16. Boone
BOONE
I had to get out of there. So I’d taken any excuse I could.
Cursing myself, I tore into the chilled back hall. One direction led to the bathroom; the other led to my bedroom, and I stormed through the chill in my sock feet.
I’d only meant to help her get something dry to wear. But it’d been dark when I’d gone in search of a change of clothes.
Of course, I’d had to grab the first pair of pants in my drawer without looking. I’d given her my old pants—pants I didn’t even wear for the same reason she’d had trouble with them.
And it wasn’t like I was overweight or anything, but my waist was larger than hers. And whatever elastic had existed in those pants had long since lost its spring.
Grunting, reaching for the flashlight I kept on top of the dresser, I opened the third drawer down. I rifled through, finding a different pair. This one wasn’t quite as warm as the fuzzier pants she currently had on.
I held the pants in my hand and stared straight ahead, working through the memory crashing through my brain. It wasn’t just the way she’d thrown everything in me off-kilter since I’d met her—it was that moment .
The one where I’d forgotten myself. Where nothing else made sense but touching her.
“Don’t go there,” I muttered to myself, fighting the warmth in my chest and slamming the drawer shut.
On a whim, I angled around the bed, the floor’s cold seeping into my socks, and parted the curtains over the window so I could peer out. The night was full of flurries. The wind whipped the branches of trees I could see, and seeped into the glass like it always did.
I’d intended on updating the windows out here for a while now, but lately, most of my attention had gone to the inn itself, to readying everything for the holiday season and helping Junie once her mom left.
Shuddering, with the pants in hand, I clicked off the flashlight and left it in its place before heading back through the door. Heat blasted my chilled skin. Grace stood in front of the fireplace, placing a sock next to the other on the floor in front of the hearth.
Which meant her toes were bare. Sure enough, they stuck out from the baggy bottoms of the flannel pants she currently held with one hand at her waist.
She looked adorable in my too-big clothes. I swept that thought away, but not quite as quickly as I probably should have. The memory of touching her mouth seared through all over again.
I pushed that away, too.
Not happening, I told the thought. Nothing like that could ever happen.
Why not? another thought replied.
I pictured Amy standing in front of that fireplace, warming her hands just like Grace did. I’d never brought my late wife here, though, so I wasn’t sure where the image came from.
“Here,” I said, needing to stop allowing my thoughts so much space. “Try these.”
Grace’s smile was beautiful. Sweet and almost shy.
“Thanks,” she said, taking them from me and disappearing back through the door.
She returned moments later, tucking her hair behind her ears. The sight of that twisted my insides, too.
Was there anything she did that didn’t capture every spec of my interest?
I needed something to do. Somewhere else to put my attention. My stomach growled, and Grace hugged a hand around her middle at almost the same moment.
“You hungry?” I asked, treading toward the kitchen and stopping to pick up the towel from off of the rug. A circular black scorch mark blared through the reddish-brown fibers.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked, following me over.
“My whole life,” I said, pulling out some of the fish I had stocked to eat over the holiday.
Grace stayed close, watching me. “Anything I can do to help?”
“I got it,” I said, pulling the frying pan off of its hook above the stove.
Then I pulled out the parmesan and thyme, and thinking again, ducked into the fridge for the butter. Meanwhile, I also readied some water to boil on the other unit.
Grace propped herself up on the cupboard beside the stove, and having her sit there made the need for conversation that much more prevalent. She was too close. It made me feel as though I were like that towel I’d used to put out the fire she’d caused.
I was fraying at the seams anytime she was around.
“I grew up here,” I said, keeping my attention on the fish as I laid it out into the pan and slathered the butter and seasonings on it. “So did my dad and his.”
“And Junie?” Grace added, bracing her hands on either side of her legs beside her.
I liked how casual she was. She acted like she was comfortable with me. Better still, she was easy to talk to.
“She grew up at the inn,” I said. “We’re not just cousins; we’ve been friends our whole lives.”
In fact, if Junie knew I was snowed in here with Grace, she was going to read all kinds of meaning into that.
Grace considered for a moment. The fish on the stove began to sizzle, filling my small kitchen with the scents of the spices I’d sprinkled on it.
