To Fall for Winter

by Kelsey Kingsley

“Y’know, I like her. She’s a bit eccentric, and very … decorated, I should say, but I think she complements ya, wouldn’t ya say?”

  And what in the hell was I supposed to say to that?

  Because, I mean, on one hand, I didn’t necessarily disagree. Our dynamic was good, the sex was better than good, and the sleep I got with her was the best I had in years. Possibly ever.

  Teamwork.

  But then, on the other hand, we were talking about a woman I had only screwed a few times over the course of a couple days. We weren’t together—hell, we weren’t even friends, as far as I could tell. We weren’t really anything, and there she was, introducing herself to my grandmother. Asking her for tea, and thinking she had some sort of say in how I lived my feckin’ life.

  So, did she complement me, or was she simply poking her nose where it didn’t belong? Forcing herself in and overstepping her bounds?

  So many feckin’ red flags.

  “Granny, that tea smells amazing.” I turned at Snow’s voice as she emerged from the basement, wiping wet hands on the shirt she wore. “You need a hand towel in your bathroom,” she said, turning to me with a glint in her eye. “We’ll go shopping today. And maybe we could grab a few pillows, too?”

  “What the hell’s wrong with my pillows?” I asked, as I sat down in the recliner. Snow filled two cups of tea from the pot, before climbing onto my lap. Instinct had me put my arm around her, and her arse fit comfortably over my cock with a familiarity that said I was going to have her later.

  “Uh, nothing, except that they smell like they’ve been around for way longer than their intended lifespan.”

  “They smell fine,” I grumbled, and took a cup from her, sipping lightly.

  Snow laughed, and I shot her a questioning glance.

  “I wish I had a camera right now. I’d take a picture and remember you and your dainty little teacup forever.”

  “Forever, huh,” I muttered against the brim of my cup, and with that, it didn’t feel so much like overstepping at all.

  “Yeah,” she said on a shallow breath. “Forever.”

  Such a little word: forever.

  Little things that didn’t feel so little at all.

  Granny covered her mouth, failing to conceal her smile. “Oh, my boy, I do like her.”

  I was so feckin’ screwed.

  CHAPTER FIVE |

  ESSENTIAL OILS & TRUE COLORS

  She convinced me to call out sick, and I never called out. Hell, I would spit out my lungs before I didn’t go to work, but there I was, the day before Christmas Eve, coughing into the phone and telling my boss I wasn’t feeling well. Because apparently, I had to go shopping for hand towels and pillows.

  And I grumbled and grunted, protesting every step of the feckin’ way as she pushed the cart through Harold’s, River Canyon’s only department store, tossing things in that she felt I needed. But did I take a damn thing out? Did I put anything back? Nope, because y’know, the more I thought about it, the more I felt there was something sort of nice about giving someone that wasn’t Mam or Da permission to take control.

  Christ knew I couldn’t control the important shite myself. I had failed too many times to know that for certain, and so, I had handed the reins over to my parents. Letting them handle the majority of my finances, my schedule. We had a system, and while some might call it “dysfunctional,” it worked for me—giving them that control.

  Hell, I thrived on it.

  Being thirty years old and answering willingly to my Mam and Da wasn’t exactly something to brag about, was it? But I hadn’t been looking for any brownie points; I was looking for help. And for two years, I had convinced myself that was the only place I would find it.

  But then …

  Well, there was this.

  Snow and her shopping cart of pillows and hand towels.

  Having a woman decide which soaps to put in the kitchen and bathroom? It was so feckin’ domestic, so much like playing house, and dammit, it was kind of nice. It was something I never quite had before, not even when living with ex-girlfriends. With them, it had been a constant game of Tug O’ War, pushing and pulling until one of us finally snapped. But with Snow, it felt good and right, and so, behind her back, when I wasn’t grumbling, I was grinning. Watching her bounce through the aisles, smiling at me over her shoulder. She looked so genuinely happy, so … so … invested.

  She turned around, holding up a pack of … something. “You’re doing it again,” she said lightly, and I cocked a grin.

