by Amelia Wilde
“I miss that cabin,” I say softly.
“It’s still there.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, but—” Finn makes a face. “It’s a business now. There’s a guy out there who does custom artwork.”
Why does my heart sink so much to hear this? What does it matter if this tiny piece of my history with Finn has been reshaped into something commercial? I’ve moved on. Well, I tried to move on, anyway.
“That’s too bad.”
Finn bends down, right there in the middle of the library, and gives me a gentle kiss. It doesn’t matter that his lips have barely brushed mine—pure desire bolts down my spine, and we might as well be alone in the alcove. A small voice in the back of my mind is shouting at top volume that it’s not too late to get him back, not too late to fill the rest of my days with new memories, but there’s also a warning. I can’t fall for Finn. I can’t get caught up back here in my hometown. I have to get back to work. I have to follow the plan.
Even though I know, deep down, that plans are going to have to change. And soon.
“Okay,” I tell him, taking in a big gulp of the air, smelling of books and Finn and gingerbread. “I’m sold.” I put my ticket in the box in front of the little cabin. So does Finn.
“That felt like a big deal,” he says. “You ready to leave?”
“Not a chance.”
Chapter Thirteen
Finn
Emily seems dead set on making up for Thanksgiving, something that only occurs to me while we’re walking back to where I parked my truck. The sun has settled in for the afternoon, and she’s taken off her hood, her dark hair styled in a twist at the nape of her neck. Does she really feel that guilty?
“Is this a guilt thing?” I say, as we come even with my truck.
She turns, eyebrows raised. “Is what a guilt thing?”
“This…day. You showing up at my house. Is this because of what happened on Thanksgiving?”
Emily flicks her eyes to the side. “It’s because of what happened after Thanksgiving. At least, that’s how it started. I should have been brave enough to wake you up.” Out of nowhere, there’s a sheen of tears coating her eyes. “I felt like shit about it afterward. You don’t have to believe me, but—”
I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. “Em, I shouldn’t have asked. Don’t cry.”
“I’m not going to cry.” She takes a deep, steadying breath. “Does it matter, though?”
“Does what matter?”
“Whether I showed up here out of guilt or not.”
“I’d rather you show up at my house because you can’t bear to be away from me,” I murmur into her ear. “Not because you feel guilty.”
She turns fully into my arms with a sigh. “It’s dangerous, you know.”
“Me?”
“Wanting to be with you this much.” This is the closest we’ve gotten to talking about the real reason she’s here—the real heart of the issue, the thing that she’s holding back from me. I know it like I know Lakewood is going to be cold for the winter. I know there’s something she’s not telling me. Even so, her words have deep desire and want coiling at my core.
“It doesn’t seem very dangerous,” I offer. “Unless you count pancakes and gingerbread among your worst enemies.”
Emily laughs. “Pancakes and gingerbread, no. Shopping, yes.” Then she smiles up at me. “That’s why you’re going to help.”
She’s not telling the full truth, of course. Emily likes shopping. She loves buying Christmas gifts for people, but this time is different.
“Let’s walk,” she says, moving past the truck. It’s only a couple of blocks to the main drag, where there’s no shortage of over-the-top Lakewood stores.
“Where to first?” Normally, I’d be opposed to everything we’ve done today. But with her, it’s different.
She frowns. “I need gifts for my parents. And my brother. At minimum.”
“Whoa.” Emily walks faster, in a sudden rush. “It’s two days until Christmas, and you haven’t shopped?”
The significance of this is not lost on me, and she shakes her head, looking sheepish. “I know.”
“Not a single gift?”
“Not a single one. I have some ideas, but…”
“What kind of firm are you working at that you haven’t shopped for Christmas?”
“An exhausting one.”
Jesus. I should have been less focused on myself and more worried about what Emily’s life really means. Everyone’s pressed for time around the holidays, but Emily? Even when we were in high school, she loved to have things done well ahead of time. Midway through November of our senior year, she’d spent one of our study hall periods telling me about the gifts she’d already bought for her family. She used to work at Pages, the bookstore downtown, and she’d save up some of her paycheck for months just for the holidays. That’s what kind of person she is. This last-minute search isn’t like her.
I don’t say anything. Maybe this is what she actually meant when she said her plan wasn’t working out. My heart shifts into overdrive. If that’s what she meant, I have to get her out of this.
She’s not going to go without a fight.
“Finn?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s on your mind?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that something’s not right, but of course I can’t do that. Maybe this is a particularly busy year at the firm, or maybe she’s changed the way she does her holiday shopping. Either way, going on the offensive isn’t going to do anyone any good. “There’s a new massage place downtown,” I say finally. “I wonder if your mom would like a gift certificate.”
Emily’s face lights up. “Is it nice?”
I shrug. “I haven’t been inside. Looks nice from the outside.”
“We’ll start there.” She reaches between us, finds my hand, and squeezes. “What would I do without you?”
“Have a career as a lawyer and a life in the big city,” I tease.
“Yeah,” Emily says softly. “A life.”
