Page 9 of Snowed In With the Snow Queen
We split up, but I have no doubt Zach’s going to just half ass his attempts at Soojin’s alarm, just to get me over there. I decide to take my time.
At Matt’s shop, it doesn’t take much to get things turned off. His alarm shuts off after just a few hits, but the vape shop takes a little more hammering. I slowly step out of the vape shop after a few minutes, hoping that Zach or Eddie would have given in and fixed Soojin’s alarm, but it is still echoing across the parking lot.
The lights of the Wild Hare continue to dance and flicker as I reluctantly cross the parking lot to her tiny restaurant. Inside, I find the three of them staring at the alarm. Eddie is hitting it afew times with his fist, as I come up behind them, but the wailing continues.
“What’s the code?” I yell over the noise.
Soojin hands me a piece of paper, our fingers brushing ever so slightly as she meets my gaze. We lock eyes for too long a moment, but I can’t think of anything–clever or otherwise–to say. Her expression gives nothing away. We might as well be playing poker, as smooth and unbothered as her face is.
She’s no longer wrapped up. Her coat is lying draped over a nearby chair. She is standing not two feet from me in a modest flannel pajama set with buttons down the front. The fabric drapes across her breasts and across her backside in the least provocative way possible. But my mind still can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to pull the soft fabric off her and have access to the skin underneath. I suck in a breath and instantly regret it, the scent of her filling my lungs and making my cock harden.
I clear my throat and turn away from her, suddenly remembering I have an audience this time. I enter the code, hit the pound key, then pause just a second before hitting the off button. The wail continues on. I try a few more times before I start, ending each attempt with a pounding of my fist. It takes five hits of my fist in the end to silence the stupid device.
Zach and Eddie have both backed off and are both watching with amused expressions on their faces. Even Soojin has a half smile on her face as I turn around to find I’m the subject of everyone’s rapt attention.
“Where’d you learn that trick?” Zach teases.
“What trick?”
He pounds his fist in the air, mimicking what I did to the alarm control panel. “With the fist.”
I snort and shake my head. “Your dad used to fix everything that way.” I hand the paper back to Soojin, but don’t let my gaze linger on her for too long.
“Man, I haven’t thought of him in forever.” Zach says with a deep sigh. “The anniversary’s tomorrow. I need to get mom some flowers so we can decorate his grave.”
“What anniversary?” Soojin asks, quietly.
“Of dad’s death,” Zach says, without hesitation. “He died on Christmas Eve…seventeen, eighteen years ago. It’s how Randy got stuck being Alpha all this time. He was dad’s beta, but I was only ten when dad died, so Randy had to take over. He’s been taking care of the pack since then.”
Soojin looks over at me, but this time I don’t meet her gaze.
“Not anymore,” I try to say brightly. “I’m enjoying my retirement.”
“I don’t know. Dragging your ass out of bed to come save us two days in a row sounds a bit like taking care of us,” Eddie says.
I shrug and shake my head. “I’m still your uncle. Call me if you need me. I need to head back to feed the animals.”
“Thanks for your help, Randy,” Soojin says. I nod in her direction, but force myself to look away. If she’s not interested, or if I’ve truly waited too long, there’s no point in bugging her. I leave the three to get started on their day, as I head back to start mine.
Chapter Eight
Randy
My sister-in-law, Zelda, is stretched out on the living room recliner with both of her grandbabies, one in each arm, when I show up that afternoon with my laundry bags.
As usual, Zelda has every single inch of the house decorated for the holidays. It’s a regular fucking winter wonderland, full of tinsel and lights and so much fake snow. She has a decorated tree in every room, including tiny ones for the bathroom counters, plus one for her cat, Cinnamon, who hates everyone but her. I have to carefully scoot past an arrangement of red and white nutcrackers by the main tree in the living room that looks like they’re about to go to war instead of herald in the holiday season.
“There you are!” she says, as if I’m the feral tomcat who’s been missing for days.
“Do you mind if I use your washing machine?”
Her arms full of babies, she motions with her head toward the laundry room. “No, go ahead. We’re having meatloaf and mashed potatoes tonight. There’s more than enough to go around, if you want to join us.”
“Let me think about it,” I tell her, opening the door that hides the washer and dryer. Temporary stickers of snowmen and gingerbread men decorate the plain white surface of the machines. I dump a load of sheets into the washer and start the cycle.
“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. The boys would love it if you stopped by.” Zelda’s never had an indoor voice. Her words carry across the room into the kitchen where her washer and dryer sit.
I come back into the living room and sit down at the end of the couch closest to her. The babies don’t move a muscle despite our conversation.
