by Frankie Love
“Yeah, a few years back I read a book,” Everett explains, taking off his coat and gloves. I discreetly assess his ring finger. Bare. And there are no hints of a woman and child in this very manly abode. “It was called something like the 100 Thing Challenge?”
I nod, as I sit in a rocking chair beside the fire.
“Yeah, I think I remember picking that up,” I tell him. “And then promptly setting it back down.”
“Not into the minimalist lifestyle?” he asks.
“Let’s just say I’m more of a messy artist. I’m organized, for sure, but no one else would understand my system. I swear, my sister comes over and she nearly has a heart attack every time she goes into my workroom. I like sparkles. And confetti. And I don’t think there’s such a thing as too much washi tape.”
Everett kneels before me, in an oddly intimate way. His eyes reach mine as I look down at him. He doesn’t say a word in response after my rambling about craft supplies. He just begins untying the knots in my laces.
My heart pounds and I have a feeling I would let him unlace anything I was wearing.
This man is trouble.
“You work at home then?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m a writer. And a crafter. I make money on my blog. A crafty writing blog.”
He nods, not looking up. “That’s cool.”
That’s cool? What are you even supposed to do with that? Is he being sarcastic? Genuine? Indifferent?
And what does it say about me that I want to know exactly what he means when he says that’s cool.
It means that I like him.
I like the way his fingers are untying my boots and sliding them off my frozen feet.
I like the way his hands run over my toes massaging them softly through the wool socks I’m wearing.
I like the way he doesn’t make eye contact with me as he slowly and surely defrosts me.
“You okay?” he asks me.
“Yeah, that feels better. Much better. Thank you.”
Everett nods, and then turns to the fireplace, throws a few logs onto the fire to stoke it. “It died down before I left to get the tree,” he explains. “It will get cold in here if we don’t warm this place up. And it’s only going to get worse tonight. This storm blew in out of nowhere.”
“So, I guess I’ll be here for a while?”
He nods tightly and I can’t tell if me being here is totally annoying him or not.
“What are your plans for that tree, anyway?” I look around the cabin, not seeing a single sign of holiday spirit.
“I thought I’d prop it up in the corner. You know, for some Christmas cheer?” I see a hint of a smile in his eyes, but his mouth doesn’t budge.
“Are you at least going to decorate it?”
I admit, my craft-inclined fingers are already itching to spruce it up.
He shrugs. “I don’t know, I don’t exactly have lots of Christmas decorations.”
“Christmas lights didn’t make the cut for your one hundred things?” I tease.
“Exactly.”
I look out the window, the snow is falling so hard now that I wonder if I’ll be here longer than a day. Oddly, though, I don’t mind the prospect in the least.
“Lucky for you I wrote a blog post last week called the Frugal Woman’s Guide to Trimming Her Tree.”
At this, Everett laughs without hesitation. “Is trimming her tree a euphemism?”
My face gets red and I stand up from the rocking chair to slug him in the shoulder playfully. “Not a euphemism.” I put my hands on my hips, looking around the room. “I need you to get me some scissors and paper. The newspaper will even do. And bring in the tree. If I’m stuck here all night I’m gonna make this place look like Christmas.”
“Anything else, Ms. Demanding?” Everett smirks, taking stock of me.
“Yes,” I tell him, grinning. “You promised me some whiskey.”
Chapter Four
Damn, this woman has my cock hard and my blood pumping. I get her paper and scissors, and a shot of Fireball for both of us, then hightail it out of the cabin, to shake off the snow from the branches before dragging the tree inside.
There is something else I need to shake off too. I adjust my cock, and this gust of cold air is helping things.
The cabin was getting hot, a fucking inferno. Kneeling before that woman, her tits all up in my face in her tight little sweater, her jeans hugging her hips perfectly. And damn, I’m not a guy with some weird fetish, but pulling those boots off and holding her feet in my hands, I wanted to pull off those wool socks and kiss her fucking toes.
What the hell is wrong with me? It’s been way too long since I’ve had a woman.
I think it’s about to change, though. Not that I’m exactly the kind of guy I’m guessing Evie usually dates. Sleeps with. Fucks. I’m guessing with those hot pink gloves and her bright blonde hair she prefers guys with a bit more style. I’m not saying she dates douchebag city-slickers, I just, I know I’m not her type.
Women like her go for party guys who can keep up. Guys who speak in hashtags and carry selfie sticks unironically.
She talks a mile a minute and doesn’t seem scared in the slightest. That means she’s used to getting what she wants.
But damn, I want to get what I want tonight. The way she looked at my cabin, memorizing every detail, and setting to work with just scissors and a smile, that is something special. Not bitching or complaining about being here with me, about being stuck away from home at Christmas time.
It makes me think my mother would love this girl. Would love the way she doesn’t seem scared to be alone with a stranger, the way she just accepted this for what it was. Fate.
Shaking off the tree, I reckon we found a pretty good one. I carry it into the house and see Evie with the newspaper I found her. Snip. Snip. Snip. She’s got a thousand little clippings on the floor already.
