Give Me a Christmas

by Zoe Ann Wood

  The door closed behind her, and he heard her moving inside, getting ready for bed.

  Finn changed in the bathroom, though the room was cold enough that he put his pullover back on after a couple of minutes. He lay on his back with his arm tucked under his head, trying not to fidget on the lumpy couch: it creaked every time he moved, and he didn’t want to disturb Iris. She’d gone quiet some minutes ago, and he hoped she had more luck falling asleep than him.

  Thoughts buzzed in his mind, making rest impossible. Whatever had forced Iris to come here, he wanted to know, to help her solve any problem she might have. It was an impulse he’d always had to curb around her, especially since she’d always been more than capable of solving her own problems.

  Until they’d encountered one hurdle in their relationship they couldn’t surmount, and she’d left him and moved to Cambridge.

  He remembered that July day clearly; he suspected it would always be seared into his brain. He’d been home for the summer because his mother had just gone through a round of chemo. It had been a hard time for his family, and Iris had supported him through it.

  Their relationship had barely been a couple of months old—born out of years of crushing on the girl next door, who’d barely allowed him to steal a kiss or two when they were both in high school. But that summer, she’d just finished her undergrad studies of ecology and his first startup had really taken off. They’d taken that plunge and become a couple. His mother had been in remission, and he’d felt as happy as he could ever remember being.

  Then Iris had been accepted to MIT for grad school, yet his life was in Silicon Valley. When he’d invited her to travel to the West Coast with him, she’d refused—and promptly dumped him.

  Finn sighed and rolled over. The couch creaked ominously. So maybe he was still just a tiny bit bitter about her decision to break things off that summer. He’d thought he’d gotten over the hurt, but seeing her again brought those memories to the surface. He wished he could ask her about that time. They hadn’t quite gotten to the point of expressing their feelings out loud, but he’d been so sure she’d loved him.

  Footsteps sounded on the other side of the thin wall. Iris opened the door wide and stood in the doorway, rubbing her upper arms. Finn lifted up on his elbows to look at her.

  “If the door’s closed, the heat doesn’t flow into the room,” she grumbled.

  Finn looked at the stove and back at her. “Do you want to switch places?” he asked. The couch wasn’t as wide as the bed he’d glimpsed in her bedroom, but she might be more comfortable here…

  She shook her head, her jaw clenched. Without a word, she turned away, and a moment later, her bed squeaked softly.

  Now the real torture began. Lying motionless, Finn strained his ears to hear her breathing and tried to decide whether she’d fallen asleep yet. If she had, he might be able to grab one of the two blankets she’d insisted he take and add it to her bed.

  Instead, he heard a faint rattling sound. He couldn’t decipher it at first—what was it? Then he realized Iris’ teeth were clacking, and her shuddering exhale told him enough.

  He threw off the blankets and stood, then marched to her bedroom door.

  “Iris, please, come on. Take the couch.”

  She stared at him from her cocoon of blankets, her eyes twin sparkles of light in the dim room.

  Finally, she sat up. “I can’t. Then you’ll be freezing, and I’ll feel guilty about it. I don’t want to feel guilty about you again, Finn.”

  He shivered, half from the cold and half from hearing her say his name. And the guilt comment—what did that even mean?

  This evening was already proving too much for him, between his jetlag, the cold, and the emotional kick in the guts that came with every minute he spent in her company. It was the only way to explain the next words that came from his mouth.

  “We can share. Come on.”

  He turned as though this was an offhand suggestion and headed back to the living room. He put his pillow to one side of the couch, sat, and waited.

  He didn’t want to see her expression if she rejected his offer. And what in the world had prompted him to make it in the first place? Finn pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and decided he was the worst ex-boyfriend in history. Poor Iris was likely ready to call the cops on him. Maybe he should lock himself in the bathroom—then she’d have her pick of the rooms.

