Snowed In with Her Ex

by Andrea Laurence

  Not long after he went into his room, he heard the water running upstairs. He assumed that it was Bree taking the bath she’d mentioned. That didn’t help matters. The sound brought to mind unwelcome images of her creamy, naked skin, slick with soap and glistening in the steaming, hot water.

  Maybe he could break the guitar by repeatedly bashing it against his skull until every thought about Bree was driven from his mind.

  He loathed himself in that moment. Ian wasn’t his own biggest fan to begin with, but he’d really taken the crappy cake this time. He was not allowed to be attracted to Bree. He was engaged to Missy. He was determined to be a good father, better than his own. That meant marrying the mother of his child and being a part of his life, whether it made him happy or not. He knew what it was like to not feel important enough to matter. Ian might not be happy about the turn his life had taken, but he would never, ever let his child feel that way. His son or daughter would feel loved, special, important... He would see to that.

  Being attracted to someone else while the future mother of his child was miles away was an epically bad start.

  Ian needed a distraction. He picked up a random book from his bookshelf and forced himself to read it for nearly an hour. By then, he thought perhaps the phone gods had smiled on his pathetic situation and brought back his connection to the world. As he slipped from his room, the house was quiet. Bree was probably asleep by now. He ventured back out into the living room and found that all the lights were off on the ground floor. Only the small light over the kitchen sink was burning. His phone was on the counter where he’d left it. There was still no connection, making it just as useless as before, except now it also needed charging. He dug the cord out of his bag and plugged it in by the coffeepot.

  He picked up the house phone. No dial tone.

  With a sigh, he went back into the living room and flopped down on the couch. It was nearly midnight now, but he couldn’t sleep. His brain was spinning and there was nothing to soothe it.

  When he was younger, the music had helped. The doctors had diagnosed him with a hyperactivity disorder when he was a child, but his mother had refused the medicine. She had been determined to find a way for him to channel his energy. He’d played soccer for a while, but the real change had come with a chance encounter at a pawn shop.

  He and his mother had gone there to pay off a debt she had against her mother’s wedding ring. They’d needed the money for rent. While they were there, a guitar had caught Ian’s eye. It had been way more expensive than he could afford. He had been only thirteen at the time. The man who ran the shop had offered to trade Ian the guitar for help on the weekends cleaning up the stockroom. He’d snapped up the opportunity and continued to work there after it was paid off to fund guitar lessons.

  Music had changed Ian’s life. It had given him focus. It had helped him in school. Writing songs had come easier to him than any homework assignment. When he’d gotten to high school, he had joined the jazz ensemble. Some of the happiest days of his teen years had been spent holding the very same guitar that was in the closet right now.

  Ian felt a pang of guilt for handling it the way he had. It wasn’t the guitar’s fault that the person playing it wasn’t any good. He sprung up from the couch, walked to the closet and turned on the light. The guitar was haphazardly lying on the ground, a flutter of loose Monopoly money on top of it. Apparently, he’d knocked the game off the shelf when he’d flung the guitar inside.

  Reaching down, he picked up the instrument and carried it back into the living room. A quick inspection proved he hadn’t damaged it, thankfully. Ian sat down on the couch and cradled the weight of the guitar in his lap. It seemed like forever since he’d touched a guitar. He’d quit his music cold turkey. If he didn’t have what it took to succeed, he hadn’t wanted to waste another minute of his life on it.

  Now his fingers itched to brush the strings. What could it hurt? Bree was asleep upstairs. If he played quietly enough, just one song to soothe his curiosity, no one needed to know.

  He turned the guitar and gripped it. The first few notes were off, so he took a moment to adjust and tune it. His first solid chord sent a shiver down his spine. It was like his soul had reconnected with its true passion again. He began a quiet, mellow song—one of his coffee-shop favorites—to test himself. He wasn’t as rusty as he thought he’d be. The music flowed smoothly, the chord changes, second nature.

  When that song was done, he tried another, this time singing along. That song seemed to fly by. He remembered how easily the time would pass when he played. The same happened with his work now; he lost himself in it. This was a lot more enjoyable, though.

  With a happy sigh, he looked down at the guitar and the carving on the back. One last song.

  He started playing his acoustic cover of “Hello” by Lionel Richie. He remembered that he’d serenaded Bree in the coffee shop with that song the first night they’d met. He’d noticed her earlier watching him play and he’d found himself looking up at her again and again. She had looked beautiful and so intense in the way she studied him. When he’d gotten to this song in his set, he’d stood up, walked through the shop and sang the last chorus directly to her. Then he’d asked her out. When she accepted, the audience cheered.

  Playing this wasn’t the smartest thing to do considering he was trapped in this house with her, but he was going to finish what he started. Closing his eyes, he let the music flow from him. He easily connected with the emotion of the song and the memory of the first moment he’d laid eyes on Bree. As he reached the last few notes, sadness washed over him.

  It was done. Both his music and his time with Bree. The guitar and the memories needed to go back into the closet.

