Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nima had to blink several times as he took in the scene before him.
Steam rose from the mug of hot chocolate in his hands.
Bing Crosby crooned Christmas classics from a speaker in Mari’s living room.
The mid-afternoon sun bathed the snow outside her house in a soft golden-yellow glow.
And Mari, ankle in an air cast, and with red garland draped over her shoulders, strung multi-colored lights around the little Christmas tree now perched on her table.
He’d had sex with Mari last night. Then she’d asked him to sleep with her in her bed. And as they’d snuggled up naked, her fingers threading through his fur in a way that made him purr with contentment, she’d suggested he stay in town and remodel her bakery.
He should pinch himself. Maybe he’d been the one smacked by a falling tree, and he was unconscious and dreaming all this.
Then his gaze snagged on the envelope that held their divorce papers, now water-stained from falling in the snow.
As he stared at it, the dishes in the kitchen rattled from another aftershock.
No, not a dream. He didn’t remember their wedding, and earthquakes were nightmare material for him.
“I’m sure all the shaking will end soon,” Mari said while giving his arm a light, affectionate squeeze, which both comforted and unsettled him.
How am I going to walk away from this? She let go when the shaking ended and gestured to a shoebox.
“My decorations are in there. Do you want to unwrap them?”
Nima set his untouched drink on the table before opening the box. He removed a tissue-paper bundle, from which he unwrapped two ceramic stars. They looked familiar.
“Do you remember making this?” Mari asked as she scooped up a star.
“I do,” he admitted, recalling how he’d painted the miniature scene of a log cabin, like the one they were in now, with green and purple northern lights in the night sky overhead.
Mari found a branch near the top of the tree. “I like to hang this one by a clear bulb to light it up.”
How odd that Mari had this ornament and hung it prominently on her tree each year.
Holding up a blue star with a white blob in the center, she asked, “Do you remember this one too?” She looked up at him expectantly.
He did, and his heart clenched as a memory flooded back. Her bright, eager smile as she displayed the tile for his approval, holiday music, much like they listened to now, playing in the background. “It’s me,” he said. “You painted me with no clothes on.”
Glancing from the ornament to Nima and back, she said, “Kind of saucy for a fourteen-year-old. I hadn’t even seen you naked at that point.” She paused, her cheeks darkening as if she suddenly had the same memory he did.
He raised an eyebrow. “You had. We used to skinny dip in your grandparents’ pond.”
“But that was way before we even thought about kissing or sex or . . .”
Or marriage. Nima wouldn’t voice that thought.
Mari waved a hand and continued, “Or any adult things.”
“True,” Nima conceded as he took the ornament from her.
Around the time he’d started thinking about kissing Mari, he’d stopped stripping down to swim, more conscientious about his body with his hair-trigger sheath and growing feelings toward her.
He ran his thumb over the smooth surface, nearly overwhelmed at all the memories they shared, then looped the star’s frayed ribbon over a branch.
Mari’s ornaments were all handmade. Some were crafted with more skill and talent, like the felted raven with a red cranberry in its mouth, which hung next to a tiny, faded, ten-inch-long paper chain.
“There,” Mari said, placing a beaded snowflake at the pointy top. She leaned into Nima as she admired their work, and he automatically pulled her to him, reveling in the special moment. “The tree is cute, even though it tried to kill me. It’s exactly the right size for my decorations.”
“Next year I suggest procuring a tree a different way,” he said, with humor he didn’t really feel.
With Mari at his side, Nima’s mind began playing the what-if game. What if he hadn’t had mushroom tea or all the alcohol offered to him at Burning Man? What if he hadn’t lost his phone? What if they’d never traveled to Nevada?
But he quickly shut that down. Again. They were together now.
He’d woken up in bed with her, cooked her breakfast, and they’d decorated a Christmas tree.
They had today and tomorrow while she was healing.
He had to stop questioning things, even if they seemed too good to be true. The other shoe didn’t always drop.
Nima checked the time. “The pizza will be ready soon. Are you sure you’re up for the trip?”
“Absolutely,” Mari said, grabbing her crutches. With his assistance this morning, she’d pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a seasonal, red and white sweater her grandmother had knit. “I was in bed all day yesterday, and we’ll be home tomorrow for the holiday. I want some fresh air.”
