Chapter Twenty-Two
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LIESEL
I wake up disoriented. I feel an arm around my shoulders and look over to see Coop asleep, his head at an awkward angle that’s definitely going to leave him with a kink. And the arm around me is his injured arm, too. I try to right his head carefully, but it drops back to the side.
I grab my phone and take a picture.
I don’t know when we fell asleep, but it was sometime after eleven p.m. It’s midnight now, which means we’ve been stranded together for almost eight hours. And we’ve covered a lot of ground. We’ve had conversations and confessions I avoid with everyone, including my family and even Juliet. I don’t keep her in the dark on purpose, but some things are too hard to talk about.
Somehow, Coop makes them easier. More manageable.
I peek out the window and see that the snowfall has lightened up, but I’m still parked in a sea of cars. I get onto my navigation app and look at the comments for any insight.
Trapper4 : Emergency services finally made it through!
It’s dated an hour ago. They only got through an hour ago? That means this could stretch on until early morning still!
I stifle a groan, instead looking at the other comments. And then my throat catches.
MommaBird22 : Does anyone have food or water? I have three kids, including an infant, and 911 said they can’t guarantee when someone will be here. I’m a hundred yards from the N Kimball Ave exit in a blue Dodge minivan. Please help!
LeeFisch : I’m close! I’ll bring supplies to you.
Her response is immediate.
MommaBird22 : OH MY GOSH THANK YOU!!
I nudge Coop awake. He blinks and yawns, then he pulls me close and kisses my temple.
Um, swoon.
“Is the accident clearing?”
“No,” I say. “We have an urgent mission from the North Pole.”
I show him the message, and he smiles. “Good thing we still have our Santa hats.”
Ten minutes later, we’re trekking through the snow with a crate of waters, protein bars, dried apples, cookies, and more. Coop and I both stuffed bags full of supplies, and we’re waving at drivers and offering goods as we go. One couple takes two waters and four protein bars. Someone else takes a jar of peanut butter and a plastic spoon. Another person takes a blanket and several of the sugar cookies Coop and I made the other night.
And each one of them says a variation of the same thing: “Thank you!”
“Bless you!”
“God bless you!”
And every time, Coop and I say, “Merry Christmas.”
We’re running out of supplies, so we trek the last bit without giving anything out, making sure we have enough for the mom and her kids. When we get to the blue minivan, we hear a baby screaming at the top of its little lungs.
Coop knocks on the window, and the mom whips her head around. When she sees us holding up supplies, she starts sobbing and throws open the door. “Thank you! Thank you so much! Bless you!” She pulls me into a hug with one arm. The snow is still falling viciously enough that she ushers us into the van. Coop climbs into the far back of the van, where a boy of around eight is studying him. I kneel in between the two car seats in the middle row
The mom looks at me. “Can you hold my baby while I make her bottle? We had some water, but my toddler accidentally spilled it while he was drinking. My baby’s so hungry. They all are.”
The little boy in question bursts into tears. “Sorry, Momma! I so sorry!”
“It’s okay, baby!” the mom cries. “You’re being so brave, Tristan!”
Tears spill down my cheeks as I remove my wet coat so I can hold the sobbing baby. I shiver, even though the van is warm. The mom mixes the water and formula quickly. “My milk never came in?—”
“You do not have to justify how you feed your baby!” I say, bouncing and shushing the little baby the way my aunts did when they had little ones. “You’re doing exactly what you should do.” The baby is so tiny in my arms, and she’s crying hard enough that her face is beet red.
The mom shakes the formula and adds a couple of drops of something milky. “Gas drops,” she explains. “May I?”
“Of course.” I hand the baby back to her in the front seat, and she puts the bottle up to her frantic baby’s mouth. The baby makes an urgent, desperate sound and then latches onto it hard and fast. Little hiccups escape her throat, and she does double breaths as she drinks. Her mom whispers, “You’re safe. I love you and you’re safe.”
I don’t know what makes me look at Coop when she says this. But when I do, his eyes are already on mine, and the bravado I’ve gotten so accustomed to is nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looks open, stripped down, laid bare.
In that moment, a frisson of warmth travels from his heart to mine so surely, I can feel it.
And when he pulls his gaze away to talk to the insistent toddler, the feeling remains.
The little boy rummages through Coop’s bag, foregoing the beef sticks and peanut butter crackers for two sugar cookies. His brother takes two more.
“Should we ask your mom?” Coop asks.
