Chapter 5 #2
Nick appeared, moments behind him. “This one’s a doozy,” he said, joining Rose.
“Any injuries?” she asked, teasing.
“Do papercuts count?” Nick drew her away from the store, then they huddled in closer to read the clue. Or at least, Nick read it aloud, while Rose reveled in the feel of his arm around her, drawing her close.
‘The woods may be lovely, but before you plan to sleep/ You must pluck your victory from the jaws of defeat, sharp and sweet.’ Ring any bells?” he asked.
Rose nodded slowly. “Plucking fruit… It sounds like the Forrester’s orchard, but it’s way out of town,” she said, thinking back to her memories of going apple picking as a kid.
“There’s no road out there, not even a dirt track, so driving won’t work.
We’ll have to hike it,” she said with a sinking heart.
A stroll across the pond was one thing, but traipsing miles across a snowy hillside in the dark? That wasn’t the kind of heated adventure she’d been planning for the night.
Or dressed for.
“Not so fast,” Nick said, looking around. His eyes landed on something across the square, and he lit up. “There is one other mode of transportation.”
She turned. The Janssen family ran sleigh rides every holiday for the tourists, on old-fashioned carriages hitched up to horses from their stable. It was a big draw for families who wanted to see the town in style… And there was one sleigh left at the stand.
Rose gaped. He couldn’t be serious. Could he?
“But… That’s crazy,” she began to object, but Nick just flashed her a daredevil grin.
“There’s a thin line between madness and genius. Come on, before someone else gets the same idea.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her across the square—just as Scott and Becca began heading in the same direction. Rose felt a flare of competition.
“Go. Go!” she cried to Nick, breaking into a sprint.
The race was on!
Rose panted, not used to the workout, and Scott quickly overtook her, but he was wearing bulky camouflage gear that slowed him down, and Nick pulled ahead: Blitzing past the roasted chestnut stand and leaping over a nativity display in a single bound.
Rose cheered him on, laughing as he skidded to a stop beside the sleigh and grabbed the reins.
Victory!
Scott was cursing at his defeat as the women arrived. “Why didn’t you help?” he complained to Becca, before turning to the Janssen kid. “I’ll pay double what they will,” he said, rummaging in his pockets.
“Nice try, but don’t even think about it.” Nick said, crossing his arms. “We won this one fair and square.”
Scott scowled. “Doesn’t mean you’ll be first to the prize though,” he said, stalking off.
Becca shot Rose an apologetic smile, and then hurried after him. “Wait up!”
Rose turned back to their ride for the evening. The Janssen kid, Benny, unhitched the horses, and checked the reins, as Nick climbed up into the sleigh, and offered her a hand.
“Your chariot awaits,” he said, looking proud.
“Why, thank you, sir,” she said, exhilarated from the race—and the prospect of a snowy sleigh ride with him. She settled onto the seat beside him as Benny hopped up in front and clicked his tongue.
The horses began to trot, and slowly, they glided away.
“We should be able to cut across the fields here…” Nick leaned forward to show Benny their destination on the map, so Rose sat back and looked around.
They picked up speed, and the town soon receded behind them, but it was a clear night, studded with stars and a full moon overhead.
She found a blanket under the seat, and tucked it over their laps, enjoying the winter chill against her cheeks, and the feel of Nick’s body, warm beside her.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said, relaxing. “The sleigh ride, I mean. I always thought it was kind of dorky. A tourist trap. But it’s lovely.”
And romantic, she added silently.
“I pretty much gave up on caring about dorky the moment I stepped foot in this town,” Nick said with a smile. “I mean, the festivals you guys put on, it’s clear that ‘cool’ is not on the menu. LobsterFest, JamFest, the grand Fall Fling…”
Rose smiled. “There’s nowhere like Sweetbriar Cove,” she agreed.
“You never thought about leaving?” Nick asked, draping a casual arm over the back of the sleigh. Almost around her shoulders, Rose noticed.
Almost.
She shook her head, even as her pulse kicked at his nearness.
“I went to college out of state,” she said, trying to focus on his question, and not the feel of his arm brushing the back of her neck.
“Then my grandmother left the shop to my sisters and me. They would have been happy to sell, but I always loved it. I get to make works of art every single day.”
“Even if your oafish clients don’t appreciate them,” Nick said with a grin, as the sleigh cut across a snowy field.
She smiled. “You’re not such an oaf. At least you know your roses from your ranunculus. And you would never dream of giving someone carnations.”
Nick laughed at her tone. “What’s so bad about carnations?”
“Nothing, necessarily,” Rose replied. “They’re actually rather sweet.
But every time a man comes into the shop and recoils from the price of a real bouquet, he winds up buying a bunch of carnations instead.
Flowers should say something,” she added.
“Did you know, there’s a language of flowers that goes back thousands of years?
People would use them to send messages.”
“Like what?” Nick looked interested.
“Well, daisies were for innocence, goldenrod were meant to encourage a suitor, and lavender said you didn’t trust someone,” Rose explained.
“What flowers would say, ‘I have to have you’?”
Rose looked over at him. Nick’s tone was playful, but there was a dark intensity in his eyes that made her stomach turn a slow pirouette.
“I…” she paused, her mind blank and her heart racing. “Iris, I guess. When they’re pale, it means friendship, innocent, but if they’re red or orange… That means desire.”
“Iris,” he repeated, nodding slowly. “I’ll have to remember that.”
His gaze slipped lower, to linger a moment on her mouth. And just like that, Rose felt a burning spark of recognition.
He wanted her.
Fire surged in her veins despite the cold. It wasn’t just all in her mind. He wanted her. The same way she was going crazy for him, Nick felt it too. This chemistry between them; this intoxicating heat. But for whatever reason, he was holding back.
Rose took a deep breath, considering her options. She couldn’t exactly tear his clothes off and ravish him, they were speeding across a snowy field in the back of an open sleigh. But she had to do something, before the moment passed, and she lost the chance forever.
Slowly, deliberately, she shifted closer to him.
Nick glanced over. “Bumpy ride, huh? You can hang on to the railings, if you need.”
Rose managed a smile. “Thanks.”
So much for making her move. Her mind raced, trying to think of another way to say, ‘take me now’.
Where were a bunch of orange irises when she needed them?
Rose cleared her throat, about to say something, but the sudden roar of an engine cut through the calm.
They both turned. “What is that?” Rose asked, as a snowmobile came zooming up behind them in the field. The horses startled at the noise, breaking into a canter, and Benny yanked at the reins, trying to keep them under control.
“What’s this guy playing at?”
The snowmobile closed in on them, swooping dangerously near to the sleigh. Rose grabbed hold of the railings for real this time, as the horses skittered, racing in fear at the noise. “It’s Scott!” Rose exclaimed, recognizing the figure at the handlebars, with Becca holding on tight behind.
“Of course it is,” Nick scowled. “Idiot. Back the hell off!” he called but Scott just waved.
“Enjoy the ride!” he called to them, smug. “We’ll be waiting at the finish line!”
He revved the engine louder, swooping right alongside the high-speed sleigh. Too close. The horses let out a whinny of panic; one rearing up in shock, as the other tried to bolt. Pulled in different directions, the sleigh began to tip. Rose gasped.
“Hang on!” Nick called, grabbing her hand, but it was too late. One minute, they were speeding across the snow, and the next, everything tilted off its axis.
The sleigh overturned, skidding across the field, and they tumbled out, landing head-over-heels in the middle of a snowbank.
A wet, cold, muddy snowbank.