Like a Winter Snow

by Lindsay Harrel

  “Good point.”

  “So we’re agreed then? We shouldn’t venture back to Cornwall today?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  He put the car into Drive and eased onto the road, which was already crammed with cars. To their left and up the street a bit, a double-decker tour bus driver honked.

  “So where are we going?” There must be a dozen hotels within walking distance, but based on the rate of snow coming down, they didn’t have long to find shelter.

  When he didn’t answer, she glanced over. His face was a mask. “Oliver?”

  He cleared his throat. “How would you feel about going to my place?” After a brief pause, he hurried on. “You can take my room, and I’ll take the sofa, of course.”

  Unease rippled through Joy’s stomach. But why? It was a practical solution, and she certainly didn’t fear being alone with him.

  Oh, please. She knew why and Joy couldn’t lie to herself. Being with him in the car was one thing. Seeing his home, being among his things, sleeping in his bed—innocent though it might be—would only get her closer to stepping over the friendship line that stood between them. And once they’d crossed it, she knew there would be no going back.

  Not with him.

  But staying at his place was the best choice they had, right?

  She forced a smile. “Sure. Sounds great.”

  Chapter 10

  When they reached the tall black door of apartment 404, Joy held Sophia’s dress while Oliver inserted a key into the lock. Opening the door, he flicked on the lights, took the garment bag from her, and invited her in.

  Attempting to conceal the deep breath she inhaled, Joy stepped into Oliver’s flat, the scent of something sweet greeting her. “Did you bake before you left?”

  He kicked the front door closed and deposited the garment bag into a hall closet. “It’s a candle my mum gave me. Warm biscuits or some such thing. It seems to give off a scent even when it’s not lit.”

  They both removed their damp coats and hung them. Joy’s sweater was blessedly dry, and her jeans were mostly so. They wouldn’t be the most comfortable clothing to sleep in, but she’d make do.

  The entryway connected to a hallway that opened on one side into a great room and kitchen with gorgeous stainless-steel appliances and a white marble countertop with swirls of gray. Joy’s boots clipped along the real-wood plank flooring, a rich chestnut brown that shimmered as if it’d just been polished. From the open-concept kitchen, she could see a four-person wood table and chairs set in front of a floor-to-ceiling window granting a full view of Hyde Park, which was quickly becoming whiter by the moment.

  How different his flat was from her former house in Arizona—all vintage and bright. But though it screamed designer, his home also gave off cozy vibes.

  “Your place is lovely.” Joy slipped off her shoes, not wanting to ruin the gorgeous Persian rug as she stepped up to the window to study what lay beyond. Her fingertips grazed the glass as she watched the lowering sun slip behind the clouds and snow swirl in the light of lamps that had turned on only moments before.

  “Thank you.” Now he stood beside her. “Make yourself comfortable. Please. My home is your home.”

  She pressed a hand to her chest. He had no idea how those words affected her.

  Because she didn’t have a home anymore. Not one of her own, anyway.

  She shook herself from the melancholy thought. “I will. Thanks.” Treading from the rug back onto the wood floors, she found her way to the leather tan wraparound couch that sat opposite a white brick fireplace flanked by elegant white bookcases. Before she sat, she flipped a switch on the wall and artificial flames leapt to life.

  While Oliver rummaged in the kitchen for something to eat, Joy casually studied the rest of the living room. A home was often a good way to get to know people. It took her a moment to realize that he had no Christmas decor of any kind. Hmm. A dog bed lay in one corner, so out of place in the refined bachelor pad that she had to smile. She bet Rascal—whom Oliver had left behind with his aunt—was allowed on the couch, however much money it had cost.

  On the mantle sat several framed photos. One displayed Oliver with his parents, younger brother, and a woman in a bridal gown—his sister-in-law, she’d guess. Another showed him hugging two young girls to him, his smile easy. In the last one, Oliver stood with his arm around a beautiful woman whose black dress showed off her long, tan legs.

