Snowbound Squeeze

by Tawna Fenske

  “I do know.” She smiles and keeps shading the body of the puppy poised on the edge of the M. “I also know geographic cures aren’t usually the solution to problems that aren’t geographic in nature.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugs. “If your problem is that lava keeps sweeping through your living room, moving to a city without an active volcano would be a geographic cure. But if your problem is that you fall for the wrong kind of guy—hypothetically speaking—” She pauses, smiling to let me know it’s not hypothetical. “—Or if you have a drug problem or something, moving to a new city won’t solve it.”

  I let out a slow breath, grateful to be understood even if she doesn’t know all the details. “Your problems just follow, you mean.”

  “Exactly.”

  She’s right, of course. But I can’t help thinking at least some of my problem is geographic. I wish I could tell her. I wish I could explain the whole, horrible mess.

  But then she’d stop looking at me with that bright, brilliant smile, and I couldn’t bear it. I just couldn’t.

  Gretchen tucks the yellow crayon in the box and reaches for a pink one. She’s shading a flower, crafting beautiful swirls of color and texture. Once upon a time, I thought I was making something beautiful. How could I have known it would all turn to shit?

  The silence stretches out, but it’s not awkward. It’s nice, actually. I imagine the snow muffling all sound, cushioning the sharp edges of the world outside. It’s just the two of us here in this quilt-lined fort, breathing the warmth of cedar-tinged air.

  It’s the first time I’ve felt peaceful in—God, how long?

  Gretchen shifts beside me. I glance over to see she’s nibbling the edge of her lip.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I just—” she takes a shaky breath and meets my eyes, the sharp blue piercing straight through me. “Can I confess something, Gabe?”

  The air between us thickens. Whatever she’s about to say means something. “You can tell me anything.”

  I’m surprised to see tears fill her eyes. She blinks them back and takes another breath. “I’ve never told anyone this,” she says. “But there’s something about you—about this place—” She laughs and shakes her head. “This is coming out wrong.”

  “No, I know what you mean.” I glance around at the blanket walls. “It’s like our own little confession booth.”

  Her eyes brighten just a little. “Exactly.” Another deep breath. “Anyway, I feel like I need to say it out loud at least once.”

  I nod, gripping my crayon tighter. “Whatever it is, I won’t judge.”

  Her tiny ghost smile is gone in an instant. There’s a stiffness in her shoulders that wasn’t there before. When she speaks, her voice is barely a whisper. “I had an affair with a married man.”

  I force myself not to react. Not to judge. Not to ask questions. Just to let her speak.

  But I do put a hand on hers, and that’s enough to keep her talking. “I didn’t know he was married,” she says. “That’s no excuse, but I wouldn’t have gotten involved with him if I’d had any idea.”

  “You didn’t know him well?”

  Her laugh is sharp and bitter, not really a laugh at all. “We taught together for months. He was a professor in my department. We had parking spots next to each other, for crying out loud. I should have known.”

  I try to wrap my head around what she’s telling me. Why these details matter. “You thought you knew him,” I guess. “But it turned out you didn’t.”

  Pain creases her forehead “I should have known,” she says again. “I should have asked questions or googled him or driven past his house like any self-respecting stalker.”

  “But you trusted him.”

  “Yeah.” She says it like it’s the worst thing she’s confessed so far. “He was older and more accomplished, and when he referred to his ex-wife, I didn’t question if she really was an ex.”

  Clearly, she wasn’t. And clearly this is something that’s been tearing Gretchen apart. “How long did he fool you?”

  She winces, making me regret my clumsy phrasing. I try again before she can respond. “How long did the lying rat bastard behave like a scheming piece of shit before you nailed his balls to the wall?”

  Gretchen shakes her head and looks down at the page. “Two months.” The words are a whisper, her eyes filled with guilt. “Two months before he called me by the wrong name, and I started asking questions. Even then, I believed him. I believed when he said they’d been separated for ages. That divorce paperwork was hung up in court, and they hadn’t lived under the same roof in years.”

  “And the truth?”