  “Doin’ what?”

  “That thinking thing.”

  I shrugged, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “It’s what I do; I think.”

  “I noticed,” she teased with a smile, reaching out to tug gently at my beard. It had become an affectionate little thing, and I feckin’ loved it.

  “Anyway, what do you think of this?” she asked and held up the pack of things.

  I shrugged again. “Ehm … what the hell is it?”

  “Seriously?”

  I squinted at the package in her hands, and then shook my head. “Yeah, I have no feckin’ clue what those are.”

  “Well, that explains a lot …” she teased under her breath as she dropped it into the cart.

  Cocking my head, I asked, “So, are you gonna tell me what they are, or not?”

  Snow sighed. “They’re essential oils, Ireland.”

  An immediate rush of blood to the groin. “Oh, ehm … right. Didn’t think this was that kind of store, but I’m down for any—”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh my God, no! They’re scent oils! You know, to make your apartment smell good?”

  Deflated and only a little less turned on, I scowled. “What are you sayin’?”

  “I’m saying that, you’ve clearly never lived with a woman before, because your apartment smells like a man who smokes like a chimney and has too many cats,” she teased, standing on her toes to kiss me. My brows furrowed, and she stopped mid-way to my mouth. “What’s that look for?”

  “I’ve lived with women before,” I stated bluntly, fighting to keep that vile taste from filling my mouth.

  She tugged at my beard again. “Your granny doesn’t count,” she said, and kissed me in the middle of the aisle, shushing my words before they began. Shushing my thoughts before they could head in the direction of ex-girlfriends and disappointments.

  I wondered if she felt it, too. That whole teamwork thing.

  Snow turned around and resumed her pushing. I kept a distance to watch her arse rock in her tight black jeans, wishing we were back in my smelly apartment, when I was suddenly startled by …

  “Ryan?”

  And with the intrusion of that voice, I was reminded that she had dragged me to the department store my brother worked at.

  With a concealed deep breath, I turned slowly to face him. “Hey Seanie,” I said, feigning enthusiasm with a grin and a shove against his shoulder.

  Feckin’ small towns.

  “What are you doin’ here?” he asked, cocking his head questioningly. But Sean was observant, and it didn’t take him long to notice that woman, standing at no more than five feet tall and looking an awful lot like someone I’d find myself wrapped around. He smirked knowingly, wiggling his brows at me.

  “Knock it off,” I grumbled under my breath.

  “I didn’t say anything,” he said with a gentle shrug, but that smirk hadn’t disappeared.

  “Cut it out,” I warned, pointing a finger at his face.

  “Wha—"

  “Hey Ireland?” Snow called, and Sean’s smirk widened into a grin.

  “Ireland, huh? That’s … sweet,” he teased, and I elbowed him in the side before turning to look at her.

  “Yeah?”

  She was eyeing a two-pack of oven mitts with scrutiny and turned around to notice I had fallen behind a few steps. She threw the mitts into the cart and bounded over to wrap herself around my arm.

  “Hey, I’m
Snow,” she introduced herself, thrusting a hand at my twin, and he accepted with a kind smile.

  “Sean,” he said, and bumped my shoulder with his hand. “I’m this arsehole’s brother. How come I’ve never seen you before?”

  “Just moved in. I’m the new tattoo artist at Canvas & Ink,” she said, casually smiling as she squeezed my arm tighter to her chest. She looked up at me with a soul-soothing affection, the way she would’ve if we were a couple. But in that moment, her jaw dropped, and she looked between his face and mine, and she pointed a finger with a grin. “Oh my God, Ireland, you have a twin!”

  The black hair, tattoos, and excessive workouts couldn’t keep us from sharing the same smile, same chin, same height, same voice. Not that I had ever purposely tried to change my appearance to be different from Sean; our personalities did that for us just fine.

  “What was your first clue?” I asked, looking at her with a smirk.

  “You have the same eyes,” she said, smiling up at Sean, and then me.

