"What? No, I'm..."
"Don't," he cut me off. "What has you looking like someone kicked your dog?"
"I was just wondering..."
"Spit it out," he grumbled and I almost laughed.
"I was wondering if you would let me maybe do a little baking and, ah, cooking, and maybe some... decorating?" I asked, each word more and more hesitant than the last.
"Babe, whatever sizzles your bacon. Do it up. But you gotta make enough cookies for me. Which shouldn't be a problem since you bought enough flour to supply a small bakery for a week."
"I can do that!" I said excitedly. "Well, ah, I think I can do that. My baking experience involves those premade tubes from the grocery store. You know, the ones that are supposed to look like Santa but end up looking like Santa was hit with acid and his face is melting."
He snorted at that. "Serial killers and acid attacks. You got a dark mind there."
I smiled. "I think it's impossible to live in the City and not develop a sort of dark or twisted sense of humor." I ran my hand over the cover of the book. "If I am still here by then, can I read this when you are done? Or, I mean, would that be some sort of faux pas between you and your friend?"
"I'll be done with it by the morning and, believe it or not, Felix doesn't give a fuck what happens to his books once they leave his hands. He just needs them out of his head. I once asked how his sales were doing and he honest to God didn't even know. Even though every one of them has been a bestseller. So I don't think he'll care if I share my copy. He's probably onto the next one already."
"You know, you have an interesting little life out here in the middle of nowhere."
"It's nice and quiet."
"And yet you've made good friends with an international bestseller. That's pretty cool." A silence fell then, making me shift uncomfortably for a second before I broke it. "Thank you for letting me crash here."
"You mean after T-boning your car," he said, one side of his lips tipped up.
"Well, if I kept up that road, I think there is more than a fair chance that I would have gotten stranded and frozen to death. So, yes, thank you for T-boning my car and bringing me back to your postcard-perfect home and fixing my head and agreeing to let me cook and bake and make this gorgeous place look Christmas-cheesy. It means a lot."
"Least I could do," he said with a shrug, climbing out of his chair and crossing over toward me, making me have to crane my neck all the way back to look up at him. "I'm gonna go get your fire going again and turn in. Which bags do you want up in your room?"
"No. Really, I can..."
"Doll..." he growled, his voice a warning to stop fighting him.
And, well, when a man wanted to do something nice for you, especially when your head was still pounding, you let them. "Just the two luggage ones. Thanks again, Jack," I said, meaning it.
"Stop thankin' me for being a decent man," he said, taking the book from my hand and tucking it under his arm as he moved to grab my bags and head up the stairs. I knew for a fact that the bags were insanely heavy. I had rolled everything to make use of the space and even vacuum sealed my sweaters to make them flat. I liked having a supply of clothes and I figured I would be spending time outside and would not only need layers, but changes of clothes if I happened to get wet from snow or rain. And the other bag was full of hair products, makeup, lotions, hair dryers, all the general necessary items. But he carried them up the stairs like they were full of feather pillows.
I got up once I finished my coffee, grabbed his cup, went into the kitchen and washed both of them out, leaving them in the drying rack, turning off the lights, and heading back up to my room.
I wanted to get a good night of sleep.
Because Jack had given me permission to get my Christmas spirit on.
And I planned to.
Starting with building a gosh darn snowman in the morning, teasing be damned.
Four
Jack
I woke up around six, as was my usual schedule. I showered, changed into jeans and a black, gray, and white flannel, and headed downstairs.
I was almost startled to find the smell of fresh coffee greeting me as I stepped off the bottom landing. It wasn't that I forgot I had crashed into a gorgeous woman and then taken her home with me; it was that I had lived alone for so long, it was incredibly strange to have anything done for me.
I might have also been a little surprised to find that she was an early riser. I had woken up chilled because my own fire was low around four and went into her room, keeping my eyes mostly off her sleeping form, and fixing her fire as well before going back to sleep, knowing it would be another several hours before I would need to do it again.
But she was up. Coffee was made, and it actually smelled almost as strong as I made it too.
I made a cup and looked to find she had also gone through her bags, storing them more discreetly behind the dining table.
She was nowhere in sight though.
It was a good couple minutes before I spotted a bright red figure out past the back deck that was twelve inches deep in fresh snow. When I checked the forecast before bed, I learned I had been right- we were going to get another storm on Christmas day. She was definitely stuck, no matter how much of this storm melted.
I moved across the living room to look out the back window, finding my lips tipping up as I watched her slight body rolling over a giant ball she was creating with snow. Making a snowman, like she said she wanted to. It was such a novel, innocent, sweet thing, that the idea of making fun of her completely vanished. I wanted instead to stand there and watch her finish the task, finding she already had a pile sitting on the ground beside her with sticks, rocks, a scarf, and a hat.
She really had come prepared for a holiday experience.
And while I didn't have a similar urge, I found her enthusiasm for it charming.
Plus, I was getting homemade cookies out of the deal, something I hadn't had for more years than I could name. True, they could end up tasting like cardboard, but I was willing to take the risk.
