Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
WINTER
I stare at the screen, willing the words to come, but I feel like a well that has run dry. Only three more chapters, and my next novel will be complete, but since Nick left yesterday afternoon, I can’t seem to think of anything but him.
I’ve thought about all the memories we share from our childhood, and I’ve actually laughed at a few. Then I wondered what exactly he wanted to tell me. Should I have asked him to stay so we could talk? I expected him to come back yesterday—Nick’s nothing if not a pest, but as the hours ticked by, he never returned, never called, never texted. Maybe he didn’t want to trek up the mountain due to the snowfall.
As I laid in bed restless, I considered just how lonely my life is.
I’m a workaholic. I started my publishing company in this very cabin when I was still in college. I’d always had a very creative imagination, but bringing stories to life sparked a passion I couldn’t escape.
Somewhere along the way, I became a prisoner to my career. Seven days a week I sit behind this computer and create fictional worlds for readers to escape to, all while needing an escape from mine.
I don’t date.
I don’t really have many friends.
It’s just me, my fictional characters, and a career I thrive in.
I want more, though.
I want a friend. Someone I can love fiercely and celebrate all of life’s special moments with.
Is that person Nick?
Does he even want to be with me? Judging by the way he kissed me, I think he does…
What would that look like?
He lives in Whispering Peaks, and I live in the city, nearly three hours away.
I pick up my phone to see if I have any notifications and frown. I look back at the computer screen and sigh, overwhelmed with the lack of creativity and the intrusive thoughts I can’t escape. I close the computer and go into the kitchen the make a cup of hot chocolate. As I’m mixing the chocolate in the steamed milk, the doorbell echoes through the cabin.
I pad into the living room and place my hot chocolate on the coffee table before opening the door. I cock my head in disappointment as I take in the scene before me.
“Nope. That is not happening. Take that back to where it came from.”
Nick scoffs as he pushes his way inside, lugging a freshly cut Fraser fir behind him, the bell on his Santa hat tinkling with every step.
“Nick…” I groan as needles sprinkle across the hardwood mixed with snow tracks. “You’re making a mess for me to clean up. Get that thing out of here now,” I demand.
He ignores me as he props the tree in the corner near the window. He goes outside and returns moments later with a tree stand and a small box.
I huff in annoyance and cross my arms over my chest as he positions the tree stand center of the window, then lifts the heavy fir into place.
“Hold the tree firmly while I tighten the bolts please,” he instructs, motioning me toward him. I roll my eyes and do as he asks. He drops to the floor and crawls under the massive tree, tightening the bolts in place.
“Are you done yet?” I ask, my tone laced with annoyance.
“Just a sec…”
This man…
Nick climbs to his feet and dusts his clothes off before standing back to look at the tree. He reaches out and takes my hand and pulls me to him.
“What do you think? Beautiful, isn’t it?”
It’s perfect. Snow blankets the window panes, and once the tree is all lit up, it will look … perfect.
“I mean…”
“Listen, grump, I’m here to save Christmas, so listen to my instructions very carefully,” he says as he turns to me, his features tight.
I deadpan glare as he takes both my hands in his. He raises our intwined hands and kisses my knuckles before kissing the tip of nose. I scrunch my nose and frown, but it’s an ill attempt to hide the smile pulling at my lips.
“We need lights and ornaments, pronto.”
“Pronto?”
“Affirmative.”
“You’re being weird.”
“I’m on a mission. Do you accept this challenge?”
I can’t believe I’m willing to endure a night of decorating a stinky, prickly Christmas tree.
I roll my eyes and play along.
“Decorations are in the attic, but if I’m being forced to decorate, you’re climbing up there to bring them down.”
“Deal, but you aren’t being forced to decorate—you’re being forced to celebrate Christmas … with me.”
I can’t contain the burst of laughter that bubbles up through me; it feels foreign to me. “Get the decorations out of the attic, and let’s just see where the evening takes us, okay?”