  A twinge of something Joy didn’t want to address sliced through her.

  She turned her attention from the pictures to a thick book beside them. Joy approached but had to rise on her tiptoes to make out the book’s title. The Holy Bible on the spine gleamed back at her in silvery letters.

  “How do water biscuits, cheese, and ham sound for dinner?”

  She turned to find him with a tray. “Water biscuits?” Glancing at the food selection, she laughed. “Oh, crackers.”

  Oliver grinned. “Crackers, sure. Do you want to head to the table?”

  The warmth of the fire was so inviting, the rolling flames so soothing. “Would you mind if we ate over here?”

  “Not at all.” He glanced at the couch but lowered himself to the ground in front of it, which was covered by a silk rug. Setting the tray down, he patted the spot next to him. “Join me?”

  “Of course.” Joy sat on the soft rug and snagged a cracker from the platter, placing a thick slice of Gouda on top. “Bon appétit.” She lifted the cracker as if in a toast.

  Oliver quickly grabbed a cracker of his own and hit it softly against hers. “I’m sorry it’s not more of a feast.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s perfect. Pretty much how I eat at home, especially when it’s just me. And that’s fairly often since Mom went into the rehab facility.”

  “How is she?”

  Joy thought back to the call she’d made to her parents before she and Oliver had entered Westminster Abbey. “Pretty good, all things considered. She’s making progress with the physical therapy, and they think she could be home by just after New Year’s.”

  “I’m sure that’s a relief to hear.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  A silence fell between them as they ate and watched the fire. Oliver turned on the radio, and soft Christmas music lilted through the room.

  Joy used her napkin to wipe her mouth. “I noticed you don’t have any Christmas decor.”

  “It’s just me and Rascal here, and I knew I’d be gone for the actual holiday.” He took the empty platter from between them and placed it on a side table next to the couch. “It seemed a waste to spend time decorating when I’m the only one who would see it.”

  Considering his words, she stared into the fire. Whether intentional or not, the orange flames in the fireplace provided the only light in the room, creating a soft glow that didn’t reach the shadowed corners. The halo effect surrounded them, limiting the outside world.

  “I don’t think beauty is ever a waste. And to me, there’s nothing better than sitting in front of a Christmas tree as its lights sparkle, thinking about the magic of the season, the fact that love came down to us when we least deserved it.”

  “I see your point. And maybe I can’t think of anything better.” He paused. “But I can think of something that’s just as good.”

  She felt the heat of his gaze on her. When she swiveled to look at him, his eyes drank her in.

  They’d ended up close together, the sides of her right leg and arm just brushing against his. The air pulsed with emotion.

  Get up. Leave. Say goodnight. Nothing lasting can come from this.

  Joy should listen to her inner self. But instead, she spoke, the words nearly strangling her. “And what’s that?”

  Slowly, methodically, Oliver twisted to face her more directly and lifted his hand to her face. His thumb trailed her cheekbone upward. “It’s good to be sitting here, with you, listening to holiday music, eating a pathetic excuse for a dinner. I’m loving every moment of it.”
/>   “Hey, the food wasn’t that bad.”

  He smiled. “And there you go joking, but I’m serious. Joy, I’ve never met anyone like you before, with such a zest for life and such a heart for others. I feel more alive just being near you. And to be quite honest . . . I’m mad about you.”

  She couldn’t force her eyes off him, couldn’t speak. All her objections and questions swirled away with the snow that fell outside.

  He saw her. He understood her. He . . . wanted her.

  And she wanted him.

  It might not be a winning scenario, but right now, she almost didn’t care. Kicking the last shred of doubt to the momentary curb, she allowed herself to speak the truth. “I feel the same way.”

  With a smile, he moved his face nearer, and before she could close her eyes, his lips skimmed hers.

  And then, the fire died.

  Joy jolted awake.

