by Olivia Noble
“But I meant it,” Adam tells her. “I meant every word. Of everything. Will you forgive me?”
“Of course, you idiot,” she says, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly.
It is then I realize that I am not the only person who has been spying on them. Half the town has gathered around us to witness the romantic scene. Mary and Sven are nearby. Everyone has begun clapping and cheering. It is pretty great. My big sister is going to live happily ever after.
So, I put my hands together and clap, too. I clap and smile. I’m happy for her. Really, I am! Reaching up, I feel a tear sliding down my cheek. I lift my hand to wipe it away. This is a happy tear. I swear.
This tear has nothing to do with the fact that my cat café dreams have been ruined forever. Or the fact that I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself, or with my life, without Eve. I guess we’re not going to be the famous cat lady Frost sisters. I’m just going to be that single, crazy cat lady who lives under a bridge. Maybe with a lot of pigeons on me, and pigeon poop—like that lady in Home Alone 2.
Adam and Eve are whispering sweet nothings to each other, and I move a little closer so I can hear the voice of the man who is stealing my sister away.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he is saying to her softly. “I’ve been wishing for you on every birthday cake, every 11:11, and every shooting star for my whole damn life. When I saw you, I just knew. But every day I spent around you, I knew even more. You think you’ve gotten lucky, but I’m the one who really lucked out. All I want for Christmas, Eve, is you.”
Oh, fuck this! He sounds like a storybook hero. He sounds like the same Prince Charming that the newspapers described. Who the hell is that perfect? No one is that perfect! I turn on my heel and walk away, stomping back to The Drunken Elf, by myself. When I sit down at the bar, wiping tears away from my eyes, I must admit to myself that I want to believe it.
If there is any guy on this planet who is really as perfect as Adam Wintergreen seems to be, then I’m glad that my sister found him. And I’m glad that he found her. That is really lucky, if you think about it. With seven billion people on the planet, what are the chances that two wonderful people could meet each other and fall in love, the way Adam and Eve did?
It’s ridiculous. It’s improbable. It’s impossible. And insanely romantic.
When Mike comes over to take my order, I wipe away my tears hastily.
“Clara Frost,” he says with a grin. “What can I get you to cheer you up?”
“A Dirty Snowman,” I tell him, sniffling. “Actually, Mike, make that three Dirty Snowmen.”
“Extra dirty?” he asks.
“And extra snowy,” I tell him with a nod.
“Damn. So it’s been one of those days,” he says, as he begins to mix my drinks. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Do I ever want to talk about it?” I grumble.
“Nope. You are a woman of few words,” he says as he slides the first Dirty Snowman over to me.
“And a woman with horrible luck,” I say, as I toss the first Dirty Snowman down my throat. It is going to take a lot of these to make me feel better tonight.
Chapter Five
“This is going to be the worst Christmas ever,” I grumble to Mike, after all my Dirty Snowmen are gone.
“I know, Clara. You’ve been saying that every single day since you got home,” the bartender responds. “Frankly, I think you’re bringing the mood down in my bar. Things are usually really cheerful around the holidays, but with that dark cloud hanging over you, you’re just killing the vibe.”
“I’m sorry, Mike. My life is just a mess and everything is ruined.”
He sighs. “Here, have some more mulled wine, on the house. My wife just made it fresh—her grandmother’s recipe. It’s magical stuff. It will fix anything that’s wrong with you. So, cheer up, for the sake of everyone in Snowflake Creek.”
Taking his perfectly spiced, warm wine concoction, I sip on it slowly, and close my eyes. Damn. This is really good stuff. It’s hard to get this kind of authentic Christmas flavor anywhere outside of Snowflake Creek. I sip again, closing my eyes and trying to extract happiness from the alcohol. It tastes like happiness, and I just want that to somehow infect my soul.
“Your life can’t be worse than mine,” says a masculine voice.
