Hot for the Holidays (21 Holiday Short Stories): A Collection of Naughty and Nice Holiday Romances

by Anthology

  "We don’t have this kind of snow in California, so we’re not used to it." Everett turned on the wipers. "But they’re used to it. They probably have snow tires on their cars."

  My stomach was in my throat as I felt the car skid slightly to the left and my head whipped towards Everett.

  "We’re okay, Parks."

  I disregarded his stupid, recently-adopted nickname for the moment. "I’m scared."

  "Don’t be." His hand let go of the wheel and squeezed my knee. "I’m not going to let anything happen to you."

  "Hands on the wheel, please," I said in a voice that was abnormally high-pitched.

  He chuckled but wrapped his hands around the steering wheel anyway.

  "Why didn’t we get a taxi?" I asked, holding onto the door with a death grip as we skidded again.

  To his credit, he didn’t roll his eyes or sigh in annoyance. "Because it’s an hour drive to where we’re going. That would be one hell of an expensive taxi ride." He switched lanes at the sight of an accident up ahead, hazards cutting against the snow that came down hard and fast against the car. We passed the accident and I refused to look, suddenly finding the black studs on my boots to be the most interesting thing I’d seen in a long time. "And besides," Everett said, coasting back into the other lane as I bit my lip from the nerves, "I’ll make it my mission to keep you safe."

  "I think you’re trying to be sweet right now, but all I really want is to not feel the car slide across the lane," I held my breath as it happened again and closed my eyes, not wanting to see my likely imminent death. My hands gripped the door and the center console as I imagined my body being propelled through the windshield.

  "I’m not doing it on purpose," he laughed as we skidded again and I squirmed in my seat. "You’re with me, Parker. Nothing is going to happen."

  I nodded, swallowed hard, and tried to concentrate on something, anything else. "I need to be distracted," I whispered.

  "Done." The radio poured through the speakers and seconds later, Everett was singing along with the latest pop song.

  I was reminded of our road trip, of how Everett’s singing had thoroughly annoyed me, clawing deep under my skin, until the day he’d stopped. When he’d driven in silence back then, I’d missed his singing, his antics. But I’d never tell him that.

  "This is only marginally better," I said, opening my eyes again and glancing at him.

  Everett ignored me, moving his shoulders to the music and letting the lyrics flow from his mouth like he was putting on his own damn concert.

  A few minutes later, he pulled into a grocery store. "Let’s grab some provisions."

  We ran through the snow into the store, hoodies up over our heads. Everett started throwing produce into the cart but didn’t seem to be paying attention to what he was grabbing.

  "Do you even like radishes?" I grabbed a hold of the green tops and yanked them from under the head of cabbage.

  He paused and looked between me and the radishes. "Uh…"

  "That’s what I thought." I pulled the rest of the radishes from the cart and returned them. "Do you have specific meals in mind?" I waved a hand over the cabbage, the carrots, the grapes, and sweet potatoes. "Or are you just grabbing random stuff?"

  Everett stared into the cart and blinked. I swallowed my sigh, realizing he hadn’t been paying attention, not really. Ever since the surgery, Everett had moments like this, where he was present but not altogether there in his head. He helped me return most of the vegetables while I grabbed others, thinking about making a stew.

  In silence, we moved through the rest of the grocery store, grabbing staples like eggs and milk and completely bypassing the alcohol aisle. Everett didn’t give it a second glance, but I wasn’t sure if that was due to him being on another planet again, or not wanting me to notice the look on his face upon seeing one of his former vices.

  Everett’s mother had told me that after the surgery, he wanted a beer. He hadn’t remembered going stone cold sober for the road trip. Luckily, he wasn’t allowed any with the drugs he was on, but he’d asked for alcohol repeatedly, culminating in a showdown between him and his mother. I knew he still thought about it from time to time, which was why I kept our home free of alcohol of any kind.

  He looped the cart toward the front of the store and started grabbing stacks of firewood.

