Snowman

by AC Netzel

  How long did I sleep?

  Sitting up, I swing my legs off the couch, setting my elbows on my knees and rub my sleepy eyes awake. There are half a dozen white votive candles lit around the living room and kitchen area. The room looks warm, romantic even. I notice Nick in the kitchen, his back to me, doing something over the stove.

  I take in a deep breath and inhale the delicious scent of garlic, butter, and some sort of fish. It smells incredible. Standing from the couch, I walk toward him, where he’s cooking by candlelight. I take a seat on a barstool in front of the kitchen island with my elbow on the counter propping up my chin and watch as he sautés the fish in a cast iron skillet.

  He turns to grab something and spots me.

  “You’re awake,” he says.

  “Barely.”

  “The electricity’s out.”

  “I figured.”

  “Luckily, I have a gas stove. So we’ll have a hot meal.”

  I inhale the mouthwatering aroma permeating the room. “It smells amazing.”

  “Thanks. Unfortunately, the heat is electric. It’s going to get cold in here.”

  “Looks like you’ve been keeping up with the fire.”

  “I was afraid I was going to wake you, but you just kept snoring away.”

  “Excuse me, I do not snore.”

  “Okay, you were sleep breathing.”

  “Pfft.” I wave a dismissive hand at him.

  “I hope you like fish. Got some trout from Tiny yesterday. With the electricity out, it’s use it or lose it.”

  “I’ve never had trout. But if that’s what you’re cooking, it smells delicious.”

  “My secret recipe.”

  “Chef Snowman,” I deadpan.

  He smirks, shakes his head, then directs his attention back to the stove.

  “Who taught you how to cook? Your aunt?” I ask.

  “My mother. And culinary school.”

  “Get out! You went to culinary school? You’re an actual chef? Why aren’t you cheffing somewhere?”

  “I did,” he says matter-of-factly. “For a few years. I traveled pretty extensively and saw the world. I worked under some incredible chefs. Met interesting people. Learned a lot. Lived a lot. It was a good time in my life.”

  “Why did you stop? I mean, no disrespect, but a bait and tackle shop is far less exciting.”

  “My brother and his wife died.”

  My heart drops. I cast my eyes down to the counter then back at him. “And you had to take care of Noelle.”

  “Uprooting her was never an option. She needed stability. Family. So I came home to stay.”

  “And you gave all that up?”

  “I followed my heart and left my dreams behind. I came to realize that all the things I thought I was losing by coming home was exactly what I needed to lose. I have no regrets. Here’s where I belong. I have a great life here.”

  I want to hug him.

  “Have you ever thought about opening a restaurant in Arid Falls?” I ask.

  “Running a restaurant alone would have taken too much time away from Noelle. I couldn’t do that. She needed me.”

  I gaze at him in silence, absorbing all I just learned.

  “You’re a good man, Nicholas Snow.”

  He gives me a shy smile and winks. “I have my moments.”

  “Is this a dry town?” I ask.

  “Dry?”

  “Yeah. Dry. You know, no adult beverages. I’ve never seen anyone have a drink.”

  “You mean alcohol?” he asks.

  “Yup.”

  “The town is called Arid for a reason.”

  “Damn.”

  He chuckles. “I’m kidding. I’ll get the glasses.”

  We sit on the floor, sharing our dinner on the coffee table near the fireplace. With the heat out of commission, it’s the warmest place in the house. We’ve stuck mostly to general small talk, dancing around the topic of the sale of his home.

  “Nick, you have serious talent.” I swallow down a forkful of mushroom risotto. “This meal could easily rival any New York restaurant. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s nice to make something for someone other than Noelle.”

  “When I first met her, she asked me if I knew how to cook. Why? She has Chef Michelin Stars preparing her meals.”

