by Frankie Love
“I bet it’s gonna be freezing in here,” she tells me, unlocking the front door, and swinging it open.
“Let’s keep the wreaths on the porch since I’ll be delivering them anyways.”
“Make sense,” I tell her and I set the ones in my hand down. Once I’ve unloaded them all, I head inside. She’s cranked up the thermostat and turned on lights.
My house is minimalist, but this home is just that. A home.
She has a Christmas tree covered with handmade ornaments, wrapped gifts underneath the tree. On her mantelpiece, there are stockings hung, a Nutcracker collection on display. She has red and green pillows on the couch -- a fluffy pink couch -- a couch that screams Evie.
I follow her into the kitchen that has open shelving and is full of platters and plates, glassware and mixing bowls. It’s not messy, it’s just full. Full of life.
Her dining room is turned into an office, housing a big computer desk and around it is mason jars filled with markers and pens, catalogs, and craft supplies. She has a shadowbox where I’m sure she takes lots of her photographs and cork boards filled with clippings of color swatches and fabrics, inspirational quotes and decor ideas.
“Your house is...” I start.
“A lot different than yours?” She laughs. “Part of me has been dying for you to see my place, another part has been terrified.”
“There’s no reason be terrified. Your place looks like you. Colorful and beautiful and happy.”
“And that’s how you would describe me?”
“Well, I would’ve described you as happy until we drove down the mountain. Damn, Evie.” I shake my head, leaning on the countertop in the kitchen. “After that call with your sister, I swear to God I thought you were gonna burst into tears.”
She waves her hand, brushing me off, and turns on the burner where the kettle is resting. She grabs mugs from the cupboard and adds tea bags to each. “Oh, that was just me being stupid. I’m so happy for her. She’s such a good mom. I mean, we don’t do things the same way, but she is a good mom. And she’s super lucky.”
“I can picture you as a mom, Evie.”
She stops what she’s doing and I know I’m teetering on the edge of treacherous territory. Talking about a woman and motherhood could be a rocky combination. But I want to go there with Evie. I know my time is running out.
“You would make a really good mother, Evie. You would probably helicopter the kid, but in a good way. You’d be all in. Probably get a sewing machine and make all the kids’ clothes, and they’d have the best birthday cakes. A big theme every year.”
“Stop it, Everett,” she says softly. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“I’m not intending to make you sad. I just want you to know... That you are incredible.”
“Incredible?” Evie shakes her head, taking the whistling kettle from the stove and filling the mugs. “Thank you, Everett. I think you’re incredible as well.” She smiles that tight smile again, the one that is not her at all, and it pains me that somehow in this conversation I’ve made her retreat again. That was not my plan.
“I didn’t mean anything,” I start.
She holds her hand. “I know you didn’t mean anything. I think that’s the point. Or the problem.”
She drinks her tea so damn fast, I know for a fact that she’s burning her throat. And her tongue. And her lips. I can’t take barely a sip, mine’s so hot. And the whole time she’s walking in circles around her house, unable to even stand next to me for another minute.
I’m scared to say anything because I don’t want to tick her off anymore.
I go into her bathroom to take a piss and grin at what I see. It’s covered in everything that is Evie. Makeup brushes, perfume bottles, and hairspray.
Everything about this bathroom should make my skin crawl, I’m a man who lives on his own, keeps my world compact and in control.
But being in Evie’s space does just the opposite. It makes me crave sinking into Evie’s life completely and never letting her go.
I’m ready to man up and tell her that, when I see that she’s already at the front door, her gloves on, ready to usher me out. As if she can’t get me out of here fast enough.
“Okay then, Everett,” she says in a blur. “Thanks for everything and I guess that’s it.” She claps her hands together and turns away. Not even meeting my eyes.
“Evie, it doesn’t have to be like this,” I start.
“No,” she says waving me away and picking up a wreath from the porch. “It isn’t like anything, I’m just busy, and I have a lot to do. Remember, you saw all those text messages. I’ve got lots going on. So... Anyways, thanks for the help with the wreaths and the drive home and everything.” She starts to go, but then seems to think better of it and reaches around me to give me the quickest, most awkward hug I’ve ever received in my life.
“So I’m just gonna start delivering these now, and like I said, thank you for everything.”
Before I can stop her, she’s making a beeline down her driveway. She’s knocking on her neighbor’s door and exclaiming her Merry Christmas.
I shake my head, kick the snow. Then I jump in my truck.
I’ve gotta fix this fucking mess.
Chapter Fifteen
I’m not going to cry.
I’m not going to cry.
I swear to God; I’m not going to cry.
“Merry Christmas,” I tell Mrs. Cleaver, the neighbor who lives eight doors down, and the recipient of my final wreath. “Here is your gift!”
Her grandchildren are running around in their footie pajamas. Her grown children drinking coffee around the fireplace.
Perfect.
A perfect Christmas morning.
