by Liz Botts
How do I read that sigh? Floundering, I jump in and say, “We are betrothed.”
“What?” Nick barks a laugh that startles our horse, which pulls sharply to the right. The sleigh jolts hard, sending my chin crashing into Nick’s shoulder. He corrects our course and turns to me. “Are you okay?”
Rubbing my chin, I nod even though I’m clearly not okay. And I don’t mean my chin. Swallowing the fear rising in my throat, I say, “I mean it. We’ve been engaged since we were little. Well, I was barely born before my parents signed me up to be your wife.”
Nick must hear something in my voice because he gives me an incredulous look but doesn’t immediately dispute my claim. “Okay. Let’s say I decide to go with your story, why haven’t my parents ever told me this before?”
“They aren’t your real parents,” I say.
“Well, sure, they adopted me when I was a baby,” Nick replies. “So, you’re saying that my birth parents did this betrothal thing. Does that even count?”
Digging for what to say, I think through all the truths I know about our situation. I wish I knew more, but all I can offer is what I know.
I wipe snow off my face. When did it start coming down like this? “It has to count, and I have to convince you that it does, or—well, I don’t want to think what will happen if I fail.”
“Wow, this snow is really coming down,” Nick interrupts. “We’re near my parents’ cabin. Maybe we can wait out the storm there.”
“Okay.” My soft reply is lost in a gust of wind. I’m stung by Nick’s refusal to discuss what I’ve told him thus far, which admittedly isn’t much.
We deal with several more minutes of increasingly driving snow until Nick pulls the sleigh up in front of a cozy looking log cabin tucked back into the woods. I hadn’t realized we were driving through the woods. Nick jumps out of the sleigh, deftly avoiding a snowdrift, and lands squarely in front of the door. He fishes a key out of his pocket and opens the door.
I stumble out after him, a little too annoyed to let him help me. Unfortunately for me, I’m not as graceful as Nick and I land with a splat in the snow. Cold seeps into my clothes, and even the normally magical waterproofing abilities of my coat don’t hold up. I’m forced to accept Nick’s hand as he struggles not to laugh.
Nick pulls me up onto the stoop beside him. “I’m just going to put Maizy in the barn.”
"I'm coming with you," I say.
Nick gives me a funny look and shrugs. "That's fine, but you're dripping wet. Don't you think you'd be more comfortable inside?"
I peer into the dark cabin and shake my head. Pitch black anything freaks me out. Shaking my head again, I take a step toward him. Nick sidesteps another snow bank. This time I manage not to get anything else wet save my already sopping wet boot. While I wait for Nick to unhitch the horse from the sleigh, I peer back at the cabin. Hopefully Elwyn isn't lurking in the dark somewhere waiting to give me more ultimatums. I follow Nick to the barn as he leads the horse inside.
The barn looks decrepit from the outside but the inside is modern and well maintained. Nick leads Maizy to a stall and proceeds to settle her in. Maybe I should offer to help. I mean, I've helped with the reindeer on more than one occasion, but how would I mention that to Nick without sounding all kinds of crazy? So rather than do anything, I just watch.
When he finishes, he leads me back across the yard to the cabin where he flips on several lights. The interior of the cabin floods with a warm glow and reveals no lurking elves. Relief flows through me. I grin at Nick, thankful his back is to me. He disappears down a short hall and then returns with a robe and several blankets.
Handing me the robe, he says, "Change out of your wet clothes. This is all we have, but it should work. I'm going to get a fire going. The snow is really coming down out there. Let's hope it lets up soon."
"Why? So you don't have to spend any more time than necessary with my craziness?" The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Instead of being annoyed or angry, a slow smile spreads across Nick's face. "I like your brand of crazy," he says. "For the record, I never called you crazy."
"We still have a lot to talk about." I plant my hands on my hips trying to stand my ground, but the effect is ruined as a sharp shiver races through me.
"Fine, we can talk after you change. The bathroom is the first door on the right."
I gather the robe in my arms, careful not to get any of it wet, and stalk down the hall to the bathroom. The tiny room is painted a garish shade of yellow and is decorated in an island parrot theme. Not what I would expect in a rustic cabin, but fun nonetheless.
