by K. A. Tucker
Chapter Ten
I wake to Jonah’s soft lips on mine and his beard tickling my skin. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers, his voice husky with sleep.
“Merry Christmas.” I revel in his warmth for a long moment, lingering in that comfortable space where I could close my eyes and drift away. But a murky predawn sky pokes in from the gap in the poorly drawn curtain, suggesting we’ve slept much later than usual. “What time is it?”
“After nine. The power’s still out.”
I groan. I can’t say when we actually fell asleep, but it was late, after what felt like hours of slow, torturous play in the dark, the challenge of keeping silent in the still night while making the other break a game we were both eager to win.
“I need to get moving, but I didn’t want you to wake up without me.”
I smile. “That’s sweet.”
He kisses me again. “Yeah. That’s me. Sweet.”
“Is that what you called what you did to me last night?” I wouldn’t be surprised if I have a map of fingerprint bruises marring my flesh.
His chuckle vibrates deep in my chest as he slips out of the bed, stark naked and unbothered by the chill in the air. He peels back the curtain to peek outside, revealing a thick frame of snow along the sill.
“Is there a lot?” I murmur, distracted by his sculpted muscles and his morning erection as I burrow deeper into the covers.
“I’d say almost two feet fell overnight.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Might be even worse than last year’s storm.” He squints as he peers up at the sky. “At least it’s slowed down a bit. It’ll make plowing the driveway easier.”
“Seriously? On Christmas? You’re a workhorse.” Though sometimes I think that tractor is more a toy to Jonah than anything labor-related.
“Well, yeah. Muriel and them will want to drive up for dinner.”
“Yeah. I guess.” I add, “And Roy.”
He snorts. “Babe, Roy’s not comin’ to Christmas dinner.”
“We’ll see.” He’s likely right, but I refuse to give up on the curmudgeon just yet.
I admire Jonah’s body as he tugs on his thermal clothes, followed by his outer clothes. “I’ll be down in a bit,” I promise.
He’s at the door when he stoops to retrieve my slinky outfit from its heap in the corner. He holds it up by his pinkie. “I’m getting a repeat performance tonight, right?”
I plaster mock sympathy across my face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, but Mrs. Claus only comes out on Christmas Eve.”
His responding smile is wicked. “We’ll see about that.”
I emerge twenty minutes later to Michael Bublé’s “White Christmas” playing over a portable speaker, competing with the hum of the generator outside. Björn is stuffing a log into an already blazing fire in the hearth while Astrid sits on the couch, studying the designs for the log house we’re breaking ground on in the spring. Balsam fir–scented candles burn in place of table lamps.
Meanwhile in the kitchen, Simon is wrist-deep in the raw turkey, the aroma of onions and sausage lingering in the air. My mother watches, her customary mimosa perched artfully in her grasp.
“Merry Christmas!” I raise my eyebrows at Simon. “You aren’t wasting time.”
“It’s a twenty-five-pound bird! It’s going to take a few hours.” Simon nods to our oven. “It’s a good thing you went with propane, or we might be eating cold leftovers.”
“Pretty sure we could survive all winter out here, if we had to.” Between the Toyostove and a winter’s worth of wood for the fireplace, we’ll always have heat. For our electrical needs, we have a heavy-duty generator, as well as a backup generator and enough fuel sitting in the workshop to keep them running for months. “But I need to put the breakfast casserole in there for an hour before you put the turkey in.”
“Already in and baking. The note said 350°?” Mom rounds the counter and ropes her arms around me, pulling me into a fierce hug. “Merry Christmas, honey. We’re so happy to be spending it with you guys. Here, I poured you one.” She holds up the second champagne flute for me, but then pulls her hand back. “That is assuming you can drink alcohol.” She levels me with an examining stare.
She’s still not convinced that this isn’t a shotgun wedding. “Oh my God, Mom! How many mulled wines did I have last night?” I snatch the glass from her hand and punctuate that with a large gulp.
