Page 46 of Holly, Jolly, and Oh So Naughty

“Better get used to it. These kinds of storms like to hit multiple times throughout the winter. It always looks like a postcard when it’s over, though. Beautiful.”

As my batter finishes mixing, the kettle boils and within two minutes, I’m pressing a hot cup of tea into James’s hands. “Drink.”

“Thank you.”

“So, why did you come to check on me?”

“Well, the light was on, and after the break-in, I knew I was either going to find you or I would find whoever was dumb enough to return to the scene. Plus, I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“How sweet.” Warmth blooms in my chest, as much as I try to ignore it. Each time we are together, I feel like a teenager again, with an exciting romance waiting just around the corner. And the longer we spend together, the more the reasons I should stay away just seem less important. It’s a little infuriating how much fun I had at the park and the ice rink.

He just has that effect.

“And…” James’s tone is softer. “I guess I wanted to do something good because I just had an argument with my mother and she had some choice things to say.”

“About?” I ask, carefully pouring batter into two trays. “Or is that prying too much?”

“About my dad.”

I pause, watching the last drops of batter splotch down into the tray. His father. My stomach clenches tightly as I set the bowl down and wipe my brow.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into that.”

“It’s alright.”

“You want to tell me about it?” I turn to him and hold out a wooden spoon. “You can help me bake. It’s very therapeutic when you’re feeling like shit.”

James tilts his head, and a small curl of hair sweeps across his forehead, making him look even more adorable. Then he takes the spoon. “Thank you.”

I set James to work whisking eggs and sugar while I weigh out flour and baking soda. It’s simple work, since we’re repeating the same recipe twelve times for a gigantic six-tier cake auctioned off at the charity event, but it keeps us warm and focused while James talks.

“There was so much about my life that I just never questioned. That probably sounds really stupid, looking at the rich elite from the outside. But when you’re in there and you don’t know anything else, it just all seems normal. And my dad, I mean you met him. He was a hard man as much as he was kind, and I never wanted to disappoint him. It took over my life, for a while.”

I remain silent, listening to James as he pours out his pain into the batter.

“And then one afternoon he was just…gone. It was so sudden, it didn’t feel real. Like some awful joke or–or some twisted trick. He was just gone, and I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t.”

Despite the anger I still have for James after he left me all those years ago, the pain in his voice is so open and raw that my limbs ache with the urge to comfort him. Just thinking of one of my parents passing away is too much to stomach.

“Deep down, we all know it’s coming,” James continues softly. “But I always expected it to be when he was old and gray, tucked up in bed. Not on a train to some conference. He just… died, and suddenly, everything in my life felt fake. I’d been going through the motions for so many years, just agreeing to what I was told. Where to go, what to do, whom to be with.”

We pause to load the first five cakes into the oven, and James continues when we move on. I focus on lining the next five trays.

“It was like waking up from a dream. I just suddenly knew that I didn’t want any part of my life carved out for me. Sometimes, I think I decided that so my dad would come back and tell me I was being ungrateful, but he… he never came back.” James clears his throat. “But then the only thing I knew was that I didn’t want to be miserable. I didn’t want to live someone else’s life. It sounds so ridiculous to say out loud.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I reply gently. “I met your father. I remember how headstrong he was. So many rules and unspoken regulations. I can’t imagine living like that.” To me, it was smothering and it seems it took James seven years—and a death—to realize that. “But I think acting out in the hopes he will come back is natural. Death is painful to accept.”

James nods, his head down as he works. Knowing he’s in pain makes me feel guilty for admiring the way his forearms flex and bulge as he works, but I can’t help myself. With his shirt sleeves rolled up and a healthy color back in his cheeks, he looks so sexy.

Sad, but sexy.

I’m going to hell.

“My mother wants me to go back. She’s determined, but I was telling her that I was happy here. For the first time in… I don’t know how long. From even before my father passed. I’m happy. Enjoying life.”

His mother. The thought of her sends an iron-like tang across my tongue and I bury my distaste in the next batch of cakes. Outside, the world grows loud with the howl of the wind and the patter of snow pelting the windows. The heat from the oven keeps the cold at bay, and soon, the two windows in the back kitchen are so covered in snow that it’s impossible to see outside.

It’s like we’re in our own little igloo.

---