by Olivia Noble
“Worse than a plane crash?” I ask him skeptically. “What else have you survived?”
He seems thoughtful. “The 90s. The Backstreet Boys breaking up. My high school girlfriend moving to Canada. My college fraternity hazing.”
I sigh. This man is going to be frustrating to deal with. But at the same time, I can see he is shivering and hurt, while saying all these silly things intended to distract from the severity of the situation. “Fine,” I concede, moving to the fireplace. “Let’s get you warm.”
I crouch down and begin to arrange the logs in a manner that will give them plenty of oxygen. As I’m doing this, the lights in my house begin to flicker. Yes, I imagine that soon we will be without power.
“I never got your name,” the man says, as he watches me try to light the logs.
“It’s Eve,” I tell him, as I blow gently on the embers.
He doesn’t respond for a second, and when I turn around, he is grinning from ear to ear.
“That’s an excellent name for my future wife,” he tells me, nodding. “Because I’m Adam.”
Chapter Two
I groan as the fire starts to flicker. “Is that really your name?”
“Scout’s honor,” Adam says cheerfully, making a salute across his heart. “Here, let me show you my ID.” He begins fishing in his pockets for his wallet, but then he frowns. “It must have fallen out in the plane. Or on the way over here.”
“I guess I will take your word for it,” I tell him, rising to my feet. “What do I need to get for first aid?”
“Just some kind of bandage to wrap my leg,” he says, rubbing his thigh. He glances at the table beside the armchair, where my empty hot cocoa mug was. “I could also use some of whatever was in that cup, and whatever was on that stick.
Moving forward, I collect the dishes and head to the kitchen to prepare him some cocoa. “Are you sure a bandage will be enough?”
“Yup. I will probably get some x-rays later, once I can find my way to civilization.”
“Does it hurt a lot?” I ask as I arrange a few reindeer cake pops on a small plate. “What about your head? I have some heavy-duty painkillers around here.”
He fingers the cut on his forehead. “This is just a tiny scratch. I’m a little banged up, but it’s not unbearable.” He looks at me suspiciously. “Why do you have heavy duty painkillers, Eve?”
That’s the first time he’s said my name, and it sounds really nice on his voice. I feel a slight quiver in my chest, and I realize that I haven’t heard the sound of a man’s voice in a long time. Other than talking to my father on the phone, and that’s not quite the same. Even my brother and I mostly text.
Hormones, calm down. You’ve seen a man before. You’ve heard one speak. It’s not that special.
“I spend a lot of long hours hunched over the computer desk,” I explain as I hunt in my kitchen for bandages. “My posture is horrible and I get a lot of headaches and shoulder pain.”
“I know where to get great deals on ergonomic office furniture,” he says. “I’ll hook you up with an amazing chair that will cushion your body so perfectly that you will never feel pain again.”
“That sounds really nice,” I admit with a sigh, rubbing my shoulder as I wait for the mixture of cocoa, salt and water to heat up. Once it boils, I whisk in some milk and vanilla essence, and pour it into a cup, garnishing the beverage with whipped cream, marshmallows, and a touch of sprinkles. I serve it to my unexpected guest, along with the cake pops.
He raises an eyebrow. “This is festive.”
“Yeah, sorry. My mother is very serious about Christmas. I guess it rubbed off.”
He cautiously sips the hot cocoa, and then takes a huge bite out of a cake pop. His eyes close. “Damn, Eve. My plane couldn’t have crashed in a better spot. I feel like I’m in holiday heaven.”
I turn around to hide my smile as I resume searching for bandages. I guess it’s lucky I was experimenting with food right before he showed up. Normally, I wouldn’t have had anything presentable to offer a guest. “Aha!” I exclaim as I hold up a roll of bandages, and some antiseptic. “Jackpot.”
“Did you make these?” he asks, demolishing a second cake pop. “They are divine. Are you a chef?”
