Chapter 6
Holly
“The cookies smell amazing!” I’m practically salivating as I pull the tray of lumpy chocolate chip marshmallow cookies out of the oven.
Cliff’s eyes sparkled with little hearts when I pulled the secret ingredients out of my bag.
Yes, will travel with giant-ass telescope, dark chocolate chips, and mini marshmallows. A girl has standards.
Todd high-fives Cliff once he sees the cookies, and now he has heart-eyes, too.
Their dad is still shoveling outside. And while I feel bad that he’s working on what the boys tell me is supposed to be his first days off “in what feels like forever,” I’m glad he’s out there if he’s going to be a grump.
Handsome doesn’t mean he gets to rain on my parade.
I serve each boy a cookie on a plate with hot cocoa.
Dessert before dinner, because—why not? Well, and I have to figure out how to feed the five of us for the weekend.
Luckily, there’s a decently stocked pantry.
Lots of crackers and soup in our future, I suppose.
Mixing a couple cans of the cabin’s minestrone soup with the lentil stew I brought has made a decent enough combination.
Like, it’s a hearty minestrone now. There’s enough cheddar cheese in the fridge and a loaf of bread in my welcome basket, so I’ll fry up grilled cheese sandwiches to go with it.
And tomorrow…we’ll figure out then. Maybe the snow will stop, and Jack will be able to plow his way home with his boys. Leaving me to…spend Christmas alone with my comet. Sigh. That was the original plan, even though it sounds sad now.
Checking my watch, I see it’s civil twilight.
I set a timer for an hour—my first trek out to see the night sky.
I originally planned to leave the telescope set up for the duration of my stay.
But I wonder how it will hold up to all the snow falling.
When I turn from the stove to tell the boys about the timer, I find them deeply engrossed in a game of chess.
At first glance, I know they have to be pulling my leg, making fun of me for pulling out these old-fashioned games.
But they are seriously playing. Todd smirks at his brother as he takes his bishop with his knight.
Cliff immediately retaliates by taking that knight with his other bishop. Impressive.
Dinner is easy. The three of us eat, me telling them some basics about the Kringle Comet. Cliff’s excitement alone is enough to send me to the moon. But even quiet, teenagery Todd asks questions and has insightful comments about our night sky.
I’m only a little worried when I put our dishes in the sink and Jack still isn’t back yet.
Opening my mouth to say something, I pause.
What would I say? They’re just boys. We do have the landline.
I suppose I could call the number on the wall by the phone.
Though…didn’t Jack say that was his number, in case I needed help?
Ironic, as he’s the one I now need help with. Shit.
The lights flicker. Todd, Cliff, and I all look at each other, to the ceiling lights, and then at each other again.
“It’s bound to happen,” Todd says with a sigh, sounding much older than his fifteen years.
Sounding a lot like a grumpy mountainous ranch hand.
I nod and set up the candles that the boys shoved to a corner earlier. Just in case.
When my timer goes off, excitement floods me.
“I’m going to put my coat on and head out to check the comet.
Do you two want to come?” I remember to smile while I invite them, and Cliff shouts with his fist in the air.
Having an enthusiastic six-year-old follow me around at work every day would be a major boost to my self-esteem.
Todd looks wary, but he bundles up too. I grab headlamps for each of us so we can see in the dark.
Boots laced up, I stand at the same time the door flies open, flurries flying in. Jack.
Instantaneous panic floods through me at the sight of him.
Thick snow covers his head and shoulders.
I can’t see his face. He’s hunched over, hands buried in his coat, and at first I imagine he’s injured himself.
Impaled on the snow shovel? I know, sounds ridiculous, but let’s just say my anxiety is at the wheel at this juncture.
Before I can gather my poor wits enough to touch him, help him, he stands. His face is red and white. Eyelashes and stubble are coated in tiny, perfect snowflakes, while his nose and cheeks look sunburned red.
Cliff squeals. Like, a full-body squeal as he launches his small body at his dad’s. That little video clip will live rent-free in my mind forever. The bliss of it all. Todd stands back, but I can see he looks relieved, too.
And then, miracle of miracles. A weird meow erupts out of Jack. Hey-presto! There’s a black and white cat in his mittened hands.
Time stops. Or stills. Or slows way the heck down as I somehow absorb his words, that he was shoveling, scared a cat out of its hiding spot, then chased the damn cat down—his words, not mine—until he caught it. Because he didn’t want the cat to freeze.
This grumpy-ass ranch hand, who doesn’t seem to understand Christmas cheer, just risked frostbite to rescue a cat who really didn’t want to be rescued, all because he was worried about it.
