12. Chapter 12

Spending the morning with Kane was nice and refreshing. It helps that he is a total hottie. There’s just something about his deep voice that puts me at ease. I could listen to him talk all day—honestly, the man should narrate a goddamn audiobook. Once I calmed down and stopped acting like a total embarrassment in front of him, we had the best time talking about our favorite parts in the movie and naming our other favorite holiday movies. Turns out, we have a lot in common in the holiday movie department. He’s nice, too. Not only did he check the property line and report it clear of any tracks, but he also offered to fix me a sandwich since—according to him—I’m on vacation and I deserve a little break. I told him about the pizza, offering him leftovers but he insisted on making me something fresh. He knows most of the restaurants won’t be delivering before everyone on the mountain has had some time to dig out. Kane even said if the roads are still bad in the morning, he wouldn’t mind coming down to make breakfast, or picking me up to eat at his place. He has a home theater, and he suggested a movie marathon. Maybe he has mistletoe and he’ll kiss me under it too, and then we will fall madly in love. What about Tyler? My heart cries.

I’m done with Tyler. This is my chance at a holiday romance, the good karma I deserve after he cheated on me. So what if none of this is practical? Sure, maybe it sounds a tad delusional but it’s exactly what I need to get over Tyler— or I fear my heart will never heal. We’d been together for four years, and it feels like the ultimate betrayal. How could he do this to me after asking me to pick up my entire life and move away with him? I thought we were in love. A teardrop escapes, rolling slowly down my cheek. Then another, and another. Pretty soon I’m crying my eyes out next to the still warm and crackling fire. Why did it have to be like this?

Sighing, I dry my tears, take a deep breath and wander into the kitchen for one of those delicious-looking cookies. I select a Christmas tree-shaped one and take a bite. The cookie melts in my mouth. It’s the perfect combination of soft with a bit of crisp on the outside. It has the faintest flavor of peppermint to it, and mixed with the vanilla undertones in the sugar cookie, it gives my tastebuds an orgasm of their own. Kane must have been a chef in his past life, because these cookies are far too scrumptious for him to be an amateur baker. I savor each bite and then select another. This time opting for a fancy reindeer, complete with a Red Hot for its nose. If I don’t get away from these cookies soon, I’m going to end up wearing them all. I stand from where I was perched on a chair at the kitchen island. Deciding that getting lost in the pages of a book is exactly the distraction my brain needs. The sun is falling in the afternoon sky, which means it should be directly pouring into the glass room I so desperately wanted to explore. I stuff my phone into my pocket and nibble my cookie as I meander my way to Uncle Dexter’s office. My plans for curling up with a book consume my thoughts. As outside, the sun fights its way through the swirling snow that is falling from the sky again. Man, did I underestimate the storm . But I wouldn’t change this for anything. Everything about this place is quiet and serene. And now that I’ve met Kane, it’s giving me something to at least fantasize about—no matter how unhealthy my therapist might say this is.

When I step into the office’s attached sunroom, I look around in awe at his bookshelves. It’s a two-story room, which I didn’t notice last time. The upper level is filled with rows of bookshelves. Downstairs there are double French doors that lead to the sunroom. The beautiful piano I noticed my first time in here rests regally in a sitting area. It looks like it has never been played. My fingers flex at the thought, remembering all those piano lessons my mom and dad paid for. Immediately, I’m drawn to it, pausing only to run my fingers over small familiar trinkets from my time spent here on rainy days as a child. I remember Uncle Dexter and I used to play our own version of hide-and-seek where I used to wander around until something caught my eyes, then I would bring it to him and he would tell me all about how the object came to live in his office. I used to love listening to his stories about the places he traveled and the people he met. My fingers brush over a rock on the edge of his desk and read the messy scrawled letters that spell out I love you . My heart twinges with the pain of the memory. I made that for him the last summer I spent up here because I wanted him to have a special paperweight. That year was especially windy and one day when I came bursting in from the patio—where the sunroom is now—his papers blew everywhere and made such a mess. I felt terrible for days and this rock that I rolled all the way up from the lake was my attempt to say I was sorry and make things right. Uncle Dexter was never mad at me to begin with, though, and thinking about it now, that’s probably why I felt so bad. He was completely unfazed by the mess, and instead made a game of picking up all the papers with me while pretending to be a pirate hunting a treasure. My heart is missing him. I miss that I never got to experience those moments again after the falling out—and I hate that I never made time for him in my adult life until the end.

Before I start to cry again, I let my fingers fall from the smooth surface of the rock and walk over to the piano. The temptation to tap out a tune on the keys is too overpowering to resist. I slide into position on the bench, wiggle my butt, and sit up straight. It’s been a long time since I’ve played the piano, but I think I can still play Heart and Soul. I’m trying for the umteenth time to get the correct note when the doorbell rings.

