Chapter 4

ChapterFour

Sadie

I change from my airport clothes into a slouchy pink sweater that hangs off one shoulder. I pair it with black leggings and socks that nearly reach my knee. They’re puffy, cream, and Instagram cute. I planned on taking a photo or two in my super cute socks next to a window with a Mountain View and a steaming cup of coffee, posting it. Don’t go thinking I’m social media savvy, I’m not. But Katie is always telling me that I should commit to more than my semi-annual update. She claims one or two a week is sufficient. One or two a week sounds like the third circle of Hell to me. Still, if there’s a place worthy of an Instagram pic, I figured it would be this dreamy house nestled in the Colorado mountains in the cute as a button town (Lucy claimed) that Cottonwood Hollow was.

I had yet to see the town, which isn’t big enough for its own airport. We’d bypassed it, Bruce telling me we needed to beat the storm.

Even in this picturesque place, I doubt I’ll be taking any photos for the gram. And if I do take a photo or two, the chance of me posting it is as good as an alien landing in Nick’s kitchen wearing a Mrs. Claus apron ready to whip up a Christmas treat.

With Nick’s kitchen entering my mind, Nick himself enters. I wonder what he’ll think of my socks. Will he think they’re cute? What would he think of me posting a pic of my socks, of all things, to social media?

Why the hell do people do that? And why does it get so many likes? Thinking about it now? It’s ridiculous. I mean, it’s socks.

Who cares about socks? Who cares about other people’s lives, really? I mean, what is wrong with society? How do we get so caught up in social media when hardly any of it is real?

I don’t get it.

Shoving the thoughts from my mind, I pull my hair into a high pony. I’ve got long hair, and a lot of it. It’s dark, never died. I thought once or twice about going blonde, but the idea was rejected almost immediately every time.

After splashing water on my face in the bathroom, I think about applying some makeup and decide not to bother. Nick had already seen me in the look I told myself was travel fresh. In truth, I simply couldn’t be bothered with makeup for a flight. Actually, I don’t bother with makeup much at all. If I do, it’s a dusting of powder and swipe of mascara. If I’m feeling really into it, a pinch of blush.

Now, though, I’m staring at my suitcase with my makeup bag and wondering—should I?

I don’t want him to think I’m trying hard, though, so I shake off the thought as I settle for, well, just me.

I’m about to leave the bedroom when I hear my phone chime. It’s the chime for my email.

I hurry to it, my heart beginning to beat out of sync when I read Lucy’s name on the screen. Instantly, I’m mad. Fuming. Livid.

I feel betrayed.

I trusted her and she manipulated me.

I thought we were friends. I felt, sincerely, as though the bond we’d created had been honest and special.

Now, I’m not so sure.

How could she?

Sadie,

I suppose now you realize what I have done. I’m sorry. It was never my intention to set out to betray your trust. Your friendship has come to mean so much to me these past six weeks. Getting to know you has meant even more. You are a friend to me. A dear friend. It has always been my intention, however, that the one who answer my ad be intended for my son.

I will have you know now that you are not the only lonely soul to answer my call. After talking with the others, you are the one I chose. It’s not my place to choose a holiday companion for my son, or any companion, I know. What’s done is done. I have my faults. Meddling is just but one.

My son is a peculiar man. A good man, but difficult to know. This difficulty became even more so after the accident. I won’t say much about this for I refuse to betray his trust in such a way. I may be meddling, but I love him. He is my son, my child. Even though he is a grown man, he is my boy, and as I am his mother, I meddle. I won’t deny that I should have sat this one out. But it’s been years—years—he’s been lonely. I couldn’t let another year go by and see him hurt.

His hurt hurts me.

I’m sorry that you got caught in this. But my darling Sadie, I think you and Nick could be friends. More than friends, even. I hope for that. But I won’t hold my breath.

I know my Nick is hard in the same way I know you are soft.

Please enjoy your time with him this holiday.

It’s all that I can ask.

Sincerely,

Your friend, Lucy.

I don’t reply. I’m still mad. But I’m also confused and a little—I hate to admit it—intrigued.