I finished my coffee and moved back upstairs to get in snow gear before I headed back down. The nice thing about living in the middle of nowhere was, when it snowed, there was no rush to shovel the drive because there was no need to get anywhere. I usually didn't dig out for a full day after a storm. So I had no damn reason to be heading outside except the fact that I wanted to see what she was up to.
As soon as I got within ten yards of her, I heard it.
She was singing.
I was pretty sure "Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow" had never sounded sweeter. I watched as she tried to push the giant ball forward, falling on top of it with a grunt. "Oh, listen here Frosty, stop being such an asshole," she demanded, getting back up and trying to push it again.
"Maybe he likes where he is," I called, making her let out a shriek and turn to face me, her hand on her heart. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."
She took a deep breath and I watched as it pillowed in the air around her for a second. "I didn't wake you, did I?"
"Nah, doll, I'm always up by now. Thanks for the coffee."
She gave me a saucy smile. "Sorry it won't cause any more hair to grow on your chest, but I didn't want to get heartburn."
"It was fine," I said, wincing a bit at how brash that sounded. Women were supposed to like more flowery compliments. I was shit at that kind of thing. "Why are you moving him?" I asked, jerking my chin at the ball.
She pressed her lips together a little, seeming almost shy for a second, before she waved a hand out toward the house. "I wanted to be able to see him from the window," she declared, her cheeks that were already red from the cold getting redder.
"Alright, well then, buddy," I said to the ball. "You heard the lady; your ass has to move," I said, moving past her, bending low, and moving the ball five feet in the right direction. "Out of curiosity, why didn't you just... build him in the right spot?" I asked as I straightened again.
&n
bsp; "Well, I was rolling it and I underestimated how heavy a giant ball of snow would get."
"Never built a snowman before?"
She looked away, uncomfortable, and shrugged. "I've always lived in apartments."
It was right then that I realized she had a story. Because even kids who lived in apartments had a snowman-building experience at some point. Their parents dressed them in snow gear and took them on the roof or took them to a park, or even let them build it right on the walkway before everyone got out to shovel. No decent parent deprived their kid of a basic childhood experience unless they lived somewhere without snow. Last I checked, New York had snow.
So that just left the idea that she had less than decent parents.
Which also explained why she was planning an all-out over-the-top Christmas experience by herself.
Suddenly, I was glad I hit her. I was glad the snow was so bad and the roads were too slick. I was glad I had to take her back with me where she didn't have to be alone. Granted, I had all but forgotten how to do Christmas in the traditional way, but unlike her, I had great parents. We built snowmen and we hung lights and we trimmed trees and decorated gingerbread houses and even did the popcorn and cranberry thing.
I knew all about making Christmas... Christmas.
I might have been rusty.
I might have needed to fake the spirit of the holidays.
But I was determined to give this strange woman with the big eyes and the white-blonde hair and the honey voice and the mega-watt smile and hidden sad story the mother fucking Christmas of a lifetime.
Five
Lyra
He helped me build a snowman.
That's right- the big, hulking, somewhat surly mountain man lifted up the big snowballs and put them where they belonged and helped me line up stone buttons and put a hat on a snowman that was, as it happened, quite a bit taller than me.
And when we were done, he surprised me further by reaching into his back pocket for a very new version of a cell I couldn't afford yet and insisted I take a picture with it. "I'll send it to you," he told me as I smiled a big, goofy, happy smile at the camera. "This way, you'll have proof of your wild little Christmas adventure. Now let's get inside and get some food," he declared.
My stomach grumbled too. "Just one more thing," I said, moving a few feet away from Mr. Snowjangles, throwing my arms out wide, and letting myself fall backward, knowing the fluffy snow would cushion my fall. "I've never made a snow angel either," I declared as I started swishing my arms and legs wide, deciding right then and there that there was nothing more magical in the world than snow.
I heard the shutter of his camera and heard a mumble that sounded a lot like, "You are a fucking snow angel," but was sure I misheard him.
"Alright. I think that fulfills my winter... what?" I broke off when I felt something whack me on the back of the head. I turned, surprised, and found Jack standing there, grin on his face, challenge in his eyes, and a perfectly rounded snowball in his hand. "Oh," I said, smiling back as I stooped down to grab a handful, "it's on."
Apparently I was wrong; I needed to have a snowball fight to fulfill my winter activities quota.
And Jack gave me that.
I was huffing hard, realizing for the first time that while running was never my forte to begin with, that the task was infinitely harder when trying to do so through about a foot of fresh snow. He had been pummeling me for the better part of five minutes and I took off toward the tree line to try to hide myself and maybe catch him unaware. Because I learned something else about myself I hadn't known before- I had the aim of a baby with no motor skills to speak of.
Not one of my hits landed.
I moved around for a long couple of minutes, smiling ala evil villain when I realized I had come up behind him as he crouched low, creating a giant pile of snowballs he planned to attack me with.
I didn't think. I ran. And as I ran, I threw.
And it landed to the side of his head, sticking to his dark hair and the side of his beard.
Unfortunately, Jack had quick reflexes and turned with a snowball at the ready.
