Chapter 22 #3
One evening, with the air dipping into the subzero territory, they set up the chessboard on the coffee table.
He’d found it at their most recent visit to an antique store about two counties over.
It was expensive, heavy, and made of ivory.
He shouldn’t have purchased it for that reason, but it was at least a hundred years old, so he couldn’t have protected that elephant if he’d tried.
Rationalization at its finest. Besides, Elise had fallen in love with it when she’d seen it.
But after looking at the price tag, she’d abruptly turned and walked away.
Their first game was a polite exchange of one-for-one.
By the second, she had his patterns. She rested her chin on her hand and kept her eyes on the board.
Cut-throat and determined. He liked this side of her.
Games were competition, pure and simple.
He agreed, so they had lively competition that usually saw him as a winner.
“You never talk about what scares you,” she said, moving a pawn.
He moved his knight and took a breath. “Losing control,” he said, honestly. “Losing you,” he added, and the second truth was easier than he expected once the first had opened his mouth.
She slid her queen and looked up, finally, eyes steady. “Then don’t do that,” she said. She lifted her fingers from the piece, and her voice softened. “Besides, I don’t plan to be easy to misplace.”
He smiled at the simplicity of her bravery in speaking her truth. She checkmated him three turns later and crowed without mercy. And … he could live with that sound in the house for a long time.
Snow came again, this time lighter. It was a covering that made the world new in the morning.
Elise baked a tray of cookies that tasted of cinnamon and butter, with a hint of orange.
She tucked half into a tin stamped with a crooked star and tied the lid with twine.
The other half she piled on a plate and carried to Blake, where he crouched by the fire, laying kindling like a masterpiece puzzle. He looked at the plate and then at her.
“For trade,” she said. “Cookies for a story.”
He rocked back on his heels and wiped his hands. “What story?”
“Tell me one where you were not the sharpest blade in the drawer,” she said, eyes bright.
He huffed and leaned his shoulder against the stone of the hearth.
“Once,” he said, “My dad and I were hanging out playing paintball; actually, he was teaching me, but it was fun, so I thought it was cool. I was supposed to find him before he found me. We were in the Black Hills on the Wyoming side. He and Mom used to own a cabin there before it was blown up.” He laughed and held up a hand, “That’s a whole other story.
Anyway, I thought a small shed at the edge of the property was empty.
I was maybe fourteen, maybe fifteen. Damn, I was cocky.
I knew the old man couldn’t have beaten me to the location.
It was too quiet. The birds and animals weren’t startled; nothing had been by the area recently.
I was positive he wasn’t anywhere close, and I was going to use that shack to hide until he showed.
I wanted it to be vacant. It was not.” He took a cookie and bit into it.
“Dad won. I still don’t know how in the hell he beat me to that shack.
Anyway, I learned not to want. I learned to look.
Coming out of the shack after he blasted me with a dead-center hit, I saw his footprints.
I could’ve been ready and shot him with my paint gun. But nope.”
She listened the way she always listened, until the last word had landed and the small silence after it had, too.
Then she touched his jaw with two fingers.
The stubble of his late afternoon beard was addictive, dark, and sexy.
“You learned to look,” she said. “But never forget how to want.” She lifted the plate until he smiled and took a cookie. She took one, too, and bit into it.
He licked the sugar from around her mouth. “I like this sugar better than this one.” He lifted the cookie. She took another bite of the cookie he held up, swallowed it, and leaned in an invitation. “I do, too.”
By Christmas, the lake had frozen to solid glass, a dark mirror with white seams where stress had cracked the expanding ice. Blake went out to check the western camera, which had dropped a bit from the position he wanted, and came back with snow on his shoulders and news.
“Tire tracks in the snow on the lower drive,” he said. “They took the hard turn like they knew it.”
Elise wiped flour off her hands and looked up.
She was in the middle of cooking Christmas dinner.
She’d turned the cabin into something festive and warm.
The real pine garland threaded over the mantle, a wreath hung at the window, and paper stars dangled in the doorway.
The smell in the air was a mix of cinnamon, woodsmoke, and a turkey cooking in the oven.
For a moment, a quick flash of nerves shot through her. She smoothed it with a deep breath.
“Your parents?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said, and the corner of his mouth tipped.
“My mother will be upset because they’re close and she wants to be here, but he won’t come in until he makes sure our roadways are passable.
It’s a habit he’ll never kick. He’ll also count all the exits before he says hello, check for weapons, and basically do what I do every time we go anywhere.
“Should I hide the knife I left on the counter?” she asked, and he laughed at the suggestion. “No, I think that would be okay.” His dad probably had more knives strapped to his body than they had in the kitchen.
They met the SUV outside as it crunched up the packed drive with a Christmas tree strapped to the roof.
His dad climbed out first, tall and composed, that watchfulness stitched into him so completely it read as calm.
His mom came around the front with a scarf looped high and eyes that went soft the moment she set them on her son.
She hugged Blake hard enough to make him grunt and then stepped back to look him over the way mothers do, as if to confirm her memories still matched the person who stood in front of her.
Blake reached back for Elise without looking and found her hand.
The gesture was simple, public, and one she entirely needed.
His dad noticed first because, of course, his dad noticed everything, just like Blake did.
He nodded once to Elise with a direct kindness that felt like a promise of respect.
“Hi, I’m Elise.” She smiled and offered her name, though they both already knew it. “Please come inside, it’s cold out here.”
Inside, before the warmth enveloped them, his dad’s gaze made a quick circuit, efficient and unthreatening, noting windows, the back door, the fire iron within reach of the hearth.
