Vermont Christmas

by Tracey Pedersen

  Apologetic eyes turn to me and he puts the cup on the table. “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry to intrude on your holiday. I did not expect a storm.”

  “Pfft.” I laugh and unzip my jacket, since the chill is gone from the air. “You’re hardly intruding. More like saving me from freezing to death in my own little Christmas crypt.”

  He laughs as I peel off the coat and hang it near the door. His laugh is a lot like my hot chocolate. Rich, smooth, and full of flavour. It matches his square jaw, which I note his picture does not do justice to. “I haven’t lost a holiday maker in three years. You won’t be the first now that the fire is going.”

  “I thought there’d be a real fireplace and that I’d have to worry about starting a fire from a stray spark in the middle of the night. I can’t decide if this is better or worse.”

  “That’s my fault.” He purses his lips and meets my eyes. “I haven’t updated the holiday listing since we installed these earlier in the year.”

  His eyes are brown and the way he regards me whenever I speak compels me to keep looking at him. He’s in his socks, his blue jeans dragging on the wooden floor whenever he moves.

  “Does that work?” I point past him toward a potbellied stove in the corner.

  “It does. No one ever uses it, though. Not since we put the gas in. I kept it for a nice winter touch, but it does work. That’s what the firewood is for.” He points to the pile I noticed earlier.

  “Let’s hope I don’t need to light that, too.”

  “Give it a few more minutes and it will be toasty warm in here. Just keep the doors to the bedroom shut and you should be right. Once the weather clears, I’ll get out of your hair and I’ll bring Luthor back tomorrow to fix the central heating. You have enough gas to last you all week, even if you run it night and day, which I strongly recommend.”

  “I’m already warmer,” I say, leaning down to slide off my boots. I put them neatly by the door, and unzip the second jacket I’m wearing. The fabric is bunched up under my arms, since I’m wearing a knitted jumper underneath, too. I panicked when I discovered how cold it was and layered all my warmest clothes on at once. Brant’s tinkering with the heat means I can discard the extra clothing and start to look like a normal person.

  He clears his throat as I throw my second jacket over the back of a chair. I have jeans to remove and leggings underneath them, but they can wait until the room reaches its optimum temperature. I look up to find him staring at me, and I’d swear that’s longing I see in his eyes. A spark that could have lit the heating system earlier flickers to life inside me, and now Brant has my full attention. He sips his hot chocolate, his eyes boring into mine from across the room. The inside of my mouth bears the brunt of my indecision as I chew the skin, wondering if I’m imagining things. We’ve only been here together a couple of hours, but I want to know more about him. I think I might want to get closer to him, too. Like, physically closer. I open my mouth to say something suggestive, that has yet to pop into my head, when the overhead light flickers and goes out.

  “Oh, crap,” he exclaims, as though he can’t believe the luck we’re having. “What the fuck is wrong with this night?”

  I stand still, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The fire behind me is the only light in the room, and after a few moments I can make out Brant’s silhouette and the dark shapes of the furniture and the kitchen. “More excitement for my holiday tale,” I comment, before moving to the edge of the kitchen counter. “Will the heat stay on?”

  “Yes. Once it’s lit it doesn’t need power.”

  A shrill ringing cuts through the sound of the storm, making me jump. Brant feels his way across the room and pulls the phone receiver from the wall. “Brant Bryant.”

  I wonder who could possibly be calling but I can guess as he starts to explain that we have heat and he’s stuck here until the storm passes. “Yes, if you could contact the other cabins, that’d be great. Hopefully I’ll be out of here in the morning. Thanks, Luthor.” His tone is tense, like he cannot wait to get away from me and get back to his own cozy house.

  It seems like the universe is telling me to give up and go to bed. To put an end to the almost twenty-eight hours I’ve been awake, and try my luck with this snowy destination in the morning.

  Instead, I feel my way along the counter and investigate what I have to cook with.

  “This is a gas oven.” I feel around the hotplates and open the oven. “Or is it electric?”

