by Snow, Nicole
As he drives away, I call one of my favorite Asian restaurants and order enough food for Wendy, her parents, and the other workers at the bakery for lunch, as well as myself, and then jump in the Yukon to go pick it up.
Ben’s going to ask if I’ve talked to her the minute I get there. I just know it.
It could be the food, but her parents seem genuinely happy to see me, and when I broach the subject of his idea, him putting in a couple of hours in the evening after school, they jump right on it.
They say they’ve suggested someone should be helping Wendy with prep work for years. Especially since her cakes have become so popular since those pics of me and the unicorn went up on their site.
Sammy also invites Ben and me over for supper, plus Wendy, so they can discuss his job duties.
I accept, then struggle not to kiss Wendy goodbye. It's hard keeping it a secret. I have to settle for a squeeze of her hand since it’s time to pick up Ben.
He’s ecstatic at the news. Damn near talks my ear off all the way home, and then, when it’s time to leave for her parents' place, he comes downstairs dressed in a shirt and tie.
To say I’m proud of him, and happy for him, is an understatement.
I’m happy for me, too.
The evening is fun. Watching Wendy blush as her parents share escapades of her childhood has a lot to do with it. She leaves the same time we do and follows us home.
Yet again, she notices Jingles sitting on the front porch, his whiskers frosted over.
“How the hell does he keep getting out?” I ask no one in particular.
Still, I'm fucking stumped. The cat is almost a sleek blue popsicle by the time I carry him in, trying to rub some of my heat into his fur. Thankfully, we watch him for a few minutes, and he shows no signs of serious damage. Besides freezing his furry little butt off.
Ben sits on the floor next to the cat, who wolfs down food like he hasn't eaten in ages. Wendy and I are standing at the kitchen island, trying to figure it out.
“You’re sure he was in the house when you left?”
“Positive! He was in the front room, snuggled up in the chair by the Christmas tree when Josh left, and I left right after that.” I’d told her and her parents about hiring Josh, and of course they're delighted at the news.
“Maybe there’s a window open somewhere.” She scratches her head, her brows knit together.
“No. We'd feel a draft. Also got the smart home shit set up in this place. Sensors and cameras my buddy, Landon, told me were top of the line.” Damn, it’s perplexing.
Jingles has never gotten out, and now, two days in a row?
“The alarm system should've caught something.”
“Maybe there’s a short in it or something?” She bites her lip.
I look her way.
Then she shrugs, grinning. “Just guessing. I don’t know a thing about alarm systems.”
“No,” Ben says, walking into the room. “Dad built the security system himself with that guy from California. It’s foolproof. And if a window was open, why wouldn’t Jingles just come back in the same way he got out? He’s a smart boy.”
I nod, even though I don't like it. “Good point, Ben.”
Wendy flashes him a proud smile, too.
More than my heart throbs at the shine in her eyes. “And now, young man, it’s time for you to get up to bed. You have school in the morning and a job to go to after.”
“Gotcha, Dad.” Ben scoops up Jingles and stands up. “I'll make sure he's not going anywhere again tonight. 'Night, Wendy. 'Night, Dad.”
“Goodnight,” we both say simultaneously.
Ben pauses at the door, looking at Wendy. “Oh, and thanks, Wendy, for talking to your mom and dad about me working more...”
She holds up both hands. “I didn’t say a word. It was all your Dad's smooth tongue.”
Ben looks at me. “Really?”
I give him a single head nod.
His face lights up brighter than our Christmas tree. “Wow, Dad, that’s awesome. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome,” I say. “I’m proud of you, Ben.”
His smile gets even brighter, then he blinks several times and turns around, heading out of the kitchen. We listen to his footsteps fading up the stairs.
I lay both hands on Wendy’s shoulders. “I’m beginning to think you're some sort of miracle worker.”
She steps closer and lifts her face to mine. “Nope. Just a humble baker. And a friend.”
“Sugar, you're hardly just anything,” I say.
They're the last coherent words I can form before I claim her lips.