  “Yeah, we’ve gotten that before,” Sean laughed, and he was right—we had. Hell, there had even been a time when folks couldn’t tell us apart, as the stereotype of identical twins goes. But studying him now, I couldn’t see it anymore. Mine were a little more weathered, thanks to all those years of smoking and once-upon-a-time drinking. I had seen too much, been hurt too much, and his were still the eyes of someone who had yet to have his heart truly broken.

  But Christ, that Snow … She saw something else.

  ❧

  She didn’t tell me until we were in her car, the little old orange VW Beetle that I had to fold myself three times to get into. I dwarfed the feckin’ thing, and I shook my head at the absurdity of sitting in it and made a comment about finally knowing what it was like to ride around in a clown car.

  “Oh, shut up,” she laughed, gripping the steering wheel underneath her fingerless gloves. “I love this car.” She patted the wheel affectionately.

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t a good car. Although … it is a feckin’ miracle the thing even runs,” I said with a chuckle. “I’m just sayin’, you’re the shortest woman I’ve ever known, and you fit just fine, but me? I’m gonna need a chiropractor on call after I get out of here.”

  “The shortest you’ve ever known?” she laughed.

  “Easily,” I said, my smile stretching. “I mean, you have to be, what? Four-two?”

  She gasped. “Four-foot-ten, thank you very much! Jesus … You’re not that much taller than me,” she said with a playful roll of her eyes.

  “I’m almost a foot and a half taller than you!” I laughed heartily. “Definitely the shortest woman I’ve ever known.”

  Snow looked over at me, caught my eye and swallowed as her smile faded. “You know …” But then she shook her head and turned her gaze back on the road. She sighed heavily, her fingers gripped the wheel, but she refrained from continuing.

  “What?” I asked, gently prying.

  “No, it’s just that … you have such tired eyes, you know that? Your brother does, too.”

  “What?” I asked, taken aback by the observation.

  She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road. “I don’t know … I was just thinking about it. It’s funny, because when I first looked at the two of you, I couldn’t tell you were even twins. Maybe because of the hair, or maybe the beard threw me off—I don’t know. But then, I got a good look at his eyes, and I saw the same thing I see in yours.”

  My elbow tucked against the window ledge and my hand pushed through my hair. “And what did you see?”

  “Like you’re both carrying the world on your shoulders. Like … you share a burden or something.”

  “That’s quite an assessment to make just by lookin’ at someone’s eyes,” I said, a tight laugh forcing its way up my throat.

  “Yeah,” she said quietly.

  I glanced over at her as she snubbed out the conversation by turning up the radio, and I was instantly struck with thoughts about fate. Because in that moment, Phil Collins’s rendition of “True Colors” was playing, and as she reached for the radio dial, I put my hand over hers, stopping her.

  “Wait.”

  She bubbled with laughter. “You’re joking, right? I didn’t take you for a Philly C. kind of guy.”

  “I’m not,” I shot at her, more defensive than I should have been over a stupid song. “Just … keep it on.”

  I was granted a total of thirteen seconds to listen to the song, and I took in the lyrics about darkness and feeling small, and not being afraid to let your true colors show. Snow glanced over at my intense gaze, trained on the dashboard of her little clown car, and she shook her head, switching the station to something louder, something more us, and Godsmack’s “Voodoo” filled the car.

  “I couldn’t watch you do that to yourself,” she laughed with a twinkle in her crystalline eyes.

  “Thanks for savin’ me,” I said, laughing with her, but my thoughts were elsewhere. My thoughts were on what she had said about my eyes, they were on the lyrics of that song, and I wondered what else she saw—what else she’d see.

  Would it be something she’d have to fix?

  Would it be something that would make her leave?

  Or would it be something else entirely?

  Hell, maybe even something good.

  ❧

  Later that night, after putting the new sheets on the bed, Snow jumped on to starfish over its surface.

  “I love the feeling of new sheets. They’re just made to be ruined,” she sighed, stretching her long limbs out, corner to corner. Toes pointed, fingers spread. “Come here, Ireland. Christen them with me.”