There wasn’t much traffic on the drive into Wildwood. Though Nima had been in the area for months, he hadn’t traveled into town. “That’s new,” he said, pointing to a mini-mall where a forested lot had once been.
“It houses a dentist, an optometrist, and a tax specialist,” Mari relayed. “They’ve been around for almost eight years.”
Not so new then. He’d been away for so long. Unfamiliar businesses and buildings stood among a few older establishments. As a yeti, Nima had never spent much time on Main Street. Despite the welcoming holiday lights twinkling in windows, he felt like an outsider in his own hometown.
“Take this left,” Mari suddenly directed.
Nima hadn’t been driving fast, but slid several feet on the ice and snow to make the turn.
“Sorry, you probably don’t know the brewery’s new location.
They built a large multi-story venue.” She pointed to a hulking modern structure sided with natural wood and corrugated steel.
“Pull around back and park next to the staircase.”
“Business must be good,” Nima commented, following her instructions as he eyed the size of the building and the number of vehicles parked outside, even on Christmas Eve. Clearly, folks in Wildwood liked their beer, pizza, and live music.
While Mari waited in the truck, Nima jogged up the covered staircase in the growing darkness, his fur and blue face hidden by his hood.
Once inside, he found the pizzas ready and awaiting pickup.
Nima didn’t see another soul as he collected their holiday dinner.
He paused after exiting the building, taking in the view from the second-floor landing while he filled his lungs with cold winter air.
Rosy alpenglow colored the snowy mountains around Wildwood.
While the surrounding peaks remained a permanent fixture, it seemed everyone—he glanced down to Mari—and everything had changed since he’d been gone.
That shouldn’t have surprised or unsettled him.
Change was the only constant. He knew this and yet couldn’t help feeling like he didn’t belong here anymore. But then, where did he belong?
Nima shook off the melancholy and descended the stairs. It was Christmas Eve, and he was spending it with Mari. They’d soon be feasting on the best pizza on the planet. He’d hopefully sleep in her bed again tonight. Life was good right now. There was no room for doubt.
While Nima stacked pizza boxes on the kitchen counter, Mari sat by the front door wiping melted snow off the bottom of her air cast. At least it wasn’t dirt. Thank goodness she only needed the thing for a few days.
Their trip into town had been short, but cozy. She enjoyed riding around with Nima and reacquainting him with Wildwood. “Let’s reheat the pizza so it’s crispy and hot,” she suggested.
He turned on the oven and opened the boxes. “Which one should we heat first?”
She grinned at him. “Your favorite, of course.” When he grinned in return, her stomach fluttered, like it had when they were young and in love.
He slid the pizza into the oven. Then they both stilled when the purr of an engine sounded from the driveway.
Nima peered out the small window by the door, careful to stay hidden.
She couldn’t blame him. Not all Mari’s friends were yeti-friendly.
“Do you know anyone who drives a silver Subaru?” He turned on the porch light, illuminating the door and the vehicles outside.
“My sister, but she’s in Hawaii.” Nima helped Mari stand. They watched Kat slide out of the car, then eye the piles of sawdust and stacked wood before walking around her vehicle and opening the hatchback.
Nima glanced at Mari. “I thought she wasn’t due back until after the New Year?”
Mari was equally confused. “She wasn’t.” Kat slung a bag over her shoulder, then walked toward the cabin.
“Did she call or message you?”
Heat flamed Mari’s cheeks. She grabbed her crutches and swung herself over to the table.
When Nima had shown up the night before last, she’d ended her call with Tseten and tossed her phone on her table.
“I haven’t checked my messages since the accident,” she sheepishly admitted as she picked her phone up.
It was dead, as expected. “I didn’t want to worry my family.
I would have called them tonight since it’s Christmas Eve.
” She flashed him a grimace as Kat approached the door.
“Given the earthquake, perhaps I should have done that already.” Truth was, aside from recovering, she’d been too focused on Nima to think about anyone else.
Nima opened the door for Kat. He smiled and raised his hand in greeting, but Kat, tanned from the tropical sun, stopped dead in her tracks. Cold air billowed into the small cabin as she took him in and muttered, “The fuck . . .?”
“Come in, Kat,” Mari motioned. “I can’t afford to heat the outdoors.” She sounded exactly like their father and inwardly rolled her eyes.