For a perfect little life.
I give her a quick hug before turning to leave. I can’t see another house like this. A dozen houses of Christmas morning perfection are plenty.
Quiet mornings of couples in love. Newlyweds, with their six-month-old baby in their arms. An elderly couple with their grandchildren.
Door after door of holiday morning bliss. I can’t see any more of it. Because at this point, all I can see is a flurry of tears. A blizzard of tears; an onslaught of emotion.
Why the hell did I leave like that?
Everett didn’t offer me anything, but I had something I wanted to offer him.
I wanted to offer him my heart. My everything. I wanted to say screw it all, I’ll come and live in the mountains with you. I’ll pack my craft supplies and come up there and write my stupid blog.
He said I would make a good mother.
His words basically made my ovaries explode.
My heart clench.
My dreams materialize.
I want to be a mother. A wife. I want to be Everett’s.
And I should have told him that.
Now he’s gone. And I didn’t even give him an option of staying.
The truth is, I believe in love at first sight. I found it on top of Mistletoe Mountain.
I found it with Everett.
But I kept my feelings so close to my heart, and now, as I walk back to my house, all the wreaths delivered, I see nothing but the empty driveway.
I go inside my house, ready to start a self-loathing marathon. Ready to start chugging eggnog and eating pumpkin pie and wearing sweats until I start making New Year’s resolutions. Everett has destroyed me.
He’s certainly destroyed me from being satisfied with any other man ever again.
I walk to the bathroom, turning on the shower thinking about how Everett truly has destroyed me... and how he also rebuilt me.
When I was in his arms I felt so confident, so beautiful, so wanted. When I was in his arms I felt like I could make my life better, bigger, more whole.
When I was in his arms, I didn’t want to leave.
Tears fall down my face, and I discard the three-day-old clothes I’ve been wearing, grossed out by them and this stupid underwear. The stupid bra I took of
f for him. The stupid life I’m choosing.
I step into the shower, turning the water on steaming hot. I wash my hair so that the perfect pine scented smell of the mountain is gone from me.
I get dressed in leggings and thick socks and a massive sweater. I text my sister, “I can’t come over. I can’t explain. I’m just really tired.”
She, of course, angrily texts me back, saying, “It’s Christmas! Come over here or I’m coming to get you!
I roll my eyes and power off my phone. Then I grab a red blanket and wrap it around myself, burrowing into the couch with my iPad.
Maybe I can find some stupid Christmas movie to cheer me up.
But I scroll through Netflix for five seconds before giving up. I don’t want to watch other people be happy on Christmas morning.
This is so stupid. Everett is so stupid. What we had was real. And special.
Seren-fucking-dipity.
I don’t even have a phone number to call him with and tell him to come back here and fight for me. To tell him that I changed my mind. That I’m an idiot. That I want him even though I have no idea if he wants me in return.
But I can’t even drive to his house because I don’t have a car. Basically, I can do nothing but sit here in self-pity wishing I had done everything different.
My doorbell rings and I groan as I stand to answer it, knowing my sister is coming over here to drag me out of my lonely existence.
I’m growling at her before I even swing open the door. “I don’t want to come. I mean it.”
But the voice on the other side of the door is not my sister.
It’s my mountain man.
I pull open the door.
Everett is standing there. And he’s holding mistletoe above his head.
Chapter Sixteen
The moment I drove away from Evie’s house I knew I would be coming back to get her.
I drove around the city until I find a store that’s open, which takes a long-ass time, but I find one selling cheap, fake mistletoe in the floral department.
I grab it, fast as I can, and head back to her place. Of course, I run out of gas and get mildly lost.
But soon enough, I find Evie’s house again.
Fuck, I had no idea if she’d still be here or if she had gone to her sister’s and I’d be parked out in front of her house all night.
But I don’t truly give a shit.
I’m not going anywhere until I tell her everything.
She opens the door, even though I hear her telling me to go.
There’s no way in hell I’m leaving.
Not now.
Not yet.
The door opens and her eyes go wide and I hold the mistletoe over my head.
Cheesy as fuck, but I don’t care. I’ll do anything to get this girl.
“I love you, Evie.” I go for the big guns because it’s the goddamn truth and I need her to know that.
She is loved. By me.
“Everett,” she says her mouth hanging open.
She looks fucking perfect in her little leggings and her big old sweater; she looks like Christmas morning.
And she looks like mine.
“I should have never left you,’ I tell her. “Not before telling you exactly how I feel. You pushing me out your door, that is the last time I ever want to leave you.”
“Everett, don’t say things you don’t –” she tries to say, but I stop her.