  “The truth.” She shakes her head with a bitter little laugh. “The truth is that he’d fuck me after class and then go home to dinner with his wife and daughter.”

  “Jesus.” I hate him. I hate him so much for lying to her. For making her feel like this. I curl my fingers around hers, willing her to believe me. “Gretchen, it wasn’t your fault.”

  “No?” There’s a cornered animal wildness in her eyes. “I’m a research scientist. I’m supposed to be inquisitive and curious and hungry for information. Why didn’t I google him? Why didn’t I question everything he told me? Why didn’t I dig into his background?”

  “Because you’re a kind, honest, trusting soul.” Even as I say it, the words ring hollow. I’m not exactly being straight with her myself.

  She shakes her head slowly, tears glittering in her eyes. “I should have known,” she says. “It’s not just on him. It takes two to cheat, and I should have asked more questions. I should have—”

  “Stop.” I’m squeezing her hand now, willing her to hear me. “You can’t make this your fault. There’s only one person to blame here, and it isn’t you.”

  She stares like she doesn’t believe me, as the words echo in my head. How many times has my brother said this to me? Or my agent? Or—

  “Gretchen, you have to believe me.” She has to, because maybe it’s the only way I can start believing it myself. “You’re not the bad guy here. You’re a sweet, generous, trusting person who got screwed by a guy who is none of those things.”

  I know she doesn’t believe me, but she’s looking me in the eye. Watching me like she wants to believe what I’m saying.

  Maybe this is it. My segue to telling her my own big secret. My chance to come clean, to unburden myself to the most kindhearted woman I’ve met.

  I open my mouth to do it. To spit the words out like shrapnel. To put it out there so there are no secrets between us.

  But I’m a big, fat chicken.

  I choke. I fucking choke.

  “Wait here.” I let go of her hand and scramble to my knees to back out of the blanket fort. “I have an idea.”

  Chapter 6

  Gretchen

  I’m trying not to freak out. I confess my worst secret to a good-looking guy—a guy I’ve kissed twice—and he disappears?

  Granted, he can’t go far. Not with a tree in our path and a blizzard raging outside. And he did say all sorts of kind, understanding things that I know aren’t true, but I appreciate him saying them anyway.

  So where did he go? And why do I want so badly for him to assure me I’m not a total fuckup? Even if I’m not ready to believe that myself, I need to know he believes it.

  The front door of the cabin bangs open, and I poke my head out of the blanket fort to see him striding toward the kitchen. In his hand is a big red mixing bowl.

  “Not yet,” is all he says as he shields the bowl from my view.

  “Can I help with—”

  “Nope, I’m good.” He grins and waves me back into the fort. “It’s a surprise. I’ll bring it to you in just a second.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I slip back under the quilts as a trickle of hopeful giddiness rinses away a bit of my guilt. Not all of it, of course. But maybe Gabe doesn’t think I’m a jerk?

  There’s some banging from the kitchen,
and the sound of him rummaging around in the fridge. Is he chopping something?

  Then footsteps drum across the wood floors. “It’s not perfect,” he calls as the footsteps draw closer. “But it’s pretty damn good.”

  He peels open the door of the blanket fort and crawls inside. The grin on his face melts my heart, and the Christmas lights brighten the amber flecks in his eyes. He smells like pinesap and woodsmoke and—

  “Mint?” I blink at the bowl cradled in his arms. “Did you make something with mint?”

  He sets the bowl in front of me like an offering, then hands me a spoon. “Fresh snow, caught right as it was falling from the sky so there’s no risk a bear peed on it.”

  “Eew.” I study the bowl, which is filled with a slushy mix drizzled in brown goo. It looks weird but smells promising. “Thank you?”

  He laughs and whips out a second spoon. “I brought some peppermint schnapps, so I mixed that with the snow and a little milk, plus sugar and a chocolate bar I chopped up. Oh, and some of your Hershey’s syrup.”

  “Oh my God.” I throw my arms around his neck, nearly knocking over the bowl. “You made me mint chocolate chip ice cream?”