I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I just flew at him, knocking into him, and sending us both flying to the ground.
I landed on his chest with a grunt followed by a laugh, shaking my head at my strange impulse to take down the lumberjack.
But before I could even say anything, our positions switched. He rolled, pushing me onto my back in the soft snow and rolling on top of me, his weight braced on one hand, the other holding up a snowball. His eyebrow was lifted; his lips were twitching.
"You wouldn't!" I squeaked, wriggling uselessly. He was huge and heavy and there was no way I was getting out from under him until he let me up.
"Eh, maybe not," he agreed, dropping the ball.
But he didn't lift up or roll off.
I watched, instead, as his gorgeous, deep brown eyes somehow seemed to get deeper. I knew that look. And looking up into his perfectly rugged masculine face, I felt my own eyelids get heavy, my chest get tight, my lips part.
It was silly. I didn't even know him. I rarely ever even kissed on a first date. And we weren't on a date.
But, God, I wanted to kiss him.
I wanted to know if his beard tickled, if it would leave my somewhat sensitive skin red from the friction. If he kissed hard like he looked, or was surprisingly gentle.
He reached out then, rubbing his finger across my eyebrow, swiping away the snow I felt stuck there. His hand didn't fall away though. His fingers whispered down my temple, my jaw, my chin. His thumb moved out and stroked over my mostly-frozen lips, making me acutely aware of them for the first time in hours. His eyes were focused there as well.
My hand, well, it rose all of its own mind, sliding up the arm of his jacket, across his shoulder, up the side of his neck, then settling at the base of his skull. His eyes found mine as I put pressure there, pulling him down toward me.
He resisted for a short minute, looking at me like he could see right through me and I swear I felt him moving around inside as his chest pressed down harder to mine, as his other arm planted beside my head, as his breath warmed the air around his face as he lowered.
My entire body tensed in anticipation.
Before his lips even met mine, his beard tickled across my skin, making me smile slightly as my belly did a strange swirling thing.
Then his lips pressed into mine and everything else disappeared.
My heart became a frantic bass beat in my chest as his head tilted and his lips explored mine- slow, sweet, just enough pressure. My lips tingled from the warmth as his tongue moved out to trace my lower lip until they fell open and his tongue slid inside to claim mine, dragging a whimper out of me as my hand dug into his neck, the other grabbing his strong shoulder.
The sound seemed to uncage something inside him as his tongue moved back and his lips claimed mine again- harder, hungrier, like you'd expect from a man like him.
My body responded almost instantaneously. My breasts swelled, my sex clenched hard. I kissed him back just as greedily, feeling his beard scrape across me and thrilling at the sensation as I fought the urge to grind my hips up into his.
As if sensing that desire, his lips pressed down almost hard enough to bruise for a second before leaving mine completely. My eyes fluttered open slowly, the lids feeling heavy. My breathing was ragged and the cold felt like a slap to my overheated skin.
His eyes watched me for a long time too, seemingly as effected as I was.
But then he pushed up and sat back on his heels, his hand reaching to the side.
"You get a ten second head start," he warned and my head turned to see him grabbing a snowball.
I wasn't sure if he was doing it because he regretted the moment or that he was just trying to let us both accept that it happened and that we didn't need to overthink it or what. But I did know that I needed those ten seconds. So I dragged my suddenly very sensitive body off the gro
und and I ran.
He followed behind me the whole way to the front of the house, hitting me more often than missing me.
I stood outside the front door where he had shoveled a small rectangle away from it and kicked some of the snow off my legs and shoes. He came up beside me. He never saw it coming.
I brought my arm up quickly and smashed a snowball onto his chin, watching the pieces get caught in his beard.
"Good for you," he laughed, reaching up and swiping it away, leaving his beard a little wet in the wake as he slammed off some snow as well and went inside. "Come on," he said, nodding as I continued to try to get the snow off. "You'll never get it all off."
"I don't want to track snow all through..."
"Lyra, it's just water," he said, a very typical male response that I laughed at as I followed him in. "Go on and get changed. Take the shower and warm up. I am going to get this fire going and then I'll..."
"No, let me make breakfast. It's the least I can do for you letting me stay here," I insisted, pulling my hat off.
"You don't owe me shit, but if you cook it, I'll eat it," he said, moving toward the coffee pot.
Dismissed, I kicked out of my boots and hauled it upstairs, cringing as I dropped snow everywhere. I went straight into the shower and moved in front of the mirror, seeing the redness to my cheeks and nose and the way clumps of snow were clinging to the back of my ponytail. I reached up and pulled the butterfly strips off, the skin already seeming sealed, if a little red and angry-looking still
I realized something else then too.
I looked happy. Genuinely happy. I wasn't sure how long it had been since I saw that look on my face.
But I owed that to Jack.
As I stripped to shower, I decided that I didn't care what he said, I was going to do something for him. And not just cook him breakfast. Though I did do that, going all out and making not only eggs, bacon, and breakfast potatoes, but a huge pile of pancakes as well. Christmas was two days away. And I wanted to give him something.
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