Chapter Eight

Nick

“Not like you to miss a show,” Sam says as the last kid hops through the snow with his candy cane in hand. The weather has picked up again this afternoon and I need to get home to Emma. It’s been four hours, and though I’ve texted three times, I haven’t heard anything back. I’m sure she’s busy baking and getting to know Mrs. R. better, but I hate not being there.

“Everyone got their gift, and the parents are happy. All is fine.” I walk past the rows of pine trees in the barn and nod toward the girls at the front counter who are getting the registers ready for closing. “Like you said, I’ve never missed a show. It’s one day.”

“What’s going on with that Emma girl? I’m worried for you, man. We can’t have Santa hanging off some girl half his age.”

I realize Sam is coming from a good place, and I get that he’s only trying to help, but I swear to fucking God, if he says one more word, I’m going to put him into the snowbank.

“She’s just a friend. I’m helping her. Besides, last night you were all for me going for it.”

He laughs. “I was fucking kidding. I thought you knew that.”

I shake my head. “You’re about to let a woman pay you for your time like some kind of fucking gigolo. Maybe you get your fuckin’ head out of the snow before you come after me.”

“I ain’t done shit yet. You were up on the hill about to fuck that girl in broad daylight.”

I hate myself for that moment. I’d have rather been anywhere else with her. I want our first time to be special, perfect, memorable, but things were happening. I hate my brother more for bringing it up so casually.

I toss the Santa hat into the back of the truck before climbing in and turning toward Sam. “Stay the fuck out of it.”

Sam stares toward me with broad shoulders and a downturned expression that reminds me so much of the one my father used to dole out when he was disappointed in one of us. I fucking hate it!

“You’re going to fuck everything up with the family for this girl,” he groans, holding that asshole stare firmly. “Don’t do it.”

“The guys are all with younger women. It’s not a big deal.”

“They’re not you. Get your shit together, man. I’m serious.” Sam’s tone is flat and firm. Another echo of my father. “How can you not see the difference? Get it together.” He slams the door shut, and though I want to get out and beat the shit out of him, I know deep down he’s right.

I have no business with Emma. She’s young, innocent, and last I checked, she’s mentally unstable.

What the fuck is wrong with me, and why do I want more? I know the right thing to do is go home and avoid any talk of sex. But smelling her, tasting her, feeling her depths, breathing her in… how do I go stand next to her knowing I’ll never be inside of her? Never knowing what it feels like to sink between those thick thighs and paint her walls with my seed.

Snow falls heavier, covering the back roads with white as I drive toward the little cabin I’ve called home for the past ten years. It’s not a big place, but rather a two-bedroom bungalow with a single bath and a kitchen that’s suddenly not good enough. I need more countertop space, a second oven, and a place for her to wrap and cool her cookies.

I need a third and fourth bedroom for a couple of kids and a tire swing out back for lazy Sunday afternoons. I need to remodel the bathroom so she has enough room to do whatever she wants. The one I have now is a single bath. Hell, I should probably add a second bathroom for the kids too.

I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly as reality settles back in. As much as I want a life with Emma, I’ve got to put an end to this fantasy before I start believing it too.

Friends. Really good friends is where this needs to end.