  Despite the socks on her feet and the pile of blankets Oliver had loaned her, she shivered.

  What time was it? The darkness outside the curtains indicated it was still the middle of the night. Had she slept long? If so, it didn’t feel like it. Maybe that’s because subconsciously she’d spent the time lying on Oliver’s pillow smelling the remnants of his extremely manly shampoo and thinking about the kiss that had only lasted a second.

  Joy pulled the comforter tighter around her. If only they hadn’t been interrupted by the power going out last night. It had certainly broken the magic of the moment. When they’d been plunged into darkness, Oliver managed to locate two flashlights and call the power company using his cell phone. The storm was to blame, of course, so who knew when power would be restored.

  Maybe the interruption had been for the best.

  She tried rolling over and going back to sleep, but her brain and her freezing body wouldn’t let her. Maybe moving would help. Or eating. That was supposed to warm you up, right? Worth a shot. She didn’t want to wake Oliver, who had bunked in the living room, but maybe she could quietly scrounge for something in the kitchen.

  Rising from the bed, she pulled one of the thick quilts around her shoulders, grabbed the flashlight, and clicked it on to its lowest brightness. As she opened the door to Oliver’s bedroom, a squeak resounded from the hinges. She winced and continued, passing his office on the way. When she reached the kitchen, she glanced over at the couch where Oliver was supposed to be sleeping.

  “Couldn’t sleep either?”

  Joy whirled, dropped her blanket, and shone her light toward the eat-in-nook. Her gaze landed upon Oliver shading his eyes with his hand. Joy quickly clicked off the flashlight and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimness.

  He sat bundled in one of his kitchen chairs, which was turned toward the window. Everything remained dark out there except for a small sliver of moonlight somehow breaking through the clouds. It appeared as if someone was tossing white confetti from the sky. The snow fell at all angles: straight downward, diagonally, some nearly perpendicular to the ground she couldn’t see but knew was there.

  And other than Oliver’s question, the room was devoid of sound.

  The fact the storm had not abated did cause her some temporary distress—what would happen if they couldn’t make it back to Cornwall soon?—but the tranquility of the moment was too great to allow such a thought to ruin it.

  In reply, Joy simply pushed her feet forward and pulled up a chair next to Oliver.

  He opened his blanket and wrapped it and his arm around her shoulders, insulating her in his warmth.

  She laid her head in the crook of his arm.

  “Happy Christmas Eve.” He whispered the words against her hair, sending a shiver down her spine.

  “It’s past midnight?”

  “According to my battery-operated wall clock, yes.”

  She attempted to adjust the blanket, and her hand bumped against his. Feeling brave, she wove their palms and fingers together. “Where were you this time last year?”

  “Probably in bed.”

  Her laughter spilled into the silence. “Okay, not sometime between midnight and morning, but Christmas Eve. Mom and I decorated cookies. My parents and I attended the candlelight service at church, grabbed some delicious takeout for dinner, and ended the night by watching White Christmas. The perfect day.” Her lips arced upward at the happy memory. “Christmas Day was another story. Mom had a meltdown and so did I. But Christmas Eve . . . that was one for the books.”

  “I’m glad for that.” His thumb stroked the top of hers and he sighed. “As for me, I spent the day with family. But it was supposed to be my wedding day.”

  She straightened and pulled away to face him. The blanket keeping them wrapped together drooped. “Supposed to be?”

  He took a moment to finish his thought. His fingers pressed against her hand as if wanting to anchor it there. The clouds broke a bit, allowing more starlight through. Joy could make out the contours of Oliver’s face, his mouth falling into a frown. “My fiancée ended things a year ago in October.”

  “I’m sorry. What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I don’t mind. That’s why I’m telling you.” He shifted. Was he itching to pull her close again like she hoped he would? But she needed to focus on his words, not on how wonderful it felt to be enveloped in his embrace.

