by Marie Landry
Her mouth opens and closes. Turning away, she slings her purse over her shoulder and strides toward the front door. “I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can afford to live on my own.” With that, she opens the door and steps out, letting it shut quietly behind her.
My feet are rooted to the floor. When I realize she actually left without me, I run after her. The hall is empty. I’m halfway to the stairwell when I realize I’m still wrapped in a towel. Shit! I clutch it to me as I slink toward the window that overlooks the front entrance of the building. Celia bursts out the front door and races down the walkway, where a taxi has just pulled up. She hops in, slams the door, and the car takes off.
Great. Just fucking great. “Could this day get any worse?” I mutter.
The sound of a throat being cleared loudly makes me jump. I already know it’s Mrs. Moscovitz, a crotchety old lady who’s lived here forever. She hates everyone except for her adorable little dog Duchess. Holding my head high, I spin on my bare feet and stride past her, sparing a glance at her face. Distaste, disgust, disdain, check, check, check.
“Looks like it’s going to be a nice evening for a walk, Mrs. Moscowitz,” I say breezily. “I hope you and Duchess have a good weekend!”
Tightening my towel, I jog the last few steps to my door and shut it quickly behind me. A hysterical-sounding laugh escapes me even as my eyes sting with tears. This day. This freaking day. I collapse against the closed door, clapping a hand over my eyes and swallowing down the weird mixture of giggles and unshed tears until it sounds like I’m fighting the hiccups.
I wish I could call in sick, but my shift starts in half an hour, so that would be a shitty thing to do. I can handle a few more hours of work, especially since it’s Friday. In fact, the distraction will probably be a good thing, otherwise I’d sit around all night stuffing my face with junk food and overthinking. I allow myself a moment and then spring into action. I need to call another cab, don my elf costume, and psyche myself up for hours of smiling while pretending I didn’t just have the shittiest day in recent memory.
I can do this.
*****
“I hear you had some car trouble today.”
Something in me loosens at the sound of Hugh’s voice. It’s his Santa voice—sans toe-curling accent—but it’s still deep and soft and everything I need right now. I was making my way through the Village after my dinner break when I ran into him.
“How did you know?”
“Ivy, Ivy, Ivy.” He gives his head an exaggeratedly slow shake, making his long beard sway. “You ought to know by now: I’m Santa Claus. I know everything.” He taps the side of his nose and winks.
Despite the smile that’s been plastered to my face since I arrived at Santa’s Village two hours ago, my answering laugh is my first genuine one all day. Hugh inches closer and my body overrides my brain as I reach for the velvety-soft lapels of his red suit and drop my forehead to his shoulder. I should get myself together and act professional, especially since we’re on one of the main streets where everyone can see us. I just need a moment of comfort. I inhale deeply, breathing in his woodsy scent. I’m about to straighten when he curls one arm around me, holding me loosely.
“Ivy,” he says softly. I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t.
Finally, I release my hold on him and step back. “Thanks.”
His gaze sweeps the area around us. He waves at a little boy who’s standing a few feet away, watching us with wide eyes. The boy waves back enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of his feet before letting his mother pull him away. Smiling, Hugh inches closer to me and in a voice meant for my ears only says, “The other Santa is doing breakfast and visit duty tomorrow so I can have the day off.”
My mouth drops open in mock horror. “The other Santa? I thought there was only one Santa.”
“Har har.” He gives me a little poke with a white-gloved finger. “This’ll likely be the only Saturday I take off before Christmas. It’s supposed to be unseasonably warm, so I was thinking of going for a hike. Would you care to join me?”
A hike? I’m so not athletic. I took the one year of required phys ed in high school—faking illness, cramps, or any other number of mystery ailments to avoid participating whenever possible—and haven’t done any type of sport since. I don’t mind walking, but I’m not exactly in shape, and I’m not sure I’m up to something as potentially strenuous as hiking. And yet…a whole day with Hugh? “I’ll say yes, with the warning I’m not in the best shape.”