The kitchen is easy to find. It’s attached to a sprawling living room with, yes, a wood burning stove. The house is warm, so warm. I probably don’t even need my sweater. I could have come out in a tank top and been comfortable enough. But I want to feel cozy, and although this house and the blizzard howling outside set the stage for that, my sweater is a bonus.

I’m still surprised at the size of this mountain house. Off the large foyer to the left is a room with a couch, reading chair, and wall of books sits with massive windows overlooking the front yard. Walking in the front door, the first thing you see when you enter is a massive, sweeping staircase that leads to an upper level that is open to a living room below. To the right of the entrance, after passing a large closet, is the hall he led me down with his office, the bathroom, and the bedroom I’m staying in. The kitchen is situated mostly under the second story, hidden from view at the front door by the stairs.

I cast my gaze to the big windows that reach to the vaulted ceiling of the living room and see that the blizzard has yet to let up. Dark night blankets the sky beyond the chaos of white, but in here—in Nick’s house—I’m safe and warm.

Nick is in the kitchen. His back is to me, and he hasn’t noticed me. He’s standing at the counter, but I can’t see what he’s doing from this angle. I don’t move closer. I take a minute to look at him, to take him in. His broad shoulders are muscular under his fitted navy sweater. Dark jeans hug thick hips, and thicker thighs. He really is a massive man. I wonder what he looks like under his sweater. Under his jeans...

I wonder what he feels like.

And then I wonder why I wonder.

Maybe it’s just that I’ve been too lonely for too long.

Maybe this curiosity I have about Nick isn’t really about Nick. Maybe it’s about me. Maybe I need something, someone. Maybe Lucy is right, and I should just give this a shot.

I’m here, aren’t I? It’s not like I can leave.

Until this storm blows over, I’m here. I’m stuck.

I’ve always tried to make the best of a bad situation. Lemonade out of lemons, right?

He must feel me, because he turns, his gaze finding me instantly.

His eyes drag the length of me as he rolls his bottom lip into his mouth, releasing it just as fast. His jaw is, again, hard. But the way he looks at me isn’t just hard. It feels hot.

Butterflies swarm my belly, and in an attempt to ignore them, I force a smile that feels fragile as I skip forward.

“Hey,” I chirp. I sound nervous. Shoot.

“You found the kitchen.”

“Sure did.” I walk closer until I place my hands on the back of a chair at his island. “Are you cooking?”

“You’re hungry.” He turns back to the counter.

“I thought you didn’t cook.”

“I don’t bake.”

“Oh, right. Well, can I help?”

“No.”

“Right.” I tap my thighs to an uncomfortable tune. “Okay then.”

He doesn’t want my help. That’s cool.

Pulling a deep breath, I tug a stool from the island and slide onto it, watching as he recaps the mayonnaise.

“I got an email from your mom,” I tell him hesitantly, and he grunts but says nothing else. I can’t help but wonder at their relationship. “She says she’s sorry.”

Another grunt.

I continue, “Do you think she’s sorry? Because I think she’s scheming.”

This time, he peers at me over his shoulder. He gives me the side of his face that isn’t scarred, his right side. He’s ungodly handsome in a rough, rugged, mountain man kind of way. He’s not polished and smooth. He feels natural surrounded by this hard gray stone. Just like the stone, if I fell, I think this man could cut deep into me. Ruin me.

Pushing away the insanity of my thought, I continue to assess him and can’t help but frown at his lack of beard.

I find it peculiar that he doesn’t have a beard. There’s a shadow of hair on his face, but it’s not enough to hide his scars. I would think if it bothered him like I believe it does, he would try to cover it. But he doesn’t. I wonder why.

I’m not complaining. His scar—it kind of makes him look badass.

That’s probably silly. He probably hates it, but I kind of like it. And the more that I look at him, the more it grows on me.

Geez.

It’s only been a night.

A couple hours and the man is growing on me. I’m crazier than Lucy.

What would happen if I stayed the entire three weeks I’d been planning to stay? And what am I going to do now that my holiday plans are a bust?

I’m probably going to go home and dig the tiny Christmas tree from the little box that I keep in the storage closet in my trailer. I’m going to run a sad string of lights around the tiny Christmas tree and I’m going to hang a few tired bulbs.

