enjoying the moment is the feeling of butterflies that Tom, for some unknown reason, causes in my stomach.

  He makes me nervous, not in a scared way, but rather excited, like a kid on Christmas Eve, waiting for Santa to bring her heart’s desire.

  “I grew up here,” he replies, smiling. Then he adds, “But I’m staying here at the inn, because my brother and sister-in-law’s house is a complete zoo. My parents live there, along with my twin two-and-a-half-year old nephews.”

  “So there’s no room for Uncle Tom?” I ask, smiling.

  “Not unless I want to camp out in the living room and be woken up at unholy hours in the morning. My sister-in-law’s parents own the inn, and they offered me an extra room here,” he replies.

  Just then, Sue, the receptionist from yesterday, walks over to our table and interrupts our conversation.

  “Good morning Tom. How are you feelin’ today?” she asks, smiling at him.

  “Mornin’. I’m feeling great. Thank you so much for letting me stay,” he says, returning her smile.

  “We’re happy to have you,” she replies. Then turning towards me asks, “June, have you been able to connect to the Internet yet?”

  “Yes, I tried it last night before I went to bed. It works perfectly. I’ll be able to Skype with my family on Christmas,” I say, smiling.

  “Good, do you need anything else?”

  “Could you make it snow?” I ask, laughing.

  “I wish,” she says wistfully, and Tom chuckles softly.

  “The room is perfect though, thank you.”

  “I’ll leave you safely in Tom’s hands, but let me know if you need anything, dear.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sue departs with a cheery wave as our server arrives bring us our steaming mugs of hot chocolate. They are topped with whipped cream, chocolate shavings sprinkled on top. Before indulging in the confection, I quickly snap a picture with my phone. I’ll text it to Jessica later.

  I lift the cup and smell the delicious warmth. Taking my first sip, I can’t help but close my eyes and moan with pleasure. “Mmmmmm.” I’ve never tasted anything so good; it’s so creamy and chocolaty.

  Opening my eyes, I notice Tom’s have gone a shade darker, and he’s looking intently at my mouth.

  “I bet you can’t get it like this back home.” I say, breaking the tension and enjoying another sip of warm heaven.

  “Starbucks,” is his reply, eyes crinkling in amusement as he continues to watch me.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, don’t tell anyone, but hot chocolate is my favorite drink,” he whispers playfully.

  “You and Jared Leto might be onto something.”

  “Who?”

  “You know, Jordan Catelano from My So Called Life,” I reply dreamily, adding, “You never get over your first TV boyfriend.”

  Before he’s able to comment, my cellphone starts ringing shrilly. Picking it up and seeing that the caller is Greyson Wright, I hit reject and toss the phone back onto the table.

  He looks at me questioningly, then politely fishes, saying, “If you have to answer it, that’s okay.”

  “Just a persistent ex,” I say dully, busying myself by continuing to enjoy my new favorite morning beverage.

  “He’s not harassing you, is he?” Tom asks, scowling at me with an intense, penetrating look.

  “He’s just a mistake I made, and he hasn’t yet realized that I won’t make it again.”

  “Please be careful. You never know what will make someone go over the deep end. I’ve seen it happen before.”

  “What are you, a cop?” I ask, smiling at his overeager warning.

  “Yes,” he says, his concern still evident.

  “Really?”

  “Technically, I’m a member of the Orlando Police Department’s Mounted Patrol Unit,” he says, his intensity not waning in the least.

  “Mounted. You mean like on horses?” I ask. Even though I just met this man, I can absolutely picture him as the ultimate cowboy.

  “Yes. Promise me you’ll be careful?” he asks, still staring intently at me, all of his teasing gone.

  “I promise,” I answer sincerely. Having drunk nearly my entire mug of hot cocoa, I wonder if I should forsake my beloved coffee by ordering another.

  I’m burning with curiosity about his job, so I ask, “Do you have a horse?”

