CHAPTER FOUR
Five Days Until Christmas
Barrett
Back in the frenzied buzz of the airport, I’m all but blind to everything around me as I stare at the email on my phone.
FROM: CRAMER, DEREK
TO: HALSEY, BARRETT
SUBJECT: URGENT – Absenteeism
Barrett.
Due to Rachel’s sudden departure, I thought we were all in agreement that her workload would be evenly distributed among the remaining staff.
As such, you were assigned a full schedule at the end of last week, which had to be cancelled on short notice in your absence.
I don’t appreciate this lack of professionalism, as it makes it very difficult to serve our clients.
Please make an appointment with me when you return so we can discuss.
Derek
What the hell is he on about? Appointment? Isn’t that the whole point—that we have too many appointments? And now I have to make one with him so that we can discuss my time off that was approved months ago just because he can’t delegate?
No, I didn’t respond to your panicked calls and email, Derek, because I almost died on the way here, called my mother to let her know I arrived at my best friend’s house, and then promptly turned off my phone when I went to bed and left it off for the remainder of my visit because I also couldn’t stomach looking at even more texts from a disgruntled romantic interest.
And now, instead of coming home rejuvenated after a visit with my favorite person in the world and her adorable baby, I’m reading a threatening email from my weasel of a boss about our impossible, out-of-control caseload, who’s not even a therapist himself.
Just a middle manager with an ax to grind!
I’m the best therapist in that office, with the highest client retention, so next time he can think twice before putting a period by my name.
Oh, Christmas tree, oh, Christmas tree! Fuck my idiot boss straight down to hell.
Shit, I’m never going to keep this New Year’s resolution.
“Attention passengers,” a voice crackles over the loudspeaker. “Due to severe weather, all flights out of Montrose will be delayed until further notice. Please see a ticket agent for further information.”
“Are you kidding me?” I moan, slumping down in my cracked leather seat.
There’s not even a bar in this airport. It’s too small for me to even get a drink to take the edge off my failed trip home. If this weather doesn’t improve, it looks like I won’t be scheduling an appointment with Derek, after all. Boo hoo…
But maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I’ve been so burnt out at work that maybe tomorrow isn’t the best time to return anyway. But now what am I going to do? Where is my luggage? Is it sitting on the plane? When I look out the window, I can barely see the runway through the swirling snow.
Feeling defeated, I head back toward security. But just as I arrive at the ticket counter, my phone starts ringing. It’s my brother, Clay, so I answer with a haggard greeting.
“Yeah, no problem,” he replies after I update him and then ask if he can keep checking my mail until I return. Just another reason I’m glad he and his best friend, Declan, decided to move back to town. “Hey, is someone else house-sitting for you?”
“No, why? Did the postwoman put my mail in the wrong box again?”
“No…” Then he pauses. “But I think someone’s been in your house.”
My stomach drops.
“What?” I exclaim. “Is anything missing?”
“No.” Clay’s tone only amplifies my concern.
“I mean, I don't think so. Everything looks normal, but as soon as I walked in, it smelled different.
Like someone with different cologne's been walking around. And then I got this really weird feeling, so I searched the whole house, but there was no one there.”
“Okayyy…” I don’t even know what to say.
Clay has stayed at my house countless times, so if he thinks something’s off, then I believe him.
Our dad’s been getting on me about having a security system installed, but I’ve been procrastinating because I live in a really safe neighborhood.
At least, I thought I did. Maybe I don’t want to go home yet, after all.
“Look, why don’t I stay at your house for a couple days to make sure no one’s hanging around?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll bring Dec. We’ll have a party so it’ll look like someone’s home.”
“Like Kevin McAllister-style?” I snicker. “That’s so considerate of you.”
“Bailey, too. I think he’s back from Tennessee now. That ice storm took out the power for half the state.”
My tone turns sour. “I swear, Clay, if I get back and any of my belts are missing again…”
“Oh, come on. How do you know—” Clay laughs, but I cut him off.
“I know it was him! And now one of his special ladies is probably walking around with my Gucci belt he lifted for one of his BDSM date nights.”
“I bought you another one, didn’t I?” he retorts.
“That’s not the point!”
For some reason, they still don’t think I can hear them while they talk about their sordid romantic escapades while sitting in my living room, eating my snacks, in front of my TV.