I’m probably going to cry.

Maybe I’ll get myself a frozen dinner.

There’s no point in baking an entire batch of Viennese Whirl cookies for just myself. It’s not like I need to gain 20 pounds over the holiday straight in my ass.

“You think she’s scheming?” His deep timbre breaks into my thoughts, and I blink up at him.

“I do, actually.” I give him a firm nod when he turns holding two plates with sandwiches, handing me one and I take the plate. I’m starving.

“What do you think she’s scheming about?”

I give him a cheeky smile as I shift on the chair. “Well, I think she thinks you’re lonely,” I start, gauging his reaction. It’s blank. This man is a hard read. I continue, “And I think she thinks that you need a woman.”

He freezes, his eyes snapping to mine.

I hesitate, but only for a moment before I press, “Do you need a woman?”

“Probably not,” his voice breaks, and he clears his throat, gesturing to the sandwich. “Hope you like Turkey.”

“Who doesn’t like turkey?”

He shrugs. “Who knows? You might be one of those uppity women who don’t like meat.”

“You mean vegetarian,” I correct, fighting my grin even as I assure, “I like meat.”

“Good. We’ll get along fine, then.”

I lift my sandwich to prove my point and take a big bite. Then I moan, because it’s that good and I’m that hungry. I haven’t eaten since this morning, and I’m not one to skip meals. Or snacks. I like food, a truth told by my full ass.

“This is good.”

He adjusts his stance. “Good.”

I’m starting to suspect he’s a man of very few words. This sucks, because I can be a talker.

“Soooo,” I let the word drag. “You don’t think you need a woman?”

He shakes his head.

I know I shouldn’t, but I ask anyway, “Why does your mom think you need one?”

This time it’s his turn to take a big bite of his sandwich. He’s avoiding the question, even I can see that.

It’s not going to work. I can wait. I’m patient.

When he chews, swallows, and takes another bite, I prompt, “No ideas?”

“Don’t know,” he says around a mouth full. “Maybe she wants grandbabies. Who knows?” His tone is rough and just edgy enough to make me feel the need to squirm. I don’t, thank goodness. “You’re a woman. You probably have a better idea than I do.”

This makes me laugh. “You think she’s trying to set you up with a woman for Christmas because she wants a grandbaby?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Like I said, I don’t know. I’m not a woman, and I’m not a mother. I don’t know why she does half the shit she does.”

Definitely getting testy.

“Right.” I should let him off the hook. I don’t. “Well? Do you want kids?”

His eyes come to mine again, and they really are so dark. They’re expressive, too. There’s a lot there. A lot to unwrap. A lot to dissect. I’m not sure, even if I did stay the entire three weeks, if I’d have time to do all that.

“I did once,” he admits softer than I expect.

“Once?” I press gently, suddenly desperate to know everything about this secretive man.

“Life has a way of changing things. Making the things you once wanted—things that were once possible—impossible.”

I shake my head. “Nothing’s impossible.”

He scowls. “You’re delusional.”

“No,” I argue. “I like to think I’m optimistic.”

“We have different opinions on life.”

“It seems we do,” I agree, and I just can’t help myself from adding, “But mine is better.”

He studies me for a beat, chewing, swallowing and taking another bite. When he swallows that bite, he drops a big hand on the counter and leans in. “What was this deal you had with my mother? When you thought you were making it with her?”

It’s my turn to pull in breath. I straighten in my chair, giving a nervous little wiggle. At the movement, his eyes drop down to my waist and he pulls his lip in again. Heat moves through me, and my breath catches in my throat. Clearing my throat, I hope he doesn’t know how affected I am by his eyes on me. “Well, we were supposed to spend the holiday together.”

“Just the holiday?” he presses. “You’re here two weeks before Christmas.”

That I am.“Yep, the plan was for me to spend the two weeks before Christmas and one after.”

His brows snap to his hairline. “You planned to stay for three weeks with a stranger?”

“Mmmhmm.” I take a bite of my sandwich.

“And what now?”

“What do you mean?” I frown.

“Now that you’re leaving after the storm?”