“This is the little cottage in the painting back at the inn, isn’t it?” she asked. “Mm, that smells amazing.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.”
I concentrated on the fish, turning it in the pan and hearing the satisfying searing noise as the meat touched the hot surface. Grace was right; it smelled delicious. I was no chef like Mason Devries, but I could cook a few things.
Grace inhaled and kicked her legs. “Looks like I won’t be making it home for Christmas after all,” she said, pressing her lips into a thin smile. “And you know, I should feel bad about that, but deep down, I think I was hoping for some reasons to stay—a reason that wouldn’t make me seem like the world’s worst daughter and sister.”
She glanced at her phone.
“You won’t have service out here,” I told her, turning the fish. “The cell towers have been affected by the storm just like everything else.”
I’d checked my phone earlier to verify as much.
“Hm. Guess I’ll have to let my mom know about this unexpected roadblock later.”
I set the tongs down beside the pan. “Even if you and I hadn’t gone out, you wouldn’t have made it back in time for your flight. They close the pass during bad storms like this. It’s not safe for anyone to go through.”
This didn’t bother her as much as I thought it might. “At least I’ll have a good excuse to tell my mother.”
Did that mean she hadn’t wanted to go home? Why not?
It looked like the fish were nearly done. I reached in the cupboard for a set a plates, struck by the fact that I was getting more than just one out. I didn’t often have guests out here.
Grace hopped off the counter and took them from me, placing them on the table. She then searched until she found the utensil drawer and laid out a pair of forks.
Bringing the frying pan over, I used the tongs to dish out the fish right onto the plates. Then I grabbed a few mugs from the cupboard and poured the water I’d been heating into them. I tossed Grace the individual cocoa packet, and she caught it.
“I love this,” she said, closing her eyes and moaning as she held the warm mug between her hands. “This is the warmest my hands have been all day.”
I had the strangest urge to take her hand and hold it. To promise to keep her warm for as long as she was in my care.
But not only did I have personal reservations with this, there was also the pesky problem that I didn’t know if Grace was in a relationship or not. She’d mentioned something before about having a boyfriend back home or something.
It was stupid. It shouldn’t matter—but I found I wanted to know.
“I know it’s none of my business,” I said after we said a blessing on the food. “But I thought you were heading home to meet a guy.”
Grace took a bite of the fish and closed her eyes, moaning. That sound made the fist in my stomach tighten its hold.
“That was part of it,” she said. “This is delicious.”
I took a bite of fish as well and chewed, enjoying the taste of the butter, thyme, and parmesan. It had taken me several tries to find the perfect combination of seasoning. I’d caught this fish last summer and frozen it; I’d only just thawed the day before.
And I was glad I had it on hand. Heck, I was glad she was enjoying it so much.
“You don’t seem all that put out about missing him.”
Grace took another sip of cocoa. It left a chocolate mustache on her upper lip, drawing my attention there. Then again, it seemed like ever since she’d climbed into the sleigh with me, it hadn’t taken much to draw my attention to her mouth.
The pull to kiss her had been rampant as we’d ridden through the trees, as she’d settled herself into the blanket beside me and gotten comfortable enough to confide in me about her writing.
If I wanted to kiss her, that was all the more reason I needed to know whether or not she had someone waiting for her back home. Wanting to kiss another woman since my late wife wasn’t something I took lightly.
I missed Amy. I hadn’t let myself even consider being with another woman since she’d died three years ago. But the typical uncertainty I’d felt before was nowhere to be found with Grace.
She wasn’t dating anyone, was she?
“I don’t even know who he is,” she said. “My mom invited him to meet me during our annual family Christmas dinner. She wanted to set me up.”
Relief rammed its elbow into my side. “Sounds like you’ll be missing a hot date.”
She cradled the mug in her hands. I did the same, cupping my hand around the warm porcelain.
“Nothing that I was looking forward to,” she said.
The relief in my chest sang. It became more like a gorilla beating its chest.
“I am going to miss seeing my sister’s new baby, though,” she went on. “I haven’t seen my sister in a few years, not since before she had her. I didn’t know they were planning on coming home when I made this trip.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “I haven’t seen my brother for a while, either.”