  He laughs into my hair, arms sliding around my waist as he pulls me to him. “Yeah. You seemed like you could use a pick-me-up.”

  “This is amazing, Gable.”

  He stiffens in my arms, and I realize I’ve used his full name. An odd slip, since I only think of him as Gabe. He relaxes quickly, but I draw back anyway and cup his cheek in my palm. “Thank you, Gabe. This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.”

  He grins and waves his spoon like a conductor’s baton. “Dig in.”

  I do and, oh man, it’s delicious. “Wow.” I smack my lips, savoring the icy blend of sugar, mint, and chocolate with just a hint of boozy sweetness. “Watch out, Ben and Jerry. This is awesome.”

  “You like it?” He takes a spoonful for himself and grins. “I’m not a huge ice cream eater, but this seems pretty close.”

  “It might be even better,” I tell him. “Very fresh.”

  There’s the tiniest hint of pine, and I can’t tell if it’s in the snow or in Gabe’s hair. Our spoons clink together as we go in at the same time. We both laugh, then keep scooping it up until the bowl is empty.

  “How much schnapps was in there?” I ask.

  “Maybe a tablespoon or so. Why?”

  I meet his eyes, marveling at how close I feel to this guy I’ve known less than twenty-four hours. With less than a tablespoon of schnapps between us, I know it’s not the booze, so it must be something else.

  It must be Gabe.

  I smile and set my spoon in the bowl. “I’m feeling warm and glowy. And it’s apparently not the schnapps.”

  He smiles back, nesting his spoon in mine and setting the bowl on the shelf. “What is it?”

  Happiness.

  Gratitude.

  Lust.

  I don’t say any of those things, though they’re all true. His eyes stay fixed on mine, and I can tell he’s thinking it, too. That we’re trapped in a mountain cabin with plenty of food and firewood and all the privacy in the world. Why not have this time together? Just for a little while, what’s the harm in giving in to what we both want?

  You know the harm. You know exactly.

  But I’ve stopped listening to that voice in my head. Gabe’s leaning in, and I’m moving to meet him, and there’s nothing either of us can do to stop the force of us colliding.

  The instant our lips touch, it feels like coming home. There’s a certainty in his embrace, a softness I sink into like my feather duvet. He tastes like mint and desire and everything I’ve wanted from the moment I laid eyes on him.

  Gabe slides his fingers into my hair, and I whimper as he deepens the kiss. My arms go around his waist by instinct, and I press my body to his. He’s hard in all the right places, hot and solid against my softness.

  God, he feels good.

  “Gretchen.” Breaking the kiss, he drops his lips to my throat. I tip my head back, digging my nails into his back to keep myself anchored. I know I should be careful. I know I’ve let passion sweep me away before.

  But this feels like more than that. He’s seen my ugliest underbelly and still wants me. I know him in a way I never knew Alastair.

  His kisses travel across my collarbone, and I hold on tight. One of his hands slides under the hem of my T-shirt, then up again to cover my breast. I groan into his mouth.

  “Don’t stop, Gabe.”

  His thumb strokes my nipple, and I drop my hands to his ass to pull him tighter against me. I can feel the hard length of him behind warm denim, and a surge of need flares through me.

  I want him.

  “You taste so good.” He’s got my shirt up now, kissing my belly, my waist, my breast through the lace of my bra. His fingers slide up to work the clasp, and I sigh with pleasure as he sets me free.

  Drawing back, I grab the hem of my shirt and pull the whole thing over my head. T-shirt, bra, all of it, so I’m stripped to the waist in the flicker of Christmas lights.

  Gabe blinks. “You’re so beautiful.”

  I laugh and pull him close. “Kiss me again.”

  He does, and it’s glorious. How is it possible this keeps getting better each time? I don’t know, and I give up trying to figure it out and just lose myself in the heat of his mouth, the roughness of his beard, the pressure of his hand on my breast.

  Breaking the kiss again, he lays me back on the nest of quilts. I expect him to join me, but he sits there looking down at me. “God, Gretchen.” He shakes his head in wonder, and I almost giggle. “I can’t believe how perfect you are.”