  I shook my head. “Dinner first.”

  “Nuh-uh, I don’t think so.” She rolled over, grabbed for my hand, and tugged.

  “It’s gonna get cold,” I protested, but the breaded chicken cutlets and potatoes on the table went forgotten as I dropped to the bed.

  “Fuck chicken,” she laughed, pushing her hands into my hair and snagging my lower lip between her teeth. “Can I have you for dinner instead?”

  Groaning, I kissed her, wrapping my arms around her waist. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’d be into cannibalism?”

  She pushed me to my back, lean thighs positioned on either side of my hips. I looked up her torso, over her tattooed arms and shoulders. How she could manage in that chilly room in nothing but a pair of underwear and a tank top, I had no idea, but I was grateful for it. I pictured those glittering nipples, wanted them in my mouth. To feel that cool metal on my teeth, gliding the slippery ends over my tongue.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, looking down at me.

  Goddammit. I grinned. “I’m thinkin’ we should let dinner get cold. I’m thinkin’ … I can practically see your tits through this thing, and I want them in my mouth. I’m thinkin’ you should take care of this …” She let out a moan as I slid my hands under the thin black material, circled her hips with my fingers, pulled her down against my strained erection.

  “I guess I could do that,” she said, leaning forward to press her lips to mine. “But first, ask me what I’m thinking.”

  I grinned against her mouth. “What are you thinkin’?” I obliged, gruff words heating her lips.

  Snow flattened her hands over my chest, slid them up to my shoulders and kissed me lightly. Lips barely touching, so featherlight. “I want to go to your family’s house for Christmas.”

  My hard-on shriveled to raisin proportions at the thought of her attending a Kinney Family Christmas. The sheer thought of bringing a girl home, one that I had only been fucking for a few days, seemed foolish. Reckless. Disappointing. Typical Ryan. It was bad enough she had invited herself to meet my Granny, and coincidentally happened to be there when seeing my brother. I just knew the two of them would eventually tell Mam and Da that I was sleeping with the new girl in town. But Christmas?

  I laughed, because, she had to be joking. I laughed, and waited for her to j
oin in. I laughed, but I laughed alone.

  “Come on. You’re jokin’, right?”

  She leaned away, and as she absentmindedly pulled at the hem of my t-shirt, she said, “I’m serious Ryan. I don’t know anybody here, and I really don’t want to spend Christmas alone. I’ve never spent Christmas alone.”

  I watched the faintest forlorn glint flicker over her gaze, and I let my guilty conscience needle away at me. “Ah, Christ …” I sat up, putting my chest against hers. I could feel the pebbled nipples through her shirt. Felt the cold metal of her jewelry, seeping through the fabric. “I understand that, but I can’t take you to my family’s house for Christmas, Snow. What would I say to them?”

  “You can say anything,” she said, her gaze meeting mine.

  “But you’re not even my girlfriend.” I eyed her with uncertainty. “I don’t think?”

  Her arms encircled my neck, her hands resting lazily against my back. “I don’t think I can ever be your girlfriend, Ireland.”

  I was taken aback, stunned even, by the admission. “Is it really that hard to be with me?” I laughed nervously.

  “It’s not hard to be with you at all. I like being around you—a lot, actually—”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “It’s just that …” Her voice trailed off and toyed with the hem of my shirt.

  “Just, what?”

  She sighed. “Leaving you might be the problem.”

  “You expect to leave me? Who plans on that kinda thing?”

  Snow looked toward the window, seeking the air it controlled. “Sometimes, Ryan, no matter how much you plan, no matter how long you’ve been together, people still leave. You can’t keep other people from breaking your heart. You can hope they’ll stay, hope they’ll do exactly what you’d like them to, but in the end, sometimes you’re just meant to deal with the pain of losing them.” Her voice ebbed and flowed, rising and falling with tiny bursts of hidden emotion, and I wondered …

  “Did someone hurt you?” I asked, squeezing her hips firmly in my hands.

  She shook her head, shook away the buried pain. “We’re not talking about me,” she said.