  When he caught my questioning glance, he shrugged. "There’s a fireplace. We might want to use it."

  The mere idea of needing to use a fireplace to provide warmth made me nervous. "When you say cabin, do you mean a shack made of logs, with a dirt floor?"

  Everett picked up a bundle of wood, his biceps and shoulders rounding out as he placed it into our cart. The way his long sleeved tee stretched as his muscles flexed was distracting; the way he did everything effortlessly made me feel a sort of primal need that I knew sounded ridiculous. But there was something about watching Everett exuding testosterone like it was no big deal that made me clench my legs a little bit.

  "Aw, come on Parks. It’s civilized enough. There’s even an outhouse, just ten yards from the cabin."

  If it were possible to have eyeballs pop from their sockets as a result of shock, my eyeballs would have been rolling across the tile floor. "Are you serious? In this weather?" I gestured wildly, outside at the blizzard currently coming down around us. "Please tell me you’re joking."

  Everett didn’t look at me, his eyes focused on his task. As he loaded each bundle into the shopping cart, I felt the tension grow heavier and heavier in my shoulders.

  And then he turned around, lips widened in a stupid, shit-eating grin. "Of course I’m joking. I wouldn’t want your precious derriere to freeze and fall off." He leaned back, giving me a once-over from behind, before winking at me.

  I barely resisted rolling my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest, unamused. "I still don’t believe you."

  His expression turned serious. "Parker. I told you once before I wouldn’t lie to you. That statement remains in effect." He reached a hand toward me, placing it on my shoulder. With his other, he wrapped his arm around my waist. "I am concerned for your ass." His hand slid down, over my ass, briefly enough that I didn’t have a chance to twist from his arms. He let go of me to grasp the cart. "But I can’t tell you if the rest of the cabin is modernized or not."

  He pushed the cart toward the checkout, completely ignoring my rising anxiety.

  * * *

  An hour later, after three wrong turns that took us onto roads that looked as though they hadn’t been plowed all month, we pulled up to a small cabin. The eaves were decorated with lights and real icicles, and all around the cabin were fluffy piles of snow as if it had slid off the roof and came to rest in piles. The cabin itself was set back off the main road, with a driveway coated in white and surrounded by snow-dusted spruce and white fog.

  I looked at Everett as I gathered my thoughts, taking in his wide eyes and mouth opened in awe. It certainly was picturesque, but all I could think when I looked at it was how terribly cold it would be once we opened the door.

  Everett switched off the engine and exited first, bringing a tunnel of cold through the open door. I shivered and rubbed my hands up and down my arms, praying the inside of the cabin was warmer than it looked.

  He came around the car to my door and opened it, reaching a hand in to pull me out. "What do you think?"

  It was hard to think. Everett’s warm hand in mine did little to assuage my fear of cold. I looked around, taking in the complete isolation of the cabin itself. I met Everett’s eyes and lifted my shoulders in a shrug. "It’s kind of in the middle of nowhere," I said.

  "It is. But you like being alone, don’t you." It wasn’t a question. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me along with him, through the snow that seeped into my boots, reducing me to shivering.

  "I’m not alone if I’m with you." I scowled.

  He chuckled and kissed the top of my head as we trudged through the snow, up to the porch. The
steps creaked beneath our feet as Everett pulled the key from his pocket, sliding it into the lock and opening the door.

  If I had expected anything, it wasn’t what faced us: a completely adequate cabin, with warm-looking leather furniture surrounding the large fireplace that stretched the entire two stories of the open ceilings. I took in the small, but modernized kitchen, the staircase in the back that led to what I assumed to be the room above the kitchen, with the railing that overlooked the main living area below.

  I looked back at Everett as he hauled our bags in. "I’m surprised," I said, rubbing my hands together. "This is nicer than I expected."

  Everett laughed and shook his head, sending little flakes of snow flying around us. "You give me so much credit."

  I felt guilty then, for being such a pain in the ass about the trip thus far. I watched as Everett opened a door in the back of the cabin and returned with a rectangular box. He set it in the corner of the living room before returning to the closet, so I walked around the room to see what it was.

