24. SIERRA

CHAPTER 24

SIERRA

I t smells amazing. Line pine, cinnamon, steaming hot chocolate with little marshmallows floating on the surface. Like the warmth of a cozy fireplace and cheer and happiness. I inhale deep, trying to absorb as much of it as I can, and that's when it clicks in my sleep addled brain.

What it really smells like is… man. Laundry detergent, clean skin and deodorant.

I keep my eyes closed, just letting my other senses paint a clearer picture. The next thing I notice is that I'm rising and falling ever so gently, which makes absolutely no sense until I finally understand why I'm so warm. It's because I'm lying half on top of Conor. My head rests on his shoulder and I have one arm over his chest. In fact, my hand is curled around his neck. Most problematic is that I have one of his thighs trapped between my legs all possessive-like.

And I can tell this is my doing, because Conor is still out cold on the carpet, his arm trapped between the base of the couch and my back. His steady breath fans over my face, which is what buoys me every so often. His free hand holds my arm in place .

I shift my head back by minuscule increments, but my nose brushes with the beard at his chin and it makes him twitch. Conor squeezes his eyes behind his glasses—which somehow managed to stay put—and after a deep breath, he opens his eyes.

And they keep widening some more after catching sight of my curly hair so close to him.

"Um, hi," I say with a voice raspy with disuse. Conor doesn't even move an inch, which also makes it impossible for me to guess whether my breath stinks or not. That's something I've never had to worry about until this literal moment.

"Hi." He blinks fast, maybe not yet processing but certainly not making any effort to let go. "What time is it?"

I haven't the foggiest clue nor the slightest interest in moving so I can find out. All I do is cast a glance around. Bright light streams in through the windows, which is not at all what I expected. The last time I remember closing my eyes, it was nighttime but early. Maybe around eight? We had only been wrapping presents for a little while.

Crap, did we sleep like twelve hours?

Groaning, I push away from his chest and sit back. Conor hisses and I freeze. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No." He snorts. "The problem is that I like it too much."

It being that I'm straddling his thigh. As I jump away, I echo what I said last night. "Oops. Definitely too early for that in this relationship."

Or is it? Because as I watch him sit up, how those wide shoulders of his stretch the fabric of his clothes, and I realize that I just had my head lying on one of them… I kinda want to backtrack and say it's perfect timing. That we can definitely keep snoozing or…

Conor lifts the knee farthest from me and sets his arm on it, propping himself up with the other one. Does he know how good he looks that way? With his hair a royal mess from sleep? With his brown eyes staring at half mast?

My eyes catch on something I hadn't noticed before. The T-shirt under his open flannel shirt has bunched up, showing a sliver of his hip muscle. My tongue is a lump in my mouth but somehow I manage to swallow and not salivate in front of him.

"You keep saying that word." Conor's voice is velvet wrapping around me. I have to shake my head to make the words fall in the right order in my mind.

"What word?"

"Relationship."

I lick my lips to stall, but I don't know how to navigate this. Every guy I've dated has approached me first, but they've also left me before things could really become official. In contrast, I have yet to go on a formal date with Conor, but I already know I don't really need to. He's more than I ever dared to dream about and for some reason, he has bad enough taste to like me back.

"Is… is that an issue?" I wait with bated breath for an ax to fall.

But this former hockey player turned lumberjack says, "Nope. But I didn't want you to feel pressured into labels if you didn't want to." He runs his free hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "Besides, this hasn't been quite, uh, conventional."

"Does it have to be?" I shrug and run my hands over my thighs, trying to shake off the last of my nerves. "Who said we have to follow a formula to be together?"

His eyebrows rise. "Does that mean you don't want to go out on a date with me after all?"

"Not on one, but I'll settle for hundreds of them. Maybe thousands." I scoot over the short distance back to him and grab a fistful of his T-shirt to pull him closer. "What I mean is, I don't need to go to some overpriced restaurant with you and make small talk to figure out that I want to be with you."

Conor holds my neck, applying delicious pressure to the back of my head to bring me closer. His eyes singularly focus on my lips as he says, "How funny, I feel the same way."

"Wait." He freezes, eyes lifting to mine. "Does my breath stink?"

The corner of his lips lifts. "To be honest?—"

"Oh, no." I slap a hand over my mouth.

Chuckling, Conor shifts to free his other hand so it can remove the barrier. "You could spend a whole month without showering or brushing your teeth and you'll still smell better than a locker full of sweaty jocks."