  “After her parents died, we found that cooking together was some sort of bonding experience for us while we were adjusting to our new lives. Truth be told, I think I needed it as much as her. And that desire I once had to experience the world, to travel and learn new cuisines—it all sort of dissipated when steadying that little girl’s world became what I wanted more.” He gives me a half-smile. “I think because cooking is our thing, she equates it to love. Hence, you don’t date someone who can’t cook. At least according to her.”

  “Aww, that’s sweet.”

  “Well?” he asks, raising a brow. “Can you cook?”

  “Are you vetting me as a potential date?” I joke.

  “I may have to kick you out if your culinary skills aren’t up to par.”

  “Listen, buddy,” I poke my index finger at his chest a few times. “I make a mean grilled cheese and tomato sandwich. And you may know how to expertly use a knife, but my cereal box opening skills are unmatched. I’m not going anywhere, especially out there,” I point towards the windows, “in the tundra.”

  His grin turns into a laugh, the sexy laugh lines on the sides of his eyes on full display. He cocks his head to the side then shakes it.

  “What?” I ask, my smile growing into an enormous grin.

  “I just realized how much I enjoy your company.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself, Snowman.”

  Staring out the window, I watch the snow continue to fall when I spot Nick out of the corner of my eye, grabbing his shoes near the garage door.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m going outside to get your suitcase.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “You can’t sleep in what you’re wearing.”

  I look down at my navy pantsuit. Yeah, probably not the most comfortable sleeping attire. And it’s not like I could just strip down to my bra and panties. Not in front of him.

  “There’s ten feet of snow outside.” I point toward the windows.

  “Slight exaggeration there, Sloane.”

  “With the snow and that whipping wind, you’ll get soaked. Then you’ll come back into a cold house. No. I’m not going to be responsible for you ending up with pneumonia. Do you have a long T-shirt I could borrow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “By chance, any extra toothbrushes?”

  “I have a ton. Noelle drops hers constantly.”

  “That’s all I need.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind going outside for you.”

  “Positive.”

  Bra or no bra? That’s the million-dollar question. I hate sleeping in one. It’s too constricting. And my boobs aren’t so big that it’s a big deal. But the thin cotton shirt I’m holding isn’t the greatest barrier between being topless and covered.

  The hell with it. It’s dark, he won’t see anything. And we’re adults.

  I slip the “Snow Christmas Tree Farm” logo T-shirt Nick lent me over my head. It’s long enough to barely cover my ass. For a second, I wonder if he picked it on purpose, so I could accidentally flash him. But I quickly lay that notion to rest when I remember that he’s been nothing but a perfect gentleman since I arrived.

  Much to my relief.

  And my libido’s dismay.

  I reposition the small flashlight he gave me on the bathroom counter and brush my teeth with my new sparkly pink toothbrush and bubble gum flavored toothpaste. Untying my hair from its twisted bun, I finger comb it.

  Feeling exposed and nearly naked in my current state of undress, I take a deep breath before reentering the living room. Nick is in a pair of gym shorts and a white T-shirt, tossing another log onto the fl
ames. He turns and freezes when he sees me.

  His eyes are hooded as he bites down on his bottom lip. His gaze focused on my shirt. I look down to see my nipples as erect as the Eiffel tower. I’m such an idiot, outside of the fireplace area, this house is freezing. And I’m with a man who, like it or not, gets my nether regions wet and the rest of me tingling.

  I can’t blame the guy for looking. I mean, they’re staring right at him. Proud and hard as pebbles.

  They’re tits. And apparently, Nick’s a breast man. And for as humiliating as this is, it’s also weirdly empowering. Truth is, I like the way he looks at me. It makes me feel sexy, and the fact that I know feeling this way is wrong makes it even sexier.

  He blinks and diverts his attention anywhere but where I’m standing, eventually grabbing the bellows on the side of the fireplace.

  “I brought down some extra blankets and bed pillows while you were getting changed,” he says as he puffs air into the fire. “You must be freezing.”

  Nipples are amazing gages… they accurately reveal both temperature and arousal measurements.

