Bo shook his head. “How could I have been so stupid?”
“You didn’t know, Bo. The parking lot was dark. I’m sure you didn’t see me.”
“No, I don’t mean . . . I mean, yes, that. But that’s not what I’m talking about. How did I miss how you felt? Why didn’t you ever tell me? It would have mattered, Maddy.”
“It’s easy for you to say that now, but Bo, we rode to school together every day for two years. You had plenty of opportunities to notice me, and you never did.”
“But, I—”
“Please don’t feel like you need to explain,” I said, cutting him off.
He leaned forward on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees.
“I don’t blame you. I had this idea in my head, and I built it up into this fairy tale. There was no way any real-life situation was ever going to compare. But I was two years younger than you. And not the kind of person who was very good at being seen. I’m still not that person. And honestly, it was probably good things happened the way they did. That was the night I—”
Bo turned suddenly and leaned forward, silencing my words with a kiss. He held my face in his hands, the kiss brief and impulsive. When he pulled away, there was a question in his eyes. “I’m sorry I ruined your night.” His thumb ran across my cheek. “And your dress. And that you got a stupid nickname because of me.”
I wanted to shake away his apology, though there was something slightly vindicating about hearing him offer one. I had never blamed him, not exactly. After all, the biggest part of the hurt wasn’t the mud or the nickname.
It was the heartbreak. And that was on me. I was the one who had pined away for so long, who had spent so many nights letting Bo, and Bo alone, occupy my thoughts.
Bo leaned his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I was a stupid kid back then. But I’m seeing you now, Maddy.”
The next kiss was slower, more intentional. If the first had been an apology, this one was an invitation, one I realized, with startling clarity, I was wholly willing to accept.
His hands moved from my face to my shoulders. One hand slid lower, pressing against the small of my back and cinching me closer as the kiss deepened and intensified. I had dreamed of kissing him countless times, but the fevered dreams of my youth hardly compared to Bo in the flesh—a warm, living, breathing man under my hands.
“That was the night you what?” Bo asked, pulling away. “What were you going to say earlier?”
I sighed and my gaze dropped, my hands falling away from his shoulders. “That was the night I decided to stop loving you. To let you go,” I said, softly. “I cried for two months. Which in retrospect feels so ridiculous. But I’d known you for so long, Bo. It had been years. Since fifth grade. That’s a long time to have a crush on someone. Which is why this”—I motioned between us—“is so scary to me. Because you’re you. And I . . .”
When I didn’t finish my sentence, Bo reached for my hands. He held them with both of his own, his thumbs tracing light circles across the tops of my knuckles. “You what?” He said softly.
I had no idea how to explain without making myself sound ridiculous. And angsty. And ridiculous. “Bo, you could probably tell me you were a hardened criminal fresh out of prison and I would still want to kiss you if only to satisfy the lingering high school fantasies in my brain. I was young and naïve, but I still loved you. As much as my teenage heart could, anyway. And then I spent a lot of months deciding not to love you. But now you’re here. Wanting to kiss me. I could get drunk on that, trust me, but truly, I hardly know you.”
“So we get to know each other,” Bo said. “That’s the fun part, right?”
“It’s not that easy,” I said, almost more to myself than to him. It would be that easy for him. That’s the way Bo had always been. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d seen him shrug his shoulders in that easy way of his, unfailingly optimistic, his lips lifting in a cocky grin. “It’ll be all right,” he’d say about history tests, football games, even approaching hurricanes. It was part of what had lured me to him. Just how easy he made everything look. My life, on the other hand, was a catalog of caution: measured sentences, carefully calculated words, intentional choices geared toward keeping my world safe and secure. Even if that also meant keeping it small.
“Maddy, listen to me. I understand what you’re telling me. That what’s happening here is more complicated because of our history. I can’t make it uncomplicated, but I can promise you that I’m not the kind of guy who messes around with people’s hearts.” He smiled, warmth and sincerity filling his expression. “I am also not a hardened criminal if that matters. You know, just to put your mind at ease.”
