Chapter 11

ChapterEleven

Sadie

I wake up the next morning intent to make Nick breakfast. Who can sleep after a kiss like that, anyway? I couldn’t. I thought about that kiss all night.

The sleep I did get was restless. My body felt achy and hungry and needy…

I knew exactly what I was needy for.

For him.

I wanted him.

I want him.

I might be a virgin, but I’m no innocent to sex.

I know what sex is. I know I’m going to like sex. I know I like my toys. And I like the way that my romance novels make me feel—all the dirty things.

When I finally get down to doing it, I’m going to freaking love it.

I already know that.

Katie knows that.

Mom knew that.

My parents weren’t the conventional, keep you in the dark, parents. My mom became my friend as soon as I turned eighteen. She didn’t just become my friend, though. She became my best friend. Mom and Katie were the women I told everything to.

That means we talked about, well, everything.

And it might be weird, but that includes sex. Since I wasn’t having it—obviously—virgin here, that meant we talked about her doing it. For Mom, she had Dad. Only Dad. Only ever Dad.

So, she told me about her and Dad. She used details, and never did it feel awkward. It never felt like, eww. It was just my closest friend talking about the man she loved, and how lucky she was to love him. But we talked about more than just reality. Like me, Mom was an avid reader of all things romance. I could lay one hundred percent of the blame of my love for dark romance entirely at her feet. We talked about all the kinkery we encountered between the pages of some very risqué books over Mom’s famous margaritas whenever Dad had a night with the guys.

So, I know what sex is.

I know that it’s going to be great. And I know that kiss was a prelude to all that greatness.

And I want it, I really do. But I’ve spent twenty-two years waiting for the man who’s going to be everything for me. Who’s going to be the one for me. I’ve spent twenty-two years dreaming of a love like Mom and Dad had.

So, no, I don’t want to settle for less.

When I do that—when I give my body to a man—I want to know that he’s the man.

The right man.

The one man.

I don’t just want him to be the first man. I want him to be the last man. This day and age with hook-up sites, girl power, and the feminist drive to explore one’s body, maybe this is archaic. Maybe it’s unrealistic. Maybe it’s ridiculous. Ludicrous. Silly. I can go on…

But for me, it’s a dream. It’s important.

I want it.

I want forever.

Maybe Lucy was onto something when she chose me for Nick. Because even though it’s only been a short time, I can’t help that I lay in bed last night and dreamed about forever.

I groan, because I’m ridiculous and being ridiculous sucks. What happened with Mom and Dad was special. Normal people don’t meet and fall instantly into forever. Normal people meet, fall away and come together time and again as they learn and explore and fight and forgive each other. Mom and Dad were once in a lifetime.

But maybe this is my once in a lifetime. Maybe this my chance at my own a special fairy-tale love.

Damn, this is hard, and I’m ridiculous. Seriously. I’m crazy. I belong in the loony bin, lock me up and throw away the key.

Mom and Dad gave me unrealistic expectations of life and love, and I’m a ruined creature. Someone should just put me out of my misery, and by extension save Nick from misery. Because having any nutty woman showing up on your doorstep as a Christmas gift you weren’t expecting and don’t want can’t be conducive to happiness.

Because like I said, I have unrealistic expectations and Nick can’t fulfill them. Maybe he doesn’t want to fulfill them. Maybe it’s unfair to even hope that he can. And maybe I’m just seduced by the blowing snow and crazy insane way that I met Lucy and came to be here. Maybe none of this is real. Maybe everything that I’m feeling is fabricated.

It’s a Christmas wish. But it’s not real. Nick isn’t real.

But what if he is? What if he could be real? What if we could become everything?

What if, like Mom on her girl’s trip to Arizona, I could fall in love on a Christmas trip to Colorado.

What if I could find my forever guy? The one I’m meant to be with by simply answering an ad online, flying to a new State, and falling for the guy on the other side of a big wood door? That would be a story.

We would tell our grandkids, and our grandkids would tell their grandkids because it’s just that epic.