Peeling my wet clothes off, I leave them in a heap on the bathroom floor. Rethinking that decision, I carefully pick them up one at a time and drape them over the side of the bathtub. Hopefully they'll be dry by the time the storm stops. I don't think Gran would understand my coming home in a bathrobe, no matter what my story.
When I emerge from the bathroom, a roaring fire crackles in the fireplace, and Nick is in the adjoining kitchen popping popcorn in the microwave. I pull the robe more tightly around me and settle in on the sofa.
"Hey," Nick calls from the kitchen, "sorry we don't have TV or anything. Mom and Dad like to come out here to recharge."
"No problem. I don't watch too much TV where I'm from."
"Yeah?" Nick returns to the living room with two cans of pop and the bowl of popcorn. He flops down on the opposite end of the sofa. "Tell me about it. Where you're from, I mean."
"Ummm…nah, you don't want to hear about that," I say, desperate to deflect attention from myself and my life away from this moment.
Nick grabs a handful of popcorn. "No, really. I'd love to hear more about it."
I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly too dry. "Okay. Well, I'm from a place called the North Pole." I wait for him to laugh, but he just quirks an eyebrow and waits for me to continue. "My family, um, has its' own business. And—look, I can't do this. I know you won't believe me."
Nick takes a swig of his pop. “Let’s talk about something else then. Tell me about your family.”
I force myself to relax, but still my fingers worry the braided edge of a throw pillow. Talking about my family could be tricky and dangerous. I might dissolve into a blubbering mess of tears. On the other hand, opening up might be the intro I need to fill Nick in on this whole mess.
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word, stalling to give myself more time to think. “What do you want to know?”
Nick shrugs. “Anything.”
“That’s a lot. Where to start?” I tuck my feet up under me on the couch, carefully rearranging the robe around my knees. My mind flickers to the fact that I’m not wearing very much underneath. Modesty is key here. “I have seven younger sisters, and yet all of us are very distant. How’s that?”
“That doesn’t tell me much.” Nick raises an eyebrow and drapes an arm across the back of the couch. His hand is dangerously near to mine. Just a few more inches and our fingers will touch. I shiver in anticipation. He hasn’t even mentioned our kiss, and yet I can’t help but want another one. “Why aren’t you close?”
I’m frozen in place, wanting to move my hand toward his but not wanting to make the first move. “Um? We’re not—I’ve never really thought about it before. It’s just always been that way, you know? My dad sort of discouraged us from being too chummy, I guess.”
“That’s odd. Why would he do that?”
A harsh laugh breaks free from my throat startling both of us. “You’ve never met my dad. He’s…well, I’d like to say evil, but really he’s just a big old jerk. A corrupt jerk.”
“Are your parents still together?” Nick’s fingers move infinitesimally closer to mine. I know they did. This conversation is getting hard to follow.
Forcing myself to focus, I say, “Absolutely. There’s no way my mom would ever leave my dad. Besides, I’m not sure if it’s even allowed.”
“Allowed?”
“Don’t go there,” I s
nap “I’m not part of some weird cult, although my life is awfully weird at the moment. There are just…different rules that we live by where I come from. Can we stop talking about me now? Please? Why don’t you tell me about your family?”
Nick’s fingertips graze mine. The jolt of awareness nearly knocks me off the couch. I can hardly breathe. He seems to notice my reaction but doesn’t comment. The only thing that tips me off is the crinkling around his eyes and the quirking upward of his lips.
“My family isn’t all that big. Just me, my mom, and my dad. I’m adopted; my biological parents pretty much abandoned me.” His jaw clenches and his eyes cloud for a moment. “You already knew some of that, though. I guess your grandma told you. She’s always been like a grandma to me. That’s why I was so surprised when she said you were coming to visit,” Nick says.
My breath hitches and I’m afraid to talk. “You mentioned that before.” My voice sounds stilted. “But I told you—”
Nick catches my hand in his. “I know. Your dad.”
The pad of Nick’s thumb massages my palm making coherent thought completely impossible, but I still manage to say, “Right. He’s a jerk.”
