Let it Snow

by Delancey Stewart

  “Moron. You never treat a dining companion that way. Unless it’s my brother.” Brogan reached forward and put his hand over mine. “I’m sorry you were mocked.”

  I tried to focus on Brogan’s words as he talked about how he believed that rosé held a very respectable place in the wine world, how French dry rosés and Spanish riojas were among his favorites when it was hot outside. But I couldn’t concentrate because his hand on mine was warm and soft, comforting and firm. And his skin touching mine ignited a burning sensation low in my belly, creating a needful longing for something more. It was very distracting.

  “All right. Let’s do this the old fashioned way,” Brogan said, releasing my hand. “Close your eyes and put out your finger.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your index finger. Kindly extend it, and no peeking.”

  I did as I was told, feeling ridiculous.

  “Very good. Now just drop your finger down onto the wine list. Good, like that. And move it up and down until you feel you’ve found the perfect wine for us.”

  “You can’t be serious.” I sat with my eyes closed, holding up one finger.

  “It’s an adventure.” His voice held a broad smile that set my insides jiggling again.

  “Fine.” I dropped my finger and stopped it just as I heard the waiter approach again.

  “What will it be?”

  I popped open my eyes to see Brogan peering at the words beneath my finger. “The Prosecco, please. Good choice, Dix.”

  It was ridiculous, but Brogan’s encouragement stoked the growing fire in my belly further, and I adored the way he’d taken to calling me “Dix.” I wanted him to touch me again, but his hands were in his lap, grabbing at his pocket with an annoyed look creasing his eyebrows.

  “Are you okay?” I hadn’t seen him looking anything but jovial—it was almost a shock to see him frowning as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

  “Excuse me, I realize exactly how rude this is,” he said as he looked down. “Oh, no.” He glared at the phone.

  “What is it?”

  “My father. He was none too pleased when I told him about our situation. Just a moment. Excuse me.” Brogan rose from the table and walked out to the front of the restaurant, pacing the terminal as I watched him frown into his phone. He returned to the table looking chagrined. “I may have to go.”

  “What? Where?” Dixie’s heart sagged low in my chest.

  “My father’s private pilot was at JFK when this began, and Dad convinced him to try to fly in here and pick me up.”

  “Is that even possible in this?”

  “My father believes that anything is possible if you pay people enough. He said the pilot is making his approach now and that I should check the charter gate.”

  I stared at Brogan in disbelief. “He must really want to see you.”

  “It’s more about controlling the world, I think.” Brogan looked down for a moment at the still-open wine list. “Dixie, I’m really sorry. I wanted to eat with you, and drink wine with you. I hoped to get to know you better.” His amber eyes met mine and I found myself desperately wanting the same things. “Would it be all right if I call you when I get back?”

  “Of course,” I said. I fished in my tote and pulled out a card, passing it across the table to him. “Be safe, Brogan. It looks awful out there. I can’t believe anyone is flying.”

  “Come with me? I can convince him to stop through Oregon.”

  I shook my head. I traveled often, but I didn’t enjoy less-than-ideal flying conditions, and taking off in a blizzard would certainly be more excitement than I was willing to sign up for, even if it would mean more time with Brogan.

  “Oh, before I forget.” Brogan sat the small package in front of me, and then leaned over and kissed me quickly, sweetly. “See you again soon, Dix.”

  I stared at him for a moment, unable to form words as my mind spun, trying to find a better plan to employ, one that would keep Brogan here with me. And as he smiled one last time, and then turned to walk away from me, my plan-ridden mind failed me utterly. I watched as he spoke to the waiter, and then the jean-clad legs of the handsome Irish brew master disappeared down the terminal, and I felt my heart sink. How much more disappointment could I possibly take?

  The wine we’d ordered arrived just as I felt myself about to melt into a puddle of dejected Christmas misery.

  “No thank you, I won’t be needing it now.” I couldn’t bring myself to meet the waiter’s eyes.

