Chapter 2 #2
I move closer, watching him check Blitzen's hooves with practiced ease. "You really love this place."
"I do." He straightens, meets my eyes. "I forget that sometimes. But it's in my bones."
Suddenly, Blitzen sneezes. A huge, wet, spectacular sneeze hits Justin square in the face.
He freezes. Blinks. Wipes reindeer snot from his cheek with the back of his hand.
I clap my hand over my mouth, trying desperately not to laugh.
"Don't," he warns.
"I'm not—" I can't hold it in. Laughter bursts out of me, doubling me over. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! But your face—"
"This is karma," he mutters, but his mouth is twitching. "For laughing at Emma all those years."
"Here." I hand him a clean towel from the supply shelf, still giggling. "At least Blitzen likes you."
"Blitzen is going on the naughty list." The reindeer snorts, unrepentant, and nudges Justin's shoulder as if asking for more attention.
Despite the reindeer snot, Justin scratches behind Blitzen's ears again.
I follow him through the barn, watching as he methodically checks each stall, refills water where needed, tosses in extra hay.
His movements are sure and confident but also, somewhat gentle.
This is a side of him I haven't seen yet.
Not the boss, just a man who cares deeply about creatures who depend on him.
"You're staring," he says without looking up.
"You're worth staring at."
He glances over, and the look he gives me makes my stomach flip. "Careful, little girl. Flattery will get you everywhere."
"Is that a promise?"
"It's a guarantee."
By evening, we've made a half-hearted dinner, a box of mac and cheese from the pantry, marshmallows roasted over the fire.
The storm which had calmed down during the day to mere flurries has now picked up again.
Justin turns on soft music on his laptop.
I sit on the rug, hugging a pillow, watching the firelight trace gold across his face as he punches on his laptop.
His brow is furrowed, and he looks decidedly irritated.
"You can take a snow day off from work,” I say.
He reminds me of the teachers my nephews and nieces now have in school that instead of letting them have a fun snow day off, decide they must do virtual school work instead.
Sometimes, taking a break from the normal day to day hustle and enjoying life is necessary.
He looks over. "What for?"
"To live a little."
"I'm living just fine."
"Debatable. From where I sit, fine is not the word I would use to describe your work-life balance."
He sets his mug down. "And you? Do you ever stop talking long enough to think before you speak?"
I grin. I’ve been accused many times in my life of talking before thinking. His tone is light, not offensive. "Touché."
The fire pops. Silence settles again, but it isn't empty. It's thick with all the words we haven't said yet. When I finally speak, my voice is quieter. "You're not really a Grinch, you know."
He raises a brow. "No?"
"You care. You just hide it behind… whatever that is." I wave vaguely toward him and his laptop which is surely open to a spreadsheet with dozens of tabs. "Control. Order. Expensive things. Golf trips."
For a second he says nothing. Then, softly: "Control keeps things from breaking."
The words hang there. I don't push. Instead, I shift closer to the fire, knees drawn up, feeling the heat on my skin. The air smells like pine, wood smoke, and him.
"Do you ever get tired of holding everything together?" I ask.
He doesn't answer, but his gaze lifts to my face, steady and searching. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. "Sometimes."
Something inside me loosens. We're both quiet for a long time, two people thawing in the same warmth.
My phone buzzes.
Emily: How's it going? Manifesting warmth and safety for you!
Me: Still snowed in. Still alive. Boss is less Grinch-like than advertised.
Madison: "Less Grinch-like" she says, like she's not already halfway to sitting on his lap
Me: I'm ignoring you.
Lily: That's a yes. Make sure he checks the naughty list twice. Pretty sure your name is on it.
Me: Me? Naughty? Never!
I turn my phone face-down.
Justin's gaze flicks to it, then back to me. "Your book club?"
"Yeah. They're… enthusiastic."
"About books."
"About everything."
His mouth twitches. "Must be nice. Having people who check in."
Something in his tone makes my chest tighten. I realize his phone hasn’t buzzed or rang once. "You don't?"
"I have employees. Shareholders. A board."
"That's not the same."
"No," he agrees. "It's not. Emma lives in Arizona now; she’s married with kids. They come visit about once a year. They are the reason for the macaroni and cheese and snacks you’ve found. Her boys are preteens now and aren’t as impressed by the park like they were when they were children. My parents passed away a decade ago in a car accident. I don’t have much in the way of extended family. I stay busy."
I want to ask more, but the look on his face stops me. Instead, I say, "Well. You've got me now. For the weekend, anyway."
His eyes hold mine. "Is that right?"
"Whether you like it or not."
"I'm starting to think I might like it more than not." The admission lands between us, quiet and dangerous.
Later, when I yawn, he gestures toward the bedroom. "You take the bed. I'll sleep out here. You should sleep in the bed tonight; you didn’t get good rest last night."
I hesitate. "It's a big bed."
"That's not the point."
"I didn't mean—" I stop myself, cheeks heating. "I just thought maybe it'd be nice not to be alone." The wind blowing against the windows last night was rather frightening. I came downstairs for company. I don’t admit to him that I was scared and didn’t want to be alone. If the storm doesn’t let up, I know I’d not want to be alone tonight either.
He studies me for a moment, something unreadable passing over his face. Then he sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Fine. But if you kick, I’m coming back down to the couch."
"Deal."
“Go get ready. I’ll be in soon.”
The bedroom is dim and cozy, one lamp glowing beside the massive king-sized log-frame bed.
Outside, snow swirls against the window.
After washing up and slipping into one of his long shirts, I climb into the bed.
I slip under the quilt; heart hammering harder than it should.
When he comes in, the air changes. I can feel the tension between us.
I wonder if he can feel it, too. He sets his phone on the nightstand and slides in on the other side, keeping a careful distance.
For a while, we lie there listening to the storm.
"You're so tense," I murmur. He’s laying stiff as a board, as if he’s afraid to roll over and touch me.
“No, I’m not.”
I turn my head toward him, catching the faint outline of his face in the half-light. "You don't have to be scared of touching me, you know. I’m not going to bite."
He lets out a breath, long and quiet. "Holly," he says softly, "you should sleep."
"I can't." I hesitate. "Too many thoughts."
"Such as?"
"That I'm sharing a bed with my boss in a snowstorm, and it feels like a dream I'm going to get fired for."
A low chuckle. "I'm not firing you."
"That's good. Because I like it here." A pause. "And I think maybe… I like you, too." I pause for a second before I realize how bad that sounds. “Like a friend or like a boss or like…”
His breath hitches almost imperceptibly. When he speaks again, his voice is rougher. "You don't know me, Holly."
"I'm trying to get to know you, Justin." I add his name to the end, mimicking his tone. The silence stretches. I can feel his warmth beside me, the solid weight of him under the quilt. My pulse thuds in my throat.
Then, quietly, he says, "Go to sleep, Holly."
But his hand brushes mine beneath the blanket, just once, the barest touch of warm skin against skin, steady and protective. The kind of touch that feels like a promise and a warning all at once.
I drift off with snow still whispering against the window, the faint scent of pine and smoke in the air, and the sense that something has shifted. Something careful, slow, and very real. I fall asleep feeling safe, even with a loud, crazy storm going on outside.