Chapter 4
Dale
Aspen was a cute but skittish omega, and as an alpha I needed to tone myself down so I wouldn’t scare him off. Now that I had him for a roommate, I was already used to the idea, and I didn’t want him abruptly leaving only to find myself assigned a new roommate with less favorable traits.
We set about unpacking and spoke no more that afternoon about me sleeping on the couch. As if in silent agreement, in the bathroom, I took one sink and he took the other, our things neatly laid out to stake our claim.
From the front pouch of my suitcase, I unveiled cookies, chips, a can of cashews, and a small cheese and cracker platter. I placed them on the coffee table and said, “I brought snacks. I’m perfectly willing to share.”
Then, in the center, I placed two bottles of wine which I’d carefully wrapped in two thick sweaters. “And there’s wine.”
Aspen was just coming from the bathroom. “You brought all that?”
“Yep.”
“I was planning on a lot of room service.”
“Me, too.”
“What’s your routine?” Aspen asked.
“In regular life or on vacation?”
“Vacation.”
“I plan on sleeping in, late breakfasts, and maybe a little snow skiing.”
“Huh.”
“Why that reaction?”
“It’s the same with me,” Aspen said.
“What luck.” I smiled, noticing the muscles under his sweater relax.
It wasn’t that I didn’t feel the tension, too, I simply showed it in other ways, like offering to sleep on the couch, and to share my snacks. I could become overly generous to a point of annoyance for others when I was stressed or nervous.
“I also don’t play loud music. Or smoke. Or toss chicken bones over my shoulder,” I added.
Aspen bit his lower lip against the beginnings of a grin. “Me, either.”
“Fortuitous,” I said. “So far.” I raised an eyebrow at him.
He let the grin expand. “You’re kind of funny.”
“Hopefully in a good way?”
“Yeah. Hopefully.”
I laughed.
“Do you mind if I make a fire?” I asked.
“No. That would be good.”
The wood cupboard by the hearth was stocked full. But the fireplace itself was already laid out. All I had to do was light a match to the starter. Soon, tall flames lively danced. The wood snapped and crackled.
I grabbed my laptop and seated myself on the couch. I heard Aspen moving about behind me. Instead of feeling self-conscious, it was strangely natural. Like he belonged. Here. With me. The room was quiet the way I liked. The way he liked.
Maybe this was going to work out just fine.
But would he feel obligated to have meals with me? Would I be rude not to invite him when I went to the lodge restaurant? As I thought about it, I realized having company was not a bad thing. Nor an interference. I liked the idea.
I had already promised myself I wouldn’t look at any work-related stuff between now and New Year’s, but I did check my email and scrolled some social media.
My stomach growled, reminding me the burger I’d had was hours ago. Dinnertime was here. I glanced at the coffee table. Snacks would not be enough.
I closed my computer and set it aside, stretching my arms over my head.
“Hey, I’m going to the lodge restaurant.” I turned to see Aspen leaning against the headboard with lots of pillows. He had his laptop out, too.
"Okay."
"Are you hungry? Wanna come?” That sounded innocent enough. Not intrusive at all.
Aspen nodded, shutting his computer. “I could eat.”
“Great.”
I was falling more in love with the idea of not wandering the grounds alone or having to sit at a table for one. My stomach agreed, growling again as if to tell me to hurry. We needed food.
We got into our parkas and scarves and snow boots and left for the lodge. I expected full darkness, and had my cell flashlight app on, but when we stepped out I saw the whole place was lit up with Christmas lights. The snow reflected the light making everything brighter.
The path to the lodge had been freshly shoveled, and we got there in less than five minutes.
As we entered, I saw people still hanging out by the front desk, but a lot of the crowd had dispersed. Hopefully, they’d all gotten paired up and were now settling in.
We walked through to the main lobby which was glowing from the six-foot hearth fire.
The polished wood walls danced with firelight reflections.
Some guests sat on couches talking or looking at their phones.
The clinking of plates and silverware drew my attention.
The restaurant loomed before me. Beyond it was a bar playing soft, soothing carols.
A huge Christmas tree stood beside the restaurant host podium. There was no line.
We walked up to the host and got seated within thirty seconds. The aroma of hot food assailed me.
I was grateful the chaos of earlier seemed to have subsided. Disaster averted for now.
“This place is nice,” Aspen commented.
“After the mess of this afternoon, I expected everything to be still unorganized. Or closed.”
After we ordered, we admired the decorations and made small talk.
I was surprised we had so much in common. Aspen was a lawyer. Brand new to his job. I worked for a legal firm as a paralegal. That was one topic we had fun discussing.
We also both had big families. I had two brothers and one sister. He had six siblings.
“I always spend Christmas with them,” he said. “But this year I needed a break.”
“Mine are scattered about, some pretty far away. There’s a reason we’re scattered. I don’t see them much.”
“A reason?”
“Yeah. Our parents were super strict. Super religious. And sometimes they drank too much. We were raised in a very controlling atmosphere with not a lot of what I would call ‘good’ attention. Us kids couldn’t wait to move away.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. Mine are the opposite.
Very loving. Encouraging all of us to explore our dreams. Reindeer shifter culture puts pressure to marry and have kids, though.
I’m far too busy. I hear about it all the time, though.
” He mimicked in a high voice. “Why aren’t you married yet?
When are you going to have a family? You’re not getting any younger; don’t you want kids? ”
“You should do what feels right for you.”
He smiled, holding up his glass of wine. “Thanks for saying that.” He took a sip. “They really didn’t want me gone for the holidays. I have guilt about not attending the big family dinner.”
I knew guilt well. Everything was about guilt when you were raised by zealots. I’d spent all of my adulthood learning to get rid of it. And then there were the expectations of me because I was an alpha. My parents had tried to suppress that part of me, again due to their beliefs.
“Guilt isn’t fair. In my eyes, it’s about control.”
“Well,” he shrugged. “It’s also about my conscience. I would never want to hurt my family’s feelings or have them think I don’t love them.”
“I’m sure they don’t think that.” With my family, that was something I did not have a conscience about.
“My ears are burning. I can feel them talking about me right now.”
“Maybe we can drown it out with good food and more wine.”
“Thanks for listening,” he said.
At that moment, the food came. We both devoured it like starving men.
I realized as we ate that the silence was never awkward between us.
If I’d been alone, I might have rushed myself through the meal.
Since I wasn’t interested in meeting new people, especially this time of year, I would have brought my tablet and ignored the beauty around me.
Aspen’s presence was a welcome change. It was nothing I chose, but I was the sort of guy who tried to make the best of things. I didn’t have to try with him.
The more we talked and ate, the more nice things I noticed about him.
How the light caught in his dark brown hair.
How his voice had a melodic tone like a deep-sounding bell.
How his eyes danced when he laughed, giving him a momentary carefree look, taking away the worried face I’d seen when we first met in the lobby.
We’d barely known each other for a few hours and already I had decided he would not be a bad companion to have around for the next two weeks.
We could make this work, I assured myself. I’d do whatever I could to make sure neither of us felt the need to go back to our lonely, silent homes at Christmas.