All I Want for Christmas Eve

by Olivia Noble

  Maybe he’s just skimming. I can’t imagine a guy finding my work very interesting. Yet every time I manage to glance at him, he seems very interested in the content of my novels, and he has even made some insightful comments about the characters. I find myself yearning to hear more of his feedback. I don’t know many people in real life who have read my stories. Usually it’s just far-flung strangers over the internet. But seeing someone sitting there and actually reading my work, and getting to witness their real-time facial expressions—it’s rather special.

  I have heard him moving around in the main area of the house for the past hour now, and I’m kind of curious what he’s been up to. Standing up and stretching, I absentmindedly rub my shoulders, which have started to ache again.

  It’s crazy how simply typing all day can wreak havoc on your body. I feel like I’d get less pain from weightlifting, gymnastics, bricklaying, or some kind of actually intense physical activity. When I get home to Michigan, other than taking my dad to the doctor, the very next appointment I’m booking will be some kind of physiotherapy or chiropractic treatment.

  Sighing as I move my head from side to side to try to stretch out the stuff muscles, I open the door of my office. My nostrils are instantly assailed with a delicious smell. Then my eyes take in the fact that the whole central area of my cabin has been… decorated.

  There is a Christmas tree in the corner of the room, covered in tinsel and silver balls. There are garlands and streamers and wreaths everywhere. And on the small table, which has been covered with a red velvety tablecloth, there is a small feast laid out by candlelight. And a decanted bottle of wine.

  “Where did you find all this?” I ask Adam in amazement.

  “There was a break in the storm, and I was able to run out to Santa’s Sleigh,” he explains. “Well—not run. Hobble. But I got it done.”

  “That could have been dangerous,” I tell him with my disapproving-mom voice. “You could have gotten really hurt.”

  “Can you stop stressing out for five minutes, Eve, and just join me for dinner? I’m officially inviting you out on a date. Well—I’m inviting you in on a date. If you would like that.”

  “Do I have any choice?” I ask him, gesturing around us with both hands. “I live here, and this is where I need to eat.”

  “Come on, don’t be grumpy like that,” he says. “You saved my life, and gave me tons of awesome reading material, and I would like to share some good wine, good food, and good conversation with you. What do you say? I even put my shirt back on for this!”

  I smile, softened up by the amount of effort he’s put into the decorations and meal. “Fine. Let me get dressed. If it’s a proper date, then I should at least look the part.”

  “Your nightgown is just fine,” he tells me. “I think you look ravishing just as you are. Plus, we don’t want the food to get cold.”

  “No, Adam. It’s not proper that I am just wearing this, while you’re wearing a full suit. I feel like I’m at some kind of a disadvantage.”

  “You don’t need to put on armor, Eve. We’re not going to battle—it’s just a date.”

  “What’s the difference?” I ask him teasingly. “Just give me five minutes.” I turn and head for the bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I stare at my dresser drawers, trying to think of what to wear. I don’t want to take too long, but I feel like I could also benefit from a touch of makeup and a splash of lipstick.

  “Hmmm,” I say, crossing my arms and tapping my foot thoughtfully as I make a plan.

  “Hey, Eve,” Adam calls out from behind the door. “Want to hear a joke?”

  “No, not really!” I respond.

  He ignores this. “You know how after Adam and Eve bit the apple, they felt shame and needed to put on clothing?”

  “I thought they covered their bodies with fig leaves,” I call back.

  “Well, Adam did. But Eve had to try on a maple leaf, a sycamore leaf, an oak leaf, a holly leaf, an elm leaf, a birch leaf, a poplar leaf…”

  “Ha ha,” I say with annoyance, but there’s a smile on my face. “I’ll be fast, I promise!”

  With a final glance in my mirror, and a final swipe of mascara, I move to exit my room confidently. I haven’t been on a real date, a fake date, or any sort of date in as long as I can remember. I am more excited than I care to admit.

  When I open the door, Adam’s face lights up at the sight of me.