  "A Christmas tree?" I asked as Everett dumped a small tub of what looked like all sorts of decorations.

  "Yep. We’re going to have a real Christmas, Parks. With a real tree and lights and the overall ambiance of Christmas thrown up around us."

  "The realness of this tree is debatable," I said eyeing its plastic tips as Everett removed pieces from the boxes. "But if you really think this is necessary…" My voice trailed off as Everett placed the base on the floor and began quickly assembling the pieces.

  "Why don’t you put the groceries away while I set this up? We’ll decorate it together."

  Thirty minutes later, Everett had started a fire in the fireplace and had Christmas music playing from his phone on the counter as we dug into the tub.

  I couldn’t deny that Everett was right; there was a certain homeyness in the crackling fire and low croon of Frank Sinatra singing, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" in the background. Everett seemed to have endless energy, from hauling the stacks of wood from the car, back and forth, and putting away the tree box, cleaning up his messes as he went.

  "If only you were this thorough at home," I murmured, not unkindly.

  Everett laughed, that sound that filled the room with life. My heart pinched. Involuntarily, my hand came to his knee and I squeezed, needing to feel his warmth more than anything, suddenly.

  He grabbed at me then, hauling me into his lap and pushing his lips to mine. It was as if we hadn’t connected since landing in Colorado, the state that had seemed to connect us the most. My arms wrapped around his shoulders, squeezing, needing him to feel the apology I couldn’t seem to say.

  "I love you," he whispered against my lips. He didn’t wait for me to return the words, pressing more firmly against my lips.

  He made me crazy, mad with frustration and impatience. He tested my sanity and my stability and made me question my own worth. Because how did I deserve this? This man who put up with my cranky ass, with my stubbornness and my sour attitude. How did I deserve to be loved by someone like him, someone who had so much of it to give and who chose to give it to me, of all people?

  I gripped him tighter, kissing him back with everything I had to give him, not even sure why he wanted this life with me.

  Not for the first time that day, the question of why came into my head again.

  Why did you go through with the surgery, Everett?

  * * *

  After setting up the tree, Everett pulled me into the kitchen and gestured for me to have a seat at the island. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

  I was starving. "Um." Yes.

  He opened the refrigerator. "French toast alright?"

  I nodded, pulled my sleeves down and crossed my arms, leaning over the counter. The cabin was homey, warm, and with the Christmas décor sprinkled throughout it was most certainly not like our house.

  "Doesn’t your mom want you home for Christmas?" It was such a foreign thing to me, spending the holidays with people. After doing it the year before with Everett’s family and the awkwardness that ensued, I had no desire to do it again.

  Everett shrugged, setting eggs and bread onto the counter, opening the cupboards in search of bowls and plates. "Bridget has a new boyfriend, so my mom is plenty occupied entertaining him and her grandson."

  "Your sister is dating someone?" My mind raced to the last time I’d seen her, in August, when Everett had started making arrangements to move back to California.

  "Everett, aren’t you rushing this a little?" Bridget asked after Everett hung up on his call to his storage facility in California. He’d had all his belongings moved into storage prior to our road trip the year before and was planning to fly out around Thanksgiving to start moving them into whichever house we would choose to live in.

  Everett smiled at me, reassuringly, before lifting his head to Bridget. "Bridge, when have you known me to ease into anything?"

  Bridget looked unimpressed, hands on her hips and dark hair pulled up in a bun. She glanced sideways at me as if a little uncomfortable that I was witnessing this family spat of sorts. I looked up at the painting on the wall, seemingly completely interested in what it was: The Grand Canyon.

  "Just a big hole in the ground," Everett said from behind me. "Don’t pretend not to pay attention on Bridget’s account. She’ll get over it."

  My lips twitched, but I didn’t give Everett the benefit of seeing it. "That’s rude," Bridget muttered before I could say anything. The twitch pulled tighter on my lips and I bit hard on my lip to keep it from manifesting into a grin.