The side door cracks open. “Ho ho ho!” comes Agnes’s reedy voice, along with boot stomps outside the threshold. She appears down the hall, rosy-cheeked from the cold and stooping under the weight of a cranberry-colored canvas satchel half her size slung over her shoulder. A green-and-gold-wrapped box pokes out from the open end.
Astrid sets the blueprints on the coffee table to rise and help her. “You didn’t ride across the lake with that, did you?”
“No, no. Jonah brought it over in the truck last night.” She sheds her parka and her hat to reveal a tacky red reindeer Christmas sweater. “Boy, there’s a lot of snow out there.”
“And more coming later, according to the forecast.” Astrid lugs the heavy bag over to the Christmas tree, where people have been covertly tucking packages over the last few days. Luggage restrictions didn’t seem to limit anyone. A sizeable and colorful stack of presents now covers most of the tree skirt.
Agnes rubs her hands together for warmth, stopping at the kitchen counter. “Can I help you with something, Simon?”
“Yes! You can help me by pouring yourself a mimosa or a coffee and putting your feet up for the day. We’re all covered.” He caps that off with a beguiling smile.
“Sounds like my kind of Christmas.”
I set the mimosa down to fix myself a latte. “Is Mabel still sleeping?”
Agnes chuckles. “No. This is the one day of the year that I don’t have to drag her out of bed. She went to feed Bandit and Zeke for Jonah. He said he has to go to the hangar for something.”
I drop my spoon with a clatter. “He’s going to the hangar?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes.” She frowns. “Why?”
As if on cue, the snowmachine’s engine starts.
I abandon my coffee with a huff and rush for the door. “Because his Christmas present is out there, and he wasn’t supposed to find it yet!”
Jonah’s back is to me when I push through the door a few minutes later, my scarf haphazardly wrapped around my neck, my cheeks raw from the futile race to get here ahead of him.
In front of him is the satin steel-gray Chevy Silverado that Toby drove over last night.
“Guess I should have asked about getting a winch for it?”
He looks over his shoulder and gives me an arched brow before he turns back to stare at it some more. “What did you do now, Barbie?”
I assume that’s a rhetorical question. “I noticed you eying Steve’s truck when they were here.” The contractor who restored the old cabin couldn’t stop raving about his. I shimmy up behind Jonah and wrap my arms around his waist. “And I knew you’d never buy one for yourself.”
“That’s because it’s a fucking expensive truck.”
“So was my Jeep.”
“Yeah, but …” His voice drifts, his eyes drifting to the old Beaver, sitting in pieces. I know what he’s thinking—he’s spending a lot of money on a plane he doesn’t really need, but he’s doing it in a bid to honor my father.
“But nothing. Phil’s old truck is unreliable, and you need a vehicle of your own. One that doesn’t fly. You can keep this for the next twenty-five years if you want.”
“They don’t make trucks to last that long anymore.” With a groan, he turns and collects me in his arms. “This is way too much. But thank you.”
“I disagree. And you’re welcome.” I stretch onto my tiptoes and let my lips linger on his in a tender kiss. “I can’t believe you didn’t guess. I dropped enough hints.”
“That you’re crazy? Yeah, I knew that.”
“Honestly, I’m afraid to.”
I laugh and grab his hands, tugging him toward the driver’s side. The key is sitting in the console where Toby said he left it. “It was so much fun, picking everything out.” I hit the ignition button and the truck roars to life. The sound of church bells and children’s voices singing a Christmas carol blasts over the radio. “And look how much room there is in here!”
Jonah peers around the cab. “Björn won’t have much to complain about on his ride back to the airport. Lemme in.”
I clamber over the console to the passenger seat.
He climbs in, shutting the door behind him. Finally, I see the glimmer of delight in his eyes. “This is nice, Calla.” He steps on the gas pedal and revs the engine. “Really nice.”
“I know. I almost gave it to you early, because I couldn’t wait any longer.” I peel off my gloves and hit buttons to get the heat going. The initial gust of cold air blows through the vents, but it’ll grow warm in a few minutes.