“No, just a writer,” I explain, as I move over to gently disinfect the cut on his forehead. He stares at me the whole time, and it’s a little unsettling. I swallow. “Where is your leg injured?”
“It’s over here—don’t worry, I can take care of it myself.”
He puts down his plate and takes the roll of bandage away from me, lifting up his pant leg to tend to his wound. I step back, studying the bruises and wincing.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he assures me. “Trust me, if you’d seen some of the injuries my brothers have had over the years—this isn’t half bad.”
“How did they get injured?” I ask. I move over to tend to the fireplace again, throwing in a log so that I’m not staring at his exposed leg, which has turned various shades of black, blue, and even purple.
“Skiing, snowboarding, snowmobiling,” he explains. “They are thrill-seekers, but sometimes thrills come at a steep price.”
“Do they?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “I haven’t sought many thrills.”
He smiles, and it’s a little disarming how it transforms his face. “Excitement usually isn’t free. The best pleasure always comes with a little pain, Eve.”
The way he say this, with a twinkle in his eye, makes me clear my throat and turn away.
“For example,” he explains. “I had to smash my leg and crash a hundred-thousand dollar plane in order to find you and sample your delicious hot chocolate. So far, worth every penny and every bump and bruise.”
“Sure,” I say awkwardly, not sure what to do with all the flattery. I feel a little flustered. Adam seems confident, that’s for sure. The way he’s sprawled out in my favorite green armchair and made himself right at home. “What do you do for a living?” I ask him.
He smiles again. “Can you guess?”
“No,” I say, chewing my lip. “Is it something to do with the plane? Were you flying for work?”
“It’s no fun if I just tell you,” he responds. “We’re going to be waiting out the storm for a while, might as well entertain ourselves with a guessing game.”
“I have no earthly idea,” I confess.
“Do I seem like a plumber?” he asks teasingly. “A lawyer?”
“You could be a criminal on the run from the law,” I suggest.
“I could be,” he agrees.
“You could have been smuggling drugs with you on that plane. Or… weapons. Or… I don’t know, something illegal.”
He laughs. “You have a very active imagination. It makes perfect sense that you’re a writer.”
“So, you’re not a criminal?” I say hopefully.
“Do I look like a criminal, Eve?” he asks playfully, leaning forward with a sly smirk.
You look like trouble, I think to myself. But on the outside, I simply say, “Maybe. I haven’t met many criminals, so I have no idea what they look like.”
“What if I told you that my family runs a charity that delivers food, toys, clothing, medicine, and winter coats to children living in underprivileged and remote areas?”
My eyes widen. “Really? So that’s what’s on the plane?”
“Maybe,” he responds. “You’ll have to wait until the blizzard clears up to see if I’m lying. It could be drugs.”
I immediately feel guilty for being so suspicious. He could be a genuinely good guy. Right? The power flickers off, and we both look up to the lights. I sigh. “I have a backup generator,” I explain, as the lights come on again a moment later.
“How long does your backup generator last?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” I tell him. “At least two days.”
“Hmm,” he responds. “I hope that’s enough time. Did you not realize that a storm was coming?”
I shake my head. “I try not to listen to the news very much. I get way too stressed out. Usually my mom calls me if something major is happening with the weather.”
Adam smiles. “I’m the same way about the news. You and your mom are close, then?”
“We are. As close as we can be while I’m up here at the edge of humanity.”
“Hey, you can meet the most interesting people at the edge of humanity,” Adam says. “I find that Alaska tends to attract the tough, fearless, indestructible sort of person.”
“Indestructible?” I repeat curiously.
“Yes. That’s why a tiny thing like a plane crash could never make a dent in me,” he says with a proud smile. “But it’s more than physical. We’re emotionally made of steel, too.”
“Hmm,” I say thoughtfully, studying Adam.
“Say, do you have any more of those tasty reindeer?” he asks, abruptly transforming from wise and worldly to excited and childlike.
