by Frankie Love
Holding my heart.
12
Ansel
She tells me she isn’t hungry and I realize I’m not either. Instead she takes me to the bakery.
“I have an idea of what we can do,” she says. The vulnerability of our streetlamp confession has forced us to shed all of our pretenses. Right now, we are as real as any two people can be.
“I have a few ideas too,” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist as she unlocks the back door and kissing her neck.
She laughs against me, but shakes her head. “Here, let me show you.”
In the kitchen she shows me the beginnings of a gingerbread village. “I baked it last night, and started frosting pieces together this morning when we were slow.” There are about a dozen gingerbread houses put together, and bowls and bowls of every kind of candy imaginable. “The candy is from my sister-in-law, Hazel’s shop.”
“And your boss just lets you make whatever you want?”
She scrunches up her face. “I’m the boss. Maggie and I are co-owners. After Luke died I knew I needed to figure out a way to support my family. I always loved baking so I decided to open up a shop. I’m just glad I was able to rope my sister in, too.”
“Wow, that’s impressive, and resourceful,” I tell her. “Like Sarah.”
That last comment makes her smile. Already though, the wheels are turning in my mind. Greta is a mom of two, running a business, and lives three hours from where I reside. It may have only been a day, but I’m trying to work it out in my mind. How can we make a life together work?
“Your face doesn’t make me believe you’re impressed. You look worried.”
I force myself to relax. “It’s just, you have a whole life already.”
She laughs. “That is true.” She opens a fridge and pulls out a massive tub of icing. “Are you already second guessing your I’ll give you an ending you deserve lines?”
“Greta, those weren’t lines,” I say, frustration washing over me. “That’s not it at all.”
She begins scooping out icing and putting it in a pastry bag. “Then why the long face?”
“I was trying to figure out how our lives could merge.”
She shakes her head quickly. “Don’t, Ansel. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
I scoff. “Why not? Why not be crazy and go all in? A few minutes ago there was no doubt in your mind, what happened since then?”
She drops the icing bag, flustered. “What happened was I realized this isn’t a dream. This is real life. And--” She covers her face.
“And what, Greta?”
“And maybe you sweeping in here like this is too good to be true.”
“Maybe being too good isn’t a bad thing, sweet cheeks.” I won’t let fear rule her heart, not now. Not when what we both want is so damn close. I pull her to me and pick her up and then sit her down on the counter. “Maybe you need a man like me to sweep you off your feet more often.” I lift the hem of her sweater, pulling it up, over her head. Her gorgeous tits so damn tempting. “Or maybe you just need a man like me.”
She gasps, then, when I bury my face in her breasts. I pull down the lacy cups of her bra and sucking her nipples, inhaling her sweet honey scent. Her breasts are perfect globes and when I run my tongue over her bare skin, I know I’m getting a mouthful of the only tits I want. Hers.
“Ansel,” she pants, her hands running through my hair as I fall to my knees, inching her ass up so I can tug off her jeans. I slide down her panties, her ass cheeks against the cold stainless steel, but I’ll get her nice and hot real soon.
“Stop being scared, Greta,” I tell her, spreading her knees. “We will work out the details. I will fall in love with your kids. I will move here. I don’t know how it will all happen-- but damn, it will happen.”
I pull her ass closer to the edge of the counter, needing access to her sweet cunt.
“How can you be so sure? How can you know this is real?”
I look up at her, her eyes so full of want and fear and hope and desire.
“I know because when I look at you I see the story I want to write, I see the life I want to live. When I look at you, Greta, I see the ending. Us. Together.”
“And what if you wake up and realize this was a rough draft? A book that you don’t actually want to read?”
I smile then, knowing whatever her and I have, has already been written in the stars. “I know, because we are Ansel and Greta-- we’re practically a fairy tale. Now let’s make it something real.”
Those words melt her to me, and a smile spreads, taking place of all the worry in her heart.
