Chapter 14
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
NATALIE
Gravel and snow crunch beneath the tires as my dad navigates the winding road, passing mansion after mansion, each austerely decorated for Christmas.
Hanging lights flicker in the early setting sun, but inside the enormous beachfront fortresses darkness remains.
The homeowners for this stretch of road won’t return to Wellsport for another six months, when they’ll call it their temporary home for the summer.
As we venture deeper into wood-lined streets, the grand mansions shrink to two-story colonials, and then to our two bedroom, two bath cape at the natural conclusion of a dead end.
I’m home.
With Cole Sinclair.
A swallow works in my throat as I smile bashfully at him and glance down at my hands resting comfortably in his. For the last ten minutes, he’s worked tirelessly to make sure they stayed warm.
It’s sweet. Thoughtful. Disorienting.
“Thank you for the hand job.” The words fall out of my mouth with embarrassing speed, rushing past the nope-we-don’t-say-those-words-out-loud-Natalie filter.
His gaze snaps to mine, a devilish glint sparkling beneath his thick black lashes.
I go to yank my hands from his and cover my face in mortification, but he keeps a firm grip on them.
“Anytime, sugarplum,” he says in a low rasp. He brings my hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on top before tracing over them with his thumb. Shivers shoot up my arm.
I sit, arrested in the car, focused on the way his eyes dance over my face with a sense of admiration and mischief. The magnetic pull between us strengthens. He’s winning.
Mercifully, the car door swings open behind me.
“Hey, kiddos. We need help with your bags. Your father is struggling with Cole’s.
What did you pack, Cole? A body? We’re heading inside to start the fire,” my mom hollers as her footsteps patter away to nothing.
“Remember, we still need to go buy a wreath for the fence tonight!”
No. No. No. Not wreath shopping, please, I’m begging.
I jump back, quick to unbuckle, and scramble out of the car.
My hurried movements send me tumbling out of the car before looking and I fall into a bank of snow.
“Do we all have to go?” I yell, sitting up in the snow-pit-of-despair.
My mother gets…uhm…intense…when she’s buying a wreath, and I’d rather not have Cole witness that and be able to hang my mother’s apparent wreath fetish over my head for all time.
“And break a beloved D’Amore Family Tradition? Not a chance,” my mom calls from the doorframe of the house.
I collapse back into my Natalie-shaped-print. Fluffy flakes spill down the back of my coat, capturing my spine in a shockingly icy grip.
Cole peers down at me, a teasing smile dancing on his lips. “Already falling for me, sugarplum? A little sooner than expected, but I’ll take it.”
“In your dreams,” I roll my eyes, trying to mask the flush creeping up my cheeks. Because it’s only been two days and my heart’s already thawed and falling for him. What happens when we’ve spent two weeks together? At this rate, I’ll be wrapped around his finger.
“That’s how most of my dreams start, yes,” he says, climbing over me out of the car and grabbing our bags. I lay motionless in the snow, arms splayed, feeling utterly defeated by everything. “Are you coming?”
“No. I think I’d rather lie here and die, since I regret every decision that’s brought me to this point.”
“Bit dramatic, but okay.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“Fair,” he replies with a slam of the trunk. He steps toward me, extending his hand with a sigh. I reach for it, and in one fluid motion, he pulls me up and hoists me over his shoulder. I yelp with surprise.
“What are you doing?” I protest, dangling and flailing, annoyed at the strange thrill coursing through me.
“I’m making sure I’ve got all my baggage,” he says. “Let’s see: duffel bag, check; suitcase of the woman who drives me up a wall, check; woman who drives me up a wall—” He spins playfully, pretending to search for me, and I shriek.
“Put me down! This is undignified!”
“Sugarplum? Where are you?” he teases.
“I’m not your sugarplum—for the love of god, Cole Lucifer Sinclair, put me down this instant!”
“I hope you know that squirming is only going to make this worse.” His grip tightens, searing into the skin of my upper thigh like a brand. A traitorous warmth slowly spreads from his hand into my lower abdomen.
Do not acknowledge. Do not engage. I am stronger than the primal instincts aroused by being thrown over his shoulder.
My mind wins out and I glare at the back of his head, willing laser beams or something to materialize but nothing happens.
“How’s the death stare laser beam working, today? Still in development?”
“You think you know me so well you can tell when I’m flaring or using death stare lasers?” I huff as he walks us to the house.
“I told you, I have inatuation.”
“I refuse to acknowledge that terrible joke, thank you very much. As a matter of fact, you were wrong on both accounts, I wasn’t flaring and I wasn’t staring at you…I was checking the back of your head for an on/off switch. You’re a cyborg, right?”
Liar liar pants on fire.
“Sex robot, same thing.” I can practically see the smirk that’s accompanying his response.
He’s annoyingly good at this whole flirty banter thing but I don’t want to let him win, I can’t, it’s a matter of pride.
“Love of My Life,” I say sweetly. “Would you mind terribly letting me down so I can kiss you? It’s just been an awfully long time since our lips have touched, it’s criminal, really.”
