One Snowy Week in Springhollow

by Lucy Knott

  ‘What did you say?’ Devon asks, walking past the kitchen and up the stairs.

  ‘Huh? What? Oh nothing,’ I say, not realising I’d said that out loud and not sounding even the slightest bit innocent.

  ‘You’re not too bad yourself,’ Devon adds tapping me on the bum; I don’t hate it and I let out a giggle as he pushes open my bedroom door.

  *

  We eventually make it down for pancakes and I am very much enjoying the scene in my kitchen of Devon in his boxers helping prepare breakfast. We casually potter around the kitchen chatting about New York and Springhollow, what’s changed over the years, what Devon misses, but how he loves acting. I find myself talking freely about comic books when the subject turns to Devon’s new film.

  ‘So, what was it like getting to wear the suit every day?’ I ask, having held in certain questions before, simply out of fear of discussing our nerdy past and getting too attached, but this morning it rolls off my tongue with ease and excitement. ‘I bet you didn’t want to take it off.’ I smile flipping a pancake.

  He leans against the counter sipping on his coffee. I can see the huge smile forming from behind his mug.

  ‘OK, besides all the wires and the awkwardness of going to the toilet; Scar, it was incredible. I felt invincible in that thing. It was so thick and detailed and comfy. I felt like if I fell, I would just bounce right back up again. It really felt like it was meant to be, all the curves and contours fitting to my body. I mean I know it was custom made for me but still – come on, it was awesome. Made to fit me,’ he adds at the end with a wistful disbelief that makes my heart patter.

  I slide the pancake onto a plate all while studying his face. ‘I’m so proud of you, D. I should have said it sooner, but I’m so bloody proud of you. You did it, you really did it and you make the absolute perfect superhero,’ I say, trying not to let my emotions get the best of me but nearly choking on the joy that envelops my chest and restricts the words coming out of my throat.

  Devon takes the plate from me, that spark, that unignorable static that fizzes whenever we are close catches my fingertips and we just stand there and smile at each other for a moment. ‘You’re really lovely, you know,’ I say, feeling that familiar warmth and safety wash over me.

  Devon grins that shy grin of his, where his eyes narrow and nose crinkles making the smile on my own face widen. My stomach rumbling interrupts the romantic moment and Devon gives me a gentle nudge towards the table.

  ‘How are your parents doing?’ I ask, pouring syrup over my stack of buttery, fluffy pancakes and trying to take my mind off the curves and contours of D’s body.

  ‘Same old.’ Devon places his forearms on the edge of the table, knife and fork aloft in thought. ‘I missed your dad a lot when we first got to New York – I still do. You know what my parents are like. I think they will forever be disappointed that I’m working on Broadway and not Wall Street. But I guess, like your mum, I know they mean well. They always said they would support me, and they did,’ he finishes, placing his knife and fork down and grabbing the can of whipped cream. I watch as he throws his head back and squirts it into his mouth. When he catches my eye, he smirks and passes me the can.

  I chuckle and swallow my last bite of pancake, taking the cold can as I give Devon a sympathetic shrug to acknowledge my understanding of his parents. I love my mother but for once I’d love for her to love all of me – failures, flaws and all.

  ‘To never growing up,’ Devon says nudging the can in my hand; always the sidekick encouraging me to misbehave and feed the child within me.

  The squirty sound of the whipped cream can hisses as Devon pushes the nozzle. The scrumptious treat tickles my tongue as I quickly push back in my chair to stop Devon squirting any more into my mouth. He’s got his hand wrapped around mine, doing the deed for me. He’s now laughing while I’m trying not to dribble whipped cream all over the place.

  ‘Oi!’ I splutter, hands reaching for a napkin, while Devon casually goes to spray more cream into his own mouth. I quickly dab at my chin and then knock the can, causing him to miss his mouth and squirt it all over his cheek, in turn leading it to drip down his chest.

  ‘Touché.’ He laughs, quirking his eyebrow. A blush spreads over his cheeks as he looks down at the mess. I grab the napkins, pretending I need them all to wipe my face, which makes him laugh and shake his head further. I get back to eating my pancakes like nothing has happened leaving him to clean up after himself, but Devon isn’t fazed. He simply stands up to the side of me where he pauses, giving me a face full of his lower torso. Satisfied when I cough through a bite of syrup-covered pancake, he walks over to the sink, nonchalantly asking, ‘Everything OK over there?’