*****
She purchases the gift certificate, but that doesn’t stop Emily from agonizing over the perfect robe to go with it at the women’s clothing shop three doors down. We spend forty-five minutes choosing a book for her brother at Pages and having it gift-wrapped, and then we move on to Emily’s dad. She goes with a tried-and-true idea—his favorite kind of Woolrich shirt, from a store on the opposite end of downtown.
“What do you think of this one?”
It’s a dark blue shirt, soft and durable all at once. Emily’s dad likes to wear them on the weekends. He always has, even when we were in school.
“I’m sure he’ll love it.”
Em purses her lips. “I don’t know.” She has three shirts over her arm—one a forest green, one a deep rust color, and one that’s heather gray. Now she’s found the blue.
“I have an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Pick your favorite two. He can always come back and exchange them.”
She smiles, her expression relaxing. “That’s true. But he’d never do that, so I should pick the best ones.”
“I’m telling you, go for the rust and the gray. It’ll look classy as hell in the box.”
She laughs. “Classy as hell. Okay.” She moves to put the other two back on the rack, but glances at me first. “Do you want to get one?”
“For myself?”
“For your dad.”
I don’t. I really don’t, but there’s something in Emily’s eyes that makes me hesitate.
“Sure,” I say, and her shoulders drop an inch. “He’ll like the blue.”
Chapter Fourteen
Finn
“Are you getting bored with our outing?”
Finn’s joking, because I’ve just sighed out the most massive yawn on the planet. We’re standing in line at Medium Roast, the coffee shop on the corner, for hot cocoa. It was my idea, b
ut the shop is more crowded than I thought it’d be. Silly me. I didn’t take the tree lighting ceremony into account.
“No, not bored. I’m anxious for hot cocoa.”
“Maybe you should have them put a shot of espresso in it.”
“That sounds like a brilliant idea.” It does, but when I get to the counter, I can’t go through with it. Instead, we order two hot cocoas from the girl behind the counter. The owner is back there too, with his daughter, who is telling everyone that Santa is coming tomorrow. Only one day. He’s a pretty handsome guy—I remember my mom telling me about him when he first showed up in Lakewood—and his wife is one of those famous local photographers that must be making a mint off taking pictures with families and their kids. Everybody bids him a fond farewell when he leaves as the lead barista of the evening churns out drinks as fast as she can.
It’s coming up on five o’clock, and it’s already dark out. Aside from a late lunch at Pastrami, the deli across the street from where I used to work at Pages, this is the last of my plans. Which is good, because I’m tired. Bone-tired. It’s not as if walking around Lakewood is particularly taxing—not compared to a hard workout at the gym or a long run—but my limbs feel heavy.
Still, I’m not giving up on the tree lighting.
The girl sets our hot cocoas on the other end of the counter, steamed to perfection. They use good chocolate here, and I can’t help myself. I take a sip even before it’s cooled, on our way out the door. It burns my tongue, but it’s so rich and delicious that I don’t care.
“You’re going to scorch yourself,” Finn laughs.
“I already did, but it’s so good. Try it.”
“I’ll wait.”
Outside, it’s a different Lakewood. Two days before Christmas, and the city has its decorations out in force. Lighted wreaths on all the lamp posts. A little Christmas tree booth on one end of the park. A fire burning in the pit at the center. And the massive town tree on the other end.
The official lighting took place back over Thanksgiving, but every year, they add a new layer of lights and have a second ceremony to officially welcome the holiday. Finn and I wander through the crowd of bundled-up people, hot cocoa in our hands for warmth, and the whole thing takes on a magical cast.
Then the choir starts singing.
It’s a children’s choir, arranged at the foot of the tree, and when they start in on Do You Hear What I Hear, my heart aches at how beautiful it sounds. Aches. Tears come to my eyes. I’ve never cried over a Christmas carol in my life, and now, standing here with Finn, watching these kids, I’m on the verge of being a blubbering mess.
I should tell him.
I should tell him right now, in this magic moment, and that will make up for the fact that I haven’t told him all day, that I’ve been holding this secret inside of me, when it’s his, too.
He looks down at me, concern shading his face. “Are you okay?’
“Oh, yeah,” I say, with only the quietest sniffle. “I’m great. It’s just a really nice song.”
I take in a breath. The song ends, and there’s a moment of silence, ringing like a bell. Now’s my chance. “Finn—”
But I’m interrupted by the mayor, who steps out in front of the crowd. “Welcome to the most wonderful time of the year!” he calls out, and everyone bursts into applause. He goes on, talking about the Christmas Eve tradition that Lakewood has upheld for many years, about the magic of Christmas, and about how thankful he is that we’ve all come down to the park to participate. “Many of you are here from down the street, but some of you have come home for the holidays. God, is he talking directly to me? “And we’re so happy to have you. We are also very proud to announce that the winner of the Lakewood Annual Gingerbread Bake-Off is Richard Holmes, with Cabin in the Woods.”
The simple one. The one we both liked. Everyone applauds Richard as he comes to receive his ribbon, and while the applause is dying off the choir launches into Joy to the World. The tree lights up in front of us, and I gasp.
