Kissmas Wishes: Love In All Seasons Page 2

  She covers her face, clearly lost. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “Nah, at least you’re prepared. You got loppers to cut off the head of anything that got too close.”

  She lowers her head, smiling. “You have anything stronger than a fire at your place?” Her words surprise me; I had supposed something as sweet-looking as her would want sugar and spice and everything nice.

  “I got Fireball whiskey.”

  “Perfect.” She leans down and pats Johnny as if instantly relaxed with this plan in place.

  “But on our way,” I tell her, “We need to chop down a Christmas tree.”

  Chapter Three

  When this big, burly, dark-haired mountain man comes through the snowstorm carrying an ax and a frown, I don’t know what to think.

  I’d say run, but I’m already lost.

  And then he leans down to pat his barking dog and I realize he’s not an ax murderer –– not even sorta. He’s tall and broad-shouldered and handsome as all get out. His eyes are bright, deep pools of blue, and his beard is thick and just looking at him gets me all hot.

  Which is saying something considering it’s near freezing out here.

  I don’t even know what I said to him. Something about whiskey and fireplaces and he said Christmas trees and I was in a daze. Because the frozen toes and fingers and the way he spoke, slow and steady, and in control. He wasn’t in a rush. Like he knew it would all happen in its own sweet time.

  And the next thing I know my gloved hand is in his gloved hand, and he’s leading me across a snow bank, his dog running beside us. He points to a tree, and I smile encouragingly, mostly because what is even happening right now? It’s a scene out of a romance novel -- a handsome man finding me lost in the woods standing under some mistletoe.

  “This one is perfect, don’t you think?” he asks.

  The tree isn’t massive, maybe four feet tall, a size that he could carry on his own.

  Though truth be told I wouldn’t mind him carrying me home on his own.

  “It has potential,” I tell him, assessing the branches.

  “You’re pretty tough on trees, then?”

  “You asked my opinion.”

  He crosses his arms playfully, watching me circle around the tree.

  “If you turned it, so that side was in the back, where it’s kinda bare, and cut off these low hanging branches, it could work.”

  He smiles, and damn that smile is more than I was expecting. “My mom always went for the Charlie Brown trees, guess I take after her.”

  “So you always root for the underdog?” I ask, crouching down to lift the branches so he can access the trunk easier.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He begins sawing at the stump, the snow still falling as he moves, his saw against the grain.

  The trunk is only six inches across, and he saws it down in a few swift strokes. When he stands, he lifts the tree easily.

  “You can’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel old,” I tell him as we begin walking to the cabin that is now within view.

  “What should I call you, then?” he asks.

  “Genevieve, but everyone calls me Evie.”

  “I’m Everett.”

  “Evie and Everett. That’s....” I stop short of saying cute because that would be more awkward than this already is.

  “Similar,” he finishes, in a much more matter-of-fact matter, continuing to drag the tree behind him. We’re crossing a wide expanse of cleared land complete with a workshop and a large red barn. The cabin is one-story, with a stone fireplace, and a wide front porch.

  “Right. Similar. Anyways. This your place?”

  “Sure is.”

  When he doesn’t offer me anymore, I realize he may have a wife and kid inside the cabin. He’s wearing gloves so I can’t check out his ring finger, but damn, do I want to. Just to know what I’m working with.

  At the front door, he stomps off his boots. When I attempt to stomp my feet, I realize they’re too frozen.

  “Ouch,” I wince, my poor toes aching.

  “You need help?” Everett asks.

  I nod, realizing that even if I got the snow off these boots there’s no way in hell I’d be able to untie them and slide them off my feet.

  “Come on in,” Everett says, “I’ll help you.”

  I follow him inside, noticing at once that it’s a minimalist bachelor pad.

  Not in a run-down sort of way, no. Everett’s place is full of order.

  As if there is a home for everything he owns. The wood is stacked with precision. The counter boasts a clear work surface. The floor is polished and shoes are lined up next to the door. And beyond being tidy, there aren’t enough things in here to make it messy.

  He would have a hissy fit in my place if this is the way he likes to live.

  “Your place is so neat. And organized,” I tell him taking in the soft glow from the dying fireplace, the drying herbs over the sink and the braids of garlic hanging near the stove. An open cupboard is stocked with canned vegetables in an array of colors and I see a bookshelf lined with how-to manuals and classics.

  “Yeah, a few years back I read a book,” Everett explains, taking off his coat and gloves. I discreetly assess his ring finger. Bare. And there are no hints of a woman and child in this very manly abode. “It was called something like the 100 Thing Challenge?”

  I nod, as I sit in a rocking chair beside the fire.

  “Yeah, I think I remember picking that up,” I tell him. “And then promptly setting it back down.”

  “Not into the minimalist lifestyle?” he asks.

  “Let’s just say I’m more of a messy artist. I’m organized, for sure, but no one else would understand my system. I swear, my sister comes over and she nearly has a heart attack every time she goes into my workroom. I like sparkles. And confetti. And I don’t think there’s such a thing as too much washi tape.”

  Everett kneels before me, in an oddly intimate way. His eyes reach mine as I look down at him. He doesn’t say a word in response after my rambling about craft supplies. He just begins untying the knots in my laces.

