Nick
“Tired?” I confirm.
“Worn the hell out is more like it,” she chuckles.
My lips spread into a slow smile that I can’t seem to help when it comes to her. “You said you used to skate, I didn’t know you were the Ice—”
I cut myself short, remembering how she asked me not to call her Princess. She smiles knowingly, patting me on the leg. “Thanks.”
As we walk back inside, I can’t help but flick through the pictures I took while we were at the park. Anticipation bubbles just beneath the surface of my skin when I think about getting these on my hard drive and into Lightroom. “You gonna show me what’s in there?”
I run my tongue against my lower lip. She might think I’m a creep when she sees how many of these shots are candid pictures of her.
If the camera is an extension of myself, then I can’t stop seeking her out.
I’ll spend minutes with the viewfinder pressed to my eye and somehow, she ends up filling the frame every time.
I finally remove the strap from around my shoulder and hand the device over to her.
As everyone else filters out of the living room, we stand by the fireplace.
Ashes sit where flames usually roar, and instead of the rich hue of its glow, the only thing lighting Krystal’s soft features is the faded amber lamp in the corner and the dull glare from the tiny LED screen on the back of the DSLR.
I can still see her cheeks grow more rosy, and her eyes more awake as she thumbs through today’s captures.
She sucks in a tiny breath, resting a delicate hand just across her collarbones.
“Nick,” she sighs, and I fight the urge to tuck the unruly strand of hair that came loose behind her ear.
“This is breathtaking,” she continues, turning the screen so I can see which shot she’s referring to.
She had just ended a lap around the rink, her arms spread wide right before tucking them close to her body in a rapid spin.
I slowed the shutter speed so I could catch the blur of her motion, and by some miracle, I caught her in a moment that allowed her face to be perfectly sharp.
Her eyes are turned up toward the sky, her skin blotchy and raw from the cold, and her smile is the brightest thing in the picture despite the pristine hills of snow in the background.
“Nowhere as breathtaking as watching the real thing,” I reply.
She hands the camera over to me, the tips of her fingers brushing mine and sending a spike of energy through my body. “You have to send this to me,” she instructs. I nod, slipping my phone out of my back pocket and handing it over to her.
She adds her name and email, but hovers over the space to enter her number. My lips roll in on themselves as I stop myself from convincing her to put it in there. There’s a pit in the bottom of my stomach, a knot of nerves winding itself up the longer she takes to make her decision.
When she finally types it in, I swallow the sigh of relief threatening to rush through my nostrils and close my eyes in a silent prayer of gratitude.
My heart is racing like I’ve never asked a woman for her number before.
But, everything with Krystal feels like teenage fever.
The connection growing between us is youthful — innocent, in spite of the undeniable physical attraction we share.
I shoot her a text when she hands the phone back so she can save my contact, and tuck it back into my pocket before shutting the camera down and swinging it over my shoulder.
Silence stretches between us, seemingly filling the entire house.
My eyes fall down the curves of her face, along the long lines of her neck, and over the roundness of her shoulders.
As my gaze drops to her chest, I watch her nipples harden and feel a twitch in my palm.
I haven’t touched her, and I won’t until I’m invited to, but goddamn, I want to.
“Ahem,” she clears her throat, running a hand up and down her other arm. “I guess I should go to bed.”
“Yeah,” I snap myself out of my daze, suddenly aware of how long it’s been since a woman has been in my bed.
I played it cool earlier, but this time of year is always a time of abstinence for me.
Not by choice, it’s just…difficult. Getting through December is like wading through swamp water.
The only thing pushing me forward is the knowledge that Juno would have expected me to continue celebrating the holidays.
I don’t care as much about the spirit of Christmas as I care about keeping his alive.
Krystal moves to head to her room. I follow, mine also being on this side of the B&B. When she stops outside the door right next to mine, another spike of energy runs through me. One that prompts me to be risky, to take her face in my hands and pour all this pent-up tension into her.
“Thanks for walking me to my room, you didn’t have to do that,” she says.
I could take the credit, but I decide to be honest instead.
“You didn’t have to either,” I respond. Her brows furrow until I pull my key out and stick it into the door adjacent to hers.
Her head falls back with laughter. The sound is beautiful for the half a second that she lets it free before slapping her palm over her mouth.
“Good night, Nick.”
“Good night, Snowflake.”
Her skin flushes the deepest shade of red, and my hand twitches against the camera on my hip, begging for me to raise it — to immortalize this moment.
When she unlocks her door, looking up at me curiously, I’m still standing there with my hand hugging the strap of my camera and the whisper of a smile on my lips.
I don’t know if I’ve been doing it right, this Christmas tradition I’ve made for myself. What I can say with total certainty is that this is the first Christmas since his death, that feels like it might actually be for me, and not in memory of what used to be.