Page 39 of Scrooged for the Holidays
Speaking of a promotion, I reach to the side of the bed where I plugged in my phone the night before. I say a silent prayer, hoping I have reception or at least that the internet is back up so I can get some work done and send the email I wrote up to Mr. Cross. But when I look at the screen, there’s no such luck. I tap on different apps, but of course, nothing I do helps my situation. I’m completely cut off from the world.
“Freaking small towns,” I grouse at the same time my stomach growls. The loud noise reminds me of two things: one, that I didn’t eat much yesterday, and two, the intimate scene in the office I saw on my mission to find food. The same scene that led me to satiating a different type of hunger before I fell asleep and had the weirdest nightmare of my life. The one starring the man I not only nearly kissed but also found sandwiched between two other gorgeous men.
The scene appears behind my eyelids, and my skin heats. The moans and the swears. The way they spoke to each other. The demands the other two men made of Kai while they used him like a rag doll. My skin prickles, and my stomach feels hungrier than before.
I flop back on the bed, phone in hand. My mouth tingles when I remember that I kissed Kai in this very room in my weird nightmare. His lips were soft yet strong, and the whimper he made when I grabbed the lapels of his jacket and tried to taste him was delicious. God, it felt so real, as real as seeing the three men together. As real as Kai winking at me when he discovered me staring at them like a perv.
My cheeks flush, and I duck my chin, the reaction annoying me because I’m not one to be embarrassed. I will always own up to my choices. And while I shouldn’t have watched the intimate moment, I did, and I can’t take it back.
I wonder if I’ll run into Kai before I leave town. My chest tightens at the idea because I don’t know how I’ll react. Mynormal MO would be to just avoid him, but I don’t know if I will be able to, especially if I’m stuck here for multiple days.
My stomach growls again. “Alright, already! I’ll go find some food.”
I glance at my phone again and see it’s just after nine. I’m not one to sleep past seven-thirty. Usually, by this time, I’ve done yoga, had breakfast, and arrived at the office. I was trapped in that godforsaken nightmare for a long time.
But now it doesn’t matter—it’s over. I want to get some food, find a large cup of coffee, and see if I can get the hell out of here to find cell service or an internet connection.
I get out of bed, the wooden floor cool beneath my feet. I look around for the slippers I fell asleep with and had on in my nightmare, but I can’t find them near the bed. I stand up and search more closely, nearly giving up until I see a flash of white by the tree skirt. Finding myself walking toward them without a conscious command to my brain, I pick them up from underneath the tree and study the embroidered angel on them.
My heartbeat quickens as I flip them over. The bottoms are dirty. Not the kind of dirty you get from walking inside with them for a brief period of time but dirty as if I walked outside while wearing them.
Blood roars in my ears as I touch the fabric, and I gasp when I find it damp. The memory of standing in the snow, watching myself as a child telling Past Avery there wasn’t a Santa in these very slippers, fills my mind.
“It wasn’t real,” I say to myself. I drop the slippers on the ground and turn to head to the bathroom, but a glint of something on the tree stops me. A fractal of light shines in my eye, and I squint, giving my attention to the offending object. My stomach flips, and it’s as if I’ve been thrown into the snowbank I dropped into last night.
With shaking hands, I lift the ornament off the tree. It’s exactly the same one as the ones on Avery’s tree in my nightmare,the same kind of ornament I made for my mom that she deemed not good enough.
The clear bulb is light against my fingers and cool to the touch. Inside, there’s a picture, and at first, I swear I see the image I put inside for my mom, the one of me and Cooper.
I swallow hard and blink. When I open them, the picture has changed to that of an angel, one with dark hair and chubby cheeks.
I let out a string of cackles. “I’m really losing it.”
I put the ornament back on the tree and leave the slippers. I have no