Wicked Winters: A Collection of Winter Tales

by Lucy Smoke

  “I guess so … because your eyes are still in your head. Thank goodness,” I say with a smile, shoving my hands in my pockets and rocking back on my feet a little.

  She pulls her blanket around her tighter with a slight cough, and my eyes jump to her feet as she shuffles them. She’s wearing these fluffy socks that look like clouds, but her legs are bare. Suddenly, I realize she’s sick, and it’s freezing outside.

  “Did you know sneezes exit your head at one hundred miles per hour?” She coughs again and looks at me.

  “Now, I do.” I raise my eyebrows and glance behind her. “Uh, I’m guessing you aren’t sticking to the schedule today?”

  Milly steps back and shakes her head. “Take the day off,” she says, sneezing again and sniffling.

  “Now, I see what can stop the force that is Milly from completing her task. Have no fear; Evan is here.”

  I give her a cheeky grin, and she stares at me and then breaks out in laughter.

  “What are you, a teenage superhero? Is that your catch phrase?” She starts to walk away before looking over her shoulder. “Well, don’t let all the heat out.”

  I follow her inside and watch as she falls onto the couch to lie down, her head almost missing the pillow completely. I rush to help stabilize her.

  “Look, I’ll take care of the list today. You just, um … rest,” I say.

  She answers me with a snore, already asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. I always thought that was a saying, but now, I know it can happen. I stare at her for a moment, her face relaxed while in slumber, and I realize the blanket is only half on top of her. Not wanting to move it out from underneath her to fully stretch it out, I go in search of another blanket.

  Don’t girls have a million blankets?

  I walk through the living room, searching on furniture and behind things, and make my way down the hallway until I’m standing in the doorway to her bedroom. I glance back to make sure she hasn’t woken up and then step in.

  Grabbing the comforter on her bed, I yank it off and make my way back down the hallway and into the living room. I lay it on top of her where she’s snoring, a thin line of drool falling from her mouth and making a wet spot on the pillow. With a chuckle, I head out to grab her some soup and then tackle the day’s list of things to do.

  5

  Milly

  I roll over, blinking, and stare up at the small stain pattern at the top of my living room ceiling. My head is fuzzy, and I blink a few more times before the tickling in my nose alerts me that I’m going to sneeze. I almost sit completely up as the sneeze wrenches through my head, doubling the pounding already going on inside of it.

  “Ugh.” I wrinkle my forehead and lie back, my arm now covered in spit and things I don’t want to think about.

  My hands smooth across my comforter, and I pause.

  I look down to see I’m lying on the couch and not in my bed.

  Wait a minute. Why is my comforter in the living room?

  The events of the morning start to come to me. Waking up with a headache and puffy eyes, downing the cold medicine in the kitchen, opening the front door to see Evan standing there.

  Oh my God. Evan saw me like this.

  I raise the comforter and breathe a sigh of relief that I have on my gown and not just a T-shirt. He must have covered me up with the comforter once the medicine knocked me out. I glance over to find a cup of water on the coffee table next to me and a small note. I grab the water first, talking myself out of immediately reaching for the note, not wanting to appear desperate even though no one would know.

  Ah, screw it.

  I put the water down and pick up the note, pulling the comforter around my shoulders as I try to sit up and hold the note out in the light. I see Milly written on the front in block letters. It’s definitely a male’s handwriting, and that sends a strange feeling through me. I don’t remember any of my previous boyfriends leaving me notes. That’s probably because I was the one to leave notes in the relationship—with instructions, about everything.

  God, I’m uptight. Wait one second. Why am I thinking about boyfriends leaving me notes? Evan is not my boyfriend.

  I run one thumb over my name again and reach a finger under the paper to lift it, more sharp, bold letters greeting me.

  Milly,

  I took the liberty of grabbing you a hot cup of soup from The Feisty Fox. I placed it in the oven, though it probably won’t be hot by the time you wake up. You are out cold and drooling a little. Not that I noticed since I’m a gentleman. Anyway, don’t worry about today’s schedule. It’s taken care of. Get some rest, and you have my number if you need anything.

  Evan

  My eyes scan the note three more times, and I memorize the lines as my heart jumps in my throat.

  He got me soup?

  I reach my hands up to feel the crusted-on layer of drool on the bottom of my chin and roll my eyes.

  Of course. I hold the piece of paper to my chest and smile. When I lower myself back down on the couch, my eyes catch on the stain on the ceiling again. It feels nice to be taken care of, to be doted on. My heart flips in my chest at the sensations his words send through me. I bring the paper up again, hiding the stain, and read the words once more. ***

  I must have fallen asleep again because it’s dusky outside when I wake. Immediately, I begin screaming at the tall figure standing in my living room, looking at me. He jumps, and I scream again, scrambling to sit up and jerking the blanket tighter around me.

  “Stop screaming, Milly. It’s only me.” Evan’s voice reaches my ears.

  I shut my mouth, looking now to see that it is Evan standing there, a bowl in his hands and a towel thrown over one shoulder.