One of my eyes peek open to search for the source of the voice. When I see the gorgeous man who has taken a seat at the bar, across from me, I have to pry open both eyes to take a good look at him. I have been living at this bar for days, and I don’t think I’ve seen him around here before. Actually, I know I haven’t seen him, because Eve would have insisted I go over and talk to him, and I would have agreed. He has a mild accent I can’t place, because I am too drunk and sad.
“I lost my job,” I tell the handsome stranger, “and everyone in my family is perfectly happy with someone they love, and I’m the only odd one out, sitting here miserably with my messed up ankle.”
“That sucks,” he responds, taking a sip of his ginger beer. “But I still think I win.”
“Fine,” I say. “Tell me your story.”
“Two years ago, my wife and the love of my life died on Christmas Day,” the man says, with a sad smile. “So tell me how I’m supposed to ever enjoy the holidays again?”
Mike the bartender has gone silent, and so have I.
“Damn, dude,” I say softly. “I’m sorry. You win. Free drinks on me.”
“Thanks,” he says with a sad smile. He looks rather charming and sincere.
“You have to try this mulled wine—it’s transformative,” I tell him, pointing at my glass.
“Sure,” he responds with a grin. “I heard it can cure whatever ails you? I need a glass of that today.”
“Coming right up,” Mike says, beginning to pour.
I find myself getting out of my chair, grabbing my crutches under one arm, and my wine with the other, and hopping over to the strange man awkwardly. Sitting on the stool beside him, I reach out and pat him on the shoulder. “Why don’t we have absolutely awful holidays together?”
“Sounds good to me,” he agrees, lifting the wine glass to clink against mine. “What is there to do in this tiny town? I am just here for a few days, visiting family.”
I am about to give him a long list of Snowflake Creek’s best attractions, but none of them seem that appealing to me at the moment. In my drunken haze, the only thing that seems appealing is this man’s face, and his lips, and his voice, and his eyes. I find myself staring. “There’s absolutely nothing to do here,” I tell him, in a flat-out lie. I nearly add other than me, but that would be a bit forward. Right? “Other than me,” I find myself saying. Oh my god. Did I actually say that?
Mike coughs loudly. “Clara, I think I’m going to have to cut you off. You’ve had too many. Give that wine back over here.”
“You can’t have my wine,” I tell the bartender, keeping the glass far away from him. “And I’m perfectly fine. I’m allowed to flirt with a stranger if I want to.” Then I stick out my tongue at him. Like I’m twelve.
Mike frowns. “You’re allowed to flirt with a stranger, but you’re so bad at it that it’s painful to watch.”
“Just leave me alone,” I say, taking a large gulp of my wine and hugging the glass.
The strange man laughs. “So, you’re flirting with me, are you?”
“No. I’m coming onto you super strong, like a… like a… like a cannonball,” I say awkwardly. I try to do a hair-twirly thing and maybe stick my chest out a little. That’s how it’s done, right?
Mike coughs. “A cannonball?”
“Shut up and leave!” I shout at him, pointing. He complies and backs away slowly, with his hands raised, like my finger is a pointed gun.
The strange man laughs.
“Can you tell I don’t do this often?” I grumble. “I’m terrible at flirting. I have no idea how to like… meet a stranger at a bar. I suck.”
&nbs
p; “What are you talking about? I thought it was excellent flirting. Very direct and effective,” the handsome man says.
“Really? Effective?” I raise my eyebrows. “You must be more clueless than I am.”
“I am pretty clueless,” he agrees, sipping his wine and glancing down at me. “How did you hurt your ankle?”
“Just a… vigorous Christmas shopping accident,” I tell him, not wanting to go into the whole situation, at the risk of becoming very depressed again.
“I see,” he responds. “It must have been a really bad accident. I’m sorry.”
“It was nothing,” I say lightly, sipping my wine. “It didn’t ruin my whole life or anything.”
“That’s good,” he responds. “I’ve been trying not to let my thing ruin my life, but I’m not sure I’m succeeding.”