I can’t resist a smile as I head to the fridge, and pull out the whole tray. I deliver it to him, and he sighs happily as he begins to stuff them into his mouth, with a blissful expression on his face.
“Seriously,” Adam says with his mouth full. “Yfvou hafvta mahryie mfe.”
“What?”
He swallows. “You have to marry me,” he says, waving a cake pop at me like a judge issuing a decree.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I tell him pointedly.
“I know you’re damned beautiful,” he says with a decisive nod. “You can make a fire to keep the house warm. You can make a damned good cake pop and expert-level hot chocolate. You rescued me from freezing to death in a blizzard, and brought me into your adorable little cabin. I think you’re swell.”
“I don’t always make cake pops,” I tell him, “or cook much of anything at all. I would be a terrible wife.”
“Impossible. Besides, think of the wedding invitations. ‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of Adam and Eve.’ Catchy, right?”
I nod. “That part’s catchy, but I bet you have a horrible last name.”
“It’s Wintergreen.”
Hmmm. Eve Wintergreen. Eve Frost-Wintergreen. Not awful.
Wait, why am I even considering this? Am I insane?
“Besides,” Adam adds, “it’s lonely out here at the edge of humanity, isn’t it? Even the toughest, most fearless, and indestructible person needs someone to rely on, and someone to love. Don’t you think so, Eve?”
I do not respond for a moment, but I just turn to stare out the window at the storm. By the time I look back at him, he is nodding off. “Adam?” I say softly.
He looks up at me in surprise and yawns. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little bit exhausted. Do you have somewhere I can crash?”
“Right over there,” I say, gesturing to my bedroom. Then I realize that he needs help getting over there.
I move to his side and help him stand. I carefully guide him over to the bedroom, but as I do so, I inhale the masculine scent of him. It is so nice that it makes me a little lightheaded. It’s some sort of musky cologne. I guess I didn’t notice it before, when the storm was raging all around us.
Okay, so he smells like a man, and sounds like a man. Big deal. That’s just what men do. It’s not that impressive, Eve. It’s not a reason to sign marriage papers.
He seems to grow heavier with the final few steps. I reach down and pull back my comforter so that he can get in.
Adam grunts as he lowers himself to the bed. He lies there weakly for a moment, and squeezes my hand. “I would have died out there without you, Evie.”
I swallow. “You can’t give me a nickname after meeting me less than an hour ago.”
“But I feel like I’ve known you a lot longer than that,” he says. “Like maybe you were always here waiting for me to find you. Doesn’t it feel like we were meant to meet? Like we’re right where we’re supposed to be?”
I do not respond. I realize that I am holding my breath, because his hand feels very nice against mine. I can’t remember the last time I was touched by another human being. It’s very comforting and warm. I don’t really want him to let go.
“You’re my Christmas miracle,” Adam says. “Eve is the perfect name for you, because you look like Christmas Eve. Like a magical silent night, filled with anticipation for something wonderful that’s about to happen.”
His hand falls away, and his eyes flutter closed.
I stand there speechlessly for a moment.
“We should get married on Christmas Eve,” he mumbles in his sleep, and that ruins it.
I groan loudly as I move toward the door, unable to believe that I found him romantic for a second. He is probably married already, for all I know, and just joking around for the hell of it. Turning back, I glance at his hand for a ring or a tan line with narrowed eyes. I see none, but this is Alaska, and we don’t always get enough sun to develop tan lines.
Why do I care, anyway? I shouldn’t take anything he says seriously. I have no idea who he really is. His name might not even be Adam Wintergreen. That’s a ridiculous name, and definitely the type I would choose for a character in a book. It’s probably a name he made up on the spot to avoid me discovering his real identity. I’m not even going to glorify him by looking that name up online, because I am not interested.
It occurs to me that I should probably change out of my wet clothes. Adam was wearing proper protective gear, so he didn’t get quite as wet as I did. Which is lucky, because I didn’t have a change of clothes for him.
