Page 13 of Two Weeks in Tahoe

There’s a light flurry of snow falling as I step out of my car in front of the cabin, wincing at the stiffness and pain. November isn’t the heaviest month for snowfall, but the weather around here can be erratic, and you never know when you might find yourself caught in a blizzard. I hope the mild snowfall lasts for the duration of my trip, so I can come and go as I please.

Walking up the pathway, my heart jumps with excitement as my eye catches something. Right next to the stone walkway, with a very thin dusting of powder on it, is a light blue toy truck. Jackson’s prized possession. I’m thrilled I found it, since the kid was so sad about losing it the other night. The pessimist in me thought it may be gone forever, but I secretly hoped I’d find it and be the hero. Not only would it be awesome to see the smile on the kid’s face, but it would also give me the perfect excuse to reach out to Liam. I pick the toy up and bring it inside.

The cabin is as warm and welcoming as always, and as I place the truck on the counter, my stomach tightens. I realize that this now means I have to text Liam. Or…Igetto text Liam? I’m still not sure how I feel.

I stare at the truck for a while, spinning my phone absently on the counter. Of course I’m going to return the truck back to Jackson; I’m just…overthinking.

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about that night over the years. While I’ve had other relationships since then, naturally, I’ve never had that instant connection that I had with Liam that night. The way we talked all night and justclicked…it’s hard to forget that feeling. Then again, maybe it only feels so special because of the mystery and never knowing. He was the one that got away, as they say. The allure of that mystery stayed with me, even as I eventually moved on. But I kept that memory tucked clearly in the back of my mind.

Screw it. I grab my phone and tap on his contact, my heart leaping when I notice he left a picture of himself with it, along with his full name: Liam Barnes. He has a serious expression with one of his eyebrows lifted, his gaze piercing right into me even from the phone. He is most definitely hot. A holiday fling is sounding better and better.

As I look at the picture and replay my run-in with him, I realize this is not simply the remnants of a teenage crush. I am fully attracted to this man. At least sexually. The cocky, flirty smirk he had glued to his face the other day, and the tattoos that peaked out above his collar … I suddenly want to know how far they go.

Maybe I start with returning his nephew’s truck and go from there. Before composing a message, however, I realize I should probably take a quick shower first.

I sing through my entire shower, completely giddy at the thought of seeing him again. I’m not letting myself consider the idea that he might already have someone. Not right now. If that ends up being the case, I’ll deal with that disappointment later. But he seemed very flirty with me during our last couple of run-ins, so I’m thinking he’s unattached. For now, I’m going to return the truck to the kid, soak in the joy on his face, and feel him out. I need to know for sure.

Once I’m all clean and dressed in a cute periwinkle blue knit sweater, a simple gold necklace, and dark jeans, I sit at a barstool in the kitchen and try to text Liam. But no messages are going through. I have no signal.

I wait a few minutes, tapping my feet and humming a few classic holiday songs before I try again.

Half an hour passes, and it’s still not working. Determined to end poor Jackson’s misery, I grab my keys and head out the door. Liam also left his address in his contact information; he must have really wanted that truck returned. Since my service isn’t working, I’m going to try to find it the old-fashioned way. I know the general direction—Jackson pointed it out amongst a cluster of cabins nearby the other day.

As I drive down my small hill, I realize the sun is starting to set, and the snow is falling more heavily than it was when I returned from skiing.

It only takes me a few minutes to find his street. The towering pines lining the streets are collecting a decent layer of snow, and I can’t help but marvel at the scene. It’s truly beautiful. The mountains and trees have always called to me, but something about seeing them in all their winter glory is especially magical.

A large, gorgeous cabin on a small hill catches my eye, and as I drive closer, I think I recognize it as Liam’s parents’ cabin. Or at least, it used to be. I double-check the address on my phone. This is it. Does he still live with his parents?

I pull into the long driveway, step out of my vehicle, clutching the little blue truck, and pause to take it all in. I close my eyes, let the cold snowflakes hit my face, and breathe in deeply, taking in the smell of wood mixed with pine needles and snow. It’s heaven.

10

Liam

Layla is a vision in her blue sweater and black overcoat as she stands in my driveway, holding Jackson’s prized possession and closing her eyes, lost in the surroundings. I watch as she tilts her head up to the sky, feeling the snowfall on her face, her chest rising and falling slowly as she breathes it all in. She has no idea I’m standing on the porch, watching her. She’s stunning.

I heard the car pull up earlier, so I went to check it out. It was a pleasant surprise to see her standing there in my driveway. By the time I got out there, she was already lost in the moment, and I didn’t want to interrupt her. She looked so at peace.

I should probably say something soon…Or maybe I’ll wait an obnoxiously long time until she catches me, her cheeks flushing when she realizes I’ve been watching her. But then again, maybe I want her to know that I’m watching—and that I like what I see.

I shove my hands into my black cotton joggers and clear my throat loud enough for her to hear. Her eyes pop open, and she stares for a moment, looking pensive. That intense stare of hers, the one she gave me several times yesterday at the gym, does something to me. I was a fan of how she looked in her tight gym attire, all sweaty and flushed, but this look is great too.

“Hi,” she says so softly I barely hear it. Her hand lifts in a hesitant wave, and she remains frozen there.

“Come in,” I say, waving her toward the door. “It’s freezing out here and that snow is coming down hard.”

She flashes me a relieved smile and walks my way, still looking a little unsure.

“Come on, come on,” I urge with a playful laugh, trying to hurry her. I flash her the most welcoming smile I can muster. As she passes me, I catch a faint whiff of something fruity and breathe it in. I definitely don’t check out her perfectly shaped backside as I follow her inside. I’m a gentleman, after all.

She turns to face me as soon as I close the door behind us. “Sorry for showing up like this. I tried texting you several times, but my service wasn’t working at my place, and I know how badly he wanted to find his truck, so … here I am.”

“Here you are,” I smile, pausing to look at her in my doorway. She doesn’t say anything back.

“Don’t be sorry,” I assure her. “You’re our savior for finding it and bringing it to us.”

She smiles, appearing more confident in her decision to show up here now. I’m glad she did. She holds out the truck to me and I take it. “Is he here?”

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