"Oh, okay." I nod my head. "I guess that means you're up for a stinky morning kiss, then?"

"Very much up for it, yes," Conor responds with a solemn nod. "You? I mean, I haven't exactly spent the whole night eating peppermint candy."

I crash my laughing mouth on his and I decide it's a waste of time to worry or to even try to brush my teeth, when I can better spend it like this. In Conor's arms—well, not exactly. I'm just leaning over him. But as the kiss gets more intense and my hands on his shoulder and chest aren't enough to keep me upright, I feel him grab my hips and lift me onto his lap with no resistance from my end.

A gasp escapes from my throat as he settles me down easily and even wraps my arms around his neck. "How's that?"

"Me gusta." I shake my head again. "I mean, I like it. How about we don't move for the rest of the day?"

"If only." He leans closer to trap my lower lip between his. One of this hands stays firmly on my hip as the other one travels, first going backward to the curve of my butt, inching up towards my back and leaving a trail of tingling fire. "This is way better than wrapping presents. "

I'm about to suggest maybe unwrapping each other when buzzing starts from somewhere nearby. I ignore it in favor for another kiss, this time rising on my knees so I can control it. I run my fingers through his hair and it makes his chest vibrate with a groan of those that shut my brain off.

Or would, if it wasn't for the incessant buzzing.

Our lips make a loud smacking sound as I tear apart. "That's a phone, isn't it?"

"Maybe?" Conor squeezes his eyes shut, his nose wrinkling in an adorable way. "Can we keep pretending we're in a secluded cabin in the woods?"

"We are in a secluded cabin in the woods." I chuckle and peck him in the lips. I love that even though we're very open about what's going on between us now, his face is still as red as a tomato. It makes me wonder if the rest of his skin looks just the same under his clothes.

"Right." Sighing, he opens his eyes. "How about this, if it's nothing important we keep making out for a bit and then get back to work."

"Sounds perfect." I drop another little kiss on the tip of his nose and Conor squeezes my hip in return. One of the saddest things I've ever done is crawling away from him right now.

Our movements are equally as lethargic as we look around for our phones. Conor finds his first among the cushions on the couch and shakes his head. It must mean that the buzzing was from mine, and when it starts back up I locate the offending device face down on the coffee table, under a mound of unused wrapping paper.

I pick up my phone and two things register at the same time. First, it's eight thirty in the morning. Second, the one calling is my mom. I connect the two dots in an instant.

I've been missing in action for about twelve hours.

"Mom, I'm okay!" I say as greeting the second I pick up the call .

"Sierra Fernandez!" Her screech is so loud that even Conor shrinks. "Where the hell have you been? Your father and Grammie and I are freaking out?—"

"Grammie?" I gasp. "But her hypertension?—"

"You come home right this second and explain yourself!"

Then the line goes dead. Which means…

"Oh, I'm so dead."

"Quick. Let's take you home." Conor jumps to his feet in a second and starts gathering around my stuff strewn about his living room, starting by the one shoe I managed to remove in my sleep, and even my purse.

I whimper.

Conor's lips twitch but he manages to stay serious. "Get up, Sierra."

"I know I have to, but that's the start of my death march."

He sets all my stuff at the end of the couch and starts putting on his winter layers. "It's going to be okay."

"No, you don't get it." I've lost all desire to live, but somehow pull myself to my feet and start donning my outer layers. "Latin American parents are… Even more specifically, my parents are really old school. They're going to leap to conclusions I have no way of proving otherwise."

Conor stops by the door. "I'll be your witness, then."

I choke in the middle of wrapping my scarf around my neck. After thumping my chest hard, I say, "Do you have a death wish? If you so much as pop your head into the discussion you'll lose it."

"Worth it." He shrugs. "Let's go."

"Conor!"

"I assume the more we tarry, the more they'll theorize?"

"Shit. Let's hurry."

We tumble out of Conor's house and the hurrying ends right there. The outside has become a field of white blanketing the pine trees, the ground, and more importantly, Conor's pickup truck that brought us here.

He rubs the top of his head over his beanie. "New plan, I'm gonna start shoveling and in the meantime, you call your parents to let them know we'll be there within the hour."

"Okay, and then I help you." We nod to each other and get to work.

*

"Stay in the car," I say as I unbuckle my seatbelt.

"Nope." But Conor's faster and he's out of the vehicle before I can even process.