  “The gentleman already paid for your meal, and for the wine.”

  Of course he did. Because he’s perfect.

  “Oh.” I found nothing else to say as the waiter uncorked the bottle and poured me a taste. I took a sip and nodded to him, and he filled my glass. I sipped the sparkling wine quietly as the waiter went about his business, helping the few other people dining nearby. I liked it—it had a kind of refreshing mineral taste I couldn’t quite put my finger on—but I didn’t feel much like drinking. Or maybe I felt like drinking too much, and the airport wasn’t the best place to get completely blitzed all by myself.

  My dinner came, though I wasn’t hungry. I picked at my food and stared at the television over the bar, my eyes not really seeing the coverage of the furious storm blanketing the upper Northeast. The rest of the country was calm, it seemed. Only my tiny corner of the world had been completely shut down on Christmas Eve. My excellent spate of luck seemed determined to continue.

  6

  All I Want for Christmas…

  Dixie

  After half an hour, I was about to give up on the pretense that I was actually going to eat dinner. The waiter had stopped by to let me know that the airport had put up cots at the far end of the terminal to accommodate the people trapped here overnight, and I figured that maybe just closing my eyes would be the best way to end my crappy Christmas Eve. I reached into my purse for a tip just as my phone jangled to life, playing We Wish You a Merry Christmas. I reminded myself to reset the ringer. Christmas seemed less magical than usual this year.

  The number calling wasn’t one I recognized, and it was a local number. I’m not in the mood for the unexpected, I told myself, silencing the ringer and sending the call to voicemail. I rose and left the restaurant, nodding to the waiter and turning toward the small field of cots being erected at the end of the long terminal, my heart low. I rolled my bag into a bathroom.

  I might as well take out my contacts and wash my face, I decided. Maybe I can at least get a few hours sleep. Though the idea of snoozing, surrounded by fifty perfect strangers all snoring in rhythm wasn’t attractive, or soothing, in the least.

  As I set my purse on the counter in the bathroom, my phone vibrated again, the same number showing. Blowing out a huff of frustration, I pulled the phone to my ear. I’d had just about all I could take, and this telemarketer calling me on Christmas Eve was about to get an earful.

  “What?” I answered.

  “That’s an interesting greeting.” A deep Irish brogue rolled through the phone, sending my insides tingling.

  “Brogan.” I said his name on a sigh, and realized that I was relieved to hear from him. Part of my current mood was created out of worry for him. “Are you in the air?”

  “No.” Brogan sounded like he was smiling, and it made my heart feel lighter. I leaned against the sink and listened to his warm voice. “My father can’t control the weather after all, as it turns out. All the money in the world couldn’t bring that plane to land here in this storm. The pilot came to his senses and turned around.”

  Relief surged through me. I wasn’t sure if it was because that meant that Brogan was safe, or because it meant he was still here, nearby. “Where are you, then?”

  “Heading back to the restaurant. I was hoping it wouldn’t be too late to taste the Prosecco we ordered.” He paused, his voice lowering. “Or did you drink it all?”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. Brogan’s voice was playful, and something about him made me f
eel free and silly, even just over the phone. “No, I didn’t drink it all. But I just left the restaurant. I don’t know if it’ll still be there!”

  “I’m almost there. I’ll see if I can sweet talk the waiter. I’m quite charming, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Will you come back? I’m really sorry for taking off before.”

  “I’m on my way. See you in a minute.” I hung up and dabbed at my face with some powder, putting a light pink lipstick on my lips. My nerves were jangling and I wondered how many more highs and lows I could take in one night. With a deep breath, I pulled my bag behind me, back out of the bathroom and toward the restaurant once more.

  Brogan stood just outside the entrance, watching me approach with a wide grin on his face. He threw his arms out as I neared, and I found myself practically running into them. Brogan hugged me, picking me up off my feet as he pressed my body into his and spun me around before putting me gently back on my feet like lovers who were reuniting after months apart. His arms stayed around my waist. “I’m happy to see you again, Dixie. I’m so sorry for the interruption.”