“No,” the little boy says, stuffing his mouth with one cookie and then the other.
Coop laughs and gives both boys water bottles. The smaller boy drinks half of it while Coop helps hold the bottle so it doesn’t spill.
“I’m Liesel, by the way,” I say to the mom. “And this is Coop.”
The mom looks up from her baby. “Coop? Holy cow, you’re Cooper Kellogg!”
“Cooper Kellogg works for Santa?” the oldest boy asks, looking awestruck.
“Only when he’s nice instead of naughty,” I say with a wink.
Coop smiles at me before looking at the others. “It’s good to meet you guys. I’m sorry we didn’t see your message before this.”
“I can’t believe you’d risk walking in this storm to help a stranger,” she says, crying again.
“Don’t tell anyone this or it’ll destroy his reputation,” I say, “but he’s actually a really amazing guy.”
“That’s right,” Coop says. “We can’t do anything to shatter my precious reputation.”
I stick my tongue out at him, and the little toddler boy laughs and jams another cookie into his mouth.
“I’m Heather,” she says. “This little angel is Shannon, and the boys are Forrest and Tristan.”
“Where were you guys headed?” Coop asks.
“Rockford. We live in the city, but my parents are there.”
“And what about their dad?” I ask.
“He’s not with us.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
Heather laughs. “No, not like that! He’s deployed. He’s an Air Force doctor, but he’s safe right now.”
“Have you checked in with your parents?”
“Oh yeah. They’re calling every twenty minutes for an update.”
“What can we help you with?” I ask.
“Food and water is all I need. I still have about half a tank of gas. Now if the kids can just sleep, we’ll wait until someone honks and then we can get on our way.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’d take an autograph,” the oldest boy, Forrest, says.
“I’ll do you one better than that,” Coop says. “If your mom gives Liesel her number, I’ll get you guys season tickets. And an autograph.”
Forrest’s mouth drops and he starts crying. “This is the best Christmas present ever!”
When Coop catches my eye, we both smile.
We stay with Heather and her family for another thirty minutes, or so, with Coop talking to the boys and me talking to Heather. Shannon falls asleep almost immediately after being burped, so Heather has me put her in her carseat and buckle her back up. Then Heather smiles.
“You two are angels. You know that? Literal angels.”
“I don’t know about that, but I’m glad we could help.”
“You did more than help,” Heather says, choked up. “You saved us tonight.”
I give her a watery smile. “It looks like your boys are almost asleep, so we’ll head out. But you have my number. Text me if you need anything.”
“I will,” she promises. “Bless you. Bless you both.”
On our way back to the Prius, I feel like I’m floating. I can tell Coop does, too. He’s grinning and waving at everyone he passes, his goofy Santa hat bobbing on his head over his thick winter hat. We pass out the few remaining supplies we have, but not before Coop saves two gingersnaps.
“You haven’t lived till you’ve tried these,” he says when we get back into the Prius. I sit in the driver’s seat, and he’s back in the passenger seat. He hands me one cookie and eats the other.
I take a bite, and I’m hit with molasses and ginger. It’s soft and chewy, and I bet it would be amazing warm.
“We like to put pumpkin ice cream in the middle of two cookies and make an ice cream sandwich.”
“Mmm,” I say, chewing and swallowing. “I want that next time.”
“Next Christmas,” he says.
“It’s a date.”
That sends his lips into an epic, impish grin. “Speaking of dates,” he says, getting closer to me. “We’ve probably had the equivalent of, I don’t know, six tonight. Plus the charity, so really seven. Oh, and that’s not counting the escape room. We’re basically eight dates in. Is that enough for a kiss?”
He’s staring into my eyes, leaning toward me, and my own eyes drop to his mouth. I’ve never paid so much attention to a guy’s mouth as Coop’s. And I’ll take this secret to my grave, but while I never kissed his magazine cover as a fifteen year-old, I definitely kissed the life-sized cutout of him.
I thought my feelings for him were intense then, but they’re nothing compared to what I feel for the real thing. The complex man who holds space for his mom to manage her illness while loving her with his whole heart. The man who performs casual acts of kindness when it doesn’t benefit him in any worldly way. The guy who makes me laugh and lets me grieve but also pushes me to see that more is possible.
I stare at his lips, consumed with a need to know what they feel like. How they taste. “I think you’ve earned it,” I whisper.
