by Susan Wiggs
“We need to leave early,” China said. “Midnight service was canceled because of the storm, so the morning celebration is going to be packed.”
“Is everything in place for the live feed to Angelica’s mom?” Darcy asked.
Logan nodded. “We did a test run. It’s all going to come together, blizzard or no blizzard. If the internet service goes down, there’s a cellular backup.”
Darcy felt a wave of warmth for him. She loved that they were working together on this project. She just hoped it was enough to make Christmas bearable for Angelica and André.
The others peeled off gradually, everyone going to their rooms, until it was just Logan and Darcy and the roaring fire.
“Can I just say, I love this?” He gestured at the roaring fire with an impossible number of stockings hanging from the mantelpiece. “All these stockings. My mom and sisters are serious about stockings.” They were different colors, but all the same size so the kids wouldn’t bicker over them. There was a photograph of each person pinned to each stocking.
“It’s nice,” she said.
“I love having a big group like this, a big family. A tribe.”
She didn’t answer. She’d come from a big family, one that was tribelike. And it hadn’t worked out so well for her.
His hand dropped from the back of the sofa to her shoulder, gently caressing. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Coming on to you.”
“That’s exciting.”
“I think so, too.”
It was quiet and warm in the room, with music drifting from the speakers. It was briefly interrupted by a storm update. The new prediction was for up to three feet in Ulster County.
“Are you worried?” she asked him.
“I have a rule,” he said. “No worrying on Christmas Eve. Oh, and I have insurance, just in case. I was in the business, so I’m covered. Actually, there is one thing I’m worried about.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“How to get you to spend the night with me.”
And there it was. The invitation she had waited for, hoped for, yearned for and at the same time dreaded. Before she opened her mouth she honestly did not know what she would say.
“Sometimes all you have to do is ask.”
* * *
For Darcy, the biggest surprise of the night was not the blizzard. It was not the power of the wind lashing at the windows.
No, the biggest surprise was that Logan delivered on every single promise he’d made with his kisses. Yes, he really was that tender, that attentive to her. He seemed to know just how to make her want him with a yearning so intense it took her breath away. As stealthy as a pair of teenagers, they crept up the stairs to his room. The only light came from the string of colored bulbs hanging from the eaves outside, casting a rainbow glow across his high, peeled birch bed. The room smelled of woods and soap and some ineffable fragrance she found wildly arousing. He went over to a dresser and lit a tall column of a candle, dimly illuminating an area cluttered with unsorted laundry and a box of gift wrap, curly ribbon and gift bags.
“Sorry about the mess,” he murmured. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“You weren’t?”
“Hoping, maybe. Not expecting.” He took her by the hand and brought her over to the bed.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
She started to reply, but he shushed her with a light brush of his thumb across her lips, and it was all she could do not to moan audibly.
“We’re already pretty good at talking,” he explained. “We can make conversation, joke around.”
“Yes, but—”
“Shh. Let’s see how we do at being quiet together.” He cupped the side of her head in his hand and kissed her, long and searchingly, his tongue teasing its way into her mouth. She ran her hands over his upper arms and around his shoulders, mapping the terrain of hard muscle under his soft sweater. He felt so good to her. She was so ready for this—another surprise. Before Logan, she’d wanted nothing to do with guys, and relationships. All she thought of was the risk and the emotional pain. Just a few weeks ago, she had been patently unable to imagine being vulnerable again, but suddenly she felt as if someone had let her out of a small, cramped box of her own making. Stepping back, she pulled her top over her head and let it drop to the floor. It felt wonderful, liberating, to finally leave the past behind and step into this unexpected new place—Logan’s world.
He took in a sharp breath, then put his hands at her waist and pulled her close, bending to place a line of kisses along her collarbone, then reaching around to unhook her bra, fumbling a little.
“It’s a front clasp,” she said, slowly guiding his hands to savor every bit of his touch.
He took it off, and made a wordless sound she found completely gratifying. He peeled his sweater off one-handed and dropped his jeans, and she followed suit. Then he pressed her back on the bed, onto the soft, age-worn quilt. She welcomed the weight of him, feeling amazed at how clear-eyed she was about wanting him. Instead of feeling smothered, she felt untethered, ready for adventure.
He pulled a ribbon of connected packets from a drawer of the bedside table. “Better watch out,” he murmured.
“Better not cry,” she said.
Then he raised himself above her and held her hands up over her head, sinking down with exquisite timing. “Santa Claus is coming tonight,” he whispered.
* * *
Time slipped away, the minutes uncounted as they lost themselves in making love. Darcy felt dazed by the storm of pleasure, and in the aftermath, the silence was deep, broken only by their satisfied, tandem breathing. His long, muscular body curved around hers, unfamiliar and exciting.