  ‘Mmm yep. All good,’ I reply with no way of hiding the lust in my voice. I don’t turn around, instead I just focus on my food. The next second D’s hands are on my shoulders and I can feel his breath on my neck.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he whispers in my ear. A grin spreads across my face but I don’t look at him, I simply enjoy the giddiness that he evokes. The next second I am pushing myself up on my chair, so I reach Devon’s height and I spin around to face him.

  ‘I have an idea,’ I exclaim. ‘Popcorn and all the comic book movies I have missed, please.’

  ‘Have I ever told you how much I love your ideas,’ Devon replies, nodding his head at me. He then turns around allowing me to jump on his back as he walks towards the cupboards so we can retrieve our snack.

  *

  The tree lights sparkle, the fire is burning, The Avengers is on the TV and Devon is by my side; it’s utter bliss and takes me back to our childhood Saturday mornings watching cartoons. The kissing and the pausing to get a little naughty under the mistletoe is a rather new and delicious grown-up version of fun that I can’t get enough of. It doesn’t feel strange or odd to be kissing my best friend. It all feels incredibly natural.

  Looking at Devon now sitting by the coffee table on a mound of blankets we brought down from upstairs, his hair is a touch wavy and decidedly messy having had my hands in it most of the morning; his cheeks are full and rosy, a permanent smile procuring that effect; and his body that should be positively out of place in my small living quarters is every bit perfect. His biceps have grown tenfold and are solid as a rock; his stomach displays the subtle hint of abs but is toned and strong, and forget about those legs that lead to his peachy butt. He’s like one of my action heroes come to life and well, he is now an actual action hero and is very much alive in front of me. As these thoughts are swimming through my head, I don’t notice Devon move until he’s nuzzling my neck, causing those scrumptious tingles to ignite my whole body.

  There’s an element of awkwardness to our movements with the occasional knock of the knees or fumbling hand or finger caught in a knot in my hair, which relaxes me. I feel I can be myself and so can he and there’s no pressure for perfection. Devon has this shy yet confident approach, drinking me in and taking his time and it sets my pulse racing.

  ‘Scar, you are awesome, do you know that?’ he says, feet playing footsy with mine at the end of the blanket, his finger drawing pictures on my stomach with the lightest touch, his head resting on his forearm to the side of me.

  ‘Thanks, so are you,’ I say dreamily. He kisses my cheek before announcing that we need more popcorn. He gets up, grabbing the bowl, when there’s a knock at the door.

  ‘You get the popcorn; I’ll get the door,’ I say following him.

  Unlatching the lock, I swing open the door, completely forgetting my state of dress, and am greeted by a freezing cold wind and Hope and Jess.

  ‘Hey,’ I say in a sprightly tone, ushering them in and out of the cold, while I jump from toe to toe, my feet turning to icicles on the wooden floor.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Hope says cheerily taking a step forward and looking over my baggy tee and shorts combo.

  ‘It’s already afternoon?’ I question. I had totally lost track of time, too busy focusing on the
awesomeness that was Avengers Assemble.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been trying to call you to see if you were going to head to the inn to say bye to Devon…’ Her words trail off when she steps into the hallway as Devon walks out of the kitchen still in just his boxers, holding the bowl of popcorn.

  Hope’s jaw hits the floor and her eyes grow large underneath her even larger glasses.

  ‘Oh God, we didn’t mean to interrupt you… you guys… you both… erm whatever you were up to… together,’ Hope stutters before peeling her eyes off Devon and looking at me. She gives me a coy nod, raising her eyebrows so they vanish into her hairline before her eyes find Devon again.

  A moment passes and nobody moves or says a word until the door shuts behind Jess making me jump. Jess wipes his feet and steps forward past Hope.

  ‘Bye then, mate. It was good to meet you. We’re just going to get out of your way, and don’t be a stranger, hey.’ He pats Devon on the shoulder. Devon smiles and nods as Jess turns around, placing both his hands on Hope’s shoulders to guide her back out the door. This seems to remind Hope where she is and what she’s doing.