  “Gas for the hob, and electricity for the oven.” He’s standing right next to me, the tension still between us, despite the darkness.

  “Hob,” I huff. “I haven’t heard it called that in ages.”

  “My mother is English. She always calls it a hob.”

  “My grandma used to call it that, too.” I stand upright and point to the cupboard where I packed all of my groceries earlier. Of course, he can’t see me, so I say, “I need something to eat. Shall I make us dinner?”

  His silhouette turns to stare out the window again as though his glare will melt the snow and he can be on his way home. With a sigh, he shrugs and gives in to the inevitable. “I had dinner cooking at home. I’m so glad I turned the oven off when I left the house.” He leans forward and pulls a curtain over the window, blocking out the depressing picture outside. “Do you have enough for me? I really don’t want to intrude.”

  I laugh and nod, throwing open the cupboard, and stepping back to open the fridge, too. I pull my phone out and activate the torch and he gasps, while I chuckle. “You cannot say I didn’t come fully prepared. I have no intention of starving at Christmas.”

  Chapter Nine - Brant

  “I know there are a lot of things I could ask about this.” I wave my arm indicating packet after packet of packaged food. “But really my only question is why do you have so much if it was just you here for two nights?”

  She blushes, the sweet tinge of her cheeks having an unexpected effect on me. Maybe I haven't been around women much lately, but the sight of her feelings displayed directly on her face has my full attention. Even if she hadn’t turned her torch on, and I couldn’t see her turn that tempting shade of pink, the sight of her perky little frame without all that extra padding has got me off balance.

  “I couldn't help it. Every aisle had interesting things I've never seen. Well, some of them I knew about from television shows or the imported food section of our supermarket, but there was just so much.”

  I reach in and pull out a party sized pack of mini peanut butter cups. It’s hard to make out the writing in the dark, but I manage. “Sixty little cups hide in this pack. That's twelve a day if you make them last five days.” I laugh as she looks toward the ceiling doing the same math in her head. “Then you have Nerds, and Jolly Ranchers, in another enormous pack, I might add. And you have a cake mix for possibly the sweetest cupcakes in the country.”

  Her voice takes on a whiny quality. “I know, I know. You're not telling me anything I don't already know.” She perks up, and brushes past me, pulling another package from the open cupboard. “Look,” she says. “I got Twizzlers as well. Do you know how much a giant pack of Twizzlers costs back in Australia? I don't even think you can buy this size at home. I've only seen tiny packets in the sweet shop.” She giggles and pulls the packaging apart before slapping a strand of red liquorice on her tongue and offering me the open pack. When we both have one in our mouths, she continues, “I can take all of the candy home, so no problems there.” She opens the fridge and waves the Twizzler at the packed shelves. “Fresh food is a problem, though. I thought I could contact someone and leave my leftovers in case the next person wanted them. I got too excited.” She shrugs. “What can I say? I wanted to indulge for Christmas lunch, even if it was just for one person.”

  “Oh good. I was worried you planned to invite every ski instructor you came across to join you for lunch. And maybe some schtupping.”

  She smacks me on the arm and pushes the fridge closed, laughing as
she turns around. “You’re really hung up on the schtupping, aren't you?”

  “Maybe. The only thing I know about you so far is your plans to meet ski instructors while you’re here. Maybe you should tell me some other stuff so I can use that information to remember you by.”

  Her back is against the fridge, and I'm standing way too close to this woman I only met two hours ago. I notice her exceptionally long lashes as she grins up at me, the torchlight throwing shadows on her face, and it reminds me what I’ve been missing up here on my own. It’s not just my lack of recent female company, though. There's something about her—something I noticed when I first looked into her eyes peeping at me over the top of her winter jacket.

  She has a spark about her. And a kernel of something that could be joy, and it's as attractive as hell. Luckily, we’re both munching on red Twizzlers and I have no opportunity to give in to the temptation to lean down and kiss her. Instead, I step away under the guise of inspecting the kitchen curtain. The space I put between us helps, but only a little. We're still confined to this three-room cabin, only one room of which has heat, and the blizzard still rages outside.