“What a relief,” I said. “I was really getting worried.”
Bo leaned back into the sofa, his legs stretched out, and I leaned in beside him, my arms wrapped around his torso and my head on his chest. “I’m glad you’re here, Mads,” he said.
I liked that he’d resurrected the nickname everyone had used for me when I was a kid.
“Me too,” I said, snuggling in a little closer. The air immediately around the fireplace was warm, but I could feel the chill from the quiet house behind us creeping up. Sleeping in the family room was probably a good idea. It would be the warmest room in the house by far.
“We’ll take it one day at a time and see what happens,” Bo said.
I wanted to trust him, to accept his reassurance and be as willing as he was to open the doors of possibility and walk right through them. But how could I possibly silence the worries still coursing through my brain? What happens next? Do long-distance relationships even work? Is that what this will become? Would I be willing to leave Chicago for Bo? Would he want me to? I pushed the questions to the side, suddenly nervous he’d be able to feel the stress of them pulsing through me. I could do this. I could live in the moment. It was Christmas Eve. I deserved to live in the moment.
“I think I would really like that,” I finally said. I picked my head up and looked at Bo, practically melting from the look in his eyes. There were no guarantees, and that would always be terrifying. But even more terrifying? The thought of walking away from Bo without giving whatever was growing between us a chance.
Chapter Six
I opened my eyes on Christmas morning to the sight of Bo leaning over the fire, building it up with one of the few remaining logs stacked on the hearth. He wore red flannel pajama bottoms and his Clemson hoodie, his hair sticking up in all different directions.
I shifted under the heavy down comforter I’d hauled down from my bed—I liked the weight of it even if Charleston temperatures rarely required it for warmth—and pulled it up to cover my cold nose. The room would be warm again before long, thanks to Bo, but for now, I was happy to stay right where I was.
“You’re awake,” Bo said.
I shifted the blanket up to my chin and smiled. “Only just.”
“Merry Christmas.” Bo leaned over me and pressed a kiss to my forehead, a simple gesture that did crazy things to my heart. He leaned down to the floor and picked up the blankets he’d slept on and under. The night before, we’d negotiated. The couch was only big enough for one of us, so whoever took the floor got to sleep closer to the fire. It had been an easy decision for me. With my comforter, I’d hardly lacked warmth. All but my nose, anyway.
“Merry Christmas,” I said, stretching as I sat up.
Bo held out my phone. “Here. I took these out to the Bronco this morning and charged them up. I figured you’d want to call your family later.”
I took my phone, now fully charged, and looked at Bo with wonder. “You’ve had a busy morning.”
He grinned and shrugged. “Don’t worry. I saved Izzy’s walk for you. How’d you sleep?”
I narrowed my eyes playfully. “If by walk you mean opening the back door so Izzy can walk around the backyard, I’m your girl.”
“That’s probably the smartest thing. The sidewalks are a solid she
et of ice right now.”
I scrolled through the news headlines, noting just how much of Charleston was still without power. “It’s so sad thinking about everyone waking up on Christmas morning to cold, powerless houses,” I said.
“Not as many as you might think,” Bo said. “A lot of people have generators because of hurricane season. I can hear them from the front porch humming all over the neighborhood.”
“Oh, that’s true. Wait, we have a generator. Why aren’t we using it?”
“Already on it,” Bo said. “Trouble is, your generator runs on diesel, not natural gas, and the tank is empty. I was figuring I’d wait a little while for it to warm up and then hopefully the roads will be passable enough that I could head out and find us some fuel.”
“Don’t risk driving, Bo. It’s not worth it.”
“It’ll be worth it once we run out of wood. We’ll get cold pretty quick without a fire burning.”