“Sure, you are,” I tell him. “You’re here, and you’re alive, and you’re handsome as hell—and you’re sipping wonderful wine with me. You’re okay. You’re healthy, and you’re going to be happy again someday. I promise.” I pat his leg reassuringly.
He studies me carefully. Then he smiles. “You’re a very positive person.”
“Only when it comes to other people,” I tell him sheepishly.
“Well, then I want to say the same things to you. You’re okay. You’re healthy. You’re here. You’re alive. You’re absolutely beautiful. And you’re going to be happy again someday, too. I promise,” he says, with a sincere nod.
“Wow,” I say, with a sigh. “That’s actually really reassuring. I feel a little better, somehow.”
He nods. “They are good words. A really wise woman said them to me.”
“Am I just really drunk, or are you kind of nice and funny?” I ask him.
“I have my moments,” he says with a grin. “So… would you like to get out of here?”
“And go where?” I ask with surprise.
“I have a hotel room nearby—I mean, if that’s what you were trying to achieve with all the flirting? I’m not good at this either. I haven’t let my family know that I’m in town yet, because I didn’t feel up to meeting everyone and acting all cheerful just yet. So, we could go back to my hotel room, if you wanted.”
My eyes have grown wide. “Yes,” I say slowly, testing the word on my tongue. “Yes, why not? That sounds like a great idea!” Here it is. My reckless, spontaneous Christmas hookup. Eve would be so proud of me. I’m going for it. Picking up my wine glass, I gulp down the rest of the contents before rising to my feet. “Wait—I don’t even know your name. Actually, don’t tell me. Let’s be super duper anonymous.” I manage to give him a sage nod.
He chuckles softly. “Sure, if you would rather not know. But I’m afraid that I heard the bartender call you by name.”
“Just forget you heard that,” I tell him. “You can call me… Mrs. Claus.”
“Mrs. Claus?” he responds with a twinkle in his eye. “Do I have to call you that in bed?”
“Only if you really, really want to.”
He laughs. “Fine—in that case, you can call me Mr. Claus.”
“Hmm. Not the sexiest thing I’ve ever called someone, but I think I can make it work.” Leaning forward curiously, I study his face. “Can I just… try something?”
“Sure,” he says with surprise.
Digging deep for my bravery, I slide forward on my barstool and place a tiny kiss on his lips. Just a very small, very chaste kiss, like dipping your toes in a pool of water to test the temperature before diving in completely.
Mr. Claus blinks. “Whoa,” he whispers.
“Yeah,” I say with a naughty smile. “I can make this work.”
Chapter Six
I don’t remember much of the walk back to his hotel room. I know we were talking and laughing, and stopping every few minutes to make out against a wall. Which is fairly awkward with crutches. I’m surprised I didn’t lose one or both of the crutches along the way. I am not sure if the walk took five minutes, fifteen, or fifty minutes, because the time just blended together in a montage of laughing and kissing all over Main Street. Oh, and I think we stopped at the bakery to grab some gingerbread cookies. Because, why not?
That is how I learned that gingerbread kisses are pretty good kisses.
But when we get back to his hotel room, the lighthearted mood changes. When I remove his tie, and he unzips my dress, I notice the tremble in his hands. And the hesitation on his lips.
“Are you okay?” I ask him softly.
“Yes,” he says quietly, looking down. Then he shakes his head. “No.”
He stumbles over to the bed and sits on the edge of it, putting his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think I can do this.”
“It’s okay,” I say gently, staring at him in the dark.
“It’s the first time—the first time I’ve tried to do anything like this since I lost Lilly,” he explains.
“Oh,” I murmur. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m a mess,” he says, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes.
“Hey,” I tell him lightly, limping over to sit beside him on the bed. “That’s why we’re hanging out, remember? We’re both a huge mess.”
He sniffles softly in the dark. “I’m so sorry, Clara. I didn’t mean to mislead you. I thought that maybe I could do this. I feel like enough time has passed that I should be able to do this, you know? But I don’t know how to move on with my life.”