  After a few seconds of silence, when I know she's watching me at the window, she moves to close the cupboard and pour a glass of wine. “Can I tempt you with the glass, now? I imagine you're stuck here for a while until the snow stops.”

  “I’ll take you up on that offer. Also, you should prepare yourself for an unwanted guest overnight.” I lean across the sink and try to look up at the sky, but it’s dark now. “I don't know what's going on out there, but there's no sign that it will clear in the short term. I won't take the risk to drive on the mountain when it's like this. Especially now that it’s dark.”

  “Do they have a Mr. Plow, or something, up here?” She bites her lip and joins me at the window peeking behind the curtain at the storm, much the same as I did. We’ve spent a good part of this visit peering out the various cabin windows. After three years you’d think I’d be used to the weather by now.

  Her arm brushes mine and a little voice tells me to move away. Move to the other side of the room. Check on the fire. Do something to remove the closeness between us, the closeness which in normal circumstances would allow me to feel the heat coming from her body. Considering we’re both wearing jeans and sweaters now the room is heated, there’s no chance of me needing any body heat from her.

  An image flashes in my head of her naked. Of the two of us sharing body heat in the best way possible. I shake my head vigorously and take two steps away before I answer her plow question.

  “They’ll clear the roads, but it could take a while, depending on what else they're dealing with. Trees down, power outages, all of those things can mean a delay in clearing the snow. And they still have to wait for the storm to pass.”

  “I had something different in mind when I planned this holiday.” Her tone is musing, as though she’s remembering all the ways this trip could have gone. Or her thoughts aren’t that far removed from mine.

  I can’t help but laugh at her wistful expression. “People usually do find it’s not what they expected. Especially when they come here in December. Have you ever been to the snow in Australia?”

  “Nope. Not once. But my daydreams were of a white expense of sparkling snow, underneath a clear blue sky. With me and my partner drinking hot chocolate in a rocking chair on the porch.”

  “Well, I did provide the rocking chairs.” I laugh and point to the door. “But they’re probably covered in a foot of ice right now. Not really the stuff of daydreams.”

  “More the stuff of nightmares,” she agrees. “It's an adventure, though. I'll have great stories when I get home.” She turns away from the window and leans back against a cupboard. She hands me a glass of wine and sips at her own. “My daydreams have been less than accurate lately, so maybe I'll just stick to the facts from now on.”

  “Which brings me conveniently to a question.”

  “You have a question? Let me guess. You want to know why I booked for two, and only showed up as one?”

  “You got me.” I point to myself, then at her. “Aren't you the one who sent a gushing email asking for all kinds of information, and saying you'd be here with your fiancé?”

  “That was me. How things can change in a few months.” She sighs and drinks more wine. “Like I said, my daydreams were not based on reality. He met someone else and let's just say the two of us overlapped.” She drains her glass and puts it on the counter, then reaches for the wine to refill it. The glasses we provide in the cabin are larger than a normal wine glass, and I watch as she fills hers to the rim. “I dropped in on him at work for the first time in years, only to discover that there would be no engagement.”

  I’d expect her to be devastated over this story, but her eyes are clear, and she meets mine without a shadow of regret. I compare this to my first year in Vermont, where every tiny thing reminded me of Lisa.

  “We have the same life story, it seems. Before I came here, I found my girlfriend, Lisa, was seeing a guy from the gym. She even got him a job at her work so they could fool around more easily.”

  “Wow, that infers a certain level of premeditation, doesn't it?”

  It's my turn to gulp down the alcohol. “That's what I said. She insisted it meant nothing, but it seems like a lot of effort for something unimportant.”

  She raises her glass and moves it next to mine, before clinking it a little too hard. “Well, here's to us for leaving those cheating scumbags behind.”

