Page 27 of Snowed In

I peek over my shoulder to find he’s still fast asleep. After a stretch, I get up and contemplate the fire. I don’t think we should let it go out, despite how hot we get. I’m sure that it won’t take long to get super cold in here if we do. Glancing out the window is proof enough that the storm is still hanging over the mountain. There’s snow halfway up the window now.

We’re literally snowed in. Like the sky opened up just over the cabin and there’s a funnel of snow here alone. I’m not even mad about it.

Carefully, I touch the metal cage around the fire. Is it called a cage? It’s to keep any wafting ash particles inside the fireplace. And any pieces of smoldering wood from rolling out of the hearth onto the floor and setting fire to the cabin.

It’s not hot. It’s warm, yes, but isn’t burning my skin. However, when I try to pull it backward, I find it’s very securely locked in place. I didn’t realize that was a thing. How do you unclasp it?

A hand on my ass makes me jump. Edries smiles, wrapping his arm around me and kissing the side of my head. “Merry Christmas, gorgeous.”

The silly smile that covers my face cannot be hidden. “Merry Christmas, handsome,” I return.

“Let me take care of the fires. Why don’t you throw the blanketswe made a mess of last night in the wash so we have something clean to get dirty tonight?”

“I’m so glad I paid for the upgrade of someone maintaining the fires,” I sass as I back away from him.

Edries’s low chuckle makes me grin, sending a shiver of pleasure through my body. “I’m glad I paid for maid service to wash the bedding,” he says.

A stupid smile remains plastered on my face as I wad up the blankets from the floor and head to the washing machine that’s hidden behind a door at the end of the hall. I stuff them all in and then contemplate the sheets. No, they really need to be washed separately. I don’t even remember why, but it’s what my mama taught me, so that’s the way I’m going to do it.

However, once I start the washer, I join Edries in the bedroom and pull the comforter back to tear off the sheets. Fortunately, we find clean ones in the linen closet in the bedroom, so he helps me make the enormous bed before we get into the shower together.

There’s a lot of touching. A lot. His hands never leave my body, our mouths barely break, despite getting dangerously close to drowning in the water falling over us in such a way that it only adds to the difficulty of breathing.

I love his body. Edries isn’t my usual type, but then, I don’t know that I’ve ever cared so much about body shape and size so much as… eyes? Or is it a smile that catches my attention? Either way, I love both on Edries. His eyes are clear and warm, and his smile just warms every part of me.

Not just a heated, sexy warm. But a deeper feeling than that. Something peaceful that lasts longer than sex. Every time I see it, that warmth grows and lingers longer and longer.

When we peel ourselves out of the shower, we dress. I use the term loosely since I only put on socks and underwear. There will never be a time I don’t have something on my feet unless I’m in bed or getting wet. Otherwise, all the fine, gritty debris on the floor drives me absolutely insane. It honestly doesn’t matter how often you cleanthat shit; it just never goes away and I cannot stand the feeling under my feet.

So, socks. At home, I usually have hard soled slippers too. Call the practice of wearing them girly or for old people all you want. I refuse to feel that shit on my feet!

Edries wears some loose slacks and a tee. I watch him, slightly amused. “Your intent was to be here alone, and you didn’t bring clothes just to lounge in?”

“Thesearelounging clothes,” he says, sighing heavily. “As I was packing to come here, I realized that all the comfortable clothes I used to own are mysteriously missing. Probably long gone. Bernice always wanted everyone to appear as perfectly poised at every hour,just in casesomeone dropped in for a random magazine feature.” He rolls his eyes.

I’m about to ask how that fared with the kids, but I’ve gathered enough at this point to know that he compromised everything to give this woman what she wanted. Including how their kids were raised. So I don’t ask. I can see his sadness grow every time we talk about them. There’s no doubt he misses them and the more we reminisce about our childhoods, the more he realizes that he wasn’t able to give his kids the childhood he’d had. The one he’d always wanted for his kids.

I lean into him and press a kiss to his lips, earning myself a smile. “You’re hot in your casual slacks and $80 tee.”

“$80?! Pfft.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s probably $200.”

Stepping back, I give the plain black fabric a dubious look. “Why would you buy a shirt for that—” Edries is already shaking his head and I decidehedidn’t buy it.

“You should never have given that woman a debit card,” I insist as I turn for the door. What part of his life was he even allowed to lead on his own?

“I didn’t,” he says. “She had a credit card. Which may have been worse.”

As heartbreaking a realization as Bernice has been, I bet it’s abreath of freedom. Now he can live how he wants to live. Wear what he wants and live how he wants. I know this isn’t how he always imagined his life going, but it must feel liberating. A breath of fresh air.

We concentrate on preparing two small breakfast bakes—one savory and one sweet. I saw both of them online, of course. In one square casserole dish, we add the prepackaged cinnamon rolls and then some cream, more cinnamon mix, and butter. The savory is basically a deconstructed breakfast sandwich, half sausage and half bacon. I prepare the icing for the sweet stuff and set it aside while they bake.

When I’m done, we head into the living room. Edries has me get comfortable in the big chair as he goes to suss out what’s around the tree. He comes back with three stuffed stockings.

I scoot so he gets the hint to join me and we curl up together with our gains in our laps.

“I think this might be proof that we both paid for this room,” Edries says. “I ordered a single stuffed stocking and half a dozen wrapped gifts under the tree. But I think you ordered for two.”

“I did,” I say, glancing at the tree. “There’s something even more exciting about not knowing what we’re opening or what the other person’s opening, you know? It kind of feels like Santawashere.”

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