“Damn, you really know how to talk to a woman,” she laughs, shaking her head.
“No, Greta, I know how to talk to my woman.”
I spread her knees apart, and blow hot air against her pussy. She moans as I run my tongue over her wet folds, her body so needy now. She tastes sublime, and I enjoy making her squirm, her knees buckling as my tongue fucks her the way she was meant to be enjoyed. My hands squeeze her waist and ass, holding on as I devour her pussy. It sings for me, her cunt, dripping and desperate and so damn close to orgasm.
When she is close enough to taste, I stand, dropping my jeans, my hard cock throbbing to feel her bare cunt around it.
“Take me, Ansel,” she begs. “Wherever you want.”
I roll on a condom and pick her perfect ass up, needing her to sit down on my cock, to move her hips as I thrust in her tight pussy. I unclasp her bra, needing her tits free, wanting them pressed against me, needing them to bounce as I fuck her against a wall. Against the back door, I thrust inside her dripping pussy, her arms wrapped around my neck, begging for more.
“Harder, Ansel,” she whispers, her head thrown back and her legs tight around my waist. I could fucking take her forever.
We come, both of us, but we aren’t through. “Your pussy is so fucking perfect,” I groan, rolling on another condom, and pinning her to a prep table. Her tits move as I enter her from above, and we shake the table as my cock moves deep inside her. Bowls of candy fall to the floor, tiny pieces of red hots and candy canes and jellybeans skittering against the linoleum. We laugh at the insanity, at the fucking high we are riding.
Her pussy keeps begging for more, and I won’t end this night until she’s out of breath. After I come inside her for the second time, I start using my fingers to get her off. Her slick cunt is so damn ready, and as I press a finger inside her, I look over her bare body, so damn beautiful.
“Don’t look too close,” she moans as my thumb presses against her throbbing clit, teasing her in the most delicious way. “I have stretch marks and I gave birth to two babies... it’s not a perfect body, Ansel.”
“Fuck that,” I tell her, my eyes are enraptured with the body before me. This flesh that made two children, that brought them into the goddamn world--her skin is perfection--because it’s her skin, her flesh, her bones. “You’re gorgeous, Greta, and I vow to make sure you know that.”
“Oh, God,” she moans, so close, my hand moving so hard against her. Before she comes completely, she begs me to fill her up. I pull her from the table, turning her around, and putting another condom on as my eyes feast on her creamy ass. I take her from behind, spreading her cheeks as my cock moves toward her cunt. It’s tighter when I fuck her this way, and she bends over the table gasping as I fill her up like she needs.
As I take her, the table moves, hard, and the gingerbread houses start to fall. I start to pull out, not wanting to destroy her creation, but she reaches around, grabbing my hip. “Don’t stop,” she begs, “Let them fall. This is more delicious than those gingerbread houses could ever be.”
13
Greta
The next two weeks are a sugar high. Christmas is only a week away, and Ansel has extended his stay. His friends understood, of course, because they seem to get that whatever has happened between us is the real deal.
Everything about it is surreal--we take a sleigh ride through the
snow, and we watch Christmas movies on my couch after the kids go to bed, and we go out for drinks with his friends before they returned to Seattle. Everything about it is a fairy tale.
So much so that my family thinks it’s a complete joke. They even refused to let me bring Ansel to get a Christmas tree. I organized this event the day after Milo and Lucy had made it so clear how important it was for them.
Even though coming up here scared me, I was determined to be brave. To put one foot in front of the other. In our winter boots and snow parkas, handsaw in tow, we’re all on the mountain looking for trees.
The fact he wasn’t invited had upset Ansel. And I don’t blame him. But the last thing I wanted was for the kids to be around bunch of unhappy adults. Right now, they are all smiles, making snow balls as we walk, and when Milo tags Lucy with one, she shrieks in delight. They run up ahead, which, gives everyone else the perfect time to start their version of an intervention.