I realize that he is twisting his wedding ring on his left hand, and my heart breaks for him. I watch him turning and turning the ring, and wonder how many hours he has spent doing that. I place my hand on his back. “We don’t have to do anything, and you don’t have to push yourself to move on faster. There’s no rush, Mr. Claus. You should take it easy on your heart, and your body, and just move at whatever pace makes you feel comfortable. I can leave if you want me to.”
“No,” he says, grasping my hand, and squeezing it gently. “No, please. Please don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
The look in his blue eyes in the dark sends daggers right through me. I want to cry for him. I just lost a career, but he lost a whole person. I feel so grateful in that moment, that all my family members are happy and healthy. I can’t imagine how this man feels, to love someone so deeply, and have them ripped away. I have never loved anyone like that.
I return the pressure on his hand. “Of course, I’ll stay.”
“Thank you,” he says with a sigh of relief. He turns toward me, and places his forehead against my shoulder.
I swallow at the intimacy of this. My arm is still wrapped around his back, and I gently caress his large, muscular frame. Touching his body makes me wonder about him. Wonder what he does for a living. Wonder where’s from, and where he grew up. What his family is like.
Clara, you suck at being super duper anonymous, I inwardly scold myself.
But his body is so warm and familiar, and trying to comfort him is somehow comforting me. For a second, the dumbest thought crosses my brain.
All the good ones are taken. What if he’s one of the good ones? And he was taken, but she died. So…
Finders keepers?
Oh my god. That is the most ridiculous, most awful thought I’ve ever had. Not just because of how insensitive it is, but this is just a strange man I met in a bar for a super duper anonymous fling because we were both really sad. There is no way on earth that I have any chance of keeping him.
But that would be nice, wouldn’t it? If I could keep him.
Another stupid, ridiculous, insane thought. I sigh as I run my hand over his back in what I hope is a soothing way.
“Tell me about her,” I find myself saying.
“Lilly?” he asks, lifting his head to look into my eyes.
“Yes,” I say, giving him a smile. “She must have been wonderful.”
“She was,” he says, and his eyes shine with tears. “I loved her and admired her from afar since I was a boy, but I never thought she�
��d be mine. I spent so many years trying to impress her, and making myself a better person so that she would even notice me. Lilly was so brilliant, so beautiful, so wise. I can’t imagine what my life would have been like without her.”
“It sounds like you were really lucky to have her,” I tell him. “Maybe people like that are rare, bright stars, and they just burn up all their light more quickly than most, because of how wonderful they are. And all you can hope is to stand in their glow for a little while, and soak up their warmth—because it disappears so fast. But she is never really gone, as long as you continue to love her.”
The man stares at me in the dark, with an intense look. He touches my cheek, with featherlight fingertips. “You are so sweet, Clara. You are the first person to make me feel like I’m still alive, with a heart beating in my chest, and not just a empty shell of a man, with a lump of coal in my chest.”
I press my palm against his ribcage and smile. “Well, I’m no doctor, but I think you’re very much alive, Mr. Claus. I definitely feel a strong, healthy heart beating somewhere in there.”
“Really?” he asks, placing his hand over mine. “Well, perhaps you revived it. Because I’m pretty sure it was completely dead a few minutes ago.”
“Nope. It was working all along. And I think it’s going to be strong and healthy for many years to come. And it might even have some more love to give, eventually,” I tell him. “Or receive.”
“Well, that is a promising prognosis,” he says, placing a kiss against my forehead, and then my nose, and then my lips. “Thank you for examining me, Mrs. Claus.”
I find myself kissing him back, and getting lost in the warmth and taste of his lips.
Then he pulls away and looks at me with an intensity that makes my stomach twist.
“On second thought, maybe I am ready to do this,” he says, in a husky voice.
Oh my. Something in my chest does flip flops at the combination of the look in his eyes and the sound of his voice.
Annnnnnd we’re back on.
Chapter Seven