13
Proper Introductions (Wendy)
It’s getting harder and harder to leave every night.
After being in the heat of Hunter’s arms, of his body, my car feels like Siberia in the ten degree darkness.
No matter how long I let it warm up, I shiver the whole way home. The past two weeks have been wonderful, though, even with Rochelle and Marco arriving home from their honeymoon.
She’s mad.
What else is new?
She’d wanted a big homecoming party tomorrow night to make up for the fish eating incident at the wedding, and she's still fuming because Mom and Dad said they already had plans. They're taking Ben out for a night of Holidazzle fun in Minneapolis to show their appreciation for his hard work.
There'll be fireworks, parades, and all kinds of festive fun. Perfect timing, too, since I'm supposed to go with Hunter to Landmark’s Christmas party.
I smile because Mom and Dad are really enjoying Ben, and he’s enjoying them, too.
Last weekend, he went with Dad to a football game after work. Dad was in his glory, dressed to the hilt in purple and gold. He spent the last family dinner interrupting Rochelle’s honeymoon stories to gush about how amazing the Landmark suite is at the stadium.
He should've known better. Telling Rochelle no about this weekend had her flying out the door so fast, I wonder if we’ll even see her at Christmas next week. Not that I’m too worried about it.
We'll have plenty of company. Hunter and Ben will be there at my parents' house, and then the three of us will do a second mini-Christmas at his place.
I'm winding down the road to my apartment, still ticking off my long list of holiday-related stuff, when I see something strange. Something unexpected.
Flashing lights catch my attention first. My heart skips several beats when I realize they're at my apartment building. A whole freaking ton of police and emergency vehicles fill most of the parking lot.
Jesus. What's going on here?
I pull into the only place in the lot that isn't already occupied and grab my hat off the passenger seat before stumbling out.
Neighbors, people I recognize, are standing out in the cold, many in their robes. A large group of police are milling around the front doors, with several firefighters dressed in bulky gear stepping through them.
I’m barely out of my car when Mrs. Ramsey comes running over. Bundled up to her chin to fight the sub-zero temperature, she slides her scarf down off her mouth. “Oh, Wendy! I was so afraid you were still in there!”
Her apartment is across the hall from mine. “Uh, nope, I haven’t been home since I left for work this morning. What’s going on?”
“A gas leak. A bad one. They're saying we can’t go back in tonight. Landlord says we might have to spend the whole weekend away while it's getting fixed.”
“A gas leak?”
“I know, right?” She pulls her knit cap lower over her gray curls. “I didn’t smell anything with this sinus infection, but Rosemary from down the hall said she did. She’s had a headache all day.” She points to the parking lot on the other side of the building. “They have her over there in the ambulance. Just a routine check, I pray.”
“Oh, me too! I hope she’s all right,” I say. My heart hurts thinking of poor Rosemary. She's the type of person you can ask a favor from any time, a grandm
a with two sweet boys who stay over every other weekend. Thank God it wasn't this one.
“I’m waiting for my son,” Mrs. Ramsey says. “He’s coming to get me. You'd better call your parents, hun. Plan on staying with them for a few days while they sort this mess out. Oh, and right before Christmas, too!” She pinches her hands together, frustration beaming to the sky.
It’s well after ten thirty. My parents are fast asleep, just like I used to be at this time before I met Hunter.
My phone goes off. I know it’s him. He calls me every night, just to make sure I’ve made it home.
“Excuse me,” I say to Mrs. Ramsey, then swipe my phone to answer. “Hey.”
“You home, Sugar?”
“Yes...and no.”
“What?” His voice drops an octave, as if he can sense instant danger.
“There’s a gas leak at my buil—”
“Gas leak? Fuck. Where are you? Don’t go in. Stay back. I’m already on my way.”
“No, no, there’s no need to come get me. I’m fine. I just pulled in the parking lot. The police aren’t letting anyone inside. It's under control, supposedly, but it'll take them a few days to fix it.”