His hands smooth over the steering wheel. He pauses in thought. “I guess I should give you your present now, then?”
“It’s here?” I peer out the window to search the hangar. Jonah’s been tight-lipped. I have no idea what’s in store for me, but I’m bracing myself for at least one gag gift.
“It’s right here.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small, letter-sized envelope. With a crooked smile, he hands it to me.
I tear open the seal and fish out the papers. And squeal. “Are you serious?”
He chuckles. “It was supposed to be just a winter getaway, but I guess it’ll be a honeymoon now.”
I scan through the details of the seven-day, all-inclusive trip to Hawaii for two in mid-January. I’ve been bugging him for months to fly somewhere warm this winter, but he never seemed keen on the idea of a resort, claiming he’d be bored, lying around a beach all day. As usual though, he’s been scheming behind my back.
“Oh my God, this is amazing! Thank you!” I throw myself at him, seizing his face and dropping hard, feverish kiss after kiss against his lips.
I finally relent, only to be pulled back, his hand firmly gripping my nape. The kiss he treats me to is not feverish or quick, but long and slow and deep, his tongue coaxing my lips apart.
My hands wander of their own accord, over that sexy, sharp jut of his throat, over the ridges of his broad chest, along his powerful thighs and up, in between, to where he has grown hard. Warmth instantly floods my core, the anticipation of his touch making my pulse soar. I stretch my body across the console in my bid to get closer to him.
“That’s a big extended cab back there,” he murmurs against my mouth.
I feel the insinuation deep inside. “You should probably test it out.” My voice is breathless as I blindly paw at the truck’s dash, searching for the heat controls.
He inhales sharply, his intense gaze boring into mine. “Good idea. We should.”
I shed my coat, kick off my boots, and scramble to the back seat. By the time Jonah has shucked his coat, exited the driver’s side, and is opening the back passenger-side door to climb in, I’ve already shed my outer clothes and got my pajama pants tugged down to my ankles, my bare skin impervious to the cold.
“I seem to recall having one in this shade a few years ago.” Simon holds up the robin’s egg sweater vest for all to see. “It mysteriously disappeared.”
There was nothing “mysterious” about it. My mother takes it upon herself to purge his wardrobe of anything she deems “ratty.” I used to think she was overstepping when it came to managing her husband’s attire, but half of Jonah’s closet consists of things I’ve ordered, and I’m constantly filtering through his drawers, tossing threadbare socks and shirts.
“And now you have a new one!” my mom exclaims, inhaling her bottle of perfume and humming with delight, as if it’s the first time she’s ever smelled it. Simon buys her a new one every year. That’s what their gift exchange consists of—sweater vests and a year’s supply of perfume.
I smile as I wonder what Jonah and I will be exchanging on Christmas morning ten, fifteen, twenty years from now. Likely not vacations and bodily fluids in the back of a brand-new pickup truck.
Astrid stoops to search beneath the tree. “All that’s left are gifts for Muriel and the men. I think that’s it.”
“In our household, we had a two-gift limit.” Björn eyeballs the mountain of strewn paper and ribbons littering the floor. I heard him mutter the same Norwegian word several times as he sat back and watched parcel after parcel change hands for nearly two hours. My guess is it wasn’t anything positive.
“It’s not your household, though, is it?” Jonah murmurs before devouring a shortbread cookie.
“Thank you, everyone!” Mabel is all smiles as she sets her pile—mainly clothes and gift cards—on the floor beside the couch. With that tucked away, she climbs from her seat and bolts for the coat rack, her phone in hand.
Jonah frowns after her. “Where’re you going? Where’s she going?”
“Out for a ride with Kelly, while it’s not snowing.”
Jonah opens his mouth—to complain that it’s Christmas and Mabel’s place is here, no doubt.
I stuff the shortbread cookie I was about to eat into his mouth. “Leave her alone,” I whisper, giving his knee a squeeze. “Plus, she has a small gift for Kelly that she wants to give her.”