  “I’m okay.” I cross my arms in front of my chest, protecting what little modesty I have left.

  “Are you sure you don’t want something heavier to wear? Sweatpants?” he asks. It’s almost a plea.

  “No. Thanks.” His sweatpants would swim on me. I’d never get any rest if they twist around my legs all night while I sleep. I click off my flashlight and place it on the side table. Grabbing a crocheted throw blanket off the couch, I wrap it around my shoulders. “The blankets and the fire are enough.”

  “Okay. You take the couch. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “I can’t have you do that. I’ll take the floor,” I insist.

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Just because I’m a woman, doesn’t mean I’m too delicate to sleep on a floor.”

  “The reason I don’t want you sleeping on the floor is because you’re my guest.”

  “Uninvited guest,” I point out.

  “This is so stupid,” he growls.

  “Did you just call me stupid?”

  “No. I called this argument stupid.” Frustrated, he runs his fingers through his hair and inhales a breath. “Would you just sleep there?”

  “No.” I grab a bed pillow and another blanket off the couch and throw it on the floor. “There’s my bed.”

  He scowls, grabs a pillow and blanket for himself, and tosses it on the floor. “Mine too.”

  “Fine.” I wag a finger at him. “Don’t try anything.”

  “Lady, I’m not the slightest bit interested in your crazy.”

  “Not interested? Really?” I ask. “Two minutes ago, you were ogling my tits.”

  “Let me correct that for you. Two minutes ago,” he smirks, like the know-it-all lumberjerk he is, “your tits were ogling me.”

  “You wish.”

  “Sweetheart, I think I dodged a bullet with you.”

  “The next time you ‘sweetheart’ me, you’ll be singing falsetto when you go caroling.” Not caring that I just brushed my teeth, I grab the opened bottle of wine and pour myself another glass.

  “You’re a challenging woman.” The anger in his eyes softens and his mouth curls into a beautiful smile.

  “I like me this way,” I say indignantly.

  “Me too,” he says quietly. “Sloane?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I really do enjoy your company.”

  A reluctant smile twitches up from my lips, and my heart beats a little quicker.

  “I enjoy yours too.”

  Chapter 29

  “This isn’t real bearskin, is it?” I ask, sitting with my legs crossed on the rug in front of the fireplace with a warm crocheted blanket spread across my lap.

  “No.”

  “Good.” I take a quick sip of Chablis. “That would freak me out.”

  “Imagine how the bear would feel.” He lifts a sly brow. “Are you tired?”

  “Not really. That late nap threw off my nighttime schedule. I’ll just sit here quietly and watch the fire if you want to sleep.”

  “I’m good.” He eyes the empty couch. “You’d be a whole lot more comfortable over there.”

  “So would you.”

  He raises his hands in surrender. “Have it your way.”

  “Since we’re both awake and have nothing to do but talk, why don’t you tell me something about yourself.”

  “What do you want to know?” he asks.

  “Anything. Do you have a best friend?”

  “Jeb is probably the closest I have to a best friend. I’ve known him my whole life. He’s a good guy. Would do anything for anyone.”

  “Well, your best friend has a crush on your ex.”

  He chuckles. “I wish he told me before I dated her. Ever and I went out a couple of times. Nothing serious. She made it out to be much more than it was. Told everyone we were practically engaged after two dates.”

  “Did you sleep with her?” I slap my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. That’s none of my business. Forget I asked.”

  “You’re right. It’s none of your business,” he says bluntly. “And no. I didn’t.”

  Not gonna lie—that information pleases me to no end.

  “So why did you stop dating? She’s gorgeous. Like top model material.”

  “Yeah, she’s attractive. But something was missing. There was no spark. No real connection. Anyway, she demanded constant attention. Must have texted me thirty times a day. And she looked at Noelle like she was the competition. I think she was jealous because Noelle came first. That was it for me.”

  “She saw an eight-year-old girl as her rival? Seriously?”