Her life seemed to be taking an unanticipated turn. She thought she’d come here simply to survive the holidays away from her family. And now here she was with this new thing happening to her. This...romance. Really, there was no other word for it. She was swept into a lovely swirl of emotion, one that freed her heart and filled her with joy, gently unspooling the tension she’d been holding on to from the past. He turned his head and gently kissed her temple. “That was nice,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said. “But there’s something I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?”
“This is supposed to be awkward,” she said. “We’re new, it’s our first time, so...why isn’t this awkward?”
“Because it’s the real thing. It’s not awkward, because it’s real.”
“How do you know that? We barely know each other.”
“I know stuff.” He laughed softly. “I’m smarter than I look.”
“What stuff?” she asked. “I mean, you’re the first man I’ve wanted to make love to since my marriage. If you’re so smart, you’d realize this is probably rebound sex.”
“As opposed to what?”
“The kind of sex you have when you realize you’re over your failed marriage and you’re ready to move on, and you find someone you click with and you realize you’re not reacting to the past but to right now.”
“I think you just answered your own question.” He trailed his finger along her jawline, then down over her shoulder. “This is not a rebound,” he said.
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“Because I’m not letting you go.”
Her heart surged with excitement. Happiness. She wished the feeling could go on forever.
And this was unfortunate, because she could not see a way for the situation to sort itself out in the long term. Logan was incredible, but there was a red flag as big and bright as the cape of a matador. He claimed he wanted—he needed—a woman who wanted children, not just Charlie but babies, too. She couldn’t promise him that. It just felt too risky, too fraught with pitfalls. She wasn’t ready now and couldn’t be certain she’d ever be.
“There are things you don’t know about me,” she confessed. “Things that would make a big difference in the way you feel. Things that would tell you that this might not be the right move for either of us.”
“There’s plenty we don’t know about each other, but it’s only a matter of time. I plan to learn everything about you. I’m going to know what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. I’m going to know what makes you mad and what makes you sad. I’m going to learn all about you. And you’re going to love every minute of it. Oh, and you’re going to learn everything about me, too.”
“You sound very sure of yourself.”
“Because I am sure. And the more you know me, the more you’re going to love me.”
That word. Love. Although her feelings for him were all brand new, she could not convince herself that he was wrong. “You seem to know a lot about us. Do you have a crystal ball?”
“I know what I know.” He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her, serious now. In the faint glow of the Christmas lights and the flickering candle flame, his eyes looked deep and intense. “I know what my heart’s telling me to do. It’s telling me to love you. It’s telling me to take you in my arms and never let you go.”
A flurry of alarm fluttered in her chest. “But we want such different things. I can never be the person you want me to be.”
“Darcy. You already are that person.”
“You’re wrong. I’m not. And I never can be.” She suddenly felt overwhelmed by his certainty, by the power in his eyes. She could never live up to what he wanted from her. She could never be the mother he wanted for Charlie, couldn’t imagine having his children.
She’d said it a hundred times. She didn’t want children. And she was scared. She had emerged from the demise of her marriage more or less intact, but also firmly resolved to be smarter, going forward. She was too young, too hopeful to declare she’d never fall in love again. But now she was wise enough to know that if and when she did, she would do so cautiously, not leaping into something the way she’d just...leaped.
“Why are you so afraid of finding happiness?”
“Because it doesn’t last, and it’s awful when you lose it.”
“You’re not going to lose it. When the right thing comes along, it’s just going to grow and deepen and get stronger every day, every year until the end of time.”
He was a hopeless romantic. She wished she could be that, too, wished she could surrender and not see all the obstacles in the way.
But she couldn’t. It was too hard for her. Too scary. She needed time, time to think. Time to see if there was any truth in what he was telling her.
“It’s almost Christmas,” she said. “Can we just agree to enjoy the holidays?”
“And then?”
“And then I have to go home.”
“To the sock warehouse,” he said.
“Hey. Don’t judge. I searched high and low for my place in the city.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe I searched high and low for you.”
chapter nineteen
At some point in the dead of night, the power went out. Logan awakened to chilly darkness, and found himself lying in an empty bed. The Christmas lights were dark and colorless, and the big candle on the dresser had burned down to a puddle of white wax. If it was not for warm memories swirling through him, he might have thought he’d dreamed the night with Darcy.
He jumped out of bed, pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and thick socks and went downstairs. His breath created frozen clouds. The Christmas tree looked sad and neglected, standing there in the weak light through the window. In the aftermath of the blizzard, the light in the great room was stark from the deep blanket of snow. Over at the resort, the emergency generator chugged with a distant hum.
Working quickly, he made a fire. A big one. But it would take more than that to chase away the chill in the air. Suddenly his perfect Christmas wasn’t looking so perfect.
His father came into the room, unshaven and bundled up against the frigid weather. “Bad luck on the power,” he said.
“Yeah.” Logan braced himself, expecting an I-told-you-so and a reminder that they could be enjoying the Florida sunshine today. But the diatribe never came. Al stood in front of the fire, slapping his palms together.