He was right, but that didn’t mean I liked the idea of him driving around on slick roads. I suddenly didn’t like the idea of letting him out of my sight at all, to drive somewhere, or otherwise. It was a weird sensation to feel such urgency to be near him, to stay near him. It was an odd combination of the thrill of freshly discovered feelings and the depth of longstanding ones. Everything about Bo was new and familiar all at the same time.
“What are you thinking about so seriously over there?” Bo asked. He picked up my feet, still stretched out toward the bottom of the couch, and sat down under them, dropping them back into his lap. He wrapped his hands around the thick wool socks I’d put on the night before and squeezed, sending jolts of pleasure up my legs. I moaned. “Whatever I was thinking, I just forgot it.”
He chuckled and rubbed my feet for a few minutes more. There was something so intimate, so personal about the connection, and yet it felt like a perfectly natural thing for him to do.
“I was just thinking about how weird it is,” I finally said, leaning my head against the back of the couch, “to be here with you. To have feelings that are new, but that also feel familiar.”
“Bad weird or good weird?” he asked, his hands finally releasing my feet.
I wiggled my toes. “I maybe need another minute of foot rubs to help me decide.”
He smiled in a way that made my gut tighten; I hadn’t known I was into guys with beards, but Bo had me thoroughly convinced it was the sexiest look on a man.
“And also I probably need at least a dozen more kisses. You know. In order for my assessment to be thorough.”
“A dozen, huh? You’re demanding this morning.”
My eyes drifted closed as his grip tightened around the balls of my feet. “It’s Christmas. I’m allowed to be demanding.”
Together, we whiled away the morning, telling stories, eating cookies—a perfectly justifiable breakfast in our current situation—and playing games. Mostly, we just talked. About everything that had happened in our lives since high school. About our hopes and dreams and plans for our futures.
I told him how much I appreciated the security that teaching provided. I detailed my past relationships, including Jacob, my absentee boyfriend who had never treated me like I was important. The whole time, Bo listened like I mattered, his eyes never leaving mine, never straying to his phone.
He finally opened up a little more about Alicia—that girl had been a piece of work—and expressed how insecure she’d made him feel when it came to his career choices. She’d never seen him as more than a farmhand, even though owning a farm and just working on one were two very different things. Either way, Bo hadn’t deserved her condescension.
He told me about his plans for Bradshaw Farms, about his plans for expansion, for increasing production and streamlining distribution.
There was never an awkward pause, never a moment when we searched for what to talk about next. The conversation was nearly as intoxicating as the kisses I stole whenever his face was close enough for me to do so. Which, much to my delight, was most of the morning.
My family video-called to wish me a Merry Christmas just after two. They’d just woken up to a bright and sunny Christmas morning, the windows behind them opening up to a view of the sparkling blue Pacific Ocean behind them. Though I was snowed in, without power or heat beyond the wood-burning fireplace, without presents or a functioning kitchen, I didn’t feel even a hint of jealousy.
“I was hoping to get the generator up and running,” Bo said to my dad after we’d said our merry Christmas wishes all around.
Dad’s face fell. “I wish that were possible, Bo. It’s completely on the fritz. It was on my list of things to do to get it serviced, but since hurricane season is over, I haven’t worried about it too much. I certainly didn’t expect to need it for a snowstorm.”
Bo ran a hand across his face, a flicker of worry passing over his expression—the first one I’d seen yet. “Any idea what’s wrong with it? I’ve done a little machine work out on the farm. I could take a look at it.”
“Not a clue,” Dad said. “It’ll crank, but then it immediately sputters and quits.”
Bo nodded. “Could be low on coolant.”
Dad shrugged. “You know more than I do. You’re welcome to give it a go if you like. You’re also welcome to the Jamisons’ woodpile out back. They had gas logs put in last winter and don’t have any more use for the wood. You’ll see the shed at the back of their property. Even if you don’t get the generator running, there’s enough wood out there to keep you warm for days.”
That was something, at least. There were a lot of inconveniences related to extended power outages, cold showers and simplified menus among them. But at least we would stay warm.