He chuckles. “That’s okay. It’s not a steep climb, and there are places along the way to stop and rest. If you’d rather skip the hike, I can pick you up after and we can go to dinner, maybe a movie.”
I purse my lips and contemplate his offer. “Is there any sort of view on this hike?”
“Besides me, you mean?” He sweeps his hand in front of himself, then peers down as if only now remembering what he currently looks like. “Well, you did say I was hot,” he adds.
As if I need to be reminded. “I did, you’re right. As long as you lead the way, I suppose that’s the only view I need.”
A surprised laugh tumbles out of him. Honestly, I’m surprised at myself too. He holds my gaze, his eyes dancing with something playful and knowing. “I’ll even pack us a picnic, how does that sound?”
“Sold.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hugh offers to drive me home, which gives me a chance to quiz him on what I need to bring tomorrow. I already have a feeling I’m going to embarrass myself when he realizes I have the lung capacity of a five-year-old, so I don’t want to show up in the wrong clothes or bring something that’s going to attract bears or other wild animals that could possibly eat us.
All he said was, “Wear comfortable clothes and shoes. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Now it’s early Saturday morning and I’m standing in front of the mirror, wondering if my yoga pants and formfitting long-sleeved shirt, along with the hoodie I plan to wear will be sufficient. I googled hiking attire last night and this seems appropriate. Comfortable and cute, the best of both worlds. Plus my butt looks great in these pants.
Without too much intense searching, I managed to find the runners I bought two years ago when Bridget and I went on a health kick and decided to start walking together. Even though it was a short-lived phase, I managed to break in the shoes, so hopefully they’ll be comfortable enough for a day of hiking. It took me longer to find the mini backpack I used as a purse during the ’90s. I’m not ashamed to say I was a mini-backpack-wearing, lollipop-sucking, Spice Girl wannabe cliché in my teens, and the ’90s remain my favorite decade. I didn’t keep many things from my teen years—mostly because I didn’t have much since my aunt was a minimalist—but I could never bring myself to give away this backpack. I mentally stick my tongue out at Aunt Fan for telling me I shouldn’t keep things I don’t need.
Into the tiny bag goes a scarf and a pair of gloves in case it’s chillier than expected during our hike. I plan to tuck a bottle of water in before I leave. But what if I have to pee? I assume there are no bathrooms along the trails. Will I have to pop a squat if nature calls? The thought of wiping myself with nearby leaves makes me stuff a bunch of tissues into the backpack. Just in case. After a bit of deliberation, I tuck a pack of gum into the outside pocket, along with my favorite lip gloss. You never know when the need will arise for makeout essentials. It’s best to be prepared.
A few minutes before ten o’clock, I head downstairs to wait for Hugh. His SUV—I still think of it as Santa’s Sleigh, thanks to Meredith—pulls to a stop in front of my building promptly at ten, which makes me smile. He hops out and comes around to meet me, which makes me smile even bigger. I have a moment to take in his blue plaid shirt with a black tee peeking out from underneath, dark cargo pants, and sturdy boots before he wraps his arms around me in a quick hug.
“You ready for this?” he asks as he releases me.
“I think so.” This is the fir
st time I’m seeing him freshly shaved, and he looks completely different. He’s still ridiculously sexy, but I have to say the perma-stubble I’ve grown used to suits him. He opens my door and offers me a little boost into the high seat. An amused grin graces his face when he spots my backpack. “Just a few essentials,” I tell him.
On the way across town, Hugh explains we’re going to a park that has a bunch of trails. “I thought we’d try a moderate trail. It takes quite a while to reach the top, but it’s not as steep as some of the other paths. The view at the top is worth it; you can see all of Bellevue from up there.”
When we reach the park and Hugh hauls out a regular-sized backpack, I realize I’ve forgotten my water. Not wanting to seem like an idiot who can’t manage to bring the bare essentials along on a hike, I don’t mention it. It’s not like it’s summer, with the full force of the sun beating down on us and making me sweat or feel like I’m dying of thirst. Hopefully.