“So much for hot cinnamon buns and coffee this morning,” Logan said. “And unless the power company gets right on it, I’m not so sure about Mom’s baked ham and all the trimmings.” He glared at the dead-looking tree. “There’s something totally depressing about an unlit tree by daylight.”
“Maybe this will cheer you up.” His father handed him a business-sized envelope.
“What’s this?”
“A contract. You can read the fine print later. It’s an investor’s agreement. I’m looking for a stake in Saddle Mountain.”
Logan’s jaw dropped. “What the—”
“Did he come?” The kids arrived en masse, tumbling into the room, sleep-tousled and still in their pajamas. “Did Santa come?”
Logan put the contract in his back pocket and couldn’t keep from grinning at his dad. “Yep,” he said. “It appears that he did.”
“Yay!”
Al turned to the herd of children. “Well, now, looks like Santa didn’t bring any electricity. Better check the stockings.”
“Stockings!” There was a mad scramble.
India and China arrived to supervise the first wave of holiday madness. Someone switched on the battery-powered speakers, and lively carols filled the air. Logan’s mother went around lighting every candle she could find. The stockings were stuffed with treats and crazy little toys, like windup roaring dinosaurs, stick-on tattoos, nostril-shaped pencil sharpeners, mini whoopee cushions. Charlie was enamored with a set of finger-sized steel drums, and André accompanied him on the harmonica.
“When can we open presents?” Bernie demanded. “We’ve been waiting forever.”
“After everybody gets here,” China said.
“Where’s Darcy?” Charlie asked, looking around.
Good question, thought Logan. Had last night’s conversation freaked her out so much she’d disappeared into the frozen tundra?
“I’ll go look in her room.” Bernie clambered up the stairs.
Uh-oh, thought Logan.
A few minutes later, Bernie returned, her eyes wide. “She’s gone. Her bed is all made up, and she’s gone.”
Instantly Logan’s sisters turned to him with knowledge written clearly in their gazes.
He offered a sheepish grin and a shrug.
“Where’d she go?” Charlie asked. “Should we go look for her?”
A commotion ensued as everyone debated and speculated, but it didn’t last long. “Hey, check it out,” said André, running to the front door.
There was Darcy in her parka and snowshoes, coming up the front walk, pulling a small sled behind her. She looked like a dream to Logan. Small and bright, a breath of fresh air. Last night had been incredible, and deep down, he felt completely certain this was not a fling or a rebound. They had a lot more talking to do.
Maybe not just talking.
“Hot coffee and hot chocolate from the lodge,” Darcy announced, leaving her snowshoes on the porch. Al and Bilski went outside to help her.
“Christmas is saved,” Logan’s mother declared.
As Logan took her coat and shut the door behind her, he noticed a line of snowshoe tracks leading around to the back of the house.
“Now can we open presents?” Charlie asked.
“Ready, set, go!” India yelled.
The kids rushed toward the Christmas tree. Despite the lack of electricity, their squeals of excitement lit the room. The Santa gifts were a hit—a dollhouse and princess outfits for the girls, sleds and snowball bazookas for the boys, André’s baseball mitt, the snowboard for Cha
rlie. Logan saw the boys sharing a knowing look.
“I got a special card,” Angelica exclaimed. “Look, it’s from Santa!” She opened the card, which featured a sparkly picture of Santa and a simple message. “See you at the church, later.”
“I wonder what it means.” Bernie turned the card this way and that, squinting at the careful lettering.
Angelica’s eyes shone with hope and excitement. “Maybe it means I’m getting my Christmas wish.”
“I bet it does,” Bernie declared.
Logan was probably the only one who noticed Charlie’s smile seemed forced as he inspected the shiny new snowboard. “It’s really cool,” he said.
“I bet you can’t wait to try it out,” said Al.
“That’s right.”
“Just what you wanted?” asked Fisher.
Charlie ducked his head and slid his snowboard along the rug under the tree. Logan could tell something was up. Charlie’s cheerfulness was an act, that was apparent.
Logan’s gut twisted unpleasantly as he went over to the fireplace mantel, where there was a small stack of Christmas cards. Among the cards were the notes they had written to themselves last summer at Camp Kioga. True to her word, Sonnet had mailed them to arrive the day before. Logan’s message to himself had been succinct: Make Christmas awesome for Charlie.
He sensed Darcy beside him, peering over his shoulder. “Remember this?” he asked her.
She nodded. “I filled one out, too. But I wasn’t home to get my mail.”
“What’d you write on it?”
She hesitated, but smiled up at him. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”
He liked the sound of “someday” coming from her. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“What did you write?”
He showed her. “I’m not doing so hot.”
“Nonsense. Look at this, Logan.” She gestured around the room, at his parents and sisters, nieces and nephews, André and Angelica and Charlie. Everyone was laughing or relaxing or playing while outside the window, a soft snow began to fall. His parents were on the sofa, sipping coffee and watching the kids. “Joy to the World” was playing on the stereo. “Look at these happy faces. You did this, Logan. You.”