“Stay there,” he growls again. “I’m coming to get you. Just get away from the building. Go to the diner up the street and wait for me.”
The urgency in his voice makes my heart race. A second later, I realize there's another reason besides him being his usual sweet, growly, over-possessive self.
Gas leak? Damn. That’s how his brother died.
“Hunter. I’m fine. Really and truly. There's no risk of anything going boom. I can drive. I’ll drive to your place right now.”
“No! I’m coming, Sugar, and you're staying put. I’m getting in my truck right now. Just get back. Stay warm.”
My focus is more on calming him than my safety. “I’m at a very safe distance. Since you're so insistent...I'll wait.”
“Great. Give me ten minutes.”
I wrinkle my nose as he hangs up.
It’s at least a twenty-minute drive, even at this time of night with no traffic. I can’t tell him that because he’s already hung up. I don’t call him back either because I don’t want his driving distracted any more. My heart hurts when I think about his voice, how he'd sounded so strong, but shaken.
It's just a leak, I tell myself. A freak coincidence. These happen at random during Minnesota winters all the time.
I'm still turning it over in my head when my phone rings again. I swipe at the same time I notice the word MOM.
“Wendy? Now, don’t panic, but your building manager just called. There's a gas leak at your apartment. Says they had to enter your apartment because you didn’t answer, and you had me down for your emergency contact.”
“I know, Mom, I’m here. Just pulled in.” I huff a breath into the air and my eyes light up. “Wait. Did you say my apartment?”
“Are you at Hunter’s?” She never answers my question.
“No, Mom! I’m at my building. Standing in the lot.” At least now I have proof she doesn’t listen when I talk.
“Wendy-girl, you can’t stay there. There's a gas leak!”
“I know, Mom.”
Oh, do I ever. I also know this is insufferable.
“Is Hunter on his way?”
“He just called me. I told him what’s going on and he’s on his way here.”
“Oh, good! So you can stay with him for a couple of days.”
I don’t know if I’m stunned or amazed. I thought I'd never hear the end of it over how it wouldn't be proper to spend so much time at his place. Seems she likes Hunter so much she's forgotten her usual uptight need to chastise me over nothing.
“As long as you're settled, then, I’m going to go back to bed,” Mom says. “I’ll see you in the morning, dear.”
“'Night, Mom.”
I'm actually thankful. Her reply gives me one less thing to worry about. Despite the calamity of the gas leak, I grin and drop my phone in my coat pocket.
A steady stream of vehicles pull in and out of the parking lot. Some are just bystanders, wondering what's going on, but most are there to pick up someone. I’d invited Mrs. Ramsey to sit in my car with me, and as soon I see Hunter’s SUV pull in, I jump out.
His door flies open before the wheels on the Yukon stop rolling. Within seconds, he nearly crushes me as he pulls me to his chest.
“You’re okay,” he growls, holding me tight. “Thank fuck, Wendy.”
“I'm fine.” I smile against the base of his neck, give him a quick kiss.
“Is this your man-friend, Wendy?”
“Yup.” I force Hunter to release me and turn. “Hunter, this is Mrs. Ramsey, my neighbor. Mrs. Ramsey, meet Hunter Forsythe.”
They greet each other warmly, and then she proceeds to tell him exactly what she told me, except at the end, rather than telling me to call my parents, she says, “It’s tragic. Just tragic, having this mess before Christmas.”
She then points toward a gathering of several other residents I barely know, besides the times we've waved in the halls. “A policeman said they’ve called the Red Cross for those who don’t have anywhere else to go.” She sighs. “Such a grim way to spend the holidays. I tell you, if this was all due to that new boy in maintenance, not doing his job –”
“Good point, Mrs. Ramsey. Think we'd all love to know what caused this.” Hunter squeezes my hand. “I’m going to talk to the police, see what they know. You two can wait in the Yukon. Better heat.”
Mrs. Ramsey only has pajamas on under her coat. She said they barely gave her time to get her scarf, hat, and purse before ushering her outside. “Let’s climb in.”