Ember did not get that far. She stopped just past the threshold and looked, really looked.
The garland on the mantle, the handmade ornaments tied with rough ribbon, the knitted throws thrown without calculation over chairs that had once been only practical.
The small nativity on the shelf, a little awkward and lovely.
The round table by the window with papers stacked in careful disorder and a mug that had left a faint ring that said someone had been working and had simply stood to answer the door.
“Oh,” Ember sighed, and the word carried more than surprise.
It carried the recognition of what Elise had been trying to do.
She touched the edge of the pine wreath and smiled at the way the twine had been tied twice, as if someone did not trust one knot.
“This place was always a stopping point for you,” she said quietly.
“Now, it’s a home. You did this, Elise. It’s beautiful. ”
Color rose in Elise’s cheeks. She knew because the heat in her cheeks was instant. She opened her mouth, but Blake spoke first, his voice low and full of pride. “She did that,” he agreed.
His father’s mouth turned up the slightest degree. “It suits you,” he said to Elise. “Both of you.”
Ember turned, eyes bright, and stepped nearer to take Elise’s hands in hers. There was nothing but genuine gratitude. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what?” Elise asked, flustered, and took a quick look around checking to see what she’d done.
“For understanding him,” Ember said. “And for putting Christmas and warmth in this house.”
The women shed coats and tracked a little snow that melted fast. Blake and his dad lifted the tree from the roof and settled it into the stand inside they’d also brought.
Ember and Elise sorted through a couple of boxes of ornaments Ember had purchased and decorated the tree in between checking on dinner.
Ember told stories about a crooked clay angel Blake had made when he was small and how it had fallen off the tree every year, but they would put it back anyway.
Elise listened and laughed and, once, looked across the room at Blake because she was seeing a new facet of him.
He looked back, steady, and nodded. Yes, he was that person, too, wasn’t he.
A mother’s child. A man of violence and a man who cared deeply.
She smiled back at him, hoping he knew how much she loved all the facets that composed him.
Later, with the tree lit and the lake frozen outside the window and the scent of pine filling the rooms, they sat around the table, enjoying roasted turkey, homemade cranberry sauce, dressing, mashed potatoes, and gravy, along with slices of freshly baked bread.
Elise loved the feel of the day. It was comfortable, and they shared the easy talk of people who had chosen to share the special day together.
Joseph asked her about her work and listened in a way that made her feel he was truly engaged, as if he were listening to every word.
Ember asked gentle questions that had more to do with the memory of her family than with anything else.
Elise answered, careful and true. When she faltered, Blake nudged his knee against hers under the table, the smallest contact, and she was able to continue.
When the plates were empty and the fire had settled into a deep bed of coals, his dad rose and stretched. “We’d better get back to town.”
“Will you be able to come out tomorrow?” Elise asked as everyone stood.
Ember smiled and nodded. “We don’t want to impose, but we have the next two days here.”
“It isn’t an imposition, is it, Blake?” Elise turned to him, hoping she hadn’t spoken out of turn.
“Not at all.”
“I’ll be right back.” His father grabbed his coat and headed outside.
“He’s warming up the SUV,” Ember said when Elise looked at her questioningly.
Ember stood and brushed her hands against her jeans and leaned down to kiss Blake’s head.
She turned to Elise and touched her cheek.
“I am proud of you, Elise,” she said. “I can see the love you’ve put into this house and into him.
” She hesitated, then added in a voice low enough to keep the moment theirs, “You’ve given him someplace to set his weapons down and be free. ”
Elise did not have words that matched the gift of that sentence, so she simply nodded, and her eyes misted up.
His dad came back in and stomped off the cold.
Then he pulled out a large manila envelope from his jacket.
“Jason says this is your Christmas present.” He handed the packet to Blake.
“They were able to defeat the video, prove the reports were tampered with, and confirm she’s innocent.
Interpol has rescinded the warrant for her arrest, and within the next month, all agencies will have the correct paperwork.
If you haven’t seen it on TV, the investigation into Zajac, sparked by your article, has been uncovering all kinds of dirt.
You’ll be free to go back to Europe soon.
” He looked at Elise. “If you want. If not, your visa has been approved. It’s in there as well.
Blake set the envelope down on her work desk and said goodnight to his parents.
The door closed on a hush of cold. They stood for a moment just inside the entry, the room quiet around them.
He reached for her and drew her in until her cheek lay against his chest. His heartbeat was even and sure beneath her ear.
She slid her arms around his waist and felt the long line of him ease under her touch.
“Home,” she said, testing the word in this place with him in it.
“Home,” he said back, as if it had always been there, waiting for both of them to say it at the same time.
“I’m free to leave.” She held him tighter.
He tightened a bit before he asked, “And that makes you happy?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s what makes me sad.”
He tucked his finger under her chin and lifted her face up. His eyes were intense and filled with an emotion she would swear was love, but could it be? “What would make you happy?”
She swallowed hard and let herself speak the truth that she’d held in. “If you say I can stay. That you don’t want me to leave. That you love me.”
He smiled, his fingertips tracing the side of her face. “I love you. You can stay forever, and I never want you to leave.” He leaned down to kiss her. “Merry Christmas, Elise. You are the most wonderful present I’ve ever been given.”
She smiled up at him. “Even more wonderful than the case of duct tape your dad got you that year?”
Blake threw back his head and laughed. “When did Mom tell you that?”
“A lady never divulges her sources.”
“Even more than that.” He nodded, grabbed her bottom, lifted her up, and marched them into the bedroom. His parents would be back tomorrow, and life would continue outside their bubble, but tonight, they’d celebrate their love protected by the world they’d created.