Chapter 10
Garrett
By the time we get back to the farm, the tree lot lights are off.
Rory leaps from the truck as soon as I come to a stop. I let her race ahead down the path.
After closing the gate, I put the keys to the truck in the sales hut, then instead of following her to the house, I shove my hands into my pockets and walk deeper into the tree lot, toward the skating trail.
There’s a big moon tonight, so even though the lights are off, that’s enough for me to help myself to a pair of rental skates in my size.
I hang up my coat on a hook and lace them on nice and tight.
I’m furious with myself for getting caught up in all of that with Rory. I want to be furious with her for starting the teasing in the truck, but I liked it too much. And it’s not as if it’s a secret that we still have wild chemistry.
Of course we do. We learned about sex together. There’s nothing we can’t say to each other—about sex.
But the embrace in the shadows of her cousin’s house wasn’t about sex.
That was all about the clawing need inside me to hold on to a woman I’ve already lost. Regret and what-ifs won’t change that fact.
I used the excuse of her hair being covered in pine needles from the tree she carried to grab her as she raced away from me, the way she always races away when the topic of kids and marriage comes up.
Not because I have any right to demand that she stop and tell me when she gave up that dream—it doesn’t matter now—but because I wish I’d pinned her down on it years ago.
I wish we’d been able to talk about that a lot more. With the deep, raw, intimate honesty we can talk about edging.
Fuck my life.
I pump my legs, taking the first curve into the forest with some speed. The skates bite on the freshly sprayed ice. I built Dante a mini homemade Zamboni a few years ago, the second year they had this skating trail, and it makes easy work of the nightly maintenance.
Has Rory noticed that I’m not behind her? Has her family asked her why she’s returned alone? What has she told them?
What would she have told them if that shitbox hatchback had worked long enough to get her here?
Was I that easily erased from her life?
This is the only immediate family I have now.
My mom left when I was a baby. My dad did his best, with a lot of community help, but by the time I was in school, I was pretty much on my own.
His death two years ago only made official an orphan status I think I’ve always felt in my bones.
There was never a lunch that I didn’t pack myself—until the end of high school, when I started crashing on Rory’s couch some nights, just to not be alone.
Carmen always packed me a lunch in the morning.
All of that history just wiped away because I wanted too much from Rory.
Fucking hell.
The next curve in the trail leads into a fun little chunk of twists and turns. A clever way to create more skating distance in a limited footprint. I take it as fast as safely possible, then hit the last straightaway with a good amount of speed.
The last person I’m expecting to see when I hit the open part of the trail near the skate shack is Rory.
She raises her hand in silent greeting, then steps onto the ice.
She’s borrowed skates, too. But she’s family. She’s allowed.
“I thought you went up to the house,” I manage to say as I slow down.
She spins and starts skating backward so she’s looking at me. “I got halfway there when I heard you through the trees. I might not get a chance to skate tomorrow, so… Can I join you?”
I grunt. “You already did.”
“Do you want to race?” She twists around, her little legs powering up.
Rory’s a good skater, and she’s built for speed, with thick thighs for her little build, and a nice low centre of gravity.
But my legs are twice as long as hers, and I’m already warmed up.
Also, I’m not feeling charitable at the moment.
No, I don’t want to race. I want to chase her deep into the forest and then fuck her against a tree.
Since I can’t do that, I shoot past her and take off, letting her chase me for once.
She keeps up pretty well. I stretch out the lead only to lose it on the twists and turns. As we shoot past the skate hut on the next pass, I can hear that she’s still with me.
Can’t shake her, so I slow down.
She comes alongside me but doesn’t try to initiate a conversation again. We skate three more laps together, until she’s breathing hard. When she pulls off, I follow, even though I could have kept going for a while.
Silently, we take care of the skates.
Then we put our coats back on and walk back to the house together.
Just before we get to the porch, she grabs my arm.
“Hey, um…” She rolls her head and puffs a long breath up into the night sky.
But before she can finish her thought, the door swings open and Cassie waves a bottle of wine at us. “What took you guys so long? I’m getting Mom drunk, get in here.”
“Oh, brother,” Rory mutters under her breath.
“We’ll talk later,” I promise her, anxiety twisting low in my gut. I don’t really want to talk. It never goes well. But there are things left unsaid between us, and tonight might be the last time we ever get to be truly alone.
I’m not going to waste that opportunity.