  “That was always one of my favorites.”

  Ian leaped off the couch, his heart shooting into his throat. He spun to find Bree at the bottom of the stairs. How long had she been listening? He felt an uncharacteristic flush of embarrassment rise to his face.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I wake you up?”

  “No. I couldn’t sleep so I was reading my book. I was coming downstairs for a drink when I heard the music. I didn’t dare interrupt you.”

  Ian shrugged. “You should have. I let it go on too long.”

  Bree walked across the room to stand beside him. Her long blond hair was pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head. She was wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt. On anyone else, he imagined it would be like a splash of cold water on his libido, but on Bree it was anything but.

  The plaid pants rode low on her hips, showing a scant inch of skin when she moved and her shirt rode up. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He could make out the full, round curves of her breasts and the tantalizing result the cold air had on them. He had to shift the guitar down a touch to save himself additional embarrassment.

  “Play another one. Play my song.”

  Ian stiffened. He wasn’t sure he could do that. Or that he should. There were way too many emotions wrapped up in the song he’d written for her. “I don’t know, Bree.”

  “Please.” She took his hand and led him back to the couch. Her wide blue eyes pleaded with him in a way he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

  He followed her because he couldn’t help himself. Her touch was magnetic, the tingling draw of positive and negative coming together and refusing to part. Before he knew it, he was back on the couch again and Bree was beside him, waiting with nervous anticipation to hear him play her song.

  There was no getting out of it without being rude. No matter what, he didn’t want to be unnecessarily mean to Bree. He could play the song. It was just one song. It didn’t have to mean anything. He just had to make sure he focused one hundred percent on the guitar and the song and not on her. Sitting this close, he could smell the scented lotion she’d always put on before bed. Touching her
hand was enough for him to know how smooth and soft every inch of her skin would be.

  Closing his eyes to block out those thoughts, he concentrated on the music and the lyrics he’d gone so long without bringing to life. About halfway through, he opened his eyes again. It was so quiet in the room he wondered for a moment if she had left.

  But she hadn’t. She was there, listening intently with glassy tears shimmering in her pale blue eyes.

  Without meaning to, he stopped playing. The sight of her tears had made his chest suddenly too tight to keep singing. “Are you okay? I—”

  In an instant, Bree leaned in and kissed him. Her lips met his with the force and emotion that only nine years apart could create. Ian was startled by the sudden attack, but he couldn’t pull away from it. Right or wrong, he still wanted Bree. His brain and his body refused to get on the same page when she was touching him.

  It was a mistake, but he was going to enjoy every moment while he could. Bree’s kisses were an experience to cherish. Her lips were soft and tasted like the peppermint tea she’d drank earlier. She made soft noises against his mouth, her hands caressing the stubble of his jaw. It aroused a primal instinct deep inside Ian.

  The surge of need shot down his spine. Every nerve ending awakened with a desire he hadn’t felt in a really long time. He cursed the guitar between them. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her tight to his body until those full, perky breasts crushed against his chest.

  “Bree,” he whispered in a half groan against her lips.

  The sudden sound seemed to snap her out of the haze. In a flash, Bree had flattened her back against the other side of the couch. Her wide eyes flickered with emotions that Ian couldn’t interpret. Then her hand flew to her mouth and smothered an “ohmygod” before she leaped to her feet and ran up the stairs to her room.

  Five

  Normally, Ian popped out of bed at six in the morning. It didn’t matter if he was at the office or working on his laptop into the wee hours of the morning. Every day his eyes would open to a room dimly lit by early-morning sun, and he would immediately check his phone.

  This morning, Ian rolled over and reached for the phone, but it was nowhere to be found. Then he remembered. It was charging in the kitchen. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see how bright the light was coming in the windows. It must be the sun reflecting off all that snow.

  Ian sat up and looked at the clock on the bedside stand. It was nine-fifty in the morning. He rubbed his eyes, expecting the digits to shift, but they remained stubbornly in place. He’d slept until nearly ten.

  He threw back the blankets and slipped out of the bed. The wooden floors were cold against his bare feet, but he didn’t care. He needed to get his phone.

  His phone without service.

  His fuzzy morning brain finally put the pieces together. He could go out there and check it, but considering he was wearing only boxer shorts, that was probably a bad idea. At this late morning hour, Bree was no doubt awake and roaming around the house. Last night, she had fled the room like her hair was on fire. Parading around half-naked wouldn’t make matters better for either of them.

  A shower, he decided. That way he could go out dressed and presentable, and his phone would have thirty minutes or so more time to get back to functionality.

  Climbing into the large tile enclosure, he turned the knobs that activated the multiple showerheads and body sprays. The scalding-hot shower felt wonderful as it pummeled his body from all angles. Ian was warm-blooded, always flinging back the blankets and going without a coat, but even he was getting chilly with all this snow. He dried off quickly and slipped into casual clothes. A pair of jeans and a sweater seemed appropriate attire for being snowed in at a mountain cabin.

  He laced up his boots so he could go outside later. He needed to bring in more firewood and, if he could, shovel a path to the road.