  A floorboard creaked. Finn lowered his hands and glanced up. Iris stood next to him, clutching her pillow to her chest.

  “I’ll take the right side,” she murmured, not meeting his gaze.

  He scrambled to his feet. “Yeah, sure,” he said. He shifted his pillow over to the left and stepped back to allow her to arrange hers. “Whatever works for you.”

  “I’m only doing this because it’s so cold,” she added.

  Finn swallowed. “Okay.”

  She still wouldn’t look at him, and in the dim light of the fire, he couldn’t be sure what she was thinking. She hadn’t called the police at any rate, which was a good sign.

  A sign of what, exactly? He needed to stop his thoughts from racing too far ahead—the only reason she was agreeing to this was her survival instinct. She didn’t want to freeze to death, was all. And she apparently didn’t want to have his death on her conscience, either.

  Iris sat on the couch and looked up at him. She was still wearing several layers of clothes, though she no longer seemed to be shivering. But Finn knew she’d get colder again once she stopped moving.

  He threw another log on the fire and stirred the embers half-heartedly with the poker. He had no idea how long the wood would last—would they have to get up in the night to pile on more?

  Not wanting to presume, he sat beside her, leaving two feet of space between them. “How do you want to do this?” he asked.

  She shrugged, though he could swear she was blushing. It was hard to tell in the firelight.

  “It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before,” she said, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere above his head. “And we’re fully clothed. You’ll keep to your side, and I’ll keep to mine.”

  Finn eyed the pull-out couch. He supposed it had been made for two people, but it was still narrower than a queen-size bed. His bed at his Palo Alto home was twice as wide, and he usually ended up spread-eagled in the middle.

  Maybe he could just lie next to her and remain awake throughout the night. Then he’d be sure he wouldn’t end up pushing her off the edge of the couch by accident.

  “Right.” Finn swallowed and scooted over to the wall. He lay on his back and dragged one of his blankets up. “Get comfortable, then we can throw the last blanket over both our feet to share the warmth.”

  Iris swallowed. “Okay.”

  For the briefest moment, she met his eyes, and Finn couldn’t help the surge of heat that shot through him. Iris was going to sleep right next to him, and he couldn’t take her in his arms? He couldn’t press his lips to her neck and inhale the sweet scent of her hair?

  Life was cruel.

  Gritting his teeth, he stared at the ceiling while she shuffled beside him. A memory flashed inside his mind, of Iris sleeping over at his parents’ house—he’d snuck her in through the back door after his parents had gone to bed, and they’d tiptoed down the hallway, his hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. It had been a warm June night, and her skin…

  Finn closed his eyes. He’d gotten really good at forgetting those perfect days, but being close to Iris brought everything back to the surface.

  “Goodnight,” Iris whispered.

  Finn turned his head to the side to look at her. She lay with her back to him, the feminine shape of her body visible despite her layers of clothes and the blankets: the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips. Her honey-blonde hair gleamed in the low light.

  There was also enough space between them to tell him that she must have positioned herself at the very edge of the couch.

  Clearly, she wasn
’t beset by the same memories as him. Well, at least he could be reasonably sure she wouldn’t freeze in the night, though she might topple over. That was her choice.

  He stifled a sigh. “Goodnight, Iris,” he murmured in reply.

  In the quiet night in the Swiss mountains, Finn lay awake for a long time, listening to her breathing. It took her ages to fall asleep, and he’d give anything to know what she was thinking about. Maybe she was plotting how to get rid of him in the morning. But maybe she was reliving the highlights of their time together, like he was.

  After so many years, only the good memories remained, making it even harder to remember why they’d broken up in the first place.

  Maybe he could talk to her over breakfast. She might even be up for returning home with him.

  Despite his intention of keeping vigil through the night, Finn’s eyes closed as he listened to Iris’ deep breathing. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just grab a quick nap to take the edge off his jetlag. He’d get some rest and coax Iris into leaving this freezing shack.