I’d mentioned Randy during our sleigh ride, too, but I wondered if I needed to give her more.
“The real estate brother?”
Guess not. Looks like she had a great memory.
I took another bite of fish. “He travels a lot for his job, stays until the fix and flips are done, and then heads to the next project. He’s never in one place long enough for me to visit.”
Not that I’d been inclined to do so since Amy had died.
That thought gave me pause. Junie had pestered me, insisting I shouldn’t shut myself away and shut everyone I loved out of my life in the process. I’d denied that I had. I hadn’t wanted to accept that she was right?—
But was she?
“Do you miss him?” Grace asked.
“Sometimes,” I said, though the word didn’t seem like enough. A pang of homesickness for my brother, for the friendship we’d once had, pealed through. My mouth went dry. “Yeah, do I do, I guess.”
I reached for my mug of cocoa and brought it to my lips. The hot chocolate seeped over my tongue, burning all the way down.
“I miss my sister, too,” Grace said. “I called her when I found out they were coming, before I rescheduled my flight. She told me she was okay if I stayed here, but from the sound of her voice, I knew she really wanted me home celebrating Christmas with my family instead of being here alone in the mountains. She probably didn’t realize it until I was already gone or something.”
“But you wanted to be here alone in the mountains?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I do.”
“Because the view is gorgeous?” I restated one of the reasons she’d given me during the sleigh ride.
Grace fought a smile, and it made me want to know what she was thinking.
“Yes,” she said.
“Where it’s completely solitary, and where Santa Claus himself is rumored to have stopped by a hundred years ago?”
Her brow furrowed, puzzling my statement for several moments. I couldn’t figure out the meaning behind that expression. She knew Harper’s Inn claimed to be America’s North Pole.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then what’s the problem?” Why did she still seem unsettled?
She released a sigh and placed her mug on the table. “I feel like—I don’t know. Like I’m letting my family down somehow by not being there for them.”
“You got kids wanting to spend Christmas with you?” I asked.
She hadn’t mentioned being married before or being a single mom, but that was another reason that would make sense for this pressure she seemed to be putting on herself.
“No, I’ve never been married.”
Was it bad that I felt emboldened by this knowledge? I sat up a little straighter and leaned toward her across the table.
“Then who are you disappointing? Really?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s the principle of the thing. My parents insisted they were okay with me coming here, but then Mom tried talking me out of it. She kept insisting that Christmas should be spent with family.”
Junie tried throwing that fastball at me every year, too. “Christmas should be spent how you need to spend it.”
I was well aware just how gruff this statement sounded. But it was true, and having Grace be fed that same guilt trip irritated me.
Light filled her eyes. She looked at me with curiosity, with hope, begging me to expound.
“You’re a grown, strong woman with books to write and places to go,” I told her. “It’s okay for your mom to accept that.”
She looked at me for so long, my hairline prickled.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“Anytime,” I said. “Christmas is no excuse for people to meddle where they don’t belong. It’s your life. You need to live it in the best way for you.”
Maybe that sounded too selfish. Maybe it was. But it was how I felt.
Grace shifted in her seat. “Is that why you don’t have a tree? You don’t celebrate Christmas?”
The question rubbed its finger along my frayed edges, making me recoil. I placed a hand on the table beside my mug and glanced toward the couch where my grandparents had placed their tree when I’d been a child.
“No. I don’t celebrate Christmas. Not anymore.”
Silence followed, and I didn’t know how to fill it. We sat there, facing one another. I could feel her watching me, but I couldn’t bring my eyes to hers again. Not yet.
I cleared my throat. “Anyway. We should probably crash. Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping.”
“Boone,” she said, and I liked the sound of my name on her lips a little too much. “I can’t take your bed.”
“Nonsense,” I said, taking her dish and mine to the sink and rinsing them off. Between the bed and the lumpy couch, the bed was the better option. “This place has only ever had one bedroom, and tonight, it’s all yours.”
Grace followed, holding our mugs and setting them on the counter. Her sleeve brushed my arm, sending goosebumps along my skin.
“I can’t do that,” she said. “Where will you sleep?”
“The couch.”
“But I can sleep there. You should have your bed.”