  Finally, he emerged from his room and found the house still and quiet. A pot of coffee had been brewed, so he poured a cup and glanced out the window over the sink.

  The snow had stopped and the sun was out. That wasn’t saying much. The massive piles of white fluff were hip high in some places. He couldn’t tell his front porch from his driveway from the road. It was just white in every direction. Maybe shoveling was a pointless venture.

  A soft chirp distracted him from his investigation. He ignored it for a moment, then realized the significance of the sound. It was his cell phone. It was working!

  Lunging across the countertop, he snatched up his phone and hit the button to activate the screen. Five beautiful bars and 4G data. He had never been quite so happy to see these old friends.

  He had missed a lot. His screen was crowded with pop-ups about missed calls and texts and a hundred unread emails. That was more than even he had been expecting. What the hell happened last night?

  A noise from behind him in the dining room forced Ian to look up from his phone. Bree was coming in through the glass door that led out to the covered, wraparound porch. She was bundled up in a quilted blue coat that must have been in her luggage. It was almost the same color as her eyes. Her long blond hair was in a thick braid over her shoulder, a knit cap tugged over her head. She was red-cheeked from the cold but smiling. She had her camera with her. She must have gone outside to take pictures.

  “You’re up,” she noted. “I was beginning to worry that old guitar had sucked out your soul. That, or I’d made such an ass of myself last night, you were afraid to come out of your room for fear I might throw myself at you.”

  “Neither,” he said. Truthfully, if he thought she would throw herself at him again, he’d have slept on the couch to catch her the minute she woke up. But they were both adults and knew the kiss they’d shared last night was a mistake. He wouldn’t even have mentioned it happened if she hadn’t. Ian didn’t want things to be more uncomfortable than they already were.

  “I guess without my phone chirping and beeping at me, I slept later than usual. It’s working again,” he added cheerfully, holding it up with a triumphant smile.

  “Oh, good. The balance is restored to the Force.”

  Ian chuckled. “I think so. But it seems that everything went crazy while it was down. I have twenty-five missed calls, ten voice mail messages, fifteen missed texts and a hundred emails.”

  Bree set her camera on the granite bar and walked over to make herself a cup of coffee. “You’re more important than I gave you credit for.”

  “Not really. Most of it is from Missy. That’s weird. She’s not the best at keeping in touch. Besides, she knows I’m stuck up here in bad weather. I’m not sure what she expects me to do about whatever is happening.”

  “You don’t think she found out you’re up here with me, do you?”

  Ian shook his head. “No. She wouldn’t know who you were, anyway.”

  Bree pouted. “You mean you’ve never told her about your college romance?”

  He shrugged. “We don’t really talk about me.”

  Bree’s eyes widened at him for a moment, but she didn’t respond. She just turned back to sweetening her coffee. Ian was relieved. He didn’t really want to explore that topic so early today.

  Thumbing through his screen, he saw a phone message from his label’s talent manager, Keith. He would listen to that first. Business before Missy’s drama.

  “Ian! Call me the instant you get this message. I’ve got press crawling all over the studio. I had to hire some private security to patrol the parking lot. This mess has totally blown up. I wish to God you weren’t trapped in the mountains.”

  Ian’s heart started racing. His fingers fumbled for a moment as he tried to hit the buttons to call Keith back, but he finally connected and it starting ringing.

  “Is everything okay?” Bree looked concerned.

  He shook his head. “I don�
�t know yet.” Keith finally answered. “Keith! What the hell is going on? My phone has been out since yesterday afternoon so I’ve been out of touch.”

  There was a painfully long silence. Ian expected Keith to start spilling the information, so the quiet was even more disconcerting. “Have you spoken to anyone?” Keith finally asked.

  “No. You’re the first person I called. I have a million messages, though.”

  “Oh, Christ.” Keith sighed on the phone.

  “What is it? Is everything okay?”

  In an instant, the worst possible scenario popped into his mind. The frantic calls and texts from Missy. The press swarming the studio. Keith’s dismayed tone. Something had happened to the baby. The dull ache of dread pooled in his stomach and tears welled up in his eyes. Not that. Anything but that. He could barely form the words to ask. “Is the baby okay, Keith?”

  Keith groaned. “Ian, I swear to you that no one is dead or injured. Your mom, your stepdad, everyone is okay. But there’s something I’ve got to tell you, man. Are you sitting down?”

  “Yes,” Ian lied. He took bad news better standing up so he could pace across the floor and burn off all the nervous energy. At the very least he knew his family was okay. The baby was okay. He could deal with anything else.

  “A story about Missy hit the tabloids yesterday. It’s all over the place—television, magazines, blogs. Apparently a woman in Nashville has come forward claiming that she sold Missy a positive pregnancy test on Craigslist.”

  With only a few sips of coffee under his belt, it took a moment for Ian to process what his friend was telling him. Missy had bought a used pregnancy test. A positive one. That meant...

  “There is no baby, Ian. There never was.”