Casting my gaze to the window, I see darkness beyond the white that tells me it’s early. Really early. I’m not sure I should be getting up this early in someone else’s house, but I do want to make Nick breakfast and I have a feeling he’s an early riser. He seems like a get up and go kind of guy. The kind of man who doesn’t like to sit around. The kind of man who gets itchy in his skin when he’s still for too long. So, I want to make him breakfast. Waffles, maybe. With all the toppings and a side of bacon. Surely in all Lucy’s shopping, she remembered to buy bacon.

Yes, I want to make him breakfast. But first, I want to make myself look good. Because I do want him to kiss me again. I want him to want to kiss me I can again. So, I take care getting ready. I pick my nicest leggings, the ones that make my butt look great and I pair them with a thin creamy sweater. It’s just see-through enough that I can see the outline of my bra. My light pink bra.

In the mirror, I dust blush on my cheeks and mascara on my lashes. Then I stand back for a quick study as I call it good. I’m pretty—not try-hard—because I don’t know how to try hard. And if I do try, he’s going to know.

So I keep it like fresh, simple, but pretty.

As I open the door to the bedroom, my hopes of making Nick a waffle breakfast are crushed at the smell of bacon.

I was right. Nick is an early riser, and today isn’t the day I’m getting my starring chance to surprise him with an epic breakfast.

I make my way into the kitchen and just as I expected, I find him at the stove. He’s in another black sweater and faded jeans that hug his ass in the best way. Still, I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed that he’s not shirtless, the muscles in his back rippling as he flips the bacon, entirely unaffected by the bacon spitting hot daggers of grease at his bare torso. His rock-hard washboard abs wouldn’t feel it anyway, because he’d be immune to such things.

The fantasy and the disappointment stems from the copious amounts of romance novels I read.

Again, unrealistic expectations.

This is why I can’t find a man who lives up to my dream of forever. This is why I’m alone. Romance novels. Who’d have thought?

Because in my romance-novel-fantasy he should be shirtless in faded, ripped jeans with the top button undone, serving me eggs, sunny side, two strips of bacon and well buttered toast. With coffee and a sexy-come hither grin, of course.

He’s not in faded, ripped jeans, however. And he’s definitely not shirtless.

And as he turns to bid me, “Morning,” I see that the button on his jeans is also not undone. I bite my lip at the utter disappointment.

“Morning,” I finally return, and he frowns, probably sensing my disappointment. Little does he know that it has everything to do with the fact that the button on his jeans is not undone.

“You sleep all right?”

“Yeah. The bed is lovely, and the duvet is heaven.” I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t want to admit it. But I’m probably going to have to tell Lucy she has excellent taste.”

He barks a laugh. “I’d keep that to myself, if I were you. Her head’s big enough.”

I raise a brow. “That so?”

“That’s so, Sunshine.”

Ignoring the flutter his name for me induces, I slide onto a stool and watch him at the stove. “What are the plans for today?”

I’m hoping that he’s going to say he’s going to go out there in his plaid mountain man jacket, looking hot as hell as he takes on the Colorado storm, and cut down a tree.

Then he’s going to lug it inside like the big mountain man that he is. And he’s going to set it up, and we’re going to decorate it for Christmas. That’s what I’m hoping he’s going to say. My hopes are again, dashed, as it seems to be the theme for this morning.

“With morning light, I’ll head out and make sure everything on the property is good.”

“Good?”

“No trees blocking the road out. Nothing fallen on any outbuildings. No walls blown in by the wind.”

“Don’t people do that after the storm has passed?”

His eyes find mine. “I like order.”

“Oh,” I say. “Well, cool. I’ll help.”

He doesn’t look at me when he rumbles, “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“No.”

“That’s not a better explanation.”

He turns to give me his eyes. They’re firm and unyielding, but so am I. “It’s cold out there. Visibility is low. Trees are and have fallen. The wind is violent. It’s not safe and you have no experience, so, no.”

I might be sitting on the stool, but my hands still find my hips. “It’s a snowstorm, Nick, not a hurricane.” There’s a twitch to his lips that makes me think he likes it when I throw him sass.

“I’ve been doing this alone for years, Sunshine. I don’t need help.”

“Well, you don’t have to do it alone today.” I flash a determined smile that cuts through the grin twitching on his lips. “I’m here.”

He doesn’t seem to know what to say to this. So, I just ask, “Is the coffee done?”