  “Holy Mother Mary and Joseph, what are you doing, sneaking around my house like that?” I press one hand to my chest and take a few deep breaths, stilling my racing heart.

  “I’m not sneaking. I came back by to check on you before I went home.”

  He eyes the piece of paper I still have clutched in my hand, and I flush. I hope my already-red cheeks from the cold hide it. Evan walks forward and lays the bowl down on the table, and I see it has the soup in it he brought by earlier.

  “Thank you. I woke up and read your note. Then, I must have gone right back to sleep.” I reach up and rub my eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Five thirty. Do you need me to grab you some medicine or anything?”

  I shake my head and lean forward to grab the soup, breathing deep as I bring it to my face.

  “What I can smell of this is delicious,” I say with a smile. Then, I cross my legs, lay the bowl in my lap, and start to eat. “Didn’t you lock my door when you left earlier?” I raise my eyebrows as he sits in the chair across from me.

  “You really should hide your spare key better. Everyone and their mother always puts it under a flowerpot.”

  “Didn’t know that I would have to worry about you breaking and entering.”

  “It’s not breaking and entering if you have the key.” He smiles, and it makes my heart jump a little.

  “You know, the crime rate for Clarissa Cove is practically nonexistent. I don’t worry about it.”

  “You should.” He cocks his head to the side. “You should always be vigilant.”

  “Apparently.” I point my spoon at him. “I’ve had my first burglar.”

  “I’m not a burglar. I even brought you something, so if anything, I’m a reverse burglar.”

  I stare at him for a moment and then giggle. This conversation has gotten more and more ridiculous as we argue about it. I spoon another bite of the soup in my mouth and enjoy the warmth as it slides down my throat, taking a little of the soreness away.

  “This is the pits. My first time co-directing, and I get a cold. I never get sick,” I whine.

  Evan sits back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his other knee. “Maybe it’s your body’s way of telling you to take a break every once in a while.” He crosses his arms over his broad
chest and stares at me.

  I squint and take him in. Reaching out, I grab my water, and after a long gulp, I set it back down, all while looking at Evan MacAlister sitting in my living room, trying to give me life advice.

  “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t know if you know this, but it pays, and I need the money and the job.” I slurp another sip of broth into my mouth.

  Waitressing only pays so much, and every little bit helps. Especially with a sick mother who has mounting medical bills piling up on the kitchen table every month. My younger sister, Mandy, takes care of her while Dad is working, but I know she has dreams, aspirations, and I eventually want to be able to help with the bills and her college. I’ve even toyed with the idea of moving out of my house and back into my parents’, so I can save the rent money. Though I love this little house.

  “I do know it pays.”

  His words hit me like a bolt of lightning, and I’m not sure why I didn’t think of it before.

  I gasp and sit up straighter, pinning him with a look. “Are you expecting half of the money?” I feel sick at the thought. Well, sicker than I already feel.

  Evan chuckles and leans forward, putting his leg down and resting his forearms on his knees as he clasps his hands in front of him. “No, I’m not taking your money.”

  I watch as a curly clump of hair falls on his forehead with his movement. I have an intense urge to twirl it around my finger.

  “Technically, I can’t take what is already mine—or my family’s.”

  What is he talking about? What is already his?

  Oh my God, he’s talking about the money.

  “Wait, are you saying you are paying my salary for the festival position?”

  “It’s coming from my parents’ funds, but yes, I authorized it. I consider it their yearly Christmas donation to the community. They still have no idea what I use it for.” He grins and reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

  “So, you are what, my boss?” I stare at him, incredulous that I’m just now finding out where the money comes from. I thought it was from the town’s annual Christmas fund that we raise money for throughout the year.

  “Nah. Think of it as a donation.”

  “How do you know that it’s your particular money footing my salary?” I set my bowl down, full.

  “Come on, Milly. Think about it. Have you never considered why the festival has grown to twice its size in the last few years?”

  I take his words in and mull them over. When I remember back to a few years ago, I realize, now, we do have more vendors, more food, more visitors, and more events.

  “I just thought it was from an increase in sales, so we had more money to spend each year.” I spread my arms out and shrug. “Are you saying you started paying for all of it?”

  “If anyone asks, my parents did, but yes, it was me.”

  “But why? I thought you hated Christmas.”

  “Why does everyone think I hate Christmas?”

  “Well, we haven’t seen you much and never around the holiday season. You and your family never attend the festival, so we just assume you dislike the holiday.”

  “I don’t dislike the holiday, just certain memories associated with the holiday.” Evan clamps his lips together in a straight line after saying that, like he wishes he could take it back.

  I decide not to press the issue further and dive into his family to see what I can find out.

  “Why are your parents never around this time of the year?”

  “My parents aren’t ever around much. They enjoy their money, taking lavish trips, and I only see them a few times a year. That’s one reason I chose to move back into my parents’ house when I got back to the States.”

  “What’s the other reason?”

  “What?”

  He looks confused, bringing his hand up to scratch the five o’clock shadow on his jawline. I listen as it makes a noise in the quiet air between us. It’s such a masculine sound.

  “You said it’s one reason you moved in. That means there’s at least one other reason.”