I collect a fresh nightgown from my dresser quietly, trying not to wake him. Then I move to exit my bedroom. Pausing in the doorway, it is then I realize that I have nowhere to sleep.
“Fiddlesticks,” I say grouchily.
Chapter Three
I stand in my room for a few minutes, staring at Adam with a confused look on my face. I feel like offering him hospitality may not have been the best idea ever, and I’m going to eventually regret this. Various worst case scenarios spiral through my head. When I made that wish on the shooting star, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.
I sigh as I shut the door and move into my living room. I change into a different nightgown so that I’m clean and dry, before grabbing some blankets from a closet. I place the blankets in the green armchair before removing the dishes Adam used, and placing them in the sink. I also retrieve my phone from my office, before nestling down into the chair. I guess I’m sleeping here for the night, by default. I toss and turn trying to get comfortable, muttering softly in annoyance while trying to figure out my next steps.
One thing is for certain—I’m going to wake up with a major headache.
Leaning against the side of the chair, I frown. I am not quite sure how to deal with the whole situation. I can’t help wondering about Adam. Is he a good person? It’s hard to figure out what his deal is. Have I just gotten myself into some kind of mess? I arrange the blankets around me in an effort to stay warm, and gaze at the fire burning in the center of my house.
Really doubting I’ll be able to fall asleep anytime soon, I decide to call my mom. It’s a few hours earlier in Minnesota, and she should be awake. To be honest, I’m a little surprised and worried that I haven’t heard from her lately—especially with the storm. My mom is usually always glued to The Weather Network to make sure there are no natural disasters affecting me or any of my siblings.
Once I press her name on my cell, the phone rings only twice before she picks up.
“Hello, darling?”
“Hi, Mom. Is everything okay with you and Dad?”
“Yes, honey, we’re fine,” she says, but her voice sounds strained.
“Are you sure?” I ask her. “It’s me, Eve. You don’t have to hide anything from me. I promise I won’t worry too much.”
“Well, to be honest sweetie, we’re having some difficulties.”
I sit up a little straighter. “What kind of difficulties, Mom?” I know my parents a
re getting older, and their health is a major concern. It’s part of the reason I was thinking of moving back to Minnesota permanently after when I go home for Christmas. There isn’t much up here in the frozen wilderness for me, anyway.
“Oh, it’s just your dad, baby. You know how I told you he keeps wandering out in the snow at night? Well, we went to the city because he needed to grab something at the mall. I stayed in the car to wait for him, but he couldn’t remember where he’d parked. He was wandering around for over an hour, before I had to get out and look for him.”
“Mom, how many times has this happened now?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s ever been this concerning. But there have been about half a dozen similar episodes. He always makes up some kind of excuse and acts like it’s intentional, or he was just distracted. But I can see that he’s genuinely confused. He’s just not as sharp as he used to be, baby. The man I married was quick as a whip, and your dad just seems so sluggish and absentminded lately. Sometimes I catch him standing in front of the sink with his razor and he looks like he’s forgotten what he was doing.”
“Have you taken him to the doctor?”
“He refuses to admit that anything’s wrong. He thinks he’s invincible and that a tiny thing like aging could never slow him down.”
I smile a little, thinking of Adam. Isn’t that exactly what he just said about the plane crash? Men can be so silly and stubborn.
“Maybe when you come home, you can convince him to go to the doctor?” my mom suggests.
“I will insist that he goes, and trick him into it if he doesn’t agree,” I assure her.
I can hear her sigh of relief over the phone. “Thank you, Evie. That makes me feel a lot better. He still remembers every single thing about you kids, you know? He insists on buying every single new book you write. He looks at YouTube videos of Clara dancing all the time. He gets annoyed that Jack went all the way to Africa, but I know he’s proud of him. And he is so excited that Mary is going to be engaged to Sebastian. He always asks ‘When is my little girl getting married?’ You kids are his world.”