  “Jana and I dated for three years before I finally worked up the nerve to propose. We were extremely busy people—she an interior decorator and me a business owner. After I proposed, things were good for a while but business picked up. A lot. So I dedicated more hours to growing it, maybe partially because I wanted to be successful when my previous venture had failed but also because so many employees depended on me. I went from five to twenty in a span of a few months. Those people had spouses, children, elderly parents to care for. The pressure was intense.”

  “That’s understandable.” She squeezed his hand in a show of support.

  “Even so, I lost Jana because of it. She got tired of me showing up late and canceling on her for dates, wedding planning appointments, you name it. I even stopped going to church because I could squeeze in a few extra hours of work if I did. I had the right motivation but the wrong priorities.”

  “You were putting others first. That can’t be wrong.”

  “It was if I started to see myself as some kind of savior. And I did. I thought it was solely on my shoulders to save my employees from ruin the way I’d been ruined years before that. But it wasn’t. Because I forgot to factor in one thing.” He paused. “I forgot to factor in God.”

  Something jabbed her spirit, and she turned her eyes back to the snow—the thing that was keeping her from “saving” Sophia. “I think I can relate to that sentiment.”

  “Maybe we’re two peas in a pod after all then, eh?”

  That got a laugh. “Maybe so.” A sudden thought came to her, unbidden. Joy bit her lip. “Is Jana the woman in the photo on the mantle?” The one who made the Oliver beside her look so happy?

  “Yes.”

  “So . . .” How did she ask the question on her mind without coming across as insecure and . . . well . . . petty?

  “So does that mean I’m not over her?”

  “I guess so. Yeah.”

  “I’m not going to lie. When she ended our engagement, it nearly broke me. There were several mornings that the only thing that got me out of bed was that my employees depended on me. But then, the Lord woke me up, reminded me that the sun keeps on rising and setting, that his mercies are new every morning.”

  “That’s a great revelation . . . but why keep her photo on the mantle where you’re going to continue seeing it? Why subject yourself to that pain?”

  “I suppose it’s a reminder. That sometimes, the things God has planned for our lives aren’t what we expect. But they’re good. Somehow, they’re good.” William lifted their connected hands, pulling them from underneath the blanket. He brought his lips to the top of her hand, kissing it with all the tenderness of an English
gentleman in one of her favorite films. Then, his eyes found hers. “And I didn’t expect you, Joy Beckman.”

  The breath whooshed from her. This was it. The moment of no return—the moment her heart would start its descent toward, eventually, fully breaking.

  But with the snow coming down just outside, the promise of a new day on the horizon, and the beautiful words he’d just spoken, Joy couldn’t do anything but fall.

  With her free hand, she stroked his disarray of hair, pushing her fingers through it, then curving them down around the back of his head, her thumb grazing his ear. She scooted sideways in her chair toward him and lifted her face, inviting him into her sphere.

  He dropped her hand and cupped her chin, staring at her through the darkness, the intensity in his gaze not lost on her despite the lack of light. And then he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers once, twice, three times before he deepened the kiss.

  Joy looped her other arm around his neck, pulling him to her. And in that moment, they became like two falling snowflakes that were drawn to each other—impossible to separate.

  Chapter 11

  “This is quite possibly the best egg casserole I’ve ever tasted in my life.” Joy almost moaned as she placed the last bite of Ginny’s Christmas morning dish into her mouth, chewing, relishing the way the sausage mingled with the egg.

  “It’s a really simple recipe,” Ginny said from her spot on the carpeted floor next to Sophia’s Christmas tree.

  “You say that, but I’m sure I’d find a way to screw it up.” Sophia set her fork onto her empty plate and plopped back against her couch cushions. “Joy is right. That was amazing. I know you specialize in baked goods, but you really should just open a restaurant.”

  Ginny pulled her legs into her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I already have a bazillion items I want to add to my bakery menu. An entire restaurant would make it impossible to narrow down.”