They’ve outdone themselves this year. In addition to the plain white lights that adorn the tree from Thanksgiving onward, it’s strung with what looks like a million colored lights and a giant star crowning all of it. This time, they’re not just shining—they’re dancing, glowing, hooked up to one of those machines that makes it look like the lights are tiny beings skipping around in the branches.
“Wow,” Finn says. “Somebody put a lot of work into this.” With his free hand, he reaches for mine, and I have a vision so powerful it’s like it’s really happening—Finn holding my hand at some future tree lighting, and me holding the hand of our child. A child who looks just like him. A child who will be beside himself with delight at this special night, this walk through the town’s darkness for a party where nobody is questioning what they should do with their lives. They’re only here, in this moment of joy.
After a few more songs, the crowd disperses, as if from some signal that I can’t hear, and it’s up to us to walk back to Finn’s truck near the library.
Our cocoa is gone by the time we get to the edge of downtown, and the exhausted feeling descends again. Naturally, that’s when the snow starts to fall, freezing flakes on my cheeks. Finn stops me after a block. He brushes away the flakes from my eyelashes and adjusts my hood, pulling it up tightly around my face. “You’re shivering,” he says, and look, I am.
“It got cold without that cocoa.” My teeth chatter around the words.
Finn wraps one strong arm around me and pulls me close. “The truck’s only another block or so. We’ll go back to my place and get you warm.”
I don’t know exactly what he means by getting me warm, but a bolt of desire lights up my nerves like the Christmas tree downtown. “I won’t argue with that,” I tell him as he hustles us toward the truck.
He grins at me. “I didn’t think so.”
Chapter Fifteen
Finn
The moment I see Em trembling like that out on the sidewalk, I know that something is up. She’s not the kind of woman who bows to the cold, and her jacket is no slouch. I saw what brand it was. It should have her burning up, even outside on a winter evening. I wish we could keep strolling, the snowflakes falling gently against her cheeks, but there’s no time for that, clearly.
I bundle her into my truck and take her back to my place, where her car is parked out front. We both climb out and she glances over at it. My heart sinks. She could decide to go home right now, and what the hell would I have to say about it? We’ve spent the entire day together.
Then she turns resolutely toward my front door and keeps walking.
Thank God.
Inside the house, I help her with her coat, hanging it next to mine in the front coat closet, and Emily folds her arms over her chest, her teeth still chattering. “Is it me, or is it freezing in here?” Her eyes look huge and dark.
“It’s you,” I say. “But I have a solution.”
The corners of her lips curve upward into a smile that sends a jolt of raw need straight to my cock. “I’m listening.”
I clear my throat. “It involves taking off all of your clothes.”
Em frowns, pretending to consider. “I don’t know about that—”
I step closer, lifting her chin so I can kiss her, hot and long, and feel her lips open to let me in. “Do you know now?”
“Yes,” she whispers, and that’s all it takes for me to whisk her away to my bedroom.
By the time I lay her down gently on the bed, she’s panting, and I waste no time stripping her out of all of her clothes. Christ, she’s beautiful, with full breasts and soft skin and hips that rise to meet my touch.
“God, I can’t help it,” she groans.
“Help what?”
“I want your hands on me. But your hands are freezing.”
“Help me warm them up.”
Emily gives me the most wicked look I’ve ever seen on a person, and crawls underneath the covers. My own clothes are off in a flash,
and I slide in next to her.
“Are you any warmer yet?”
“Not much,” she says, and then she straddles me, pussy tantalizingly close to my cock. I catch my breath. This was my favorite position back in high school. Most of the time, it was the only way we could have sex, since a lot of the time we were fucking in my truck, but the way Em is looking at my face, she’s doing this on purpose. I tug the comforter up around her shoulders, trapping in the heat, and she leans down to kiss me. Rough. Raw. Like she’s been waiting a month to do this. Which, in fact, she has.
I dip my hand between her legs. There’s not a lot of clearance, but she makes more room, lifting her ass into the air. She’s wet, ready, and at the first touch of my fingers, she moans. I stroke her folds once, twice, and she buries her face into the side of my neck. “Finn—Finn,” she gasps when I rub at her clit with one knuckle. “You’re going to make me—”
“Come on my fingers,” I say, my voice husky and low in her ear. I work two of them inside of her, putting my thumb to work on her clit.
She bites her lip and obeys me, pulsing around my fingers, wetter than ever. Her nipples have risen hard against my chest and her hips dance against my hand, trying to get more contact.
“How warm are you now?”
Emily pushes back so that she can look into my eyes. “Not warm enough,” she says, though she’s stopped shivering. She’s trembling instead. “I would be warmer if you would—”
“Take you?” I swirl my thumb around her clit one more time. Her face is pink, she’s breathless, and I’m winding her up for another orgasm.
“Please,” she begs, and then she bats my hand out of the way, reaching between us for my cock.
Her fist around my length is a burst of pure pleasure, but Emily is a tease. She rubs the head over her glistening opening, once, twice, three times, then presses her clit against it, slick and hot. I take her waist in both my hands. “You’re torturing me.”