  "I just think you should wait a little longer. Some of your memory came back, but not all of it."

  I swallowed, closed my eyes. I didn’t want Everett to rush into moving to California, to moving in with me. But at the same time, I’d spent a year with a hole carved out of my chest, a grief that I hadn’t fully allowed myself to actually grieve. I wanted Everett in my every day.

  "What do you think, Parks?"

  I ignored his nickname, pretended something on the wall had caught my attention instead. White. Lots of white, everywhere.

  His hands were on my shoulders seconds later, his breath at my ear. "Tell me how you feel."

  The way he said that. The way he enunciated "feel" did an unbelievable thing to my stomach. It brought with it a rush of memories, of Purgatoire, of the Four Corners, of New Orleans; of Everett’s words and actions running a knife down the center of my chest, opening me up to feeling every single thing.

  His hands squeezed my shoulders and I turned to face him. My eyes found his, that brilliant blue. It was a face that haunted my thoughts, my dreams. A face I had hoped, for ten months, to alight with recognition.

  "What do you think?" His words were soft, meant for my ears only. His hands slid down my bare arms, clasping my hands.

  "I miss you," I said, the only thing I could think to say.

  "That’s enough of a reason for me." He looked over his shoulder and my gaze followed, taking in Bridget watching us with concern mixed with an odd kind of happiness.

  She sighed. "I can hardly breathe in this room with all these hormones." Rubbing her temple, she muttered, "Lord help me if I get mixed up in this kind of crap again."

  "The love kind of crap?" Everett asked loudly. He looked at me, a boyish grin on his face. "This love crap can be toxic."

  Back in the present, I turned to Everett. "I thought she didn’t want a boyfriend?"

  "Oh, she says that. But I think she’s a little envious of us if you ask me."

  I scoffed. "Envious? Of us? We bicker like cats and dogs, constantly."

  "That, my precious, is passion." He cracked an egg and I watched it slowly slide from his hands into the bowl. "Bridget’s never had that with anyone."

  I thought of her teacher, the man who had fathered her child before dumping her. "Not even… him?"

  He whisked the eggs, looked at me with an eyebrow raised. "I’m not going to psychoanalyze Bridget, but I always assu
med she sought the teacher out because she was missing something."

  I mulled that over as I watched Everett, thinking once again, how oddly fortunate I was. "How did you know there was a Christmas tree here?"

  Everett smiled at me. "I saw a tree in the ad’s photos and called ahead. It was as simple as the management company telling me where to find the decorations."

  I looked back at the tree dubiously. I didn’t have any significant Christmas memories, nothing imprinted in my brain that made the tree a welcome sight. But somehow, with Everett, it was.

  The pan sizzled as he dropped the first egg coated slice of bread into the skillet. "Christmas is tomorrow."

  He nodded. "I’m well aware of today’s date, but thanks for the update babe."

  I narrowed my eyes. "Don’t be a smartass." I spun on the stool and walked to the window, opened the curtains. We had a view of deep, white, fluffy snow. The snow was clean, without interruption from humans or animals. It felt very isolated. "What are we going to do?"

  "Celebrate," he said plainly, almost impatiently. I turned around and took him in. "Look, I know holidays – among other things – make you feel all weird and shit, but this is normal for me and we’re going to make it normal for you, too."

  I wrapped my arms around myself, rubbed them. "I’m not sure I like normal."

  Everett sighed. "You didn’t like people either before you met me."

  "I still don’t like people. I make an exception for you, but even you’re testing my patience."

  He nodded once. "Good. That’s what I’m here to do."

  * * *

  Everett placed two plates on the table for two and gestured for me to sit as he lit a lone candle in front of the place settings.

  If I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t immune to the charms of this cabin and all the warmth it promised. The golden lights and the muted instrumental Christmas music certainly helped the overall holiday spirit, but as a Californian, I was unused to all the undercurrent of cold that wrapped around the cabin. I shivered.