Johnny Walker is eating this up. He sits at her feet, wagging his tongue, he’s smart as fuck. He knows this woman is the type of woman that you worship.
“I’m making snowflakes,” she explains, even though I didn’t ask. I lean the tree against the door and take off my boots.
“Snowflakes?”
She holds up a folded piece of paper and with thumbs on either end, she pulls open an intricately cut snowflake.
“Cute, right?”
“I don’t usually think of snowflakes as cute, but sure. That’s cute.”
“Thanks,” she says setting down the scissors, not reading into my words. “I tried to call my sister, because, well, not that anyone is necessarily going to worry about me, but since my car is abandoned, I don’t want anyone to think something bad happened to me. So, do you have a phone I can use?”
I shake my head. “Evie, we don’t use phones out here. I live off the grid.”
“Right, off the grid. I get that. But I mean, you have electricity and running water and a beautiful place. I was just thinking you must have some sort of cell phone plan?”
“It’s all solar powered. There’s a generator too. But a cell phone? Can’t help you there.”
“Fuck. Sorry. It’s just, like, people are going to think I’m lost in the woods or something.” She’s looking at her phone with no signal, obviously stressed out.
“Hey listen, we can radio the state patrol, have them call your sister and let her know you’re okay.”
Relief floods Evie’s face and I’m glad I found a plan that works to her liking.
“Thank God. I just don’t want anyone to worry this time of year.”
I radio into the state patrol, and Evie rattles off her sister’s phone number, giving explicit directions in what to say in the message.
“Ma’am, we will do our best to let her know you are safe.” The sheriff’s voice is as deadpanned as mine.
“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Evie says. She hands me back the radio and I turn it off, distracted with watching her shimmy back to the table where she’s cutting paper.
“You have big plans tomorrow?” I can’t help but ask.
“Not really,” she says absently, her legs tucked beneath her as if she’s right at home. “Just, a party tonight and brunch tomorrow, and then Christmas Eve dinner with my family. I’m probably forgetting something, but yeah, anyways nothing huge going on besides making the wreaths. That was the reason why I was in the woods in the first place. To get cedar branches.”
“That sounds damn busy,” I reply, “in my opinion.” I open the bottle of the Fireball and pour a few shots into two tumblers. Walking back to the table, I set one before Evie and take a seat.
“Oh, I like to stay busy. Otherwise, I get restless. Bored.” Evie shrugs. She picks up her glass and clinks the rim on mine. “And now, we must toast. I must offer my most sincere thanks, to you, Everett, my knight in shining armor. My Savior. My Christmas miracle. Thank you for finding me. I owe you my life.”
I laugh, not knowing if she’s serious. With my mouth parting in a grin, her eyes twinkle, her own smile widens.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s just... when you smile.” She blushes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know when you smile it just looks really nice. I know it sounds cheesy, but it literally lights up the room.”
“Literally, huh?”
“Don’t give me a hard time. I just mean... it’s nice.”
Our eyes meet, and I must say the way she is so willing to give me compliments feels good all the way down my bones. Words come easily to her, and I can imagine her writing a blog post about tonight.
There would be a lot of exclamation points. But genuine delight in the unexpected also.
“I didn’t save your life,” I tell her, taking a drink. She sips her whiskey daintily, before setting it down and picking up the scissors and paper. As if she’s most comfortable with her hands holding something.
“You did.” Snip. Snip. Snip.
“Well, I was in the right place at the right time.”
“You believe that?” She asks, her eyes concentrating on the paper in her hand. “Destiny…. fate… magic? All that stuff?”
“Doesn’t much matter.”
“Maybe not,” she says wistfully. “It would be nice if it was real. Wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t have to be magic for things to turn out well.”
“So maybe this is serendipity. A happy turn of events.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you want to make that?” she asks.
“Serendipity?”
“No,” she says laughing. “You can’t force serendipity. But you can make magic. See.” She pulls her hands apart, an edge of the paper in either one.
She didn’t make a snowflake this time. She made a snow globe. And in the center, are a man and a woman and a Christmas tree.
In the center is us.
“Serendipity and magic might be one in the same,” I tell her before leaning over and kissing her.
Chapter Five
The kiss catches me off guard. I swear half the time I’ve been here; I’ve thought Everett has been annoyed with me. But then he looks at me with those clear blue eyes with so much intention it unnerves me; sears me. In a good way, the way the whiskey burns.
It hurts and then warms you up, all the way to your core.
That is what’s happening right now with this kiss.
My lips sink into his, and the scraps of paper on the table flutter to the floor as he cups my face in his hands.
I can’t even think of the last time I’ve been kissed like this.
It certainly wasn’t while I’ve been hanging out on the ridiculous Tinder app the last few weeks. Nor when I’ve met random guys at a bar. And not when my sister’s husband set me up with his business associate.
I don’t sleep around and just kiss willy-nilly. But I have kissed enough guys to know that they don’t hold a candle to this man.
Everett’s lips taste like cinnamon and his skin smells like pine trees and his hands are callused as they hold my face, but somehow they don’t feel rough against my skin. They feel worn and welcome.