The cat allows the boys to coo over it and pet it, then hops down, purring, and shakes and saunters over to the woodstove to take a bath. Smart cat.
“Can we keep it?” Cliff asks, jumping up and down. Then, “We’ll name it Kringle! Our Christmas cat!” More jumping.
Jack smiles at his son, though his face looks pained—making me wonder if he isn’t also hurt. He murmurs a “We’ll see,” then takes in the sight of us. “Heading outside?” His half-frozen eyebrows rise.
“Yes. Our first comet check of the night.” Todd looks proud as he tells his dad, then shoves his toque back on his head and walks to the door.
“Are you coming?” Cliff asks as he follows Todd. I cringe a little, knowing that Jack has to be frozen. But he just nods, takes the telescope case from my hand, and follows his boys back out into the frozen night.
Though the snow is still coming down, Jack has made a neatly packed trail to what I assume is the backyard.
There’s a slight incline from the cabin, and I’m sure in summer it would be lovely, but in snow boots, snow pants, and a big, heavy snow coat, I’m sweating trying to get to the top of it.
The clearing is also packed, making it mostly easy to set up the telescope.
“I see it!” Cliff says, pointing up to the night sky. A pale white streak is visible just at the edge of the tree line.
“That’s it. It will be brighter tomorrow. Part of my job this weekend is to monitor it.” I line up the sights of the telescope. My first good look at the Kringle Comet takes my breath away—not hard to do in the cold—but still important.
Close up, the comet is almost an icy blue against the night sky.
It’s longer than I imagined it being, even though I’ve read all the specs on it repeatedly.
It’s beautiful. A thing of rock, ice, completely devoid of life, and yet feels like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen; a gift just for me.
“Here,” I say, stepping back so I can have my moment in peace.
It’s probably silly getting emotional over rock and ice. I know it in my head. But my heart refuses to listen; it’s stubborn that way. This is my pride and joy, glowing in the night sky.
I expect lots of “ooohs,” “wow!” and other exclamations of surprise.
But there’s nothing. Silence. When I blink away my tears to look at the trio, they’re silently taking turns back and forth.
It’s like someone turned the volume off on the movie I was watching.
Cliff tugs his dad’s sleeve, and they look at each other with wide eyes, but that’s it.
They understand the assignment. We’re in the cathedral of this comet; silence is needed.
Once we’ve had our fill, I pack up the telescope, hands shaking in the cold. By the time I stand, the boys are already down the slope to the cabin. It’s just Jack and me. “I appreciate you waiting, but I know you’re freezing. I’ll be fine.” It feels weird to break the silence with my words.
Jack grunts something, taking the case from me again, and holds out his other hand to me.
I stare at it, not sure what he’s doing.
“Take my hand. We can support each other back to the cabin.” His voice cracks and rumbles, like stones preparing for an avalanche.
The independent feminist in me bristles at the idea that he doesn’t think I can do it on my own.
But then I see a shiver run down his body.
Maybe he needs me more than I need him. Grasping his hand, we make the trek back to the cozy warmth inside of the cabin.
I slip, or trip, or a yeti grabs my ankle, I can’t be sure, but I know I’m going down, and that despite the fluffiness of the snow, it’s going to hurt.
My body never touches the snow. Jack’s arms wrap around my middle, tight like a vice, and pull me into his chest, hard even through his many layers.
We stand like that, a beat too long. Despite everything being frozen, I can smell his sandalwood scent from earlier today.
It’s the scent of wanting and belonging.
Without thinking, I stretch up and press my lips to his.
Quick, chaste. Enjoying the scratch of his scruff on my lips, and the jolt of desire that strikes me.
I continue on, walking carefully, and he follows without a word.
He stops me at the bottom of the porch. Through the windows, we can see the boys on the sofa with the cat and the Switch. At this rate, we could be gone for days, and they probably wouldn’t notice.
“I know this isn’t what you planned, but thank you for letting us tag along.
I can’t remember the last time I saw Todd this excited about anything other than a video game.
And it’s certainly the longest these two have gone without fighting, possibly since Cliff could hit back.
Who knew a ball of ice in the sky could revive my family? And my heart?”
The last sentence is almost an afterthought; I have to lean in to hear it.
I don’t know what to make of this grumbly man in the snow.
But he’s quickly melting a soft spot in my heart for him.
Smiling, I lick my lips, trying to hydrate them, trying to think of what to say.
‘You’re welcome?’ ‘Glad the snowstorm could work in your favor?’ But luckily, I don’t have to actually say anything.
Jack is kissing me. And this time, it isn’t chaste.