Chapter 8
Before going to Everett’s, Nora went to her apartment to strip off her winter clothes. On one hand, she wished he hadn’t added “as a thank you for last night.” It made the invitation feel a bit transactional, and she’d prefer that he simply want to see her.
“What’s wrong with me?” she muttered as she hung up her winter jacket.
But on the other hand, there had been something touching about the uncertainty in his voice—he was worried about making her uncomfortable.
She wasn’t used to these feelings. She didn’t appreciate them. It felt like this was evolving into more than a casual friendship to help her survive the Christmas season, to ease the knot of loneliness in her chest.
But despite her misgivings, she put on a pair of flip-flops and headed across the hallway.
Everett opened the door. He didn’t look like a man who’d collapsed less than twenty-four hours ago.
Whatever had happened, he’d recovered quite well.
The memories of her mother’s frailty, those nights spent in a hospital chair, seemed further away than they had last night.
“It’s been a while,” he said, and despite herself, she laughed.
There was just something endearing about Everett. That flannel shirt and those square frames and the ever-present smile. While she’d never had a thing for beards before, on him, she rather liked it.
What’s wrong with me?
This time, she didn’t say it out loud. At least, she hoped the words didn’t come out of her mouth but stayed in her brain.
She really wasn’t used to feeling this way around a man. She hadn’t been the least bit tempted by anyone in ages—and that had ended horribly.
No, she was a sensible, skeptical forty-year-old woman…who was, for some reason, experiencing the slightest flutter in her chest.
Maybe that was why she said something completely nonsensical.
“You said you had a gift for Dino.”
“So I did. But he’s not here to receive it.”
“You want me to go and get him?” she asked.
“Or I can give him the gift at a later date.”
Despite her better judgment, Nora went to grab the plush dinosaur from her apartment. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, but she was the tiniest bit curious about what the gift could be, and perhaps she was also a little envious of Dino—
No! What was wrong with her?
She returned with the dinosaur in hand, and Everett held up a thick red ribbon.
“You’re going to Christmas-fy my dinosaur?” she asked.
“He wants to get in the Christmas spirit.”
She didn’t protest and say that her dinosaur didn’t celebrate the holiday; no, she handed him over and allowed Everett to tie the ribbon in a bow around Dino’s chubby neck. She supposed her nephew would appreciate the pictures.
Everett handed back the dinosaur, his fingers accidentally—she assumed—brushing hers. Not wanting to hold on to Dino as she had last night, she set him on the coffee table.
“So,” he said, “hot chocolate? Spiked hot chocolate? Hot buttered rum? Tea?”
“Hot buttered rum, but go easy on the rum. I’m working tomorrow.”
She sat down on the couch as he headed to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. There was a small artificial Christmas tree on the end table next to her. She rolled her eyes, but to her distress, it was a rather fond eye roll.
Needing a distraction from the Christmas spirit in Everett’s apartment, she pulled out her phone. Apparently, she had an overdue 407 bill. Ha! That was a lie.
And in other news, the first snow sculpture had been destroyed.
When Everett returned with two mugs—both had reindeer on them—she turned her phone toward him. He blinked as he set the mugs down on coasters. “It’s…gone?”
It was rather cute to see this large man upset over a snow sculpture, but his troubled look also heightened the pang she felt. Something that had brought them a scrap of joy was no longer there.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s good we went to see it when we did.”
He nodded. “At least…a lot of people got to see it. It was there for over a week.”
“It would suck to be one of the people who made the sculpture. To have your hard work destroyed. Of course, it would have melted eventually—it was never meant to be permanent—but still.”
She supposed that was part of the magic: like cherry blossoms in the spring, a snow sculpture couldn’t last. In Toronto, it wasn’t uncommon for the temperature to get above freezing in the winter, but this December had been colder than usual.
“Yes,” he said, “it would.”
She couldn’t help thinking of completed movies that never saw the light day because they were written off for tax purposes.
It was revolting. Millions upon millions of dollars could be spent, and people could dedicate years to a project that wouldn’t be released to the public—a decision that might have absolutely nothing to do with the movie’s quality.
And you never knew what might disappear from streaming services.
Nora tried to buy physical versions of anything she loved, just in case.
There was so much wrong in this world, but for now, she was here with her neighbor. She picked up a mug. It warmed her hands, and she inhaled deeply. There was a touch of cinnamon and other spices.
“I’ve never had hot buttered rum before,” she said.
He sat down next to her, but he was careful not to get too close. “I first had it at a Christmas-themed pop-up bar a couple of years ago.”
She’d never understood the appeal of such bars. Why would she want to squeeze into a crowded room and take pictures with a blow-up Santa Claus or similar, while sipping an expensive drink decorated with too much cheer?
Yet she was in a room with too much Christmas cheer right now, a hot boozy drink in her hand, and she didn’t mind. She supposed it helped that she’d only had to walk across the hall—and there was only one other person here.
Nora took a sip of her drink and almost groaned. It was wonderfully warm and rich, perfect after spending time outside. There was a bite of alcohol, but it wasn’t too strong.
She turned toward Everett. “That’s really good.”