  My heart pounds and I have a feeling I would let him unlace anything I was wearing.

  This man is trouble.

  “You work at home then?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I’m a writer. And a crafter. I make money on my blog. A crafty writing blog.”

  He nods, not looking up. “That’s cool.”

  That’s cool? What are you even supposed to do with that? Is he being sarcastic? Genuine? Indifferent?

  And what does it say about me that I want to know exactly what he means when he says that’s cool.

  It means that I like him.

  I like the way his fingers are untying my boots and sliding them off my frozen feet.

  I like the way his hands run over my toes massaging them softly through the wool socks I’m wearing.

  I like the way he doesn’t make eye contact with me as he slowly and surely defrosts me.

  “You okay?” he asks me.

  “Yeah, that feels better. Much better. Thank you.”

  Everett nods, and then turns to the fireplace, throws a few logs onto the fire to stoke it. “It died down before I left to get the tree,” he explains. “It will get cold in here if we don’t warm this place up. And it’s only going to get worse tonight. This storm blew in out of nowhere.”

  “So, I guess I’ll be here for a while?”

  He nods tightly and I can’t tell if me being here is totally annoying him or not.

  “What are your plans for that tree, anyway?” I look around the cabin, not seeing a single sign of holiday spirit.

  “I thought I’d prop it up in the corner. You know, for some Christmas cheer?” I see a hint of a smile in his eyes, but his mouth doesn’t budge.

  “Are you at least going to decorate it?”

  I admit, my craft-inclined fingers are already itching to spruce it up.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know, I don’t exactl
y have lots of Christmas decorations.”

  “Christmas lights didn’t make the cut for your one hundred things?” I tease.

  “Exactly.”

  I look out the window, the snow is falling so hard now that I wonder if I’ll be here longer than a day. Oddly, though, I don’t mind the prospect in the least.

  “Lucky for you I wrote a blog post last week called the Frugal Woman’s Guide to Trimming Her Tree.”

  At this, Everett laughs without hesitation. “Is trimming her tree a euphemism?”

  My face gets red and I stand up from the rocking chair to slug him in the shoulder playfully. “Not a euphemism.” I put my hands on my hips, looking around the room. “I need you to get me some scissors and paper. The newspaper will even do. And bring in the tree. If I’m stuck here all night I’m gonna make this place look like Christmas.”

  “Anything else, Ms. Demanding?” Everett smirks, taking stock of me.

  “Yes,” I tell him, grinning. “You promised me some whiskey.”

  Chapter Four

  Damn, this woman has my cock hard and my blood pumping. I get her paper and scissors, and a shot of Fireball for both of us, then hightail it out of the cabin, to shake off the snow from the branches before dragging the tree inside.

  There is something else I need to shake off too. I adjust my cock, and this gust of cold air is helping things.

  The cabin was getting hot, a fucking inferno. Kneeling before that woman, her tits all up in my face in her tight little sweater, her jeans hugging her hips perfectly. And damn, I’m not a guy with some weird fetish, but pulling those boots off and holding her feet in my hands, I wanted to pull off those wool socks and kiss her fucking toes.

  What the hell is wrong with me? It’s been way too long since I’ve had a woman.

  I think it’s about to change, though. Not that I’m exactly the kind of guy I’m guessing Evie usually dates. Sleeps with. Fucks. I’m guessing with those hot pink gloves and her bright blonde hair she prefers guys with a bit more style. I’m not saying she dates douchebag city-slickers, I just, I know I’m not her type.

  Women like her go for party guys who can keep up. Guys who speak in hashtags and carry selfie sticks unironically.

  She talks a mile a minute and doesn’t seem scared in the slightest. That means she’s used to getting what she wants.

  But damn, I want to get what I want tonight. The way she looked at my cabin, memorizing every detail, and setting to work with just scissors and a smile, that is something special. Not bitching or complaining about being here with me, about being stuck away from home at Christmas time.

  It makes me think my mother would love this girl. Would love the way she doesn’t seem scared to be alone with a stranger, the way she just accepted this for what it was. Fate.

  Shaking off the tree, I reckon we found a pretty good one. I carry it into the house and see Evie with the newspaper I found her. Snip. Snip. Snip. She’s got a thousand little clippings on the floor already.

  Johnny Walker is eating this up. He sits at her feet, wagging his tongue, he’s smart as fuck. He knows this woman is the type of woman that you worship.

  “I’m making snowflakes,” she explains, even though I didn’t ask. I lean the tree against the door and take off my boots.

  “Snowflakes?”

  She holds up a folded piece of paper and with thumbs on either end, she pulls open an intricately cut snowflake.

  “Cute, right?”

  “I don’t usually think of snowflakes as cute, but sure. That’s cute.”

  “Thanks,” she says setting down the scissors, not reading into my words. “I tried to call my sister, because, well, not that anyone is necessarily going to worry about me, but since my car is abandoned, I don’t want anyone to think something bad happened to me. So, do you have a phone I can use?”

  I shake my head. “Evie, we don’t use phones out here. I live off the grid.”