I think he might kiss me. And, oh do I want him to kiss me. My stomach knots in anticipation. I manage to make myself look up into Nick’s eyes. As I meet his gaze, I’m blown away by what I see in them: warmth, concern, desire, and maybe a hint of disbelief.
Swallowing against a dry throat, I try to say something. Nick grins showing his perfect, even white teeth. His smile is swoon worthy. Couple that with his laugh and you are sure to get your perfect Santa. The thought knocks the moment off kilter for me. Nick doesn’t notice the change. Suddenly we are too close. The smell of the fireplace makes my head ache. My lack of decent clothing embarrasses me. I pull away, falling back against the sofa and crossing my arms over my chest.
“I need to get home.” The demand sounds petulant, like a pouting child. I can’t look at Nick for fear of what I’ll see on his face.
“Let me see if the storm’s let up,” he says quietly. I can’t read anything in his voice, but I imagine he’s confused. I know I am.
Nick unfolds himself from the sofa, and instead of sighing with relief at his exit, I feel guilty for ruining such a perfect moment. Am I trying to punish him? Or am I trying to punish myself?
A few moments later, Nick comes back. I look at him expectantly. He shakes his head. “It looks like we’ll be stuck here tonight. The storm’s really picked up. You should probably call your grandmother and let her know.”
Chapter Seven
Gran says she understands and trusts me implicitly. Then she asks to talk to Nick, which I take to mean she doesn’t trust him as much. This both excites me and unnerves me.
Now I sit in a pair of Nick’s old flannel pajamas, trying to decide how I feel. The fact that these pajamas smell like Nick makes my head swim with thoughts that aren’t exactly pure. Luckily I’m sure I’m as unattractive as a moldy piece of cheese. Flannel is not flattering. Still…cinnamon, pine needles, and the faintest scent of wood smoke. Could there be anything more Christmasy than that? I try to curb my doubts and focus on how right Nick is for the role…and how much I’m starting to like him.
My feelings are running too deep. I remember being like this with Johan. That’s why I thought I was in love with the fool.
Nick strolls into the room in another pair of worn flannel pajamas. I'm wrong. Flannel pajamas are totally sexy. My stomach does a flip-flop. He tosses another log onto the fire, sending embers spiraling up the chimney. He quirks a smile in my direction.
"Are you hungry?"
I blink as it takes me a moment to process his words. Apparently I can't get past how good he looks in those pajamas. But when his question sinks in, I realize I'm starving. "Definitely. But is there anything to eat here? Besides popcorn, I mean."
"Oh yeah. Mom keeps this place stocked. She and Dad come out here all the time to get away." He heads into the kitchen. Should I get up to follow him? The decision between the warm comfy couch and Nick's company isn't all that hard, and I push myself off the squishy cushions.
In the kitchen I take a place on a stool near the breakfast bar and watch as Nick opens the refrigerator. He rummages through various cabinets, setting a whole range of ingredients on the counter. I'm not sure what he intends to make.
"How about some quesadillas?"
I laugh. Nick gives me a funny look. Of course he wouldn't know that Mexican food is a rare delicacy at the North Pole. We stick closer to traditional meat and potato type dishes with a hefty dose of sugar thrown in. But every once in awhile, my mom will sneak in something more exotic like Mexican or Japanese. And oh do I love Mexican food.
"Sorry," I say, still grinning. "I love Mexican food. Quesadillas sound great. Is there anything I can do to help?"
Nick shakes his head. "You're my guest and I got you stuck here for the night so the least I can do is cook dinner for you."
I fidget while he sets about chopping onions and grating cheese. I'm staring at the onions when I say, "I wouldn't normally eat onions on a date."
Nick looks up, catches my eye, and gives me a sly grin. I feel the blush heating up before it appears on my cheeks. Why don't I think before I speak? Looking away, I mumble something completely incoherent even to myself. Nick chuckles. I love that sound.
"You're right. No onions for us tonight." I turn back just as he chucks them into the garbage can. Excitement flutters through my stomach.
Forcing myself to stay quiet, I listen to Nick sing Christmas carols while he browns some ground beef. When the carols come from Nick I don't mind. Before I can stop myself, my mind starts to wander to my mission and the fact that very soon Nick needs to become Santa Claus, St. Nicholas, Father Christmas, whatever he'll choose to be called.