  ‘Oh, merry Christmas.’ She nods at Devon, her eyes lingering a little too long. Devon moves the popcorn bowl a little lower in modesty, causing my hand to shoot to my mouth to stifle a giggle.

  ‘Popcorn. Devon was just getting popcorn,’ I manage causally as Hope passes me and heads out the door, positively beaming like her Christmas has just come early. ‘See you guys later,’ I call after them, shaking my head in disbelief.

  ‘Thanks for stopping by,’ Devon shouts.

  ‘I wanted to give him a hug,’ I hear Hope say to Jess as they walk down the snowy path.

  ‘Probably a bit of an inappropriate time,’ Jess replies as he closes my garden gate behind them. I close the door and double over in a fit of giggles. I think I might have gone mad. I know Hope, I know what this scene looks like and I know what she is thinking and she is absolutely one hundred per cent right; it is exactly what it looks like and she would be right to think what she is no doubt thinking. I have no excuse and I’m not sure what to make of that yet.

  A handful of popcorn hits me in the face and falls to the floor, the odd one getting caught in my hair. I wipe at my eyes and see Devon looking at me smirking and nibbling on popcorn yet still glued to the spot. I run at him and he dodges me running into the living room and over to the fire. Its heat is inviting after being stood in the chilly doorway. I abandon my attempt at getting Devon back with the popcorn, choosing to wrap myself up in the blankets and snuggle closer to the flames instead. Placing the bowl down beside me Devon slides into the duvet behind me, wrapping his arms and legs around me and resting his chin on my head. My body warms up within seconds.

  ‘What happens now?’ I ask, the flames hypnotic, calming my laughter as my brain registers why Hope and Jess had popped around; to say bye to Devon because Devon isn’t staying. He is leaving today.

  ‘We always wear pyjamas and check before answering the door,’ Devon suggests, squeezing me tighter. I snort despite the blizzard of emotions whirring around in my stomach. All at once they have hit me hard and I don’t want to speak for fear of getting angry with Devon for having to go or for bursting into tears, which is so not like me. Laughter is a safer bet and it’s not exactly difficult to laugh or feel happy either when Devon’s arms are wrapped around me and I can smell the mix of pancake batter lingering on his skin and his fresh, aftershave.

  It’s not until the final log burns to ashes in the fireplace that I realise Devon should probably make a move. The clock on the mantel is telling us it’s three minutes past three and I know Devon has a nine p.m. flight. I imagine he’s got to pack and I’m sure his publicists and assistants are keen to arrive on time to the airport and get back home before Christmas. I turn into Devon as a thought crosses my mind.

  ‘What do your publicist and management team think you’re doing today?’ I enquire as the credits roll.

  ‘I asked if I could be left alone to spend time with my family before we left, and they obliged,’ he informs me, tucking my long bob behind my ear.

  ‘You can just do that, like they let you have your privacy? I thought you’d have paparazzi running around all the time?’ I question further, intrigued by how this all works. I haven’t thought to ask until now as the whole celebrity culture isn’t really my thing, but I’ve heard Hope talk about how tricky it is for celebs to lead normal lives with photographers constantly hounding them. But this week with Devon has been relatively calm besides all the action and filming at the inn.

  ‘It’s a little different in New York.’ He shrugs casually. ‘There are a few more posters, billboards and newspaper stands everywhere. Here everyone knows me, and they’ve allowed me to get on like I’m still just the little boy running around with my best friend. I like that. And there are certain rules and regulations paparazzi must adhere to these days. Plus, this documentary is relatively low key. They haven’t announced it yet, so my publicist hasn’t been too disgruntled by my disappearing acts and choosing what to keep private. I’m allowed to have a say,’ he finishes, fingers still in my hair.

  ‘Hmm, that’s good,’ I say, interested by the way in which he lives now. I can’t imagine seeing posters of my face on walls or billboards, causing people to stop and stare at me; then again I’ve occasionally thought about how cool it would be to have my own booth at a comic convention where people would know me and come and buy my comics; but a giant billboard, that’s a touch intimidating. I reach for the remote and switch off the TV. ‘Do you have to date people in your world? Hope’s told me stories about fake relationships for publicity. Do you get a say in who you date?’ I ask, absent-mindedly stroking my fingers over his forearm.