“I make a big batch of…well, it’s a batter of sorts, with butter and brown sugar and…other things. I keep it in the freezer…”
He was having trouble getting words out, like he had in the middle of the night—but it was different this time. It seemed that his gaze was fixated on her mouth. Experimentally, she licked her upper lip, and he tracked the movement.
His apartment suddenly felt a lot smaller than it was.
It had been a long time since anyone had looked at Nora this way. On one hand, it caused an unconscious thrill in her body. Some of the thoughts and feelings she had…they seemed to be reciprocated.
On the other hand, she couldn’t help but be reminded of what had happened last time, and she didn’t trust her ability to figure out what was genuine and what was not.
She’d been foolish, so foolish. And while it was a little different, she’d thought the original picture of the now-demolished snow sculpture was fake, and she’d been wrong.
How could she be confident in her own judgment?
Everett leaned closer. She didn’t move; she felt like she was balanced on a tiny point, and if she shifted in any direction, she’d tip over.
He stood up abruptly, some of his drink sloshing over the side of his mug.
She shouldn’t be so disappointed.
“Crap,” he said as he bustled to the kitchen. He returned with a poinsettia-patterned towel and cleaned up the small spill. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you saying sorry?” she asked. “It’s your floor.”
He sat down on the recliner rather than on the couch. “The way I was looking at you…I thought…but I was wrong.”
Oh. He’d moved because he’d figured she wasn’t interested.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “If you want to leave, I understand.”
She couldn’t seem to form any words; she wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say.
But she knew what she wanted to do, and while a voice at the back of her head was telling her that this wasn’t a great idea, it seemed very far away now. Couldn’t she just take what she wanted? Surely, giving in to this one small impulse wouldn’t lead to disaster.
She took a bracing sip of hot buttered rum before setting down the half-empty mug and walking toward the recliner. She didn’t let herself meet Everett’s gaze until she got there, and when she did…
He was looking at her with confusion and hope.
“You weren’t wrong,” she said, at last able to speak. “Put down your drink.”
Once he did, she sat on his lap and straddled him. Wanting to be very clear about what he could do, she grabbed one of his hands—still warm from the drink—and placed it on her ass. Then she dropped her lips to his.
He responded immediately. Softly at first, as though feeling her out, as though still struggling to believe this was happening. But after a few strokes, he became almost savage, his lips greedy and demanding. It was such a contrast to his usual demeanor, and she loved it.
When he pulled back, she whimpered. She actually whimpered. It was a most distressing sound, but even more distressing was the fact that he was no longer kissing her. She was desperate to feel that connection again.
He chuckled as he took off his glasses and set them next to his mug. There was something filthy and knowing about that chuckle.
She liked how he looked with his glasses, but she also liked how he looked without them. Though perhaps it was what their removal signified more than anything else.
He intended to kiss the shit out of her.
She dropped her mouth once more. She kissed him urgently, and he met her stroke for stroke. He kept his hand firmly on his ass.
Then she pressed her hips against him, and he twisted his head away and groaned.
She experienced an unfamiliar sense of triumph. Ridiculous, but there it was. To think that this man could have such a reaction to her!
She slipped one hand under his flannel shirt and T-shirt and rubbed the warmth of his back. Her other hand drifted to his belly. She wanted to touch every inch of him, and she loved that there was lots to touch.
His mouth moved downward to her neck. She tipped her head back as his beard abraded her sensitive skin, and she ground herself against his erection. Her hands gripped his meaty arms.
Yes. This was good. This was real. This was…
“You’re so fucking hot,” he said.
She froze, his words pulling her out of her lust-filled haze.
It wasn’t because she didn’t think she was hot.
It wasn’t because this was the first time she’d heard Everett swear.
And it wasn’t because she couldn’t accept compliments. When someone complimented Nora on her work, for example? She believed them. If Aimee or Brianna told her something nice? She didn’t doubt their words.
But the last time a man had easily handed out compliments, he’d been using her.
He’d conned her out of a few thousand dollars, saying he needed help caring for his sick mother.
He’d promised to pay her back soon. Having recently lost her own mother, she’d been in a vulnerable place, and she hadn’t thought to question it.
Sure, many things were covered by provincial healthcare, but there could easily be other expenses.
After he had the money, she’d never heard from him again, even though she’d talked to him every day for weeks. They’d met in person a few times, too, and everything had been great—or so she’d thought.
Later, she wondered if he’d hoped to get more out of her, if he’d thought she was richer than she actually was.
“Nora?” Everett’s voice sounded far away. His hands were no longer touching her; he was gripping the arms of the recliner. “Are you okay?”
“I…” She scrambled up from his lap. “Yeah. I’m fine. I just…you know…I’m not sure about this.” She gestured between them. “Not because you did anything wrong, but I…”
He scrubbed a hand over his face and put his glasses back on.
That broke her. He didn’t deserve this, except what did she know?
Maybe he did. She’d heard of men who were lovely partners, only to show their true colors months—or years—later.
In some respects, she’d been lucky; what happened with Samuel could have been much worse.
She drained the rest of her drink. It was more like lukewarm buttered rum now, but she wasn’t going to let it go to waste.
“I’m sorry,” she said, thinking back to several minutes ago, when he’d uttered the same words. “I’m sorry.”
Then she grabbed Dino and ran out the door.