  “I’m sorry your flight didn’t work out.”

  “You are?” Brogan squinted down at me, his grin diminishing.

  I shook my head and looked up at him. “Not really. Not at all.”

  My voice had become a whisper, thanks to the fierce look in Brogan’s eyes as my words reached him. The amber glow there intensified and I felt like we stood in a small cloud, utterly alone in the world, amid an atmosphere created by whatever this thing was between us. My skin tingled and my insides danced as Brogan brought his head down closer, his eyes never leaving my face.

  “Would it be all right if I kissed you?” Brogan’s voice had turned to gravel, and it sent fire through my veins.

  “Please.”

  His mouth found mine and our lips met, moving gently. I moved to press myself against him, unable to keep my body from pressing deeper into his arms, feeling the solid warmth of him against me. His arms pulled me in tighter. I opened my mouth to him, and he responded, his tongue teasing the line of my bottom lip, sending shockwaves straight through me and turning my legs to jelly. He flicked at my upper lip with the tip of his tongue, and then shocked me by gently biting my bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and then releasing it. I surprised us both by moaning softly.

  Brogan released my mouth, and pulled his head back to gaze at me. “Shall we go finish that wine?”

  I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stand, and I knew I didn’t need any wine, but I would probably say yes to just about anything after that kiss. I nodded, taking a steadying breath.

  Brogan took my bag again and we retook the same table I’d abandoned not long before. The waiter appeared and brought the unfinished bottle back to the table.

  “Apologies,” Brogan said, inclining his head to the waiter.

  “Not a problem.” The waiter poured us each a glass and retreated.

  “I promise not to run off this time,” Brogan said. “Did you open your gift?”

  I’d stuffed it into my bag, where I’d put my gift to him. Forgotten! That wasn’t like me. “No, and it’s a good thing, because I totally forgot to give you yours.”

  I pulled them both out and put them on the table.

  “Good. Because I found a proper tree.”

  I smiled as I sipped my wine, and I didn’t bother trying to keep myself from staring at Brogan. He had a way of looking easy in the world, as if he belonged anywhere he decided to kick out those long legs of his and sit. I knew I didn’t have the same ease. I was more tense, more wired. Having a mind that never stopped twisting and turning would do that to a person.

  “So you know my whole story. What’s your tale, Dixie?”

  I smiled. “You know the most recent part of it. Jilted fiancé and all that.”

  “But that doesn’t make you who you are. That’s just what’s happened recently.”

  “True. I hope that’s true, at least.”

  “What do you do with your days? Your card says ‘corporate fund manager.’” Brogan leaned forward and whispered. “I have no idea what that means.” He grinned.

  I laughed. “That’s okay. No one in my family knows what that means either.” I sipped my wine. “Basically, I go around the country and convince the retirement fund managers at big companies to invest in my company’s funds.”

  “And why do you do this?”

  “Uh, well, investors typically get better returns from investing in diversified funds that include a mix of—"

  “No, no. I mean, why do you—Dixie—do this job? Do you enjoy it?”

  I smiled. “I do, actually. I like the travel, and I like meeting lots of different people.”

  “I’m guessing that most of the folks you meet in this position are stodgy old men who smoke cigars.”

  “Many of them are.” I thought about Harris McAvoy, the stodgy old man I’d had dinner with in Montana at the beginning of the week. He’d asked me why a sweet little girl like me wanted to do a man’s job. “But some of them would surprise you. More and more of them are women. And the ones who think I ought to be at home doing laundry are the easiest to sell.”

  Brogan laughed, the little crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. “Why is that?”

  “Because they’re not expecting anything. And they’re too busy focusing on the fact that I’m a woman, and that I’m young, to notice that I’m selling the pants off ‘em.”