“What kind of host would I be if I took the bed and left you the lumpy couch? There’s at least one full mountain range beneath the cushions and trust me, it’s the best way to leave you with a sore back in the morning.”
“But you don’t need a sore back in the morning, either.”
“Thank you for considering me, Grace,” I told her, lowering my voice. Except that only made it gravellier. Still, I went on. “But I’ll be fine on the couch. I insist.”
The fight hadn’t yet left her eyes, but she tucked her chin and said, “If you’re sure.”
I chuckled but did my best to hide that fact as I led her toward the closed door across from the couch. The minute we stepped through, a block of cold air smacked straight into me. It was like we were back outside all over again.
Just without the snow and the flurries.
Behind me, I heard Grace inhale through her teeth.
“Brr,” she said, rubbing her arms.
I crossed to the bedroom and reached for the flashlight on the dresser. A beam of light speared through, and I flashed it toward her so she could join me in the small room.
“Sorry, it’s so much colder back here,” I said. “But once you get in the covers, you’ll warm right up.”
Or, I could join her. Maybe sharing the bed wasn’t such a bad idea after all. The two of us spooning together beneath the blankets would heat things up quick.
The thought of Grace’s body cradled against mine held a little too much appeal. I ignored the way it fired through my body like gasoline through an engine’s chain of pistons. She’d be just fine in here. It took only a few minutes for my body heat to warm things up on my own.
I gestured to the bed’s unpolished log frame and patted the two patchwork quilts atop it. The bed was nicely made—that was my thing since I was a kid.
“You make your bed even when you’re not expecting company?” she asked.
“My mom always insisted,” I said with a shrug and a shiver. “It’s become a habit.”
“Tell me something,” Grace said as she inhaled another breath through her teeth. “You said you grew up here, but that room back at the inn had looked more like yours than this does.”
Her confusion made sense. While that room had traces of me all over it, I’d kept things minimal here on purpose. Aside from a few cowboy hats hanging on the wall, nothing in here really spoke of my personality or interests.
I grimaced.
“Oh, I guess for me, saying I grew up here means here on the property. I didn’t grow up in this cottage. I lived at the inn. They added on the spa and more rooms when I’d been in high school.”
“Was it an inn then, too?”
“It was,” I said. “That was another reason Mom insisted the beds be made. She was in charge of room service and preparing the bedding—and then she passed that job on to Junie before she died. I helped my dad fix things and spent most of my time in the barn or romping through the hills outside.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
Though her voice sounded bemused, the juddering in her jaw was back.
“You know, back in the day, my great-grandparents raised eight kids in this place.” My voice was quiet in the stillness. Wind whipped against the windowpanes—another reason this room was so freezing cold.
“Eight? Where did they all sleep?”
She had a point. She and I could hardly stand in here without colliding. It was hard to imagine eight people in this room.
“Together,” I said, gesturing to the bed.
An awkward pause built between us.
I cleared my throat. “I’ll just?—”
“Oh, right.” Grace moved toward the bed, presumably in an attempt to leave space for me to reach the door.
The only problem was, I moved in the same direction at the same time.
We collided.
Her body brushed against mine, and it took every ounce of strength I possessed not to wrap my arms around her and keep her there. Her balance teetered. My hand came up around her—and I quickly jerked it back.
If I allowed myself to linger, to hold her, I’d lose it like I nearly did when I brushed my fingers on her lips. I’d pin her to the bed and kiss her senseless—and I couldn’t risk that.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Me, too. I was just getting a blanket.”
She ducked back, knocking into the dresser and wincing. “Oh, right. You need one of those.”
“Yeah.” I dipped my head and bent beneath the bed, shining the flashlight on the tote Junie had gotten for me. After some maneuvering, I retrieved the thick quilt under my arm and placed the flashlight on the bed.
It shot its beam toward the bookshelf near the window.
“I’ll leave this here in case you need it,” I said.
“Thank you.”
I bobbed my head and stepped away toward the door. This time, without incident. “Well, then. Good night, Grace.”
“Good night, Boone. Thank you for all your help.”
I smiled and closed the door, shutting out both heat and light and leaving her alone. Leaving me with the raging desire to burst back through that door and give in to every wayward thought jerking me in her direction.