  “Holy Santa’s milk and cookies!” he exclaims with a grin. “You clean up good, Eve.”

  “You decorated my house, so I decorated myself,” I explain, with a playful twirl and curtsy in my festive red dress.

  “I really wish I could take you for a night out on the town,” he says, moving to the window and drawing the curtain. “But unfortunately, it looks like we’ll be snowed in for a good while.”

  “This is fine, Adam. It looks really lovely. Thanks for doing this,” I say, moving to the table. He races me there and pulls out my chair, and I laugh softly before sitting down.

  “So, what’s for dinner?” I ask.

  He lifts the aluminum foil lids off some of the dishes, revealing all sorts of amazing looking food.

  “Shrimp puttanesca,” he explains, gesturing to a pasta dish. He lifts another lid. “Seared, almond-crusted salmon, with a side of strawberry, goat cheese, and walnut salad.”

  I can only stare. “You did this all from ingredients I had in the fridge?”

  “Well, the seafood was at the back of your freezer,” he explains. “And some of it was in your pantry.”

  “Adam, this looks… wow. This looks incredible,” I say, at a loss for words. I have an urge to reach for my camera and take a photograph, but the food smells so good that my mouth is watering and I don’t have the patience. I just want to dive in.

  “It doesn’t look half as good as you look in that dress,” he responds, as he takes some of the pasta out of the dish and places it on my plate.

  “This is the nicest romantic dinner by candlelight I have ever had in the middle of a blizzard at the edge of humanity,” I tell him seriously as he serves me.

  “Me too,” he responds with a grin. “I haven’t met many interesting, independent, and impressive women like you out here. Or anywhere. So, I really wanted to try.”

  “You tried and succeeded,” I say as I take a piece of the salmon and place it in my mouth. Almond-crusted fish? Seriously? “Mmmmm. Adam, are you sure you’re not a chef?”

  “I can neither confirm or deny whether I am a chef,” he responds cryptically.

  I roll my eyes at this response. I know I had almonds somewhere in my pantry, but I never would have considered crushing them and putting them on fish. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I mostly live on frozen dinners,” I confess. “There are even more in a freezer in the garage.”

  “I saw that,” Adam says with a chuckle. “I wanted to give you a taste of what it’s like to not live a bachelorette lifestyle. I could get used to more of these romantic dinners by candlelight with you, Eve.”

  He extends his hand across the table, and I stare at it for a moment. Maybe it’s the candles. Maybe it’s the light reflecting off the tinsel and balls on the Christmas tree. Everything is warm and glittering and it reminds me of home in Snowflake Creek. This cabin has never once felt like home in the years I’ve lived here. Maybe it’s the gorgeous snow blowing madly around outside the window. Maybe it’s the way that Adam’s eyes look so sincere and handsome in the candlelight. But I do it, I take his hand.

  He gently squeezes my palm, smiling at me.

  His face is so perfect. I could definitely spend many, many evenings sitting across a table from this man, making jokes and chatting over delicious food. I almost don’t care what he does—chef, masseuse, or stripper. I just like having him here with me, in my home. It’s really cozy. It all plays through my mind like a film reel. For the first time, I imagine a future with him. I actually imagine it, and don’t just brush it off as a joke. It’s funny how
small domestic things like a man putting up a Christmas tree and some decorations, and cooking dinner, can make you start thinking you’d like to have him around the house more.

  Like maybe those Adam and Eve wedding invitations are actually a great idea.

  Wait a second. What is this? What is this insanity?

  I feel like I’m under some kind of magical spell. This has got to be a trick. He’s a sorcerer or a wizard, casting some kind of spell on me, and tricking me into thinking he’s a perfectly nice and normal guy. What normal guy can cook like this, decorate like this, and give massages the way he does, while looking like that?

  Then it occurs to me.

  I pull my hand away from his.

  “Dammit,” I say with disappointment. “You’re definitely married.”

  “Married?” he asks with a burst of laughter. He puts down the wine he was sipping on. “What makes you say that?”