Hugh takes my hand, effectively making me forget about my lack of water, the chill in the air, and pretty much anything else. This whole situation is so strange, although not in a bad way. When I’m with him I feel alternately comfortable and nervous. There’s no denying he gives me butterflies and I’d be lying if I said I don’t think about him way more than I probably should.
And yet I’ve never had this type of relationship. We’re friends hanging out, keeping it casual. Are we technically dating? Will it lead to more? Is sex going to be involved? My brain jutters to a halt right there while a fluttery feeling inside me screams ‘Please let there be sex involved!’ I’m not the most experienced when it comes to dating or relationships, so this whole keeping it casual thing is throwing me off.
At the foot of the path, Hugh pauses to look at me. I pull myself from my thoughts, letting my gaze travel from our joined hands to the trail, then back to him. “Just go slow. I’m new at this.”
Something in his expression—maybe the way his eyes soften, or the slight tilt to his lips—tells me he senses the double meaning behind my words. “We’ll go at your pace. If you need me to slow down at any point, just say the word.” His voice is quiet, roughened by his accent. He’s standing so close I can feel his warm breath on my face. The combination makes my legs wobble, which probably isn’t the best way to start what’s sure to be a long hike. I take a few deep breaths and he gives my hand a squeeze before releasing it to swing his backpack into place.
The trail is wide enough at first for us to walk side by side at a leisurely pace. The fact we’re able to carry on a conversation makes me confident I’ll be fine as we carry on. That confidence begins to wane as we reach the first incline. My breath comes harder from the exertion, despite the hill not being all that steep. Our conversation peters out until we’re walking in silence with the only sounds besides normal forest noises being my heavy breaths and our footfalls.
The trail is fairly smooth with a few steeper areas and the occasional fallen branch or other debris over the path. Whenever we approach something like a log or gnarly tree roots, Hugh reaches for my hand without a word, guiding me and making sure I’m okay. I don’t for a second believe it’s because he thinks I’m incapable of handling myself, but rather just his nature. He’s a gentleman, and it’s hot as hell. Besides, I’ll take any excuse to touch him, even if it’s just an innocent brush of hands or him grasping my fingers.
I have no idea how much time has passed when we reach a huge flat rock to the side of the path. It’s bathed in dappled sunlight and all but calls to my strained legs and lungs. “Ready for a break?” Hugh asks. “This looks like a good spot to rest.”
“Was my gasping getting to be too much? Or did you notice my legs starting to shake?” I collapse on the rock. It holds a surprising amount of heat from the sun, making me want to curl up on it like a cat.
Hugh chuckles. “Neither.” He fishes two water bottles out of his backpack and hands one to me.
I accept it with a murmured thanks, cracking the lid immediately and taking several gulps. My theory about not getting dehydrated went out the window about ten minutes ago when my mouth started drying out. From the corner of my eye, I catch Hugh watching me.
“I had water ready to bring,” I tell him, breathless from chugging half the bottle. “I didn’t tell you I forgot to grab it because I didn’t want you to think I’m an idiot.”
He perches beside me on the rock, close enough for our thighs to touch. “I’d never think you’re an idiot, so you needn’t worry about that.” He studies me, then gives his head an almost imperceptible shake. “For the record, I don’t expect you to be perfect, Ivy. Or to always say or do the ‘right’ thing. I get the feeling you’re hard on yourself and sometimes forget you’re only human. Give yourself a break once in awhile.”
Well. He sure has me pegged. “Should I start calling you ‘Dr. MacKinnon’?” I ask lightly.
The way he scrunches his face in response is adorable. “Sorry. Force of habit. I didn’t mean to go all psychoanalytical on you.”
“It’s fine.” With his thigh still pressing against mine, it’s way too easy to lay my hand there. I stop myself from allowing my fingers to roam and test out the thick muscles beneath his cargo pants. “I don’t mind, actually. This will probably sound weird, but it’s nice to be seen and understood.”