Coop’s lips pull into a wide grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Our faces are close enough to taste the cookie on his breath, and suddenly, I know without question that gingersnaps will be my favorite cookie for the rest of my life.
My eyelids flutter closed, and our noses brush. I hear his breath pick up, and my heart beats faster than a drum. His lips pause in front of mine, and the anticipation is worse than having to wait for your parents to wake up on Christmas morning. Then I feel the lightest touch—a skim—and I put my hands to his cheeks and pull him closer.
But he doesn’t yield. Instead, his lips are like a whisper against mine, touching but without kissing.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Your breath smells amazing.”
I laugh, my eyes closed, my cheeks bumping against his. “You’re smelling my breath?”
“I wouldn’t normally, but you don’t know how much I love these cookies.”
“I think I know what you mean.”
Our noses and cheeks are touching, and our lips graze every time we speak. As much as I want to make out with Coop, there’s something deliciously intimate about this … conversation.
But it’s time to move this kiss along, dang it.
I jut my bottom lip out, flapping his with mine. Coop stills, so I do it again, this time letting it linger just below his bottom lip.
And then I tug his lip between mine, and it
Is
On.
HONK! HONK! HONK!
I open my eyes and see lights moving. I moan against Coop’s mouth. “Of all the lousy timing.”
He makes an aggravated growl and pulls back from me just enough to brush my hair out of my face. Then he presses his lips to mine softly, holding it there long enough to earn another honk. We break apart. His lips are the slightest bit chapped, and I make a mental note to put lip balm on before we kiss again.
“This conversation isn’t over,” he says. He sits and buckles up, and I mope but do the same. “Would it have killed emergency services to wait another hour or two?”
“Just an hour or two, huh?” I ask, biting my lower lip.
His eyes burn, and I catch fire. “Sugar Plum, that’s what I’d need to warm up. I could kiss you for days.”
“I guess we should schedule our next date, then,” I say. “When do you get back?”
Coop grimaces. “Shoot. I forgot to check in with my parents. And my phone goes on do not disturb mode automatically at night. She’s probably losing her mind.”
The traffic is moving slowly, as we all funnel down into two lanes. The accident is almost a half mile ahead, but we’re moving steadily enough now. “What’s the flight situation?”
He closes his eyes. “Canceled.”
“How about Midway?”
His fingers are a blur on his phone keyboard. He waits and I watch the road. We’re creeping toward the accident, but once we pass, we’ll need to have a decision quickly about where we go—the airport or … not.
“First available flight is the day after Christmas.”
“Can you fly into another city and rent a car? Or … you could take a bus to another city so you can get some sleep and then drive straight?—”
“How did that work out for the mom in Home Alone ?“
“I’m serious, Coop! There has to be a way to get you home for Christmas!”
“It’s over 20 hours of nonstop driving. I already checked the Greyhound schedule, and it’s full.”
“Take Nate up on the offer to use his jet!”
“I’m not using Nate’s jet.”
“But it’s already Christmas Eve!”
He hesitates, and I grab my phone from the console and give it to him. “Check with Nate.”
He sighs and holds my phone up to my face to unlock it, and then he opens a text and shoots off the request. Nate has to already be asleep, what with it being almost two a.m., yet Coop gets a response within a few minutes, before we’ve even reached the accident.
“No go. His pilot is sick.”
“But maybe he’ll get better in time!”
Coop rubs my cheek with the back of his hand. His warmth makes me incline my head toward him. “Liese, I promise I’ll be okay. And my mom will be, too. You haven’t had a Christmas with your mom in two years, and you’re handling it better than I ever could. So I’m a couple of days late for Christmas with mine. It’s not the end of the world.”
“It’s not the same,” I cry. “If I could spend time with my mom, I would.”
“Yeah, me too. But I’ve spent years hoping for miracles. Just because they haven’t come in the way I wanted, doesn’t mean they haven’t come at all. I have a mom who loves me, and I’m happy with that. I can’t keep killing myself to make things happen when they aren’t in the cards. I’ve done what I could to get home. It didn’t work out.”
He keeps his hand on my face, drawing circles on my cheek with his fingertip. It’s somehow comforting and new and exciting, all at once.
“Well, you’re not going to be alone on Christmas.”
I pull my eyes from the taillights in front of me long enough to see confusion on his brow. “But I can’t go home.”
“I know. But I can.”
He backs up. “You don’t mean what I think you mean.”
“I sure do. Get ready for a Fischer Family Christmas.”