Chapter 5
Flint
My middle-aged body is definitely not made for sleeping on couches anymore.
I tossed and turned most of the night, mainly because I was uncomfortable, but also because a stunning woman with curves in all the right places was sleeping in my bed.
I hadn't asked her why she was dressed in a bridal gown since she seemed to feel terrible that she was barging in on me, but I can't help but be curious.
I brew a fresh pot of coffee, and once I have a mug warming my hands, I plug in the tree and sigh, looking over at my mother's ornaments in the box.
A pull to honor her comes over me. I take a few sips of coffee, place the mug on a table, and reach down for a shiny gold bauble.
Placing it on the tree gives me a feeling of home, and my chest clenches when I think of my mom. I smile to myself.
I find Elvis' Christmas album on my music app and play it softly as I continue adorning the tree with my mother's ornaments.
Christmas was always magical with her, and not just because she was a practicing witch.
It was her favorite time of year. She always made sure we kids had plenty of holiday cheer, even when times were tough.
When I finally add the angel tucked away in the box's corner, I step back and take in the sight. Sheila would be over the moon if she knew I actually decorated the tree. I chuckle softly to myself.
Grabbing my mug, I realize it's gone lukewarm, so I head into the kitchen to dump it out and pour a fresh cup. The sunrise is lighting up the snow outside, and the way it sparkles reminds me of how my mother used to love practicing snow magic.
After taking a long sip of the hot coffee, I close my eyes, thinking back to a time when things were simpler.
I was a pretty joyous kid who just happened to grow up to be such a grump, at least per Sheila and several of my friends.
I've been told my grumpiness can be charming, but I'm not so sure about that.
I'm on my third cup of coffee, checking the news on my tablet, when the curvy runaway bride pads into the kitchen, her hair mussed as she rubs her sleepy face.
Damn, she is gorgeous. But it's obvious that Petula is, at minimum, a decade younger than me. I'm probably just an old man in her eyes.
"I'm making you breakfast," she declares with a yawn.
"You don't have to do that."
"Yes, I do. I just slept in your bed while you clearly had trouble sleeping on the couch," she says, opening the fridge.
"Do I look that bad?" I quip.
Petula peeks over the refrigerator door, giving me a smile that wakes my cock up.
"Sorry. No. I didn't mean it like that. But it's clear you did not get the best of sleep."
Minutes later, she is frying up bacon and whisking eggs in a bowl. When she's ready, Petula sits down at the table, placing a plate in front of me.
"This smells delicious," I say, ready to dig in.
We sit in silence for a moment before my voluptuous guest asks, "So what do you do?"
"I'm in logging."
"Oh, that explains the look," she blurts out with a giggle. "You do have quite the lumberjack vibe about you."
Rubbing my thick beard, I grin at her. "I guess you could say I'm the quintessential mountain man."
Her smile makes my stomach flip as I try to focus on the food in front of me. After a moment, I clear my throat and say, "So, uh, why were you in a wedding dress?"
I watch as Petula's pale cheeks redden, but she doesn't look away from me. Instead, she smiles shyly and says, "Let's just say I made a smart choice to leave a bad situation."
"Oh, so that's why you were in Vegas."
"Actually, I live in Vegas," she says, clearly not impressed with her own words.
"Really? On purpose?" I quip, and she bursts out laughing.
"Yes. On purpose. Although once I check out my aunt's place, I am mulling over maybe making a change."
"Oh, really? Are you going to come join the mountain life with me?"
I feel my neck heat. Slow down there, Romeo, you barely know her. Never mind the fact that you clearly have several years on her.
"I'm thinking about it. I can work anywhere, so I think a change is definitely in my future. And here I am now with a cabin that's all mine."
"You can work anywhere? What do you do?"
"I'm a book cover artist, specifically for fantasy."
"Oh, really? I like fantasy. I've read all of Game of Thrones."
"Me too. Love that series. Well, specifically, the first three books. In every reread, I still fervently wish that the Red Wedding won't happen this time around."
I snort and nod. "I can see why."
After breakfast, Petula insists on washing the dishes. When she's finished, we notice that the snow has slowed down immensely.
"Hey, I have a friend who plows up here. I'll see if he's able to dig us out before dark," I say.
"Oh, that's great. Thank you. You've been super kind to let me stay here, but I do feel bad."
"Please don't feel bad, but I was just thinking you probably are really dying to see this cabin that you've inherited."
Petula nods, giving me a small smile. Damn, she's so goddamn pretty.
I look out the window and see that Nico has finished the job and jog out to catch him before he leaves.
"Hey, man. Are you able to do one more favor?" I ask.
"Name it," he says from the plow truck's cab.
I hand him a piece of paper with Petula's cabin address. "Can you go over here and just plow her driveway so that I can bring her home?"
"You got it, bud." He gives me a wicked grin. "That's quite a cutie you have in your cabin."
I snort, shaking my head. "She literally just crashed into my place yesterday. We barely know each other."
"Well, she is easy on the eyes, man," he says, before tipping his hat and pulling out of my driveway.
An hour later, Nico texts saying that he got over to her place and plowed the driveway. I pack up leftover beef stew, a bottle of whiskey I haven't opened from my bar, plus several bundles of wood, and throw them into my truck.
"Please grab the peanut butter and that loaf of bread and the jam," I tell Petula in the kitchen.
"Are you sure? I don't want to take your food," she says.
"Don't worry about it. I went on a massive shopping trip right before the storm, and I don't want you to be hungry. And here is a bag of oranges so you don't get scurvy," I quip, and she giggles, her cheeks blushing.
Damn, this woman is beautiful.
"We can take a look at your car once the weather is better, but let's get you to your new home. I'm sure you're ready to explore it."
"Thanks, Flint," she says.
When we arrive at her cabin, I bring the bundles of wood to her front door. As I place the last one down, Petula opens the door and grins my way. Then suddenly, she wraps her arms around me in a big hug.
Stepping back, she whispers, "Thank you for everything," but I'm too distracted by my body being consumed with some sort of electric heat.
Petula's cheeks are bright red, and her eyes dip down to my lips then back up to mine. Can she feel that electricity too?
I clear my throat and give her a small wave, jumping back into my truck and pulling out before I do anything stupid. On the drive home, my body continues to buzz, but I tell myself to ignore it.
I'm sure I'm just an old man in her eyes.