Page 36 of Two Weeks in Tahoe

After we eat, we spend the afternoon playing card games and board games, and even attempt to create our own drinking game. It doesn’t go well. We give up way too fast.

Jackson calls from his grandparents’ and we try to act cool, but we can’t stop laughing. He loves it though. He’s so thrilled that I’m spending the day with Liam since he can’t be there. Yes, the six-year-old actually said that. My heart melts.

After that, we decide, for some reason, that it’s a good idea to trudge through two feet of snow to the hot tub on the back patio. It’s freezing out and it’s still actively snowing, but the patio cover blocks most of it.

I’m sobering up as we sit in the roasting pool of water. Liam and I are looking at each other, and he’s gently caressing my thigh. I tell him about how deep a pit I was in all of last winter, and how this vacation is turning out to be a great start to this holiday season. He looks at me with sympathy and understanding in his eyes.

“I get it,” he says softly. “The first holiday without them is always the hardest. Not that it isn’t hard beyond that, but over time, you learn to liveforthem, rather than letting the sadness consume your life. It’s still there, but not as intense.”

“Yeah,” I agree, nodding, because it makes perfect sense. Though I planned this trip with hope and optimism, I fully expected to have a few sporadic meltdowns along the way. I’m surprising myself with how well I’m doing so far. I think I have Jackson and Liam to thank for that partially, but I’ve also done a lot of work on myself this past year that I’m proud of. I’ve been slowly learning how to be okay by myself and to live with my grief.

Liam fixes me with a stare that, deep down, scares the shit out of me but also ignites a fire within my body. It’s filled with all kinds of emotions that I refuse to comprehend right now.

My gaze travels across his torso and shoulders, and then I conjure in my mind what I can’t see under the bubbly water. He recognizes my look of need, because suddenly his hands are traveling farther up my thigh. He gently tugs along the seams of my shorts, and I pull my lacy bra aside, exposing my pert nipples to him and the frigid air. His lids grow heavy as he takes me in.

I climb onto his lap and suddenly we’re ravaging each other with kisses and impatient touches. I’m grinding against his hardness as he groans deeply in my ear, sending a vibration through me.

“Fuck, the things I want to do to you, baby,” he whispers in my ear so softly, yet it doesn’t seem soft at all.

He gets out and lifts me out with ease, quickly carrying me through the thick snow and inside. We spend the night making a disaster of his room until I’m crying out his name.

24

Layla

I’m in Liam’s bed again. That’s the first thing that pops into my mind when I wake up after an incredible night of sleep, bundled up in his sweats and buried in his blankets that smell like him. Something else smells delectable in the air, I realize. Noticing Liam’s absence beside me, I crawl out of bed, attempt to tame my wild mane of dark hair in the mirror, then exit the room in search of him.

It only takes me a moment to find him in his favorite spot—the kitchen. I’m starting to gather that he spends a lot of time there. He’s making a huge breakfast feast, wearing his signature hat and a hoodie with the sleeves rolled up. I spy eggs and bacon, but something else has a strong, sweet aroma that I can’t see. Cinnamon rolls in the oven, maybe? My stomach growls,

“Good morning,” I chirp, announcing my presence, which he hasn’t noticed yet.

He turns and looks at me with the most cheerful expression, his mouth spreading wide. “Good morning.”

“I have something for you,” he says with mischief in his voice.

“What?” I pause. “How?”

“Magic,” he winks.

“I don’t have anything for you…”

He laughs. “That’s okay.”

Liam flips the omelet that he was cooking onto a plate and saunters over to me, kissing my head in greeting.

“Come here,” he beckons, his large hand grabbing mine and swallowing it up just like his clothes are doing to my body.

He guides me to the couch in the living room, then disappears for a moment, returning with something behind his back. He sits down beside me and hands it to me.

It’s wrapped in some festive cartoon wrapping paper and taped together quite sloppily. I smile.

“Did you wrap this yourself?”

“Yep,” he grins with pride.

I hold it in my lap, still staring at it.

“Well, go ahead.”

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