3. Carrie
3
CARRIE
I sat on the couch, watching the flames dance upward from the gas logs in the fireplace. The aesthetic was nice, but I would've much preferred the old wood-burning fireplace my parents used to have. Though, the upgrades to the rest of the house were nice. Since Dad retired from his post as mayor, he'd had a lot more time to use his handyman skills to work around the house.
Nursing the cup of hot cocoa with a sprig of cinnamon in the mug, I thought of how odd it felt being back home. My visits to Evergreen Falls only fell directly on holidays, and I usually never even stayed the night. I'd catch the redeye just to make it back to the city and not have the burden of enduring town gossip—or being the subject of it. Mom's church friends made sure to never let any juicy detail slip past their burning ears.
The house was too quiet with no one home, but I was comfortable with silence. It was better than hearing my mom nag me about how I never came home often enough or stay long enough when I did. She'd opted to stay at the hospital and use the family lounge room to shower and rest when needed. It was stuffy and sterile, and while I disliked being in this town, home was better than that. Dad hadn't woken up yet, either, so there was little point to making myself miserable.
I came home for a nap and a shower and dinner, which was nothing more than a few stale Christmas cookies Mom had thawed from her overflow after last year's party. The fridge was almost bare. It looked like Mom and Dad had been eating out a lot, judging by the takeaway boxes in the trashcan. Mom always hated to cook.
I stretched out my legs and rested my feet on the glass-top coffee table. My bright red socks coordinated well with my green pajama pants, giving me a Christmassy feel, though the holiday was still six weeks out. I was more exhausted than normal, which I attributed to having such a shock. Dad wasn't fully out of the woods yet, but the doctors told us he would probably make it. Though, they were still waiting for the best time to wake him up and find out what sort of damage the stroke had done.
My stomach churned at the thought that my dad could have brain damage or lose physical abilities. He was such an active man, working, golfing, and even volunteering around town. It scared me to think how he and Mom would fare if he were permanently disabled. And that idea made the slight nausea I was feeling even worse. I shouldn't have eaten those cookies.
When I set my mug down after drinking the last sip of cocoa and finally decided to rest my eyes, I quickly dozed off. I didn't know long I'd been sleeping, but a loud scraping noise woke me. I was startled, sitting straight up and blinking my eyes a few times as my brain came out of deep sleep and I had to remind myself I wasn't in my cozy Chicago apartment. I was in Evergreen Falls in my parents' living room.
Then I recognized the sound that startled me awake and frowned at it. Someone was shoveling their walk, and by the sounds of it, they were very close to Mom and Dad's house. Frustrated, I stood and hugged my arms over my belly as I shuffled toward the front door. It was probably a nosy neighbor who had heard that Dad was in the hospital and wanted to come be neighborly just long enough to get information they could share around town.
I pulled the curtain back from the large picture window slightly and peeked out, and I immediately recognized the tall, broad-shouldered man with a shovel in his hands. Ryan Hawthorne, Dad's best friend, stood on the curving walk from our driveway to the front door holding a shovel. It looked like he'd already cleared the entire drive and was just working on the walks now.
His back was to me, or I would have waved at him. The man was sweet, offering to pick up any slack around the house that might occur in Dad's absence. Mom let him serve her like he was the butler or a waiter. I, on the other hand, thought maybe he was trying a little too hard. But he and Dad went way back. Before I left for college, the two of them had a regular poker night with a few other guys, and they were in a bowling league too. Now, I wasn't sure how close they were, but it appeared they'd gotten pretty tight.
I couldn’t just let Ryan shovel the walks without at least acknowledging it and saying thank you, so I slipped my shoes on and grabbed a sweater. I thought about offering him cocoa, but I worried that by the time I got the cocoa heated up, he'd have finished and left. So I skipped that and walked right out the front door, pulling my sweater more tightly around my body as the cold air hit me.
"Oh, hey, Carrie." Ryan straightened and smiled at me, resting his hand on the shovel handle. "I just stopped by to move the snow for you guys. Can't have the mailman out here sliding around."
When he smiled, it made my cheeks feel warm, despite the frigid Minnesota temps this evening. The sun was already close to the horizon, though it wasn't quite dinnertime yet. And I should have been chilled to the bone, but my body flushed with warmth at seeing how handsome he was. When he introduced himself at the hospital yesterday, I'd felt the same way.
"Hey, Mr. Hawthorne, thank you for doing that. You know, you don’t have to. I can just call one of those snow removal places." I hugged my arms over my belly again as his eyes raked down to my feet and back up to my face. He was checking me out, and I felt flustered by that.
"Please, call me Ryan. Mr. Hawthorne is my father." He chuckled, and it was such a warm, rumbling sound that I had to smile. Ryan Hawthorne might have been my father's close friend, but even for his age, he was hot. If I had to guess, I'd have said he was younger than Dad by a few years, but that salt-and-pepper hair had my fingers itching to be tangled in it.
"Ryan," I said, correcting myself. "Thank you."
"Yeah, no problem. If you need any help with anything else, please let me know. I just need to finish up this little bit and I'll stop bothering you." His jaw tensed, and I noticed how rosy the tip of his nose was. He was avoiding shivering, which was something that for some reason, my body had no need for. I was on fire, the rush of attraction enough to keep me warm.
"Oh, well… I was going to make cocoa." I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb at the front door. "Do you want a cup? I can even bring it out here." Mom would be proud of my small- town hospitality, though I would never admit to offering him the drink. Had it been anyone else, they'd have gone home empty-handed. But there was something about him that made me want to be around him longer.
"Oh, I won't impose, but thank you. Just let me finish up here. If you need a ride to the hospital or someone to do a grocery run, let me know. I'm happy to help." Ryan's eyes swept across my body again, lingering on my chest briefly, and I knew he was definitely checking me out. It made me feel a little flustered again, and I took a step backward toward the house.
"Suit yourself. Thanks again," I told him, then I let myself back into the house and watched through the window as he went back to work.
I leaned on the window frame and stayed out of sight, but I kept my gaze fixed on him. The man was incredibly kind and charming, and the fact that he wasn't even shy about noticing my body made me stand there with a dumb grin on my face. He was way too old for me—at least fifteen years older, maybe more—but my God, just enjoying the eye candy was making this trip home worth it.
The idea of someone like him taking interest in me wasn't at all unappealing, though a little unrealistic. I hadn't seen a ring on his finger, but in this town, an age gap like that would get way too much attention. People would spread rumors like a bad case of fleas, and I'd be run out of town again just like I was after high school. If my underage drinking was enough to humiliate my family, a slutty fling with a silver fox would destroy them.
I let the curtain fall shut and walked back over to the couch where I curled up and used the throw blanket off the back of the sofa to cover myself up. The chill had finally caught up with me, and I found myself staring into the flames again, shivering as I thought about Mr. Ryan Hawthorne. He was the sort of man I actually wanted to date—not the age thing, but the looks, his kind heart, and his gentlemanly nature. If he weren't my dad's best friend and pushing two decades older than me, I might have stayed there to flirt a little.