Despite my disgust with all of this, I have to admit, he'll make a great Santa. He's warm and caring with just enough sadness in his soul to make him able to relate to a wide variety of people. I think about what Merry said the first night we met. How she knew he wasn't the real Santa but she just wanted to believe in him because she needed to believe. Now it's my turn to believe in him. Earlier he shared a little about his pain at being abandoned by his biological parents, maybe he'll be open to hearing the truth. I think I trust him. He looks up and catches me looking at him. The smile he gives me is radiant with happiness and some unspoken things that give me hope. I haven't felt this way ever. I do trust him. Totally, utterly, and completely. And even though we don't know each other that well, I think I love him.
The realization hits me hard in the stomach and sucks all the air from my lungs. As I gasp for breath, I try to rein in my thoughts. Am I crazy? How can I love someone I've barely met? We've shared a total of three sort-of dates, one insanely awkward introduction, and one heart-melting kiss. What does that add up to?
Thankfully Nick's busy at the stove and doesn't notice my internal struggle.
I can't help but let myself feel my self-imposed walls crumbling as Nick finishes our food.
"Grab some pop from the fridge; we can eat in front of the fire." He picks up two plates and waits while I hop down.
With our late dinner in hand, we set cushions and blankets on the floor in front of the fireplace and settle in. The first gooey, cheesy bite of my quesadilla nearly sends me into a swoon. "This is so good."
Nick has a mouth full of quesadilla himself, but his eyes light up in appreciation. There's no real way to go about telling Nick about our actual connection. So I don't bring it up. Instead I enjoy our dinner and our small talk and the crackling fire. Full and warm, I feel lulled into a state of near euphoria.
"I'm going to need to go check on Maizy," Nick says finally. "Hopefully the storm's died down."
I glance at the clock on the mantle, nearly midnight. And even though I can't imagine leaving the coziness of our little setup, I feel this overwhelming need to be near Nick right now.
"I'll go with you,"
I say, sitting up on my knees. "Let me throw on my jeans."
"Alright, I'll just get these into the sink." Nick stands and picks up our dirty dishes.
When I'm changed, I hurry to pull on my coat and boots. Thankfully my clothes had the good sense to dry nicely while we’d lounged and ate. Nick joins me a moment later, and together we peer out the front door. The wind has stopped, but a gentle snow is still falling.
Nick leads the way to the barn where we check on Maizy, cozy in her stall. We give her more food and dawdle toward the entrance. For some reason I don't want to go back inside yet. Something about the softly falling snow calls to me.
"Let's build a snowman." The words tumble out of my mouth before I know I’m thinking them.
Nick's smile widens. I swear, there have only been a few times when I haven't seen him without a smile on his face. "That's a great idea."
We hurry out of the barn, and in our rush, tumble over each other into a snow bank. Unlike earlier the cold seeping into my clothes barely registers. As we untangle our limbs from one another, Nick catches my eye. All around us the world is hushed, like it’s holding its breath with me, waiting for Nick's next move.
He lifts one gloved hand to brush wayward snow off my cheek. His fingers linger, tracing the curve of my jaw, slowing drawing me toward him. Our lips hover inches apart for a breath before we start to kiss. The snow should literally melt off us for all the heat we’re radiating. I want to fall into this kiss and never emerge. Everything about Nick solidifies for me in this moment. My heart crashes wildly in my chest as I reach my arms around his neck.
When we break apart, we are breathing raggedly. My first reaction is to giggle, giddy with adrenaline and the first flush of love. Does Nick feel this too?
I can barely contain my nervous energy as I look up into his eyes. "That first night we met. You asked me what that was about. I was telling the truth. We're engaged. We've been engaged since we were babies."
Something crashes down in Nick's eyes. The change is so subtle I almost miss it, but my heart is watching for any clue, any sign that he feels what I feel, so I notice. Everything beautiful from a moment earlier wobbles then starts to crumble around me. He doesn't believe me. He never will. I pull away, sinking further into the snow bank. How could I have been so stupid? Whenever I open my heart, I set myself up for pain.