  “All of this,” I say, gesturing to the meal and the wine and the decorations. “You are way too charming, and I bet these are skills you gained from being married, and learning how to romance your wife. Normal single guys don’t have skills like this.”

  “Well, maybe I’m not a normal single guy,” Adam responds. “Or maybe I just have a mother and sisters I liked to cook for. Did you ever consider that?”

  “I did not consider that. Because men don’t need to romance their sisters with wine and candlelight. This—” I gesture all around us. “These are moves. You are putting the moves on me, Adam Wintergreen, if that’s even your name.”

  His eyes are twinkling with mirth now, as he sips his wine. “That is my name, and I am definitely putting the moves on you, Eve. Are they working?”

  “Maybe,” I say, grumbling in annoyance at myself.

  Chapter Six

  As we continue eating, Adam explains his technique.

  “It is also possible to Google how to woo a maiden,” he says with a grin. “Or I could just copy what the Earls, Viscounts, and Marquises do in your books, right? Is Marquises the plural of Marquis? I don’t know, that’s not a word I commonly use.”

  “It is,” I say glumly. Turns out I am a normal maiden, and I am wooable, after all. I didn’t realize I could be so vulnerable to the charms of a handsome man who knows how to cook almond-crusted salmon, and smiles at me like that. But who wouldn’t be? Screw him. I mean, I definitely don’t want to screw him. Do I? Dammit. I grab the glass of wine and take a large gulp. “How would Mrs. Wintergreen feel if she knew that you were drinking wine and having romantic dinners with strange women in the middle of miles of endless snow?”

  “If you’re talking about my mother, then Mrs. Wintergreen would be very pleased to know I was on a date with such a gorgeous young woman, and a talented author. She loves historical romance, actually. She would probably enjoy reading your books—especially that one about the Duke.” Adam smiles as he enjoys a strawberry from the salad. “But if you’re talking about my wife, then I hope the future Mrs. Wintergreen is sitting right in front of me, as we speak. If she’s open to changing her last name, of course. It’s not a requirement. I’m a feminist.”

  Oh my god. Did he really just say that? I call bullshit on how perfect this guy is. Men like this don’t just fall from the sky and land in your lap. Men like this are all married—what girl would let someone like Adam get away? I find myself staring at him with wide eyes. “So, Mr. Wintergreen-the-feminist, since when do guys talk so easily and openly about wanting to get married?”

  “Well, I’ve always wanted a wife,” Adam explains. “But I spent my twenties working pretty hard, and I didn’t date very much. Something about dating just feels unnatural, you know? Like in all these books you’ve written, the couple doesn’t meet on a website. They meet through some grand, serendipitous, magical coincidence or event. Like for example, a plane crash. I mean, wouldn’t that be an epic story to tell our kids and grandkids someday? Grandma met Grandpa when his plane crashed in her backyard, and then she saved his life and they fell madly in love! What could possibly be a better story than that?”

  He’s not wrong. It’s a rather good story. I sip more wine. “You should slow down there, Adam. I haven’t even agreed to kids, and you’ve already decided we’re having grandkids.”

  “And dogs,” he says. “Maybe some kitty cats. I am not opposed to a parrot, or a ferret, or a horse.”

  The corner of my lips quirk up into a smile. “You’re joking about all this, right?”

  “Not at all. We could have a whole farm if you wanted. I can just see the sign now.” He holds his hands up in the air as if viewing an invisible sign. “Welcome to the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve’s private paradise. Catchy, right?”

  I’m smiling. Why am I smiling? I try to wipe the betraying expression from my face. “How am I going to fall madly in love with you if I don’t even know what you do for a living?”

  “Does it matter?” Adam asks. “I would like to do you for a living.”

  I sigh, picking up a strawberry and twirling it on my fork. “Have you heard about the time God gave Adam good news and bad news?”

  “I don’t think I have,” Adam responds.