“I know exactly what I’m saying. Some people might not believe in love at first sight, or whatever it is they call it. All I know is this, when I laid eyes on you, I knew you were mine. I don’t care what I thought before, about being some self-reliant mountain man, none of it matters if I’m alone. I thought I understood that after my family died, but I didn’t. Not wholly. I said I don’t want to waste another day of my life doing shit that doesn’t matter -- but I also know this, Evie, I don’t want to live another day of my life without you in it. If the one woman I want is down here in the city, there is no point to me being up on a fucking mountain.”
“Everett, you’re saying you want me to…”
I cut her off again. “I’m not asking you to change your life for me. I’m telling you I will change my life for you.”
Her eyes flutter with tears and I pull her mouth to mine, kissing her properly on her lips. Hard and true. A kiss full of promise. A kiss full of Christmas hope. “Screw my mountain.”
“I could never have you leave your mountain, that’s your home. You built something magical up there.”
“This is magic, Evie,” I tell her, pointing between us. “What we found is more than serendipity. It is magic. I’m not gonna lose that because I have some ideas about carving out a life for myself in the woods.”
“I want to live up there with you. I can do my job anywhere. Everett, I love you too. I was scared to say it because it felt so insane. To find something so true, so fast. So right. But we did. We have.”
“Evie,” I say, choking back the disbelief. “You really want to live up in the mountains? What about your sweater parties and your Jaegermeister?”
“Yours is the life I want. I want to live up there with you, I want to do something crazy, I want to be your wife and I want to have your babies. I’ll scrapbook the hell out of our life, I tell you that.”
“God, Evie,” I tell her, running my hands through her hair, wanting her closer, wanting her forever. “Let’s do this life together. In whatever crazy way we want.”
Her arms wrap around my neck, planting kisses on my face. I pull her into a hug, not knowing how I got so goddamn lucky.
“Marry me, baby. Make this the merriest Christmas.”
“Really?” She shakes her head, laughing between tears.
“Marry me,” I tell her again. This time more firmly, this time with conviction. Meaning the words with every ounce of myself.
“Yes. Yes, Everett, of course, I’ll marry you.”
I kiss her again, this time knowing I’ll never let go.
This time I kiss her, knowing I am hers and she is mine.
Epilogue
One year later …
A year ago I was a girl lost in the woods, lost in life. But then, the magic of Mistletoe Mountain took over and my life changed.
The front door opens, my man steps inside the cabin. Snowflakes are on his shoulders. He stomps his feet and pulls off his coat before hanging it up, and walks across the room towards me.
He leans down, kissing me on my lips, and then coming down further and kissing the crown of our little girl’s head.
“She looks so sweet when she nurses,” Everett tells me. Lorelei’s eyes are closed and milk drool escapes her mouth.
“She’ll sleep for a few hours, I bet,” I say, tucking my breast back into my bra, and bringing Lorelei to my shoulder. “Now, show me the tree. You didn't go for very long.”
“I wanted to get back to my girls.”
Everett goes to the door and begins dragging in our Christmas tree. I carry Lorelei to her bassinet and swaddle her tightly.
Everett’s once minimalist cabin has been overrun in the past year. First, it was all my stuff, then we found out we were expecting and Lorelei’s pink gear arrived.
But Everett swears he doesn’t’ mind. He says life together is better than life alone.
Everett props up the tree and asks what I think.
“It’s perfect.” It’s a Charlie Brown tree for sure, but with enough branches that we can string at least several hundred lights on it. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Anything for my wife and daughter.”
A week after Everett proposed the two of us eloped. Of course, my sister and my friends thought we were crazy.
But this life wasn’t theirs. This life is ours. And we were ready to start it.
Everett tells me he’s going to put the tree in the stand, and I turn toward the record player. As I put on the Bing Crosby album we listened to a year ago, warmth spreads through my belly.
And I know the time is right.
“Remember last year, Everett, when we were put on the naughty list?”
It’s been two months since Lorelei was born and longer than that since Everett and I have properly been together.
It’s time.
“Oh, I remember.” He blushes when he says it, and I know I am going to make him a very happy man tonight.
“Well,” I tell him, coyly. “You haven’t been naughty this year, Everett. You’ve been anything but. You’ve been the best man, the best husband, the best father.” I sidle up to him, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“So I’m not on the naughty list? That’s what you’re telling me?” he asks.
“Nope. You are on the nice list. Which means you get a special treat.”
“And what do you get when you’re on the nice list?”
I take his hand and press it to my full breasts. And I press my hands to his growing cock, the cock that is already twitching, ready for me.
I smile, whispering, “You get milk and cookies.” I take his hand and drag him to the bedroom. I face my mountain man, letting my shirt fall to the floor. “Well, we might just get back on the naughty list after all.”
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BUCKED
BUCK
I want two things in life: a woman and a child.
When I walk into the diner and see Rosie, I think my motherf*cking dreams have come true.
We share one stolen afternoon, but then she's gone.
Eight months later she shows up at my cabin.
Her belly swollen, her breasts full, and with the face of an angel.
Still, she wants to keep on running.
No way in hell am I letting her go.
