Chapter 14
Nico
I’m relieved she laughs like it’s a joke. Her brother and I both know it isn’t.
While we sorted gifts, Dom told me about his disaster of a date with Red Corvette and how he’s sick and tired of the dating and relationship games but still loves the skiing.
“Get out of the limelight for a bit,” I told him. “Spotlights draw predators. I’m not saying stop doing your thing. Just set your boundaries and hold to them. Tell the sponsors you get me this much, and don’t budge.
“Then take time alone. In a quiet place. Somewhere safe, like here. Around people you trust. Figure out what matters to you. What you stand for. Then build your choices around that.
“And get a manual job. That’ll ground you faster than anything.” I tapped the table for emphasis. “My mother always made me work two, sometimes three months a year in her restaurant. Nothing reconnects you with reality like washing dishes for ten hours.”
He snorted at that, but he listened.
“Get yourself a low-key wardrobe. Off the rack. Buy a beater car. Find a place you can just be you. Be ‘Dominic’ or ‘Dom’ with the press but pick a different name for the life you want. You said your middle name is Andrew? You like Drew? Use it.”
I looked him in the eye.
“You have to draw the lines, or this life will suck you dry. And know when you’re done.”
Whether he takes the advice is up to him.
I told him I was out at the end of the season—and what I wanted my future to look like. He gave me his blessing.
“How about tomato soup and grilled cheese?” I ask Wynter.
“Perfect. I’m exhausted.”
“Same.”
She works on her laptop at the counter while I cook, organizing everything from today regarding the event and preparing for tomorrow. I love the simplicity of us just… being with her. We’ve barely finished eating when her phone rings.
“It’s Dom,” she says.
“Hey Dom, you’re on speaker.”
“I just heard from Mom. Did you know they were coming to Frost Haven tomorrow?”
Wynter groans. “No. Why? They haven’t come here in years. Oh, please tell me they aren’t staying at the cabin.”
“Nope. Lodge suites. Mom says it gives you ‘privacy’ for your little party. She also—uh—thinks I’m staying with you.”
Wynter rubs her forehead. “Tell her I won’t have time until after Santa’s Visit. Brunch on Sunday maybe. Monday’s better.”
Dom laughs. “She’s already booked couple massages for her and Dad, and you and Theodore.”
“Theodore?” Wynter sputters. “That slimy turd? He’s still sucking up to her?”
“Sucking up or sucking? Who knows. Check your messages.” He laughs harder. “Oh this is going to be fun. I cannot wait for Theodore meets Vasi. And for Mom to find out you’re gonna be mayor. Save me a ringside seat—best Christmas ever. Love you, sis. Talk tomorrow.”
“Wait… It’s Nico here. NOT Vasi. Remember.”
“Got it.”
I take another bite while Wynter scrolls.
Then she slams the phone down on the counter. “She is unbelievable. I’m not doing any of this.”
I shrug. “Then don’t. Answer every call, text and email with one word. No. Done.”
I lean over and kiss her cheek. “Then we go take a shower together, get a little frisky, get in bed, make love again, and go to sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow. I’ll do the dishes while you type.”
“We’re doing this again next year,” I tell Wynter as I peel off the Santa suit. “And I’m being Santa again.”
“Even after that kid spilled his bottle down your front?”
“That was… not ideal. And I hated that some kids were scared. But getting to hand each kid their gifts? Worth it. Next year lets run four shifts—one for each age group. Faster, cleaner. And your elf idea, gathering the names while the kids were in line—brilliant!”
I tug my coat on. “Come on. I want to see the kids pet the real reindeer and I want a bite of the gingerbread house before it evaporates.”
She laughs. “Next year I’m checking who I hand to you first.”
Outside, things are winding down. A handful of families linger. The mood is warm full of joy and pride. Nearly everyone stops Wynter to thank her, McDermott and Withers included.
“This proves you’re the right choice for mayor,” Mrs. Withers says, squeezing her hands. “We’ll meet next week.”
I wrap my arm around Wynter’s waist as we continue through the crowd. I don’t mind being her shadow. She is the star.
“Incoming,” Dom murmurs.
“Wynter Frost,” a sharp voice snaps. We’ve been looking everywhere. I’ve texted you three times and told you where to meet us.”
Wynter stiffens.
A heavily cosmetically-enhanced woman—her mother—glares at where my hand rests on Wynter’s waist.
“Welcome, Mrs. Frost,” I say smoothly. “Wynter was glad that you and your husband decided to come on such short notice.”
“It wasn’t my choice,” She sniffs. “Dom insisted. Thankfully the lodge had openings.”
Her eyes narrow. “Wynter, I’m very disappointed. You haven’t returned my calls, or your fiancé’s.
You have no right to ignore us like that. It’s disrespectful.”
“I’ve been very busy, Mother.”
“Too busy for your mother?”
“Mrs. Frost,” I say, “Your daughter organized this entire event, very successfully. She’s been working non-stop.”
“Please,” she scoffs. “This little thing? Obviously, she’s still floundering. She needs a real degree.”
I step closer to Wynter.
“Actually, she’s laser-focused on what matters. People. Caring. Creating solutions. She pulled this event off with only five helpers. Every family got a food basket, two if they needed it. Every child got a toy.
“She even came up with a marketing plan that helped the largest employer in town get their workers paid again. And she’s been reaching out to new businesses.
“She’s a massive success.”
Her mother gapes. “Who are you? Why do you think you know my daughter better than I do?”
“I’m the man who’s going to marry her—if she’ll have me.”
“Niko?!” Wynter gasps. “What are you doing?”
I turn toward her. “Omorfiá mou. I was explaining to your parents I want—”
“Stop!” a familiar voice calls.
My mother approaches from the opposite side, laughing—not politely, but full-bodied and delighted. “Oh, Niko, this is not how I would have planned it, but it is absolutely you.”
“Wynter,” I say, “this is my mother, father, sister and brother. I had no idea they were coming.”
Wynter points. “Wait—she’s the one looking at the restaurant space.”
My mother beams. “Yes, dear. This town is lovely. We’re opening a new family-friendly chain, affordable for everyone. With the lodge nearby, it’s perfect. Two empty building beside each other? Excellent footprint. And since Nico says he’s moving here, we’ll want to visit.”
“You have diners?” Wynter’s mother says, her tone filled with distain. “The town doesn’t need another diner.”
“Mother!”
I touch Wynter’s hip gently, and whisper in her ear, “Stay calm.”
My mother turns to Mrs. Frost with a cool smile.
“We do food. Everyone eats—rich, poor, fancy, simple. Two rules we follow. If we overcook, leftovers go to homeless shelters and the elderly. No waste.” She winks at Wynter. “Our chefs ‘overcook’ a lot in winter.”
Mrs. Frost lifts her chin. “Is your little chain local?”
“My dear,” my mother says, “we have restaurants in Miami, New York, Los Angeles, Denver, San Francisco. And Dallas. Perhaps you’ve heard of us—Athena Elena.”
Mrs. Frost pales. “Athena Elena. I-I know the one in New York and Denver. They’re Michelin rated.”
My mother shrugs. “They like our food.”
Then she reaches into her purse and pulls out a velvet box and hands it to me. “Nico, I had a feeling. I brought your giagiá’s ring. Do it properly.”
Someone blows a bull horn. The crown falls silent.
I open the box, drop to one knee, and take Wynter’s hand. “I, Andreas Nikolai Vasiliou want you, Wynter Rose Frost, to marry me. To stay by my side so we can decorate the VA together every year and spend every Christmas surrounded by friends, family and joy.”
She stares down at me, eyes shimmering. “Do you know how to run a plow in snow season?” she asks.
“Yes, omorfiá mou.”
“Will you decorate the tree and hang lights every year?”
“Yes, thisavre mou.”
“This is a permanent position. You can’t quit or retire.”
“Yes, agápi mou.”
“And you’ll teach me Greek so I will know if you are loving me or cursing me.”
“Always love, agápi mou,” I promise.
She holds out a trembling hand. I slide the ring on her finger.
“S'agapo,” she whispers.
Three months later.
“Nico, please be safe. They’re saying the run is extremely fast today. Even faster than yesterday and the other skier was badly injured. It’s your last run. I can’t lose you. You’re my everything.”
“You won’t, agápi mou. You won’t. With you waiting for me at the finish line, nothing can stop me. I’m going to break my own damn record to get to you.”
And he does.