  “I'll drink to that,” I say, then hold out my glass for the next refill. She gives me a top up and regards me over the rim of her glass. “Now that we've shared our unlucky in love stories, I think it's time to discuss the menu for Christmas Day. I’ll cook dinner, and you can look through what I bought.” She nods toward the window and tilts her head at the curtain. “I’m new at this, but it seems to me you'll be here tomorrow for lunch as well.”

  Chapter Ten - Cherie

  “I’m not the girl I was three months ago. Funny how I thought I was so mature. From now on, I’ll make myself happy first and be sensible about heavy commitments. I’m only twenty-eight. I have loads of time to settle down and get the white picket fence—on my terms next time.”

  After a light risotto dinner, we pulled the leather couch in front of the fire to get to know each other better. My words, not his. The wine has me so relaxed I could fall asleep right now in front of the cozy fire. All my extra layers are gone, and with them my inhibitions. We both have another hot chocolate and I might give in to that urge to sleep, if I didn’t think I’d wake up with my head on his shoulder. Which isn’t an unwelcome prospect for me, but he might find it awkward. A handsome guy like him, I bet he has visitors throw themselves at him all the time.

  He thinks before he speaks, then says, “Don’t let it harden you. You seem nice. It’d be a shame to lose that just because some idiot couldn’t keep it in his pants.” He turns to face me, sliding his leg up on the couch between us. Our knees touch and I stare at them as he speaks. “You really sat down with him and discussed him cheating on you?”

  “I really did. I was devastated the day I found out, but I've slowly come to realize we were both at fault. Sure, I didn't stray, but I definitely wasn't paying attention. I was wrapped up in my fairy tale idea of what we were, instead of our true situation.”

  “You’re a better person than me. I haven't, for one second, considered that I was at fault. She slept with someone else. I was one hundred percent invested and she stomped all over our relationship.” He takes a big mouthful of chocolate, then fishes out a soft marshmallow with his finger, and I wonder if he’s really over her like he claims.

  “I know what you mean. I don’t think I'm to blame, but when I packed up his stuff half of it was missing, and I never noticed. He had another apartment where they had been meeting, and he’d gradually been leaving more and more of his personal effects there. I really feel like I should have seen the cha
nge.” I shrug. “We’d drifted apart, but I was still drifting in my own little bubble.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I walked in on them together in his office. Let me just say, they weren’t kissing.”

  “Oh, shit. I saw text messages, but I didn’t catch them at it, unless we count the mistletoe. I bet that sucked.”

  “It did. Instead of that fat white diamond I had my eye on, I got an eyeful of Greg’s secretary bouncing up and down on his… well, you get the idea. Actually, I didn’t, but she might have been bouncing if I’d waited a little longer to go into his office. He was about to do the bouncing.” I smirk to myself, the image of them in my head not bringing up the pain it did a few months ago. “When I visited his office that day it was the first time I’d been there in years. Anyway, so I packed up his stuff, sent it to his office, and removed him. From everything. Including this holiday. I cried. My pals cheered.” I shrug again. “So, there’s the sorry story in all its ugly glory. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Wow.” He stares into the fire, as though he’s deciding where to start. Then he matches my shrug. “It was a long time ago. I’m sure you don’t want to hear the gory details.”

  “Oh, but I do. I want all the details. If we were back in September, I’d want them to make myself feel better, but since I’ve well and truly left Greg in the past, now I want them for myself. Maybe it’ll help you move on, too.” He frowns and shakes his head. “Okay, you don’t want to talk about her, so, a pact. With a toast.” I raise my mug. “Oh, hang on. Are you hung up on your ex?”

  “Nope. I’m just lonely. Trust me, up here there’s lots of time to think. I don’t miss her. I just miss my old life.”

  “Good. No more talk of exes, then. Let’s toast to new futures, meeting sexy people, and s’mores.”

  “You have s’mores?”

  “Well, I have the fixings of s’mores.” I try to do a southern accent, but start laughing instead. “At least, according to the world wide web. Whether I can create the nirvana I’ve been promised, is another story, since I don’t have an open fireplace.”