“Come on,” Cassie wheedles as Rory firmly sets an empty bottle of wine—the second one we’ve put away—in the recycling bin. “You make the best shots, just do one special Christmas one for us.”
“Nope. Not doing shots tonight. We have an early morning.”
Carmen wraps her arms around Cassie from behind and gives Rory a pouting face. I think she may have had more wine than either of her daughters.
I glance at Dante, who has been nursing the same glass of whiskey all night. He shakes his head.
“I know better than to get involved,” he mutters. “I’m off to bed.”
He kisses Carmen, reminds his daughters that they have a big day tomorrow, and then he escapes.
I should do the same.
But I also need to hang around in case Rory needs to be rescued.
“Fine,” she relents. “One round.”
She crosses to the big hutch that serves as the Minelli liquor cabinet. Tapping her lower lip in a very distracting way, she considers her options. “Chocolate? Mint?”
“Yes,” Cassie says firmly. “Two rounds of shots.”
“Or we combine them.” Rory winks and plunks a bottle of white chocolate liqueur in front of where I’m sprawled at the big kitchen table. “Hold this.”
I hold it.
She digs out peppermint schnapps and vanilla vodka.
Then a shaker.
“We’re getting serious now,” Carmen giggles, leaning on the table.
“One shot,” I remind everyone.
But then Rory puts a lot of ice in the shaker, and she free pours way more than three shots worth of the different ingredients.
“Oops,” she says. “Oh well.”
She shakes it up like a pro, then grabs four shot glasses. “You in, Garrett?”
“Yeah, sure.”
She pours them up and we lean in, tapping our shots together before swallowing the delicious but deadly combination that tastes just like peppermint bark candy.
“Now it feels like Christmas,” Cassie says, wiping her mouth.
Rory and I exchange a look. We’re both thinking the same thing. She lives—lived?—across the road from Santa’s Workshop on the Polar Expressway, and this is what pushes her into Christmas vibes?
“One more,” Rory says, urging us all to put our glasses in again.
I push out of my chair and shake my head. “I’m good.”
I cross to the sink to wash my shot glass as they do another round.
Carmen sighs happily. “I should follow your dad to bed. Night night, my babies.”
I hold my breath until she’s out of the room.
Rory and her mom have an interesting relationship. They love each other fiercely, but they also butt heads constantly, and it feels like a miracle that they didn’t argue tonight—and that Carmen didn’t find a way to blame Rory for Cassie’s breakup, as she feared.
Now that she’s heading upstairs, I should do the same.
“Can I trust you two to close this place down by yourselves?” I ask, going for lighthearted.
Rory nods, not quite meeting my gaze.
But Cassie protests. “No, stay up with us.”
For good measure, she pouts, a mirror of her mother.
Rory rolls her eyes. “You just want a chaperone so I don’t ask you about Nate, but Garrett won’t stop me from doing that, so put that manipulative lip away.”
“Ouch.” Cassie snatches at the shaker. “Let’s make more drinks.”
“Nope.”
But Cassie doesn’t need Rory to play bartender. She was watching the first time, and now she freehands her own version of the peppermint bark shot over the remaining ice in the shaker.
Rory peels off her sweater, leaving her in just a cotton tank top that’s wrinkled from her body heat and slipping off her shoulder.
I stare at her bra strap and think about sliding my finger under it and dragging her off to bed.
Maybe that shot was a bad idea.
Maybe a second shot would be a good idea.
“Maybe you should tell us what happened,” Rory says.
Right.
Cassie. We need to focus on Cassie.
Rory’s sister puffs out her cheeks. “I’m too much for him.”
Oh shit. No, I shouldn’t be here for this.
Rory goes still. “What the hell does that mean?”
Cassie waves her hands in the air. “You know. You say it too. I’m a lot.”
“Yeah, but you’ve always been a lot, and it’s…loveable.”
“Well, it’s more loveable when you’re an eager twenty-one-year-old, I guess.” Cassie’s lower lip wobbles and her eyes start to swim with tears.
“He didn’t fucking say that, did he?” I hear myself growl that out. I didn’t have track down my brother-in-law and wrestle him down to the ground for being an asshole on my Christmas bingo card, but we’ll do what we need to do.
She shakes her head. “Not exactly. But he always used to say I was his wild girl or his…” She hiccups. “His feral monster.”
“You’re hardly feral,” Rory mutters. “That’s more Jules territory.”