“I just think we need to get to know the guy better,” Clive says.
“Agreed,” Charlie says, placing a hand on Maggie’s back. “The fact you introduced him to the kids worries us, Greta.”
“Well, don’t worry. The kids think he’s great. Because he is great.” We had a super special time making gingerbread houses a few days ago. The entire kitchen was a flurry of candy and smiles and Christmas music. We made a memory together--there is no way I’m letting my family convince me I did something wrong in that. “And besides the fact he’s good with the kids, he’s good for me. Great for me. And he’s not going anywhere.”
“You’ve known him two weeks,” Hazel says. “It just seems fast.”
“Oh my gosh, don’t even with that. How long were you and Clive together? Or you and Mags, for that matter, Charlie? Why can’t my story be the same?”
“Because you’re more...” Maggie’s sentence peters out.
“More what?” The family goes silent. “Just tell me.”
“You’re more fragile. You and the kids have been through so much--”
I cross my arms in a huff. “Which is why we deserve to be swept off our feet as much as anyone.”
“Look, we know you’ve been having fun. Clearly, considering the mess you made with the gingerbread houses--”
“Stop,” I say louder than intended. “I told you that was private, Maggie!”
“Well, sorry. Our circle of trust is pretty tight. And what if the health department had shown up? The kitchen was--”
“Give me a break! I remember your bakery rendezvous pretty vividly,” I tell her. “You haven’t even given him a chance.”
“Because he was supposed to be a fling--a fun time--not forever,” Maggie says. “You’ve lost your marbles, Greta.”
I’m fuming, and I stomp up ahead. “Lucy, Milo, where are you?” I was so distracted with the argument, I’ve lost sight of them.
“Greta,” Clive calls. “Stop running.”
“Stop telling me what to do,” I shout back. I had been nothing but supportive of them when they decided to fall in love in a week-- why can’t they be happy for Ansel and me?
Not that we’ve said I love you ... but the feelings are there. I know they are. And as my family pushes against me, the truth hits me harder than ever.
I love Ansel.
I love that his words pieced me back together and his laughter fills the hole that has been in my heart for so long.
I love him.
But I can’t think about that-- not right now. Right now I need to find the kids. “Milo?” I shout. “It’s not funny. Come here!”
I start moving faster, running clumsily up the path, until I lose my trail.
Shoot. “Lucy?” I call, this time there is fear rising in my voice ... in my belly. “Mommy is right here.”
But I hear nothing in return.
No. No. No.
I try to turn back around, but can’t remember which way I came. My heart is pounding in my chest. Why am I on this mountain? I hate this mountain. It’s full of bad memories. How have I’ve lasted living in this town so long anyway?
A town where every street, every store, everywhere holds a memory of Luke and I.
Maybe I should just pack up my house and move west, to Seattle, to be with Ansel. A fresh start where there’s no worry about getting lost in the woods.
Tears well up in my eyes--I can’t see the kids or hear anyone--I’m lost on the mountain I hate.
“Help,” I cry. “Help!”
I’m hyperventilating, my chest aches. I need to get off this snow covered mountain and find my family and I swear... if something happens to my babies I will never recover I’ll never--ever--be whole again.
I’m spiraling out, running farther into the woods, or farther to the parking lot--I don’t even know, that’s how spun around I am. I scream again, knowing it’s the kids I’m really worried about.
The past rushes toward me, past reason and sense and all I see is the free-fall after losing Luke. I know in my heart that I’m strong, but as I drop to my knees, lost and alone, and so damn scared--all I see is losing the things most precious. Most dear.
My family.
14
Ansel
Fuck that. Her family says I can’t be there? Well, forget it. I know I have no formal claim on Greta’s heart, but we’ve made it loud and clear to one another how we feel.
This is real. And I’m not going anywhere. Not without her. Without her by my side--without her forever.