  “Ha!” Brogan laughed loudly, the sound warming my heart. And other places. “I can see it. No wonder you enjoy it.”

  We sipped our wine quietly, looking at each other and glancing around the restaurant, which was nearly empty.

  “You ever been stuck in airport like this before?” Brogan asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Ever been snowed in with anyone as devastatingly handsome as myself?” Brogan winked, a hand over his chest.

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Well, I’m honored to be your first.” We finished the bottle and Brogan leaned forward. “Ready for the next exciting Christmas Eve event?”

  I nodded, wondering what he had in mind and telling my body to stop jumping at every possibility that Brogan might touch me again, or better yet—kiss me again.

  7

  Santa, Baby

  Dixie

  We strolled the concourse, Brogan seeming to have a destination in mind. “I was down this way earlier,” he explained as he pointed to the end of the terminal. As we drew closer, I could see a Christmas tree standing off to one side, in front of a cardboard fireplace showing a painted fire and stockings. The tree twinkled with little white lights, and boxes sat wrapped beneath it.

  “Almost as good as the real thing,” I said quietly.

  Brogan looked at me, his eyes narrowing. “You’re sad.”

  “I’m sorry. I miss my family.” I knew it was a little ungrateful. I had the world’s most handsome distraction at my side and the sight of a painted fire made me wish for my mother instead. Or maybe I wished for my mother in addition to my current distraction. Though that might just be weird.

  “I understand,” Brogan said. He gestured toward the ground. “Will you sit by the fire with me?”

  “Of course.” We sat down on the floor, in front of the fake fire, and Brogan set the packages in front of us. “Ready to open gifts?”

  “Always!” I actually found myself clapping my hands in front of my chest like a child, and then quickly lowered them, glancing at Brogan who was grinning at me. Busted.

  “Me first,” Brogan said, picking up his box.

  I felt my eyebrows fly up. “Always a gentleman, I see.”

  “Not when it comes to opening gifts.” Brogan smiled and shook the small box next to his ear. “What could it be?” He pulled off the ribbon and opened the box, lifting the mug out and inspecting it. “Ha!”

  I grinned when he actually laughed out loud. “Do you like it?”

>   “It’s perfect.” He leaned forward and kissed me softly.

  I could have kissed him all night, but there were gifts to be opened. I pulled away. “There’s more.”

  “How could there be anything more? This is perfect!” But Brogan put the mug down carefully and dug in the box, pulling out the keychain. “Hmm,” he said. “This could mean many things. Either you think I have a penchant for misplacing my keys and need a weighty and large keychain to anchor them,” he paused looking at me.

  I smiled and shook my head.

  “Or you are suggesting I should maybe go take a swim,” he offered.

  I shook my head again.

  “Or you are saying in the most subtle way possible that I might be the most devilishly handsome man you’ve ever encountered at the airport.”

  I nodded, laughing. “You got that from the Bay?”

  “Could be wishful thinking I guess.”

  “It means something like that.”

  “Good,” Brogan said. “I don’t relish the thought of swimming right now. If you want me to go, I’ll just end up buying one of those travel blankets and claiming a cot. Your turn.”

  “Finally.”

  “Oh, so impatient for your airport-procured goodies, aren’t you?”

  “Yes!” I pulled the ribbon off the box, taking a moment to smile up at Brogan before opening it. He was gorgeous, the lights from the tree reflecting in his eyes, the smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. His face was beginning to show a shadow of stubble, and it enhanced the ruggedly handsome cut of his jaw. I felt myself grow warmer even in the glow of a fake fire, and wondered if Brogan could tell what I was thinking. Namely, that I wanted him to jump me right here in front of the Christmas tree.

  I pulled my eyes from his and returned my attention to the box. I slid the lid off and pulled out the tissue, revealing a snow globe. Inside was a tiny forest next to a runway with planes set upon it. And when I shook it, the whole scene was exactly like the world right outside the terminal windows.