“Not weird.” His large, rough hand covers mine. That small amount of contact has awareness zinging through me. Most of the guys I’ve dated have had desk jobs, so they don’t have work-roughened hands. Hell, some of them have had softer hands than mine. It makes me wonder what it would feel like to have Hugh’s hands on me in other ways. Rough hands gliding over soft skin, rasping as they move over me…
Hugh’s fingers tighten around mine, jolting me back to reality. Oh god. I hope my face isn’t as red as I imagine it is. From the tiny almost-smirk on Hugh’s face, I’m guessing it is, and I’m also guessing he has an idea where my mind was wandering.
“I think I’m good to go,” I say, even though my legs still feel like jelly. “Probably best to keep going so my muscles don’t seize up or something.”
“As you like.” Without releasing my hand, he gets to his feet, pulling me up with him. We start out again at a meandering pace until my legs adjust, and then we move with more purpose. Hugh points out different things along the path, like a thick copse of trees that still has some of their brightly-colored autumn leaves, and the small animals scurrying about.
Despite the strain on my lungs and the fact my hips are beginning to ache, I’m enjoying myself. Hugh is good company; I’m comfortable in his presence, and I appreciate he doesn’t feel the need to fill every silence or make small talk. He’s interesting and funny and smart, which makes for one hella sexy package.
Since our short break, the trail has slowly been getting steeper. We reach a narrow pass that won’t allow us to go side by side. Hugh suggests I go ahead of him so I can set the pace. With him behind me, I’m now doubly glad I wore my best pair of butt-enhancing yoga pants. Not that I imagine he’s staring at my derriere, but still.
My breaths become more strained as we climb—because that’s what we’re doing now, climbing. The gentle rise has turned into more of a hill, and besides being narrow it’s also littered with debris. I keep my eyes cast downward to avoid stumbling or slipping on the slick leaves that cover the forest floor. With my attention on the ground, I narrowly miss colliding with a tree that’s sticking out further than the others. Expelling an embarrassed laugh from my tired lungs, I stop and collapse against the offending tree to catch my breath.
“That would have been great,” I say between pants. “Concussion in the middle of the woods. I thought you said this wasn’t a steep path.”
Hugh leans on a boulder across from me. His breathing is only slightly heavier than usual and he’s barely broken a sweat. Bastard. “There’s a wee chance I might have chosen the wrong path,” he says slowly, glancing up the incline ahead of us. When his gaze returns to mine, he gives me what
I’m sure he thinks is a winning grin.
I compress my lips, trying to my reaction. I can’t help it. He has this gorgeous, bright smile that always makes my lips twitch in response. “Don’t try to be all cute and charming,” I say. “Using words like ‘wee’ and grinning at me like that.”
Said grin widens. “I think the smoother path was a bit further down in the park,” he says. “The good news is we’re not far from the top. I promise the view is worth it. And I’ll be sure to find the more even path for the way back down.”
“Good, otherwise I’d probably trip on something and end up rolling to the bottom.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen.” He pushes off the boulder and moves toward me. His long legs close the distance between us in a few steps. I swallow hard as he enters my personal space, standing so close I have to lean my head back to look up at him. The image of him wavers in front of me slightly and I realize I’m holding my breath. The air rushes out of my lungs in a whoosh, and I cover the sound by clearing my throat. My tongue darts out to moisten my lips, the movement drawing Hugh’s attention to my mouth.
He’s finally going to kiss me. The butterflies that took flight in my stomach a moment ago start doing a giddy jig.
His lips part, but instead of lowering to mine, they start moving. It takes my brain a few beats to catch up and tune in to what he’s saying. “—go first now so I can help you over some of the rougher terrain. We should reach the top in another ten to fifteen minutes, and then we can eat.”
“Eat?” I ask stupidly.
“Aye, I brought us a picnic.”
There he goes again, being all cute and charming and Scottish. It almost makes up for the fact he didn’t kiss me. Almost.