  “Ever’s not a bad person. She’s an only child, used to being the center of attention. Forrest, her dad, spoiled her from the day she was born. So she just expects it.”

  “Wait a minute.” I grab his arm and my eyes widen. “Her father’s name is Forrest? Forrest Green?”

  “Yes. And yes.”

  “Don’t you think that’s crazy?”

  “What’s crazy about it? It’s his name.”

  “Florist Forrest Green.” I burst out in a laugh. “Say that three times fast.”

  “You know her uncle, too,” Nick says.

  “I do? Who is he?”

  “Winter.”

  “The hippie guy? His name is Winter Green? You have got to be kidding me. Wintergreen… like the plant? Like the chewing gum?” My eyes widen in disbelief. “Why is he staying at your aunt’s?”

  “They’re visiting family and friends over the holidays. They usually stay for a few weeks and didn’t want to impose on anyone.” He takes a sip of his wine. “Okay, it’s my turn to ask a question.”

  “All right,” I say, cautiously.

  “Who’s your best friend?”

  I smile wide. “Her name is Valerie. We met at college. Val’s amazing. Smart. Funny. Gives great advice.” I set my wineglass down on the stone fireplace hearth. “Oh, and she’s chirosexual.”

  “She’s what?” he asks, placing his glass next to mine.

  “Chirosexual. She’s attracted to chiropractors.”

  “And you think my town is crazy?” He shakes his head, amused. “Can I ask you something a little personal?” he asks as he lies down on the rug.

  “I just asked you if you slept with someone. I guess I have it coming. What do you want to know?” I lie down on the floor, pulling the crocheted blanket over my shoulder, turn to my side, and face him.

  “Why did you and your boyfriend break up?”

  I exhale a heavy sigh and close my eyes for a few seconds.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “That was out of line. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to answer.”

  “It’s fine. We were together for a few years. Made plans for the future—the usual stuff couples do. Things were good for a while. He had a job opportunity in Chicago for six months, and we did the
long-distance thing. When he came back to New York for good, things weren’t the same. We drifted apart. One day he loved me… and the next day,” I shrug a shoulder, “he didn’t.”

  “Was he cheating on you?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I’m fairly confident fidelity got a little fuzzy around the edges while he lived away. When he came back to New York, he made it clear that he wanted to see other people, but he had a problem with it the other way around. He lost interest in us but not in me—if that makes any sense. He wanted to live the single life and screw around with anyone he wanted… but didn’t want me to. You could see where I might have a problem with that scenario.”

  “I’m sorry. He sounds like an asshole.”

  “I laid in bed for weeks wondering why I wasn’t enough for him. Just me. Then I realized that it didn’t matter. I mean, is fidelity too much to ask?”

  “No, unless you’re asking the wrong person. Truth is, sometimes a loss of a relationship is really a win in disguise.”

  “If I’m completely honest, the spark went out a long time before we broke up. We got comfortable and rode out our relationship without the bond that was once there. I ignored the signs in front of me. It was like watching something die a slow death. I stayed in denial even as I flung the last shovelful of dirt on the casket. I just couldn’t see past this stupid five-year plan I had stuck in my head. Date. Job. Promotion. Marriage. If we married, I doubt it would have lasted. I took a stab at love, and it ended up hurting me.”

  “Love didn’t hurt you,” he says. “Your ex did.”

  “I guess. But pretending he didn’t break my heart is easier than admitting the truth. I hate that he had that power. He didn’t deserve it.”

  “We’re either survivors or casualties of other people. Which one do you want to be? It’s your choice.”

  “Maybe I’m both. I don’t know. I’m probably not meant to be with anyone.”

  “A real man would know how unbelievably lucky he is to be with you,” he says softly, his eyes the bluest of blue and his expression warm. “Summer, you’re the girl guys write songs about. You’re impossibly… wonderful.”

  My face heats up. I cast my gaze down to avoid eye contact. I suck in my bottom lip to stop it from quivering and prevent a full-blown out tear-fest.