  Seven

  Iris

  Zermatt, Switzerland, December 21

  Her body was pleasantly warm, but her ear was freezing.

  What a strange sensation to have.

  Iris sighed and burrowed deeper under the covers. She’d get up and…

  Her eyes snapped open. She was in bed with Finn Thornton. She should have known this was a terrible idea. She had known it was going to be a disaster, but she’d been so tired and so cold, and she just couldn’t bring herself to send him to that icy bedroom.

  So she’d caved and agreed on sleeping on this cursed couch.

  And now she was tangled up in Finn, clinging to him like a monkey.

  It was his fault for being so warm. It was basic animal instinct at its finest: her body had acted on autopilot in the night, seeking heat.

  Judging by the temperature of the room and the swirling icy patterns on the window, the fire had gone out. Iris didn’t dare move to check—one breath, and Finn might wake up and find her in this embarrassing position.

  Ugh. Did his chest have to be so firm? Iris forced her fingers to unclench—she’d been clutching his soft cashmere sweater. Slowly, she lifted her leg from where it was hooked over his, inching it down to straighten it.

  Then she realized her problem. As tightly as she’d been holding him, Finn was also wrapped around her. Her head was pillowed on his powerful biceps, and his other arm was firmly holding on to her waist.

  Why?

  Iris closed her eyes for a second, silently cursing herself, Sam, her parents, and Finn, who had absolutely no business looking so deliciously handsome when asleep. He should be drooling and snoring. That would make her feel better.

  She opened her eyes and studied his relaxed face. His dark eyelashes made feathery crescents on his cheeks, and the bow of his lips, though shadowed with stubble, seemed so soft she wanted to press her lips there. Crazy, dangerous thoughts. It had taken her a long time to forget about Finn’s kisses, and she wasn’t about to relapse.

  Nope, she needed to escape this situation with her dignity intact.

  Finn sighed, his warm breath tickling her arm, and tightened his hold on her as though he could sense her intentions.

  Iris barely suppressed a growl. Horrible man.

  There was nothing for it. Iris tucked her arms to her body, took a deep breath, and rolled away from him with a quick push. The momentum sent her right over the edge of the couch, and she caught herself on the rug inches before she smacked her head into the coffee table.

  “Iris?” Finn’s head poked over the edge of the couch. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  His concerned expression almost broke her heart. He’d always been so good at taking care of her. Gazing up at his sleepy face and disheveled hair, she almost caved, the temptation to return to his embrace was so powerful.

  But then she remembered just why she’d ended their relationship. How he’d simply made a space for her in his life and expected her to fill it without ever asking her whether that was what she wanted.

  Right. This man was too powerful, too electric for her—she would get lost in him.

  Iris scrambled to her feet. “I’m fine, I just lost my balance.”

  Finn sat up and rubbed the spot on his chest where she’d held him, as though he could still feel her phantom touch. “Okay. Um. The fire’s gone out.”

  Iris glanced at the stove. “True. I’ll get it going again.”

  She was shivering hard by the time the kindling caught fire. But at least she had something to do and she didn’t have to watch Finn be adorably sleepy. She placed a log on the flames and shut the hatch.

  When she turned back to him, she found him watching her, his gaze bright and alert, his brows furrowed.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Iris blurted, “Bathroom,” and escaped.

  She needed a minute away from him to collect her thoughts. It didn’t matter how comfortable she felt in his arms. He needed to leave, and soon. He’d go back to the States and return to his high-powered life. She had no business remembering the past—or imagining a future that could never come to pass.

  She scrubbed her face with cold water and peered at her pink-cheeked reflection. Her skin still bore the impression of the sheets, and her eyes were shadowed from too little sleep. She was a far cry from the fresh-faced college graduate who had dated Finn all those years ago. Since then, she’d changed her life, escaped her parents’ clutches, and built a teaching career. Iris was proud of her achievements, but it was hard not to mourn the naïve girl she’d been.