  “Yes. Romeo is my fifteen-year-old quarter horse.” Raising his eyebrows, he smiles and asks, “You ever ridden?”

  “No,” I answer, returning his smile. Now I’m imagining him dressed in uniform, astride a horse. It’s a good thing I’m sitting down, because the thought makes me go weak in the knees.

  “Maybe, I could take you sometime,” he says casually.

  “Do you enjoy it?” I ask, matching his smile.

  Our food arrives at that moment, and we are both distracted by the delicious-smelling plates in front of us.

  My Belgian waffles are topped with real warmed Maple syrup, whipped cream, and strawberries. I’m going straight into a delicious food coma afterwards, I just know it. It’s a good thing I’m getting a massage later; I’ll be able to take a nap.

  Picking up my phone, I snap several pictures of my overflowing plate.

  “What’s with the pictures?” Tom asks, grinning at me over his western omelet and golden hash browns.

  “They’re for my sister. She’s obsessed with food porn.”

  “Give it here,” he says, reaching for my phone. Flipping it around, he holds it so he can obviously snap several of me.

  “Smile,” he says, clicking several pictures of me with my overburdened plate.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking the phone back.

  Briefly, the thought of secretly taking his picture runs through my mind. I decide against it. For now. Maybe after breakfast, when I can get a shot of his entire well toned body.

  In between delicious bites, we learn that we both enjoy the television shows Castle and Sherlock, but disagree on the merits of reality TV. I’m in favor of watching the crazy hot messes, whereas he thinks they are a waste of time.

  When we’ve both nearly cleared our plates, Tom says, “I’m going to the Ski Shop after breakfast to pick something up. I’ve got my Dad’s truck if you want a lift. You can get a warmer jacket and some sensible boots there. And afterward, you can explore the center of town if you want to.”

  Clearly he hasn’t forgotten my lack of proper outerwear. It’s a good thing we’ve had such an enjoyable breakfast, or I’d be annoyed.

  “What’s wrong with my boots?” I ask, sticking my foot out from underneath the table.

  “Nothing, but if it snows, you’ll nee
d something with better traction.”

  “Do you think it’ll snow?” I ask excitedly, and I know I’m smiling like an idiot.

  “I hope it does! I bought the twins sleds for Christmas,” he says, referring to his nephews.

  “I’m sure Uncle Tom’s present will be their favorite. And yes, I’d appreciate the ride. I wasn’t looking forward to walking into town, freezing,” I smile at him.

  Once we’ve finished, I charge my delicious breakfast to my room’s tab, and then Tom and I make our way outside to his father’s forest green four-door Toyota Tundra.

  After a short ride into town, we luckily find a parking space in front of the shop. Entering, Tom points me in the direction of outerwear, while he goes and picks up the sleds he’s ordered.

  I find several puffy jackets that look warm, though I nearly have a heart attack when I see the price tags. I’m about to go crazy with the vast amount of choices, when a friendly salesgirl approaches and helps me choose what would be best.

  Now, the important question, which color?

  After deciding on a fire engine red Patagonia jacket, I go in search of Tom. Not that I don’t trust the salesgirl, but since I’m spending a small fortune here, a second opinion never hurts.

  I find him near the registers, talking to a woman who looks to be in her late 20’s, our age. A feeling of annoyance washes over me. Though maybe it’s not annoyance, but jealousy. He may not be mine, but I’d like to pretend he could be.

  Really, I know next to nothing about this man. For all I know, he could be a complete creep or a stage-five clinger. Sue did give him a good reference, though. Not to mention he’s a cop, which automatically makes him most likely not an axe-murder. Plus, he has a horse, so he must love animals. Greyson hated animals, which should’ve been a sign right there!

  I really need to stop legitimizing my own crazy.

  “June.” Tom says, catching my eye and waving me over. When I get near, he effortlessly wraps his arm around my waist. I freeze at the sudden contact, and then instantly melt into his side.