He chews the cookie while he thinks. “Take the blue one. It has more gas.”
She smiles.
“And be back in an hour.”
“Okay, Jonah,” she says, drawing out his name. At least she doesn’t seem irritated.
“Oh, what’s that in there? I think we missed something.” Agnes sticks her hand into the branches of the tree to retrieve a small box that I suspect she put there. She holds it out to pretend to read the label—there’s no label from what I can see—before trekking over to hand it to Jonah. “This one’s for you.”
Jonah looks curiously at it, then at me—I shrug, because I have no clue—and then at her. “What is it?”
She shrugs. “Open it and find out.”
He picks at the corner of the tape until he manages to catch it. In seconds, he has unraveled the paper and is opening the small jewelry box. Inside is a simple white gold ring.
Jonah nudges my side with his elbow. “Is this from you?”
I shake my head, studying the brushed finish and flat edge. “No, but it’s really nice.” And timely, given less than twenty-four hours ago, I was panicking over having forgotten that he needed one. How on earth did Agnes manage this?
“You bought me my wedding band, Aggie? Is this a proposal?” There’s humor in his voice.
“Not exactly.” Agnes and my mom exchange a nervous look. “I found that ring when I was clearing out Wren’s house in the spring. It had somehow wedged itself between the baseboard and the carpet in his bedroom. I figured it might have been his, but I took a picture and sent it to Susan.”
“It’s the one I bought him. I remember picking it out, thinking it was simple but not boring. All the men’s rings I’d looked at were so boring.” My mom’s voice has grown husky as she chuckles, her eyes glossy. “He was always taking it off while he was touching engines and other dirty things at work. I guess that’s why he was so sure he’d lost it while out flying, but it must have fallen out of his pocket at home.”
“It was lost in that house for twenty-five years?”
“Somewhere around there.” Mom absently reaches for Simon’s hand, weaving her fingers through his. “When Agnes asked what I thought about passing it on to Jonah, I honestly wasn’t sure. I thought maybe you’d think it was bad luck or something—”
“No.” Jonah’s head shake is fervent, his brow furrowed as he studies it intently. “I don’t think that at all.”
Mom sighs as if a weight has been lifted off her shoulders. She smiles. “Agnes
said you’d say something like that.”
“This is … thank you.” His Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow.
I find myself doing the same, my own emotions stirring, though I can’t be certain why—is it that Jonah will be wearing my father’s wedding ring, or that my father, who I grew to love fiercely, meant so much to the man I’m about to marry?
“We’ll have to have it resized after the wedding,” I warn him. Wren Fletcher wasn’t a small man, but Jonah overshadowed him.
“No, you won’t.” Agnes grins. “I already had it done.”
Jonah slides the band onto his left ring finger. It fits perfectly. “How did you know—”
“When you were in the hospital, after the plane crash. You were all drugged up and sleeping. I tied a string to your finger and brought that to the jeweler. It worked!”
In one sudden, smooth motion, he stands and lifts Agnes off the ground and into a bear hug, spinning her tiny body around once before putting her back down. “What would we ever do without you, Aggie?”
She chuckles as she adjusts her Christmas sweater and then turns to me. “See, Calla? We told you it would all work out.”
“Now you don’t have to feel guilty about forgetting Jonah’s ring,” my mom adds.
Jonah’s mouth falls open, in that dramatic way that tells me he’s about to be a royal pain in my ass.
I groan. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You forgot that I needed a ring?”
Here we go. I climb off the couch and start collecting wrapping paper. “It’s not easy planning a wedding in a week. Over Christmas. In Alaska.”
Jonah plucks the trash bag from his mother and trails behind me. He’s still wearing the wedding band. “You didn’t forget your dress.”
“Well, no! It’s my wedding dress.”
“And the matching shoes?”
“There was a shoe store next door.” He obviously saw the box in the back of the Jeep.
“Do you even need me at the wedding, or will I be in the way?”
“You’re being ridiculous.” I laugh and toss a ball of paper at his face.