“Good to know,” Bo said. “I’ll take a look at the generator anyway. It’s not like there’s anything else keeping me busy.” He tossed a playful look my way. I wasn’t about to tell my family just how much I’d been making out with Bo over the past eighteen hours. Knowing Mom, she’d probably pressure him into picking a wedding date right there over our Merry Christmas video call. No, I needed a little more than a day or two of time together before we got to the “telling the family” stage of things.
We chatted with my family for a few more minutes, ignoring any and all of Chloe’s attempts to dig into whether or not we were really enjoying ourselves, then said goodbye.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang, and Bo and I both followed Izzy, her ears perked with interest, to the front door.
My parents’ neighbor, Edna Pinckney, stood on the porch, a thick, fuzzy scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. She held an oversized grocery bag in her hands, various items poking out of the top.
“Edna! Merry Christmas,” I said.
“Hello, dear.” She looked over at Bo. “Is that you, Bo? My, you’ve grown up some since your family moved away, haven’t you?”
“Hi, Edna. It’s nice to see you.”
Her eyes lingered on Bo a moment longer, long enough for Bo’s cheeks to turn a slight shade of pink. I cleared my throat and Edna’s gaze jumped back to me. “Right. Well, your mom let me know you were here when I texted her a Merry Christmas this morning, and I just got to thinking that you might be able to help me eat some of the extra food at my house.”
Having enjoyed a breakfast of only raspberry thumbprints, my stomach grumbled at the thought of something a little more substantial. “That’s really sweet of you, Edna.”
“I shopped and cooked like my whole family was going to be able to make it in, but then the weather had something to say about that, so it turns out it’s just me and the girls. John and Travis and their families all had canceled flights. At any rate, we’ll never eat everything I bought, so I’d be grateful if you two could take it off my hands.”
Bo took the bag out of her arms.
“There’s honey baked ham in there, some sweet potato casserole and some green beans. And some of my homemade dinner rolls—I know you both love those—and some ambrosia salad as well. It’s still warm, all bu
t the salad, so if you eat right now, you won’t even need to warm it up.”
“That all sounds amazing,” I said, my mouth watering at the thought of one of Edna’s rolls.
“If you decide to save it and eat later, most everything you should be able to warm up on the gas stove. Do you know how to light it by hand?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
I nodded. Gas stoves were useful during a power outage, but without the electricity-fueled pilot light, it was necessary to light it by hand. “We do. We’ve used it several times already.”
“Oh, good. Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. If you end up deciding you need a warm shower, come on over. We’ve got the generator up and running, so there’s plenty of warm water and outlets for charging your cell phones.”
“Thank you so much for offering. I may take you up on the shower if the power doesn’t turn back on by tomorrow.”
“Don’t even bother calling first; just come on over. We aren’t going anywhere.”
We said our goodbyes, and I headed toward the kitchen to unload the food while Bo, who had hastily slipped on his boots and a jacket over his pajamas, helped Edna down the steps and across the slippery street to her house. When he came back inside, he leaned down and kissed my neck, pressing his cold nose against my skin.
I shrieked and danced away, the bag of dinner rolls in my hand.
“Don’t get too far with those rolls,” Bo said, shrugging off his coat. “I remember Edna’s rolls from when I was a kid.”
“Me, too.” I opened the bag and handed him one. “I wonder if she’d share her recipe with me.” I had a killer whole wheat bread recipe and made a mean sourdough, but I was still working on perfecting my dinner roll.
“Do you like cooking as much as you like baking?” Bo asked as we dished up plates of food.
I grabbed a couple of forks and handed one to Bo, then we carried our food back to the family room so we could eat next to the fireplace where it was warm. “I enjoy cooking, but it isn’t quite the same creative outlet for me as baking. I cook more because I love to make people happy and feeding them is a great way to do that. But baking is more like . . . art for me, I guess.”
(Not So) Alone for Christmas: A Sweet Romantic Comedy Holiday Novella Page 5