I melt into this kiss. Leaning over this wooden table, it could be awkward. But it isn’t. Something about Everett is so self-assured, so self-reliant. He didn’t ask to kiss me. He didn’t tiptoe around what he wanted. He took it. Plain and simple.
And I like it.
Our lips part, his tongue presses in against mine, full of heat and wanting. My belly flutters; nothing about me is cold anymore. Everett swept me away from the blizzard and brought me inside. Now I’m burning up.
“Evie,” he whispers between kisses, his breath warm on my neck, then hot against my ear. “I never knew a piece of paper could turn me on so fucking much.”
I smile, turning my head as his tongue tickles my ear. “Just wait till you see what I can do with my hands.”
He laughs, that low gravelly laugh.
“Show me then,” he says. “Show me what your hands can do.”
That’s when I decide I’m going to take this mountain man at his word. There’s not going to be any coy questions about what happens next, no nervous looks considering what both of us clearly want.
This is happening.
Still, I can’t help but tell him the truth, that his kisses caught me off guard. “I had no idea you wanted this. Wanted me.”
Everett pulls away, looks at me intently, and then leans back to kiss me once more.
This time harder.
Leaving no questions in my mind.
“I always know what I want,” he tells me. “But I’m not one of those men who use a lot of words to make that clear.”
“I might have enough words for both of us.”
Everett shakes his head. “Right now, I don’t think we need many words.” He stands and reaches for my hand.
His hand is so warm and big as it reaches around my waist and pulls me to him. I’m not a tiny girl, rail thin and petite. I have curves, and sometimes they get in the way of whether a guy wants me. I enjoy my white chocolate mochas and Frappuccino’s with an extra pump of caramel.
And sure, I post a lot of crafty ideas on my blog, but there’s a fair share of recipes offered as well. I make a mean cheesecake and award-winning meringue.
Sugar and spice and everything nice: Guilt-free goodies.
And in Everett’s arms, I feel like I fit.
Serendipity.
Everett's hands wrap around my waist, and then he reaches underneath my sweater. I inhale sharply, relishing this moment.
His palms press against my bare skin and when he touches me a shiver of pleasure runs over my spine.
“This is really happening.” It’s a shock that my day has turned out like this.
“Yes, Evie. This is happening.” He lifts my shirt over my head, my arms raised, and takes it off in one fell swoop. I’m wearing a red lacy bra, and you can see my hardened nipples through it. Everett’s eyes take in my body slowly.
There is no room for insecurity with this man. There’s no space for me to cover my tummy or drop my gaze. But I wouldn’t want to -- the way he’s looking at me, it’s like he’s relishing everything he sees.
“Damn, woman,” he says, shaking his head. “What would have happened if I hadn’t found you in the woods?”
“I suppose I would’ve frozen to death?”
“Good thing that didn’t happen.” His finger runs from my chin down to my neck, then between my breasts and to my bellybutton. When he gets there, he uses both hands to unbutton me, then pulling the zipper ever so slightly, folding back my jeans, revealing a triangle of my matching red panties in the space between.
“Fuck, I know this will sound like I’m a selfish bastard,” he says. “But God, woman, my life would be incomplete if I hadn’t had the chance to see you. To see this. Evie, you are perfection.”
I know my face must now be matching my undies, but I don’t care.
I’m loving the attention, lov
ing the fact I’m not asking or fishing for compliments. He’s just giving them to me.
Usually, I’m the one who initiates dates or meet-ups. It’s not often that I’m the girl guys are lusting over.
I talk a lot. I say what I mean. I dress for myself more than anyone else, and guys aren’t typically into hot pink rain boots and patterned leggings with slouchy sweaters.
It seems like most guys prefer faux leather corsets and booty shorts.
But with Everett... he’s seriously looking at me like I’m his teenage wet dream. Like I’m the kind of girl he’s always wanted.
I smile -- grin, really. “You haven’t even seen all of me yet, Everett, just wait till you see my pussy.”
Everett drops his head back, laughing again. He drops to his knees and pulls my jeans all the way down, helps me step out of them.
And then I’m in nothing but my underwear and red wool socks.
He looks up at me, a smirk on his face, those bright blue eyes meeting mine. “In all this red you look like a Christmas bow.” Everett runs his hands over my ass.
“You like red bows?”
“Only if I can untie them. “
“Let me help.” I unclasp my bra, toss it aside. My hard nipples and big tits are presents for him.
“Oh, fuck, woman, you are insane.” He presses his lips to my tummy. His fingers on either side of my waist tugging down the waistband of my panties. His breath is hot and my pussy responds. I’m so wet for him.
“Don’t tease me.” I laugh as his mouth presses hard against my mound, kissing me through the lace. Oh, god, I could get used to this.
“No teasing,” he promises. “I want to stay on Santa’s good list.
“You believe in Santa Claus?”
“Hell yeah, I believe in Santa. I have a feeling with you around, I’d be a fool to say otherwise,” Everett says, with his chin raised so our eyes meet.
I run my hands through his hair, ruffling the dark strands as his beard rubs against my thighs.