  “Or maybe it’s just a figure of speech.”

  “Is it? Just a figure of speech?” I adjust myself on the couch, careful to keep my nightgown from riding up and flashing Evan while I pull the blanket out from under me and lay it across my lap. The comforter is still wrapped around my shoulders, and I feel as snug as a bug in a rug.

  “No,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face and sighing. “I don’t know. I thought I had everything figured out before. But now, I’m just here until I can decide what to do next.”

  Oh.

  I should have known that he wasn’t here to stay. Why would a man like Evan choose to settle down in Clarissa Cove? He said it himself—his parents are hardly ever here. What does he have to keep him tied down? He’s rich and handsome, and he has the whole world at his feet. The complete opposite of me.

  “Oh, I see. So, this is just a three-year stopping point on your journey for world domination?”

  “Why stop at the world? I’m shooting for the whole galaxy.”

  He chuckles, and I grin, the moment lightened considerably.

  “Thanks for the soup. I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.” He stands, smoothing his hands down his pants, and collects my soup bowl.

  “Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” I say, standing, the blanket and comforter falling from me, leaving me in the chilly air with only my thin, short nightgown and fuzzy socks.

  I see Evan’s gaze drop for a moment before returning to mine, a grin tilting the corner of his mouth, and I glance down, horror rushing over me as I realize my braless nipples are at attention and quite visible through the material. Evan clears his throat with a turn and walks to the kitchen. I follow him and stand in the doorway with my arms crossed over my chest.

  “Thank you for checking on me.”

  He opens a few drawers before locating the cling wrap, deftly taking some out, sealing my bowl up, and then placing it in the fridge.

  “You’re welcome,” he says, turning to me with a smile, grabbing his coat from where I see he laid it on the table earlier. “I’ll go, so you can get some rest. Do you need anything else?”

  He raises one eyebrow while putting his jacket on, and I shake my head.

  “No, you’ve done plenty.”

  We stare at each other a beat longer, and he nods and then starts to walk toward the door. As he brushes past me, I lay one hand on his arm, and he stops, looking down to where we are connected and then at my face.

  “I, uh—” I swallow, suddenly at a loss for words, and I grasp at anything to say. Stopping him was an impulse, one my mind hadn’t planned on, but my body acted out. “I’ll send you tomorrow’s schedule in a little while. Meet at the restaurant in the morning?”

  “Sure thing.” He smiles and then steps away, my hand breaking contact and falling to my side.

  I follow him to the door, telling him good-bye and shutting it.

  With my heart in my throat, I lean against it, feeling like I ran a marathon even though I’ve barely moved.

  Is this what it feels like—falling for someone?

  I rest my head back and shut my eyes as I convince myself that it’s just my cold. There’s no way I could be developing any sort of feelings for Evan MacAlister. It would take a Christmas miracle.

  6

  Evan

  Breezing into The Feisty Fox the next day, I’m relieved to see Milly sitting at our usual table, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee as she peruses the papers in front of her. She doesn’t see me, so I take a second to study her. She’s an enigma. I went into this arrangement, looking for a distraction. I just didn’t expect my distraction to be flesh and blood with strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes and red lips that are so full that I ache to pull them between my teeth every time she talks to me.

  She looks up and sees me, smiling and gesturing to the cup of coffee sitting next to her that she bought for me. The morn
ing light coming through the window hits her just right, causing little flecks of dust in the air to illuminate and they look like they are dancing around her.

  “Hey,” she says as soon as I pull the chair out next to her and sit down.

  “Hey. Thanks for the coffee.” I raise it to my lips and breathe in the scent as I drink. They have the best coffee here. “You didn’t have to buy mine though.”

  “I owed you,” she says with a smile. Her cheeks have a rosy hue to them, and her nose is still adorably red. “I always settle my debts.”

  “Consider it paid. How are you feeling?” I set my cup back down, shrugging out of my jacket and laying it on the back of my chair before wrapping my hands back around the warmth of the mug.

  “I’m all right. I took medicine again this morning, but I’m hoping to power through. If I look like I’m nodding off, just kick me.” Milly looks at me for a beat before clearing her throat and sniffling, glancing back down at the papers in front of us and shuffling them. “Okay, here is what we have left to get done. We’ve got four days to do it, and we still haven’t found an area for Peter to race his alpacas.”

  She hands me an itemized list, not unlike all the others she’s sent me. I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone as organized as her.

  “I had a few ideas about that—well, one. Why don’t we start the race at my house, on the top of the hill, and finish at the ice rink in the center of town?”

  “Let me get this straight,” she says, leaning forward and tapping her pen on the tabletop. I’m thinking that’s not a good sign—the pen tapping or the leaning forward into my space. “You want to set the track up, so the alpacas race through the very center of town, through all of the events and vendors—not to mention, the people who will be around—and then you want them to stop on the ice rink?”

  “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds ridiculous. I was thinking they would have a barrier, something set up that would keep them on the track and not running over innocent bystanders or onto the ice. We don’t need a bunch of alpacas skidding all over the skaters.” I bring my hand up to stifle a chuckle at the scene that plays through my mind.