With a bag of Christmas cookies from her bakery in the passenger seat, I drive my car to the mountain. Hey, maybe I wasn’t invited to this family gathering, but I won’t show up empty handed.
I know where she was headed--the mountain she is terrified of--and with good reason.
I’m not gonna let her go face those demons alone. Her family--while I love them to death, is so hell bent on all the reasons we’re wrong for one another, that they won’t be able to realize how badly she actually needs their support today--now more than ever.
She had a love that was real and true with Luke, and thank God for that. What they shared made her into an amazing woman.
A mother so brave and strong that her kids look at her with more love than I thought possible.
And Goddammit, somehow I ended up here, in this town, this Christmas, sharing a part of that love with her and with her kids.
I slam my car door shut and grab the bag of cookies as I hike into the mountain to tell Greta I love her.
A hell of a lot can happen in two weeks.
You can build a house in two weeks. Hell, you can win a war, topple a government--you can certainly fall in love in that span.
As I move toward the trail, I’m more resolved than ever. Shit, I know what I want to do--and the ring in my pocket proves it. When the moment is right, I am not going to hold back. I’ll tell Greta that I love her and then drop to one knee.
I’m focused on finding her and that’s when I hear it.
The sound of Greta calling.
I spin, headed toward the sound of her voice, but I can’t find her. Fuck, I knew I should have come with her from the get go.
I run down the trail, calling for her as I move. As I cut through a path, I see her family--Milo and Lucy and Charlie--hell, the whole crew. “Have you seen Greta?” they ask, fear in their voices.
I shake my head. “No, but I heard her, I’ll go this way to look.”
I take off in a different direction than Clive and Charlie and head back toward the voice, immediately realizing I don’t know this mountain. Looking at the cookies in my hand, I rip open the bag and crumble a gingerbread man.
Then I start making a trail of crumbs as I run. I keep moving, sliding a few times in the snow, my only focus is on getting to Greta. The trail will lead us back to her family once she’s in my arms.
“I’m here,” I shout. “Stay put.” I keep moving, seeing footprints in the snow, and realizing, with relief that I’m practically to the parking lot. Greta isn’t in danger;
she just got turned around and scared.
“Greta?” I say, once I see her back. She kneels in the snow, crying. “Baby, you okay?” I run toward her, and drop to my knees. “I’m right here.”
She looks up, tears in her eyes and fear on her face. “My kids, I can’t find them, Ansel!”
“Shhh, shh, baby, they’re okay. I just saw them. Both Milo and Lucy are with your family. Everyone’s okay. But honey, are you?”
Her shoulders fall, her face crumbling in relief. “Oh, thank God. I couldn’t find them and got so scared. It’s my worst nightmare.”
I cup her cheek with my hand. “I know, sweetie. That’s why I came. I couldn’t bear the idea of you braving this mountain alone.”
“Ansel,” she says, looking past me. “Did you leave a trail of breadcrumbs?”
I push my lips forward, looking at the crumbs dotting the snow covered ground.
“You told me our love story was a fairy tale, but Ansel, crumbs? Really?” Her face breaks out in a smile.
“I didn’t want us both to get lost,” I tell her, grateful that she’s smiling and no longer terrified. “I’m so sorry you were out here all alone.”
“I’m not alone anymore.” She wraps her arms around me. “You got me in trouble with my family. They’re all pissed that I‘ve fallen for you.”
“You fell for me? Is that so?” I ask, pulling back to look into her eyes, already knowing the answer.
“I didn’t stand a chance. Not really. Not with you showing up in Linesworth with that man bun,” she says with a smirk.
“I’ll never live that down, will I?”
She shakes her head no, then swallows, and leans into my hand that rests on her cheek. “So, you were saying you came out here for me?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“You know why, sweet cheeks.”
“Spell it out for me,” she asks. The moment has suddenly turned intimate, the two of us here, kneeling in the snow. The pine trees heavy with snow laden branches and the crisp mountain air between us.