  Returning to the living room, she found Finn already dressed. He was folding the blankets, stacking them in a pile on the couch. He glanced up as she entered, and there was something soft in his gaze. Iris wondered if he knew how they’d spent the night—and decided she would never ask him about it. It was just too much.

  “When are you leaving?” she asked instead.

  His expression shuttered, and Iris cringed inwardly. She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. But every moment spent in his company brought back more memories, and she couldn’t hold them down anymore; her carefully constructed dam was cracking, little images spilling through the fissures.

  Finn’s lips pressed in a thin line, and he turned his back on her. She remembered how those lips tasted—remembered her first kiss.

  She was sixteen and just returned from her first homecoming dance. Jeremy Parker, her date, had ditched her halfway through the evening to join his friends, and she’d spent the night sitting by the wall, her throat hurting from the effort it took not to cry. At home, she sat in her backyard, unwilling to face her parents just yet. They would question her, and her mother would tell her it was her fault Jeremy had left her all alone: she wasn’t interesting enough.

  Then Finn, the neighbor’s boy she’d known forever, materialized out of the darkness, wearing a suit, his jacket thrown over one shoulder. He was a senior that year, and he’d gone to the homecoming dance alone. He dropped to the bench next to her, not saying anything.

  Iris wiped her tears, and said, “Tonight was supposed to have been magical.”

  Finn only looked at her, his eyes completely black in the darkness.

  Iris spread her arms, her dress billowing around her—she hadn’t wanted to wear so much tulle, but her mother had insisted.

  “Tonight, I was supposed to have had my first kiss. Instead, Jeremy got drunk and ditched me.”

  Finn made a low growl in his throat. “Parker is an idiot.”

  His gaze dipped from her eyes to her lips. Iris’ every nerve ending was attuned to him, so she heard his shuddering inhale of breath, just a moment before he leaned in to press his lips to hers.

  Her eyes drifted closed, and she held herself still, afraid she might shatter this dream, shatter the perfect moment. Finn’s lips were firm, and he smelled like deodorant and boy, and her entire body tingled with excitement. This was her very first kiss. She wanted it to
last forever. She wanted to sink into the sensations and never resurface, never deal with reality anymore. If she could keep on kissing Finn Thornton forever…

  He ended the kiss, too soon, and it took Iris a moment to open her eyes. Finn was gazing at her in silence, his expression serious.

  “Thank you,” she said at last. It seemed only polite.

  Finn cracked a grin, his handsome face lighting up. “You don’t need to thank boys for kissing you. They should be thanking you.”

  She shrugged, thankful her blush was concealed by darkness. All clever words escaped her, so she hoped she came across as mature and mysterious, rather than moonstruck. Finn got up and grabbed his jacket. With a small wave and a smile, he melted back into the shadows, and leaves rustled as he jumped the fence separating her parents’ garden from the Thorntons’.

  Then she touched her fingers to her lips and vowed to herself that she’d never kiss a boy again unless he made her breathless with anticipation the way Finn just had.

  Iris shook herself and followed Finn’s curt, efficient movements. That day in the garden, Finn had set a bar so high, very few boys—or men—had reached it. It had taken them years to become a couple, but the wait had been worth it. Finn remained the man who’d given her the best kisses of her life.

  Now he was leaving, and with every fiber of her being, Iris wished she could make him stay. And he would, she knew. With a simple request, she could have him back in her life. He’d loved her, so much, but it hadn’t been enough. So she would have to let him go. It wasn’t fair to either of them to drag out whatever feelings remained between them.

  Finally, Finn faced her. Iris realized he hadn’t answered her question, but given that his overnight bag was packed and the pull-out couch was tucked away again, she knew he would be leaving soon.

  She cleared her throat. “I have some breakfast vouchers for the main lodge,” she said. “We could, um, have breakfast if you want. Before you go, I mean.”