Nick smiles and says, “That sounded nice.”
“What did?” I ask as I lead him into the hallway.
“The sound of you laughing. I forgot how much I missed it.” He winks at me, then pulls the attic ladder down.
He climbs up the rickety steps and disappears into the dark. Light illuminates the space, and Nick hunches low beneath the beams.
“Oh, no way!” He sounds like a little kid on Christmas morning.
“What are you so excited about?”
He pokes his head out the entryway. “This place is like a time capsule. When were you up here last?”
My brows furrow as I think. “I don’t know that I ever have been.”
“Here, can you grab this?” He lifts a large box down to me, and I sneeze as the dust tickles my nose.
“Winter…” Nick calls out, and I look over my shoulder as I set the old record player on the floor. “Grab these records. It’s a party now.”
I take the records from him and huff. “Great.”
He hands a couple smaller boxes down before climbing out of the attic with a large box in tow.
Nick sets the box down, then closes the attic door. We carry everything into the living room, and he wastes no time in plugging the record player in and placing a record on the turntable. The speakers crackle with static, then comes the cheerful tune of The Chipmunk Song.
I narrow my eyes at him as he adjusts the volume. “I genuinely dislike this song.”
“I’m not surprised. Want to sort the ornaments while I check the lights?” he asks.
I force a tight smile on my face as I sit on the floor. Baubles, bells, and gingerbread men, homemade ornaments crafted from kindergarten through middle school—it’s as if holidays past litter the floor.
“Christmas is hard for you, isn’t it?” Nick asks, his voice soft.
I meet his gaze, then look away quickly. I don’t know if I can answer that. That I want to answer that.
“Yeah…” is all I reply.
“He’d be proud of you, ya know?”
“Thanks, Nick.” Would he be? I like to think so. But the past is a painful memory I prefer not to visit.
The last couple years of my dad’s life are a regret I can’t repair. I put my career first when he needed me most. He didn’t want to burden me with his illness when I was on the cusp of success, so he delayed treatment until it was too late. I’d let it all go just to have one last Christmas with him, but time isn’t reversible.
Darkness falls across the room, then tiny bursts of color twinkles from the strands. Nick walks over to where I’m sitting on the floor and kneels. He picks up an ornament, and his brows tighten in confusion. He stands and turns the ornament in his hand. Curious, I stand then tip up on my toes.
“You fixed him…”
“What are you talk—” He holds up the gingerbread man ornament he gave me when we were kids and gleams the brightest smile. I’d felt awful for breaking the ornament, but I was so confused as to what his gift meant? Could we be friends or was it a trick? My eleven-year-old mind couldn’t process my feelings fast enough.
Much like now. Nick is slowly warming me up to him, and I don’t know how to feel about letting him in. But shouldn’t I have considered that before I opened the door? I couldn’t work today because all I could think about was him. That has to mean something.
I roll my lip between my teeth, unsure of what to say.
“I was as much a brat as you were, and I shouldn’t have treated you so terribly when you were extending an olive branch.”
“So why did you?” he asks.
It’s the moment of truth.
“I-I was scared… I-I didn’t understand what I was feeling or what it all meant. But I almost think…”
“What?” he rushes out.
“Maybe … maybe I liked you, just a teensy, little bit.” I pinch my thumb and forefinger together so tight you could barely slide a hair between them. “Like that much.”
Nick’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he rakes his fingers through his hair as he blows out a heavy breath.
“I liked you a little bit too, Winter Snow. In fact, I still do.”
“Truce?” I ask and extend my hand.
He cocks his brow and then smirks. He turns on his heel and searches the room, picking up a small box near the tree. He walks over to me and wraps his hand around my hip and pulls me against his chest. He extends his arm overhead and smiles down at me. “Truce.” I look up at the mistletoe and roll my eyes.
“Just kiss me already…” I groan.
Nick leans close and whispers, “It’d be my pleasure, grump.”
The end…
For now.
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