My heart feels like it drops from my chest when he asks that. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to leave, even though there’s a part that can’t wait to flee. I don’t know this man. I was duped into being here with him. I can’t spend my holiday with him, and I shouldn’t want to.

He doesn’t want me here. He wasn’t the one who sought me out. He doesn’t want company. It’s not fair to ask him if I can stay, even though I’m not even sure if that’s what I want.

Clearly, I’m confused. The blizzard is getting to my head.

I lift a shoulder. “I guess I’ll go home.”

He dips his chin, thinking. “Where’s home?”

“Yuma.”

His brows come together. “Where’s that?”

“In Arizona.”

“You’re from Arizona?” He sounds surprised. “And you came to Colorado for Christmas?” There’s laughter in his dark eyes. “How are you liking the snow?”

I laugh. “The snow is cold, but it’s pretty. I think it might be even prettier if I could see past the blowing of it.”

He nods, agreeing with me silently.

I gesture to his windows. “I imagine you have a beautiful view. Lucy talked about it, actually. I imagine she was talking about your view, not hers.”

His eyes come to my face again, and again, I feel hot. “Her view isn’t bad, although it’s in town.”

My head tips to the side. “You don’t like town?”

“I prefer the mountain.”

“Why?”

“I like the quiet. I like peace.”

Of course, he likes peace and quiet. And here I am, a chatty Kathy in his kitchen he did not ask for. I take the hint and quiet as we finish our sandwiches. I don’t know what Lucy was thinking when she decided to package me up and deliver me to this man. I’m no Christmas gift. If anything, I’m a pain in his ass and a thorn in his side. Poor guy.

Not wanting to be more of a pain in his ass, and wanting to do my share while I’m here, I reach for his plate when I round the counter with mine. I find his dishwasher and place both inside as he watches me.

I think he’s curious about me. I think he wants to ask me things like I want to ask him, but this feels weird. Wrong, almost. Definitely awkward. There’s no handbook for how to play this situation.

There’s no advice here.

We’ve been set up.

His deep rumble moves through me when I turn back to face him. “You got someone waiting for you at home?”

I snort, and then I blush. “Define someone.”

His eyes search mine. “Anyone. Is anyone waiting for you?”

“I have Katie.”

“Who is Katie?”

“My friend,” I explain softly. “My best friend since pretty much forever.”

“Is Katie it?”

My voice is small when I nod, wringing my hands. “Yep.”

I don’t look at him, but I can feel him watching me. He’s trying to dissect me in the same way I want to dissect him. Only, I think he might see into me a little easier. Like I’m an easier book to read. My heartbreak is written on my face, scored into the glass of my eyes.

His is in the craters of his scars. I’ll have to dig deeper to expose his hurts. Maybe deeper than he’ll ever allow.

“What about you?” I turn his question on him. I figure it’s fair. He asked, why should I?

“I have Mom and Dad. Lucy and George.”

Tipping my head to the side, I angle my body to face him. We’re not close, but we’re certainly not far. A few feet of space stands between us, and it’s charged. “You know,” I lean my hip into the counter. “I thought she lost him. George, I mean. She talked about him in present tense, though. So, I thought it was recent. I thought her loss was so recent, and she couldn’t bear to spend this holiday alone, that she sought out another lonely soul for herself.” I look down at my feet even though I can feel his gaze sharp on me as I admit. “That’s why I answered. Because I understand what it feels like to be lonely.”

He doesn’t reply right away. In fact, I think he isn’t going to when finally, he moves a little closer, his voice pitched impossibly low. “Why are you lonely, Sadie?”

Oh my God—the way he says my name. I nearly sigh. I feel it inside.

I shouldn’t feel it anywhere.

Suddenly, I’m on guard. I don’t want him to know. I don’t want to give him this power over me.

Because if he knows, he will have power. And he already has too much. He already makes me feel so much—too much.

Keep your heart in check, Sadie. You’re seduced by the holiday. It’s the blizzard. The wood burning stove, the charming mountain house. It is not the man.

But what if it is? What if he’s the one I’ve been holding out for all these years?

What if I could have with him what Mom and Dad had?

Or what if I let hope seep through the cracks in my barely held-together heart, and he shatters it?