  “Right, off the grid. I get that. But I mean, you have electricity and running water and a beautiful place. I was just thinking you must have some sort of cell phone plan?”

  “It’s all solar powered. There’s a generator too. But a cell phone? Can’t help you there.”

  “Fuck. Sorry. It’s just, like, people are going to think I’m lost in the woods or something.” She’s looking at her phone with no signal, obviously stressed out.

  “Hey listen, we can radio the state patrol, have them call your sister and let her know you’re okay.”

  Relief floods Evie’s face and I’m glad I found a plan that works to her liking.

  “Thank God. I just don’t want anyone to worry this time of year.”

  I radio into the state patrol, and Evie rattles off her sister’s phone number, giving explicit directions in what to say in the message.

  “Ma’am, we will do our best to let her know you are safe.” The sheriff’s voice is as deadpanned as mine.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much,” Evie says. She hands me back the radio and I turn it off, distracted with watching her shimmy back to the table where she’s cutting paper.

  “You have big plans tomorrow?” I can’t help but ask.

  “Not really,” she says absently, her legs tucked beneath her as if she’s right at home. “Just, a party tonight and brunch tomorrow, and then Christmas Eve dinner with my family. I’m probably forgetting something, but yeah, anyways nothing huge going on besides making the wreaths. That was the reason why I was in the woods in the first place. To get cedar branches.”

  “That sounds damn busy,” I reply, “in my opinion.” I open the bottle of the Fireball and pour a few shots into two tumblers. Walking back to the table, I set one before Evie and take a seat.

  “Oh, I like to stay busy. Otherwise, I get restless. Bored.” Evie shrugs. She picks up her glass and clinks the rim on mine. “And now, we must toast. I must offer my most sincere thanks, to you, Everett, my knight in shining armor. My Savior. My Christmas miracle. Thank you for finding me. I owe you my life.”

  I laugh, not knowing if she’s serious. With my mouth parting in a grin, her eyes twinkle, her own smile widens.

  “What?” I ask.

  “It’s just... when you smile.” She blushes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know when you smile it just looks really nice. I know it sounds cheesy, but it literally lights up the room.”

  “Literally, huh?”

  “Don’t give me a hard time. I just mean... it’s nice.”

  Our eyes meet, and I must say the way she is so willing to give me compliments feels good all the way down my bones. Words come easily to her, and I can imagine her writing a blog post about tonight.

  There would be a lot of exclamation points. But genuine delight in the unexpected also.

  “I didn’t save your life,” I tell her, taking a drink. She sips her whiskey daintily, before setting it down and picking up the scissors and paper. As if she’s most comfortable with her hands holding something.

  “You did.” Snip. Snip. Snip.

  “Well, I was in the right place at the right time.”

  “You believe that?” She asks, her eyes concentrating on the paper in her hand. “Destiny…. fate… magic? All that stuff?”

  “Doesn’t much matter.”

  “Maybe not,” she says wistfully. “It would be nice if it was real. Wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t have to be magic for things to turn out well.”

  “So maybe this is serendipity. A happy turn of events.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you want to make that?” she asks.

  “Serendipity?”

  “No,” she says laughing. “You can’t force serendipity. But you can make magic. See.” She pulls her hands apart, an edge of the paper in either one.

  She didn’t make a snowflake this time. She made a snow globe. And in the center, are a man and a woman and a Christmas tree.

  In the center is us.

  “Se
rendipity and magic might be one in the same,” I tell her before leaning over and kissing her.

  Chapter Five

  The kiss catches me off guard. I swear half the time I’ve been here; I’ve thought Everett has been annoyed with me. But then he looks at me with those clear blue eyes with so much intention it unnerves me; sears me. In a good way, the way the whiskey burns.

  It hurts and then warms you up, all the way to your core.

  That is what’s happening right now with this kiss.

  My lips sink into his, and the scraps of paper on the table flutter to the floor as he cups my face in his hands.

  I can’t even think of the last time I’ve been kissed like this.

  It certainly wasn’t while I’ve been hanging out on the ridiculous Tinder app the last few weeks. Nor when I’ve met random guys at a bar. And not when my sister’s husband set me up with his business associate.

  I don’t sleep around and just kiss willy-nilly. But I have kissed enough guys to know that they don’t hold a candle to this man.

  Everett’s lips taste like cinnamon and his skin smells like pine trees and his hands are callused as they hold my face, but somehow they don’t feel rough against my skin. They feel worn and welcome.

  I melt into this kiss. Leaning over this wooden table, it could be awkward. But it isn’t. Something about Everett is so self-assured, so self-reliant. He didn’t ask to kiss me. He didn’t tiptoe around what he wanted. He took it. Plain and simple.

  And I like it.

  Our lips part, his tongue presses in against mine, full of heat and wanting. My belly flutters; nothing about me is cold anymore. Everett swept me away from the blizzard and brought me inside. Now I’m burning up.

  “Evie,” he whispers between kisses, his breath warm on my neck, then hot against my ear. “I never knew a piece of paper could turn me on so fucking much.”

  I smile, turning my head as his tongue tickles my ear. “Just wait till you see what I can do with my hands.”

  He laughs, that low gravelly laugh.