I help her in the passenger side and then walk around and get in the driver’s door. The vehicle is nice and toasty compared to my lukewarm car.
“Oh, my, I love these seats,” she says in a half-whisper.
“They're heated.” I reach over to point out the control panel. “You can adjust the temperature here.”
She grabs my wrist. “It’s heavenly just as it is, dearie.”
“Okay.” I pull my hand away and then pull the Yukon into a parking space so it’s not blocking traffic.
“Congratulations, too. I always knew you’d fine a nice young man,” Mrs. Ramsey coos. “You're so nice yourself.”
She then proceeds to tell me all about her son’s wife, who she's not overly fond of, nor of her son’s two dogs. I comment when necessary, but for the most part, I keep an eye on Hunter outside my window.
He's busy talking to several officers, as well as a few others on the other side of the neon yellow caution tape. Then he pulls out his phone and calls someone.
“Oh, there’s my son!” Mrs. Ramsey opens her door. “Do come say hello, Wendy?”
I do, happy for the small talk distraction.
By the time she’s settled in the back seat, Hunter arrives. He shakes hands with Ramsey's son, waves to the son’s wife, and then wishes my neighbor well before leading me to the Yukon.
“I’ll need my car sooner or later,” I say.
“We’ll get it tomorrow. I just want to get you home. Safe and sound. It's damn cold out here tonight.”
My heart thuds at his sincerity. “I am fine, Hunter. Totally fine, and I’m sorry that you had to come rushing to my rescue.”
“I’m not, Sugar.” His lips are warm against the tip of my cold nose. “What do you need out of your car? Tell me and I'll grab it.”
“Just my purse, I suppose.” I grab it before he can, and then hop in the Yukon.
In no time, we peel away from the chaos of flashing lights and confused neighbors. I think it hits me halfway home.
I'm going to sleep in Hunter Forsythe's own bed tonight. The entire night. At his house.
Oh, God.
* * *
My wildest dreams couldn’t have prepared me for how utterly amazing it is to sleep in Hunter’s arms all night.
Sure, it's not the first time
, we've crashed together many times. But that first night at the hotel was different. So were the other hurried times, where I always had to fight drowsiness to leave.
This...this is sweet perfection. My brain fades into his scent, his warmth, bathed in happy darkness and delicate dreams, where I never have to leave.
But the morning always comes.
Ben is up and ready to go when I pad into the kitchen. I instantly tense because I don't even have an excuse ready. Crap.
“Hey, Wendy. Dad told me about your apartment building,” he says. “That’s awful. Really crappy. Glad everybody was all right.”
I sigh a small relief, but I'm still on edge. I don't know how much he really knows about the fire that killed his parents, and I don't want to bring back bad things, so I say, “Thanks. It's frustrating, yeah, but it’s also good the leak was discovered in time. No one got hurt.”
He grins. “I like that about you. How you always see the positive. Not sure I'd be taking it as good as you if I had to stand around in that cold, worried for my home, and then wind up here.”
“The Chateaux Forsythe is hardly the worst place, Ben,” Hunter tells him, appearing with a cup of coffee for me in hand. “I’ll give you both a ride to work and pick you both up later.”
That’s exactly how it happens, except Ben doesn't leave with us. He goes home with my parents and that Tommy kid so Hunter can take me shopping for something to wear tonight, and for the next few days. I didn't have time to grab my clothes. And from Mrs. Ramsey's updates, I won’t be able to get in my apartment until next week sometime.
We hit the mall, where he insists on paying for everything, and I refuse to let him.
In the end, we compromise on him buying the dress I’ll wear tonight, since he picked it out, and I paid for the rest. On the way back to his house, his phone rings, and the display on the dashboard says it’s the Saint Paul PD. He taps the answer button.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Forsythe? It's an honor, sir, and as deputy sheriff I thought I'd reach out personally...”
The man introduces himself, but I don’t get his name because I’m listening to what comes next. He thanks Hunter for his generous donation and wants him to know that my neighbors are settled. All of them who had no place to go.