“Fine!” Clay sighs. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t go anywhere near your room.”
“And no girls.”
“What?” he squeaks with outrage.
“Those are the terms.”
Dubiously, Clay agrees that only the three of them will enter my house and I agree to let them stay there and be on the lookout for suspicious characters. He also promises to call our parents to let them know I’m still in Colorado.
I take another look out the window. The storm’s getting worse and the counters are jammed with frazzled travelers freaking out about making it to their destinations in time for Christmas. But Christmas is five days away, surely flights will have resumed before then…right?
I turn around and nearly jump out of my skin when I almost bump into a tall figure dressed in black. I jerk my head up and immediately recognize Sergei’s frosty blue eyes and blonde hair pulled into a tight bun at the crown of his head. He looks like he’s on the freaking SWAT team.
“Your flight’s been cancelled?” he asks in his signature monotone.
“Delayed,” I stammer, trying to get my bearings. “Where did you come from?”
“It’ll be cancelled within the hour.”
“What? How do you know?”
“This storm will shut down the airport for days.” Every response is immediate, like he already knows the answer before I open my mouth. “You’ll need somewhere to stay.”
I let out an exasperated huff and pull out my phone again. “I guess I’ll let Brett know.” Then I shake my head. “Never mind, I guess she’s the one who sent you here, right?”
“The road up the mountain is probably blocked by now,” he replies.
Gazing at all the stranded people around me, I feel even more defeated than before.
“Great,” I groan. “And I’m sure the two hotels nearby are already booked by now.”
“Come on,” Sergei clips and starts toward the glass doors leading out of the terminal.
“Where?”
“My house.”
What?
I just stare at his back as he walks away. When he realizes I’m not following, he looks over his shoulder expectantly.
“I, um…” I clear my throat and take a few steps forward. “What do you mean?”
“As I said, you’ll need somewhere to stay.”
“Oh, no,” I chuckle. “You don’t have to do that. It would be too much. I can’t impose on you like that.”
“Where will you go?” he asks.
I open my mouth, but then stop, realizing that my options are few and sucky. Sergei strolls back toward me, his heavy black boots coming to a halt only a foot from me.
“You can stay here,” he glances around the terminal, “or you can come to my house where there’s real food and a real bed. WiFi, too.”
He has a point. The idea of staying—and possibly sleeping—at the airport with no bed, no private bathroom, and a vending machine as my only source of sustenance is enough to convince me. I don’t say another word. I just follow him.
After locating my suitcase, which thankfully hadn’t made it onto the plane yet, I’m back in Sergei’s Tundra.
He wasn’t lying when he said the road up to Brett and Colson’s house was probably blocked by now.
I have white knuckles and I’m not even the one driving.
Snow is swirling all over the road and I’m not sure how Sergei is maintaining a steady speed, but he doesn’t seem fazed by the literal blizzard raging around us.
I would say he’s driving me through an unfamiliar part of Gunnison, but let’s be honest—there are so many pine trees and boulders around here that everything looks the same, especially covered in snow.
The only difference now is that instead of pulling up to Brett and Colson’s chalet-like house after snaking up another windy road, the thick curtain of snow finally reveals a smaller house with a slanted metal roof and stone chimney.
Sergei parks the truck in the garage behind the house and I follow him—and my suitcase—up to the porch, noticing that the entire house is sitting on a platform built on top of a cluster of massive granite boulders.
The blast of warm air is like heaven against my cheeks as I follow Sergei through the front door.
He flips the switch on the wall and the living room lamps turn on, casting a golden glow through the room.
Before I can take another step, there’s a tiny jingle and I nearly gasp when I look down and see a shiny black cat prance across the floor.
It sniffs my boot and looks up at me with a long, whiny meow.
Immediately, I crouch down and offer my hand.
The cat sniffs me and then rubs the side of its face along my fingertips.
My heart aches at the feeling of its silky fur and the deep purrs that rumble from its throat.
Whether from grief or by chance, I don’t think I’ve touched another cat since Roux died.
“She’s hungry,” Sergei mentions as he sets my suitcase down next to a cream-colored sectional.
“I have—” but then I stop myself and clear my throat. “I used to have a white cat. His name was Roux.”
Sergei looks over his shoulder. “Like the sauce?”