  ‘Yeah, I guess fake relationships have been known to happen. Publicists will try and have a say in everything and can get carried away if you let them. They’re just doing what’s best for business and if they think dating a certain celeb will put you on the map and get your movie more attention, then they can be pretty ruthless; but you don’t have to worry about that. I’d never do that. Those Ruby rumours are not my publicist, just journalists trying to stir things up,’ he tells me, making a lump form in my throat.

  ‘That’s crazy but that’s good to know.’ I nod, though it won’t put a stop to magazines gossiping and spreading rumours about his love life, knowing where Devon stands on pretending to be in a relationship with another woman does make me feel more at ease.

  ‘Right, you best get moving,’ I say, making to stand up. Devon looks at me with his lips parted like he has more to say or something he wants to ask. I know this because he’s my very best friend and yes, I think I’ve claimed him back as that after this week.

  However, he’s not talking and he’s not asking questions, which is very unlike him. ‘Come on, you can’t be late.’ I try and muster all the chirpiness I can when thinking about going on with my daily routine without the excitement of seeing him at the end of the day or him being a part of any of it.

  Devon shuffles in the blanket and drops a kiss on my nose as he stands up. ‘Yes, I’d better. OK,’ he replies looking a little flustered. ‘Scar? Erm…’ He shakes his head like he’s thinking over what he wants to say. I’ve never seen him look so nervous.

  ‘D, it’s OK. Go and get ready,’ I say gently, trying to soothe the anxiety I can feel radiating off him.

  I set about tidying up the living room, folding the blankets and putting them on the couch, collecting our snacks from the floor and popping them on the coffee table.

  ‘Scar, there’s this really amazing art school in New York and I think it would be perfect for you,’ he informs me. ‘I know you love it here; I’m not asking you to move to New York – it would just be for a couple of months. This place, you would do awesome. It would be so good for you,’ he adds, an excitement but nervousness in his tone.

  I can’t help the guffaw that comes out of me in disbelief as I sprinkle a few more f
ishy flakes in Ed’s tank. ‘Devon, I can’t leave Hope for a couple of months. I have a job and my dad would miss me.’

  ‘I know. Look, I know you work hard but I thought you could still work for Hope but you could start focusing on your drawing again, pushing a little bit to make your dreams come true and your dad would miss you but he’s always wanted that for you,’ Devon goes on.

  ‘Devon, stop. I have plenty of things to focus on at work, especially with the magazine being in limbo right now. I haven’t even thought about it all weekend. I can’t give myself more distractions and I certainly can’t just drop everything and leave Hope with all the work. It’s fine,’ I say, my voice coming out firmer as I feel a drop of anger bubbling in my stomach.

  ‘But, Scar, it’s not fine. You can’t just go back to how it was before.’ Devon is leaning towards me, hunched over with his arms out and bent at the elbows as he speaks, trying to catch my eye as I faff about with cushions. The drop of anger becomes a full-on splash.

  ‘Before what, Devon? I loved my life. I loved the people in my life. You have no right to come here and tell me what’s fine and what isn’t,’ I say, my voice turning hard as I throw the cushions back onto their spots on the couch.

  ‘But it wasn’t fine, Scarlett. You’re telling me your definition of fine was hiding who you were, working a job you’re not truly passionate about, shoving your dreams in a dark hole and worrying about what everyone else thinks? That’s fine?’ he adds, causing the air to leave my lungs.

  I feel attacked. Tears prickle my eyes. I turn my body towards the blurry Christmas lights and blink a few times to encourage the water in my eyes to disappear. I don’t want Devon to see me cry. I was stupid to let him in.

  ‘Who you’re calling “everyone” are people that care about me. They make me happy too. They are loyal and kind and they’re here for me. You might have been able to turn your back and drop everything, but I can’t. I can’t leave Springhollow and I won’t. That’s not who I am,’ I say, my voice breaking, my bottom lip trembling.