  “Well, Adam asked to hear the good news first, of course. God said that he had created two new organs for Adam—one was a brain, so that he could have intelligent conversations with Eve, and the other was a penis, so that he could reproduce and spread intelligent life all over the planet. Adam was super happy about both of these gifts, obviously.”

  “And the bad news?” Adam asks.

  “He was only given enough blood to operate one of these organs at a time,” I say, popping the strawberry into my mouth.

  Adam chuckles at this. “Well, that was a long time ago, and I like to consider myself the new and improved Adam. I mean, the first man was a prototype, but the… 107 billionth man has got to have some modern features and upgrades, right?”

  “Like cupholders?” I ask him, leaning forward curiously. “Remote starters? Backup cameras? Heated seats?”

  “Well, I can certainly hold a cup,” Adam says, lifting his glass of wine in demonstration. “I can also look behind me to see what’s there, before backing up. And if I sit in a chair for a while before you sit in it, I might even be able to warm it up for you.”

  “Very impressive,” I tell him teasingly. “But I’m not sure that any of those abilities are ones that all the other Adams of history didn’t have.”

  “Well,” Adam says, leaning closer and speaking in a low voice. “I’m sure that if you stick with me for a little while, I can show you some special abilities that are unique to this Adam.”

  The way he says that gives me a little chill. I take a sip of the wine, gazing down at velvet tablecloth. The candles are flickering between us, illuminating the room with a dreamy atmosphere. With the way this man cooks, gives massages, decorates, and woos a maiden, I can’t imagine there’s anything he isn’t good at. Other than flying planes, of course.

  My cheeks darken as my curiosity wanders toward his bedroom skills. I haven’t been with a man in… longer than I care to put a number on. I think I would be impressed with basic skills at this point, but if he can bone half as well as he cooks—we’re going to have a problem. I’m going to be at risk of believing all his nonsense about marriage, because in my drunken haze, it’s starting to sound nice and romantic. I try to think of a way to kill the mood.

  “As long as I don’t have to get into any flying vehicles with you, I’m curious to see more of your skills,” I tell him.

  “Ouch,” he responds, clutching his chest. “That is too soon, my good lady. You wound me.”

  “Well, you can’t be good at everything,” I tell him lightly.

  “I will have you know that the storm took down my plane, and it wasn’t due to my poor flying skills. It was due to my poor judgement—I simply shouldn’t have been in the sky that night, but I didn’t realize how fast the storm was coming on.”

  “Maybe you also have poor ju
dgment in wanting to marry women you’ve met five minutes ago,” I suggest to him.

  “No, never. My judgment in that sort of thing is stone-cold solid,” Adam declares. “I knew from the moment I saw you standing there in the snow, with your ridiculous fluffy nightgown, that you were something special. I could feel it in my bones.”

  “Really? I was just too worried that a bunch of people in that plane had died, and concerned that you were critically injured,” I tell him. “But the way you’ve been hopping around on that sore leg all day, getting things done—I am starting to think you’re pretty special, too.”

  “You should see me at full strength,” he says earnestly, raising his glass. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  Dinner with Adam was hands-down one of the best dates I’ve ever had. Although I’m trying to play it cool and keep him from knowing that. I don’t want him to get a big head. But I definitely feel like I’m developing a major crush on my unexpected visitor.

  We sat and kept chatting long after all the food was gone, polishing off the wine and having some of the snowmen cake pops for dessert.

  “I’ll sleep in the armchair tonight,” Adam says, when he notices me yawning. “I noticed you have a special pillow for neck pain, and you probably need to use that.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask him. “You’re the one who just crashed a vehicle and banged up your body.”

  “I’m fine,” Adam says, waving his hand in dismissal. “I’m really strong, remember?”

  “I hope so,” I tell him skeptically. “I wish I had something for you to change into, to sleep.”

  “I actually grabbed a change of clothes when I went out to the plane,” he says, gesturing to a small suitcase in the corner. “I didn’t want to bore you by wearing the same thing all the time—and I won’t have to cook shirtless anymore.”