Yelping, I try to move faster. Except, I slip as I get out of the car and latching on the door gives him enough time to walk around it. I watch as if everything was happening in slow motion—Conor rushing over to help me at the same time as Mom and Dad open the front door.

"Sierra Fernandez!"

This is when Conor catches me in his arms, legs spread wide to balance our combined weight. We both turn to my parents.

Dad's face is purpler than I've ever seen it and he's gnashing his teeth in a way that looks painful. Meanwhile, Mom holds up her cellphone like she's taking a picture of us. Our front yard isn't very long, and the nearness helps me catch a tinny voice coming from the device.

"?Grammie? ?Estoy bien!" I scream from the sidewalk.

"No. You. Are. Not!" Dad grouches back and points a finger at the porch floor. "Come here right this second."

"I'm going to let you go slowly," Conor whispers in my ear. "Ready?"

"No. Yes." I grab onto his arms until my feet are firm on the frozen path. To my family, I say, "I can explain. "

Dad turns his index finger into the house. "In! Now."

Goodness. I've never heard him speak in syllables alone. I'm really done for this time.

I shrug my purse strap higher and trudge at a snail pace.

"?Y ese quién es?" Grammie asks from through the phone, and that's when I see Conor following after me.

"I said stay in the car," I half hiss, half whisper.

"No." The set of his eyebrows is as stern as I've ever seen it and I figure I can't help a man who is bent on marching to his death.

No one says anything until we're secure inside the house, away from our snooping neighbors. I didn't see anyone openly watching, but I have no doubt they were.

Once the door is closed, Dad rounds on me. "?Explícate, se?orita!"

I draw in air and explain, "Conor and I were working on the office event but we were so tired from everything that's been going on, that we fell asleep and woke up with Mom's phone call. That's the honest truth, cross my heart and hope to die."

"Fell asleep?" Dad's eyes bulge.

"Is that how kids are calling it these days?" Mom grumbles, still holding the phone up.

"Que alguien me diga qué pasa," Grammie says from her end.

Mom starts translating for her, but Dad's not done with this. He lifts an accusing finger at Conor. "You! Who the hell are you and what are your intentions with my daughter?"

"Um, I'm sorry for greeting you this way but my name is Conor Mahoney and I'm…" He blinks at me. "Whatever Sierra wants me to be?"

I press my lips tight so I don't laugh, groan, or intone any epithets that could get me in further trouble. Dad shifts his angry gaze between Conor and I, and I can practically see the gears in his mind churning.

"Her chauffeur?" Dad asks.

My jaw drops.

"Yes." Conor is nonplussed.

"Organ donor?"

"Hopefully we don't get to that point but sure."

I snap my mouth closed and look at Mom, asking for help. But she's busy translating for Grammie in real time.

"Bank account?" Dad folds his arms.

Conor bobs his head. "I'm not super wealthy, but yeah."

"But after marriage," my dad has the nerve to say and I've had enough.

"Stop, Dad." I step in between them, even though they weren't about to come to blows or anything. "Conor and I literally started going out two days ago. Why are you talking about marriage?"

"Because that's when couples can have sleepovers," he says back.

Heat travels up my neck and settles in my face. "Yeah, okay. This was an accident. I—I assure you nothing like that happened." The slip is because something did happen, just not what Dad fears most. Even then, he probably wouldn't be glad to imagine his one and only daughter climbing some man's lap to eat his mouth for breakfast. "Can we please stop this and move on with our lives?"

Dad's finger travels in the air between Conor and I. "If this happens again, I won't be this kind." With that, he turns around and stomps toward the rooms.

Mom starts giggling. "Grammie, tu nieta tiene su primer novio."

I hide my face behind my hands.

"Hmm." Conor hums beside me. "I take it we live to see another day? "

"You do, I'll get killed the second you leave," I respond, muffled by my hands.

"Then should I stay?"

Sighing, I lift my head. "No, it's best if you go back home and get a head start on the gifts. I'll… I'll join you from the afterlife later."

"Go." Mom nods at him. "It's all good now."

But I know it isn't. Conor gives me a sweet hug I'd have loved to linger in, and Mom, Grammie, and I watch him head back out to his truck.

Grammie breaks the silence. "Se ve grande ese muchacho."

My face steams even more as I explain that he looks big because he was once an elite hockey player, and then the two of them launch into a barrage of questions that truly send me to the next life.