That’s odd, I think for all of five seconds before playing out an entire scene in my head where I open the door to find the very handsome, very charming Kane standing on the doorstep. Hello, sexy caretaker. Are you here to take care of my needs? I think to myself, before the bell rings a second time. I rush to the front door and swing it open, thinking nothing of who or what might be on the other side, only hoping that it is Kane I find on the other side. To my disappointment, there’s no one at the door. There is, however, a gift bag on the porch with a card on top addressed to me. How strange. It’s one of those extra fancy bags and as I step forward from the safety of the doorway to retrieve it, I suddenly become hyper-aware that the sender could still be watching me. With an abundance of caution, I pick the bag up gingerly and step back inside, twisting the deadbolt into the locked position behind me. As I dive into the contents, not bothering to open the card first, my face falls. Could this be from Tyler? He’s supposed to be in Florida, but who else would send something like this? There’s also the chance that it’s the wrong house and maybe not even intended for me. God, I really hope blocking Tyler didn’t fuel the fire, and he didn’t come up here. I don’t want to see him. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to walk away a second time.

My mind is racing in a million directions and I’m feeling all kinds of strange conflicting feelings for Tyler, or maybe I’m thinking about Kane. I don’t know. Everything feels like it’s whooshing around me—as if the world is passing me by—and all I want is a happily ever after. I pull the card out, needing to know who sent this. My finger slides gracefully across the paper to reveal a Christmas card. I flip it open to read the greeting. Below the standard holiday wishes in every Christmas card ever printed, my eyes stumble across the messy handwriting. I read the words over a few times and instantly assume it has to be from Tyler, but after intensely studying it for I don’t know how long, I realize the handwriting looks nothing like his. The note reads:

Put this on and don’t think twice. You’ve been naughty instead of nice.

It must be from Kane—or maybe I just desperately want my incredibly handsome caretaker to also be my secret admirer. My hands tug the paper out at rapid speed, pulling out the sexy lingerie set, which ends up falling out of its wrapping and landing at my feet. I bend down to retrieve it, genuinely curious as to what it’s supposed resemble, so I casually undress in the middle of the entryway, no longer worried about who might have left it on my step.

Once I’ve squeezed into the skimpy little outfit, I race to the bathroom for a look in the mirror, and to clip the adorable little furry ears with jingle bells into my ponytail. For a reindeer outfit, it’s pretty cute. The brown mesh bra top lends itself to being see-through, while the black leather jingle bell-lined band encircles my chest. The straps are also black with jingle bells. There’s a sheer lace thong beneath the super-short pleated, faux leather skirt that doesn’t completely ride up my ass and feels like it was designed for a woman with more curves like myself. Turning in the mirror, I notice my ass cheeks are hanging out like crazy. For once, I actually feel sexy in lingerie. I’m not the least bit ashamed of my reflection. It’s like whoever sent it knows their way around a woman with curves. I grab my phone and snap a few sexy photos. I’m not above posting these to hurt Tyler… or maybe I should accidentally send them to hottie caretaker Kane. Would he drive down here in his truck to ravish me? I grin. Maybe it’s actually from Kane, because the things Tyler bought for me never made me feel sexy or confident. My heart beats faster. Another clue that it’s not Tyler. I actually squeal. I can feel the dampness in the thong panties as I let the excitement sink in and I’m still admiring myself in the mirror when I hear a loud thud coming from the backdoor, I let out a scream. Terrified someone is breaking in to have their way with me. Or maybe that’s just what I want to happen. The adrenaline pumps through my body as I race through the house to the backdoor, hoping to find myself a good time.

I scream again. This time it’s a blood-curdling, heart-wrenching scream. My body shakes. To my horror, there is a large deer lying on the back porch. It probably ran right into the glass, not realizing it was there. With the blowing snow, it’s hard to see anything. My heart drops when I realize it’s not getting back up. I stand there in complete panic, unsure of what to do or who to call.

I’m frozen in time, staring at the unmoving animal, watching for signs of life, anything. But the giant creature continues to lay still. My phone is in the bathroom where I left it when I ran out here. I slowly back my way into the hall, not wanting to tear my eyes away from the animal. When I reach the protection of the long hallway, I turn on my heels, bolting to the bathroom to grab my phone. I don’t know who to call. Do I call the police? A shudder runs over me. No. That sheriff is way too creepy. I hope I never see him again for as long as I live. Do I call my parents? What would they do, Hazel? It’s not like they can drive up here, genius. Except there is someone who said if I need anything, to simply give them a call.

I dash to the fridge where Kane’s business card is held up by a clip magnet. My fingers tremble as I punch in the numbers on the phone. When it finally connects, the phone rings and rings. I hold my breath, waiting for the person on the other line to answer. Praying he picks up.