He snorts. “Tell me I’m the greatest thing that ever happened to you, baby, and I’ll let you down.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Then I guess you’re stuck hanging off my shoulder.”
“You’re about to get to a staircase. I’d rather take my chance that you’ll have to put me down soon anyway rather than lose what little dignity I have left.”
To my horror, Cole doesn’t hesitate as he climbs the steps, effortlessly pulling the roller bag up with one hand and holding me tight to him with his other. “Shoulders are pretty broad, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Yes, and I’m starting to understand what you sold your soul for.”
“My charming personality and dashing good looks?”
The thing about dangling over Cole’s shoulder while he’s wearing grey sweatpants is that I have basically one direction I can look in without straining my neck, and that direction is a view I try to avoid because I know I’m susceptible to its powers.
All hail the hockey butt.
“And something back here,” I say, because if I’m going to be the loving, doting girlfriend, I’m going to do it right and appreciate all of Cole’s better qualities.
Of which there are few, but they do exist.
“You and my ass,” he says with a wry smile evident in his tone. “Do you want me to leave the two of you alone?”
“That is a very tempting offer. You really should let it do the talking. The charm is unparalleled.”
“You make solid points,” he says, spinning suddenly and pushing the door to the house open with his butt—and my face.
“Oww!” I rub my head, an alarming giggle passing over my lips.
With a smooth movement, Cole sets me down, worry furrowing his brow, and I can’t help but smile at his guilty, tortured expression, a small smirk tugging at my lips.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry I—” His ears turn pink as he brushes a hand over where I was rubbing. “Shit, Natalie. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s fine,” I assure him, more laughter bubbling up. “But what the hell were you trying to do?”
“Trying to make you laugh,” he replies, the color in his cheeks deepening to crimson.
“Well, clearly you succeeded.” I wipe at a tear forming at the corner of my eye from the overwhelming mirth.
I don’t even understand why this is that funny.
Like do I really find the sad, embarrassed look on his face hilarious?
Or am I just giggly because there’s an effervescence fizzing inside of me and I don’t know what to do about it?
“I’m sorry. I think I missed what the intended joke was, though,” I finally say.
He swallows hard, the blush spreading and coating his neck in a patchy red blanket. “I, uh, was going to pretend to talk out of my ass like in Ace Ventura.”
And that’s it. Laughter explodes from deep in my belly as I imagine stoic, broody Cole doing a Jim Carrey impression. “Okay, but wait because now I have to see that. Please, I’m begging.”
Cole stands over me, half concern and half what feels like admiration in his gaze. He pulls me tight against him, whispering, “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, look at you two,” my mom sighs nearby. “Standing under the mistletoe. Natalie, I think this is the first year you’re under there with someone of your own.” She nearly swoons.
I glance up at the evergreen hanging above us, then back at Cole, whose eyes take it in before meeting mine. I swallow hard, giving a tiny nod, hoping my mother doesn’t catch it.
He lowers his head, his lips brushing against mine in a tentative kiss that feels like an apology.
Like he’s beating himself up disproportionately for bumping my head.
I never knew a kiss could feel like this—warm and sweet—and still curl my toes.
It feels like a grovel, and I’m compelled to reassure him I’m okay.
To assuage the guilt even for a moment, as long as we’re like this.
He pulls away, pressing his lips to my forehead before resting his own there. “Promise me your head is okay.”
“Promise. Just a minor flesh wound. I probably won’t die until morning,” I whisper.
His lips press into a thin line. “Natalie—”
“Who knew you were so easy to tease?” I laugh, tugging his hands as I lead him toward the bedroom. “Mama, prepare my burial; I fear I shan’t last the night.”
He pulls me against him, and my back hits his chest. The heat of his body envelops me as we step in tandem into the bedroom. “Not funny, D’Amore,” he murmurs against my ear.
“Oh, to be young and in love,” my mom sighs from behind us. “We’re leaving in ten to go to White’s Christmas Tree Farm.”
My stomach drops, a flurry of emotions swirling inside me—the fluttering sensations morphing into something deeper.
Happy. Confused. Safe. Terrified.
“You can shut the door behind you so we can have a break,” I whisper.
The door closes behind us and I separate from Cole, relaxing now that I’m in my bedroom.
Light lavender paint adorns the walls, and a well-loved floral bedspread sits on my vintage metal bronze bed frame.
Fairy lights climb over my bookcases full of the teen romances that kept me company when I was home from school once a month.
More lights twinkle against the dark window, night crawling in the back.
God, I love it here. Everything glows, and by extension, so do I.
Until I hear a rustle behind me and I remember that I’m not alone.
I’m enjoying our new game, but I still have so many unanswered questions looming over me.
Namely, why Cole’s stayed in the shadows for so long when it doesn’t seem like he wants to be there anymore.
What changed? Is he really just this dedicated to playing along?
I don’t know. And those questions are going to be super awkward to ask, but I need to.
Soon. Before I get too attached to something that might not be real. Again.