  “Shut up.” I laugh because I’ve just made this awkward, but also because I’m in awe. How could he think that?

  As his mouth drops to my breast, all thinking flies out the window. I bury my fingers in his hair as his tongue circles my nipple, teasing and stroking and driving me insane.

  “Gabe.” I groan and close my eyes. “That’s so good.”

  He moves to the other breast, taking his time. His kisses are slow and delicious and filled with heat. I know I should savor it, should seize the chance to go slowly.

  But I want him so badly. I fumble for the front of his jeans and stroke the hardness there. He groans and presses into my hand. I open my eyes and find the tab of his zipper.

  I start to tug, and everything goes black.

  “What the—” I blink in the darkness as Gabe’s mouth stills on my breast. “What just happened?”

  My lust-fogged brain is grappling with the connection between Gabe’s zipper and the lights. Luckily, he’s slightly more lucid than I am. “Power’s out,” he says.

  “Oh.” No more Christmas lights. No lava lamp. No—

  “Crap.” I sit up fast, bumping my head on the shelf that holds the bowls. “Our food.”

  I can’t see his face in the dark, but I hear him groan. “It should be good for a few hours, right?”

  I bite my lip, as reluctant to stop as he is. “Do we really want to risk it? We don’t know how long we’ll be stranded, and with the perishable food—”

  “No, you’re right.” He sighs as I fumble in the dark for my bra and wriggle it on.

  “How many coolers do you have?”

  “Two,” he says. “You?”

  “Same. We can fill them with snow and keep them outside for now.”

  “Good thinking.”

  Talk about miracles. Thinking clearly with a hot guy stripping me naked is not a skill I normally possess. Does this count as self-improvement?

  Or maybe it’s just Gabe. Maybe I’m different with him.

  Pulling my shirt on, I follow him out the door of the blanket fort. There’s still plenty of daylight, so we move quickly across the cabin. Even though I’m disappointed to have our hookup halted, I’m grateful we’re on the same page. Survival comes first, even in the face of lust.

  We work together assembl
ing our coolers on the porch and filling them with fresh snow. Then we start clearing the fridge. Gabe hands me a package of bacon and some ground beef. “I suppose it’s best not to take a risk with this stuff.”

  “Technically, it would have been okay for four hours.” I shift the food into the crook of my arm and grab a gallon of milk. “That’s how long the USDA says a fridge will stay cold in a power outage.”

  Gabe lifts both brows. “We could have accomplished a lot in four hours.”

  Heat rushes my cheeks as my imagination goes wild. He’s not wrong, and I can’t stop picturing it. He must read that in my eyes, because he kisses my cheek and grabs an armload of yogurt and juice. “But you’re right, this is smarter. How’d you know that about the USDA?”

  “Research.” I trudge back to the porch with Gabe close behind. “I did a paper on disaster preparedness back in undergrad.”

  He laughs as I pry the top off the first cooler and start loading things inside. “No wonder I didn’t like college,” he says. “I don’t remember learning cool stuff like that when I was in school.”

  “That’s right, I forgot I said I’d help you with a career quiz.”

  See? This is what happens when my libido takes over. One minute I’m a goal-oriented professional, the next I’m stripping off my bra in a blanket fort.

  Maybe I should slow things down. I wipe my hands on my jeans and watch as Gabe loads the last of our perishables in the cooler. “If you want, we could do that now.”

  He blinks at me. “A career quiz?”

  I open my mouth to explain. To tell him I want to slow things down just a bit.

  But he somehow reads my mind. “I think that’s great.” He smiles and slides an arm around me, planting a kiss on my temple. “The snow’s not stopping, so we’ve got plenty of time.”

  Relief washes through me. That he understands, that he’s not pushing. I like Gabe, I do. But I want to be smart this time. Not throw myself at the first guy to grope me since Alastair.

  I flash him a grin as I head back in the cabin. “Great. Let me see what I can find on my laptop.”

  “You do that, and I’ll make lunch.” He glances toward the kitchen, which is thankfully anchored by a gas-powered stove. “How’s beef stew and apple slices?”