I stretch my leg under the table and nudge her chair.
She swings her head my way, her eyes slow to focus on my face. “What? Why’d you nudge me?”
I cover my face as my shoulders shake with laughter.
“What???” Rory sounds so confused. Adorably, drunkenly confused.
“He doesn’t mean feral like Jules,” I mumble from behind my hands. “Not like a selfish little goblin. More…uninhibited.”
Rory’s mouth falls open. “Oh.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh. Is this about s-e-x?”
Cassie makes a face. “Don’t be immature.”
“I’m not immature about sex. I’m just seeking clarity and trying to do it delicately.”
I push to my feet. “This conversation might be easier if I’m not here. I’m going to take a shower.”
And because I’m supposed to be her boyfriend, I go around the table and squeeze Rory’s tense shoulder. A pretence of saying goodnight, but really trying to convey to her that she was never too much, no matter what she thinks.
But because I’m no longer her boyfriend, it doesn’t help.
I’m just pulling a t-shirt over my damp-from-the-shower hair when Rory tumbles into the room we’re sharing tonight.
“Oops,” she says, her gaze snagging on my bare abdomen before I smooth the cotton over it. “Sorry.”
“No worries.”
She flops on the bed. “Need to set my alarm.”
“Where’s your phone?”
“Dunno.”
I catch her leg and roll her onto her side. “In your back pocket.”
She gasps. “Thank you.”
After she mashes her fingers against the screen, she shoves her phone in my general direction.
I take it and put it on the bedside table. “Can I recommend something comfortable to sleep in? Maybe brush your teeth, too?”
“Yeah, I should. I will.” She gets up and stumbles out into the hallway.
“I’ll get your PJs,” I say at her retreating back.
She’s already unpacked, so I go to the dresser and pull open the top drawer. There are two sets of over-the-top Christmas sleep wear—right next to my green flannel shirt, carefully folded.
Interesting.
Maybe she’s going to give it to me for Christmas.
Maybe she’ll keep it forever.
I grab the softer, more worn PJs, a red cotton set covered in oversized lights.
She comes back, already pulling off her clothes.
I’ve always loved how much of a nudist Rory can be, but given that she’s drunk and she’s never liked fooling around in her parents’ house while they’re home, I stop her when she gets down to her tank top and her panties.
“Here you go,” I say, kneeling in front of her. “Put these on.”
She puts her hands on my shoulders as she steps into the pants. “You don’t need to take care of me.”
“I know.”
“But you are.”
“Bare minimum.” I tug the waistband up her thighs, ignoring the way her skin feels as my thumbs graze her body. “A peace offering, if you will.”
“Two in one day, we’re maturing.”
I push to my feet and hold up the top. “Do you want to wear this, too?”
She makes a face. “Too hot.”
“K. Turn around.”
“Why?”
“Are you going to take off your own bra?”
She contorts her arms, the huffs a frustrated breath and spins dangerously.
I catch her by the shoulders. “Let me.”
She shivers as I lift her tank top up and slide my hands under it, expertly finding the clasp and releasing her tits from their confine.
“Thanks,” she whispers as she pulls away. She hangs the bra on one of the dresser knobs, then climbs into bed.
I follow, my pulse heavy, my cock ignoring my brain’s blaring reminder that this isn’t like that.
She stretches out on her side, and I roll onto my back. My arm comes up, muscle memory getting it halfway across her pillow before I remember that we aren’t going to snuggle all night.
I don’t stop soon enough for her not to notice, and she tugs her pillow all the way to the edge of the bed.
I sigh. “I’ll stay on my own side.”
She flops onto her back, cheeks flushed, and crosses her arms tightly in front of her. She’s defiant and gorgeous in her drunken indignation. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to. I’ll keep my hands to myself, too.”
She doesn’t reply to that.
Which is…curious.
So I add, ”Unless you text me in the middle of the night.”
Her mouth opens. Closes.
“Not happening,” she mutters, turning over to give me her back.
I’m grinning as she turns off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
Feeling her settle next to me after all these months is interesting.
Of course I know what it’s like to have her close, to hold her tightly.
Did that just three days ago, after all.
But none of our hookups were in a bed. And I didn’t think we’d get to actually sleep together again, let alone in this bed.
Tension radiates off her tight little body.
But we survived eight hours in the truck, and hours with her family. We can handle a night sharing a room.