Chapter 9 Snowflake
Nine
Snowflake
Brie
Willa called for a girls’ night, so we met at the Deer. After my embarrassing encounter with Logan, I could use a drink. Or two. Or five.
As we step inside, I’m giving Sloane the highlight reel—how I accidentally tackled a row of pines and now my house smells like a car freshener.
From the corner of my eye, I immediately spot Logan.
The Santa hat is traded for a chiseled jawline.
My gaze lingers longer than what’s considered appropriate.
At our table, I shrug out of my coat and hang it over the back of my chair.
I spare another glance at the bar, and Logan’s still watching me.
His eyes are gentle. This time I can’t turn away.
I don’t know what he does to me, but it’s so easy to get lost in his hazel irises.
Then I noticed Simon next to him, staring at me.
I twist, pulling out my chair, and when Simon’s gaze doesn’t waver, I know he’s not staring at me.
His focus is firmly on Sloane. Happiness blooms in my stomach and a grin covers my face. I think someone has a crush.
“Maybe you should get the first round of drinks tonight,” I say to Sloane as I take a seat.
“Or Willa can,” Sloane replies.
“Su—” I kick Willa’s shin under the table. She yelps before she shoots daggers at me. “Ouch! What was—”
I bore my gaze at her while winking and gently jerking my head toward the bar.
“What’s with all the blinking? I don’t understand Morse code?” she mutters, then glances up. Recognition dawns. “Right. Yes. Sloane, your turn. I’ll take a beer.”
“Same,” I add.
“Ugh, fine.” Her chair screeches across the floor as she pushes away from the table. She avoids Simon and goes to the opposite end of the bar. But naturally, he materializes right where she stops.
“There was a time they were friends, right?” Willa props her chin on her hand.
“There was, but then… something happened. They just stopped talking. Every time I asked Sloane, she always claimed that some friendships aren’t meant to be. Then she wanted me to drop it.”
“Yeah, I always got the same response, but she never argues about coming here.”
Both of us turn to stare at Sloane as she gives Simon the cold shoulder while he pours her three beers.
On her way back, she weaves between tables with the occasional not-so-discreet glance over her shoulder to Simon, who has been watching her intently.
She sets the beers on the table and slides one toward Willa and one to me.
Before taking a sip, she brushes her hair off her neck and over her shoulder.
At the bar, Simon’s mouth forms a half-smile before he turns to another customer.
If hate flirting is a thing, these two have it in spades.
“It’s been fun, but it’s time for me to go home.” I set my beer on the table.
“Stay for one more. We never get to chill out and have girls’ night anymore,” Willa whines.
“We did this like five nights ago.”
“But it felt like forever.” Willa pouts.
“If I stay any longer, I’ll faceplant into the table, and I don’t think Simon would appreciate that very much.” I rise from my stool and throw my jacket over my shoulders.
“I should get going too,” Sloane says. “I have bread that needs baking in the morning.”
“Fine. If everyone is leaving, I’m not hanging out by myself.” Willa rises from her stool.
“Bar tab is on me. We’ll chat later,” I say, hugging them. They head for the door, and I weave to the bar, flagging down Simon. When he’s done serving a customer, he stops in front of me. “Can I get my tab?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says, then drops his voice. “Or… do me a favor? Can you take Logan home?
At the end of the bar, a lump of a man is draped over the wood ledge. He’s seconds away from using a coaster as a pillow while he swirls mostly water in the glass.
I shake my head. “One of his friends can take him home.”
“But you’re leaving now, and he needs to leave now.”
“My car’s full.”
“Strap him to the roof.”
“Seriously?”
“Please, just take him home?” he pleads. “I’ll cover your tab.”
“How much has he had to drink, anyway?”
“After his second scotch, I gave him mostly water. Whatever mission he was on tonight, I don’t want him to regret anything tomorrow.”
I exhale. I’ve been the person who needed a ride after too many drinks, but it’s Logan in close quarters. “My tab and the rest of my tabs this year.” I raise an eyebrow.
He doesn’t blink. “Deal. He’s at forty-six Yuletide.”
Of course he lives in the house with my dream wraparound porch. I always pictured myself sitting on the porch swing, reading a book during the summer or decorating the railing with garland and lights for Christmas. Fine. Universe, I see your irony.
“Hey, Logan!” Simon calls. “Brie’s your ride.”
Logan squints my way. “My favorite person,” he slurs.
“I’ll need duct tape for his mouth,” I mutter.
“Thanks, Brie. I appreciate it.”
I roll my eyes and amble toward Logan as he rises on wobbly legs. “Alright, let’s get you home. Less talking, the better.”
“You don’t enjoy talking to me?”
“It’s not my favorite pastime.” He sloppily throws his arm around my shoulder, and his fingers tangle in my hair. I wince.
“We’d have a better time if you hated me less.”
“That’s the entire backbone of our relationship.” I flash him a tight-lipped smile. “Let’s go. The sooner I get you home, the sooner I can be away from you.”
We make it two steps before he comes to a screeching halt. “Are you getting frisky with me?” He closes one eye. I’m not sure if it’s a lazy wink or to reduce double vision.
“No! I’m taking you home.”
“No. No.” He enunciates each vowel. “You just touched my ass. You can just ask. I’ll say yes.”
“I did not touch your ass.”
“Yes, you did. Your fingers grazed my right cheek.”
“I assure you, they didn’t.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Oh, it was the stool.”
“Want to ask if the stool wants to take you home?”
“Nah. It only wanted to cop a feel.”
I shake my head but can’t fight the smile that takes over.
With his arm draped over my shoulder, the weight of a two-hundred pound retired hockey legend has me nearly doubled over as we exit.
On our way through the parking lot, he rambles about Christmas ornaments and wanting to be a good dad.
Most of my concentration is on not toppling over.
When we reach my SUV, I shove him inside with moderate help from him.
I really hope he’s like a baby and the car ride lulls him to sleep, so I don’t have to listen to him.
Once I’m seated, I drop my keys into the cupholder and press the ignition button on the dashboard.
“Yuletide Drive. Forty-six,” Logan mumbles.
“I know.”
“Stalking me?”
“Nah. I only stalk people who can form complete sentences.” He says nothing else. Wish come true? He passed out. As I pull out of the parking lot and onto the road, he remains silent. Glad I didn’t need that duct tape after all, but that leaves my next challenge. How will I get him inside?
“Why do you hate me?”
So much for silence. I glance at the passenger seat as the passing streetlight briefly lights up the interior. The back of his head is against the headrest. His eyes are closed, and his chin is tilted toward the roof. “You’re drunk. Do you really want to get into this?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. You did. I have a feeling if I tell you, you won’t remember it tomorrow anyway. And I really don’t want to repeat myself.”
His head rolls toward me, though his eyes land on my cup holder. “I only hated you because you hated me.”
I huff out a laugh. “I’m sure that’s the reason.”
“It is. You hated me so much.” The tires hum over packed snow. For a moment, I think he finally passed out, but then he speaks. “Why are you giving me a ride home?”
“Because Simon asked, and I like him more than you.”
His chin lifts as he faces the windshield. “I think you secretly like me.”
“Hardly,” I scoff. “If I liked you, I could also grow a unicorn horn out of my forehead.”
“Really? You can do that?”
“Yeah.” I lift my hand to my forehead and stick out my middle finger.
He barks out a laugh. “You’ve always been sassy, but I swear you hoard the extra sass for me.”
“Only when it’s warranted.”
“So you didn’t answer my question. Why do you hate me?” A silent pause passes between us. Before I can respond, he asks, “Is it because of my rugged good looks, and you don’t know how to handle your intense attraction to me?”
A laugh shoots out of me. “Oh, that’s the furthest thing from the truth.” From the corner of my eye, he rolls his head toward me, his hazel eyes glossy under the streetlights. If I had to guess, he sees three of me right now.
“You know, I always thought I understood women. Females. Girls. Then I had to raise one on my own. Let me tell you, this shit is hard. I love my daughter. She’s my whole heart. But I wish I could have someone to tag team in.” He lifts his hand and gives himself a high five.
It’s hard not to smile at his playfulness. “I’m sure you’re a great dad.”
“Sometimes I wonder, am I doing enough? Am I giving Josie the best life I can? Hell, I don’t even know how many times we’ve moved to a new city.
” One at a time, he counts on each finger.
“Four. She’s had to move four times. Three different schools.
You know how many times I had to move when I was a kid? ”
I want to say none because I grew up with Logan in the same town since we were born.
“Zero. I never left Mount Holly until I turned eighteen.” He blows out a deep breath. “She’s only eleven and has already endured a lot. Sometimes I question whether I’m doing enough.”
My voice softens, offering him a hint of kindness. “You lost your dad at a young age. I’m sure you can relate a little.”
“You remember that?”
“Yeah. You were gone from class for like a week. Plus, it’s Mount Holly. Practically the entire town was at his funeral.”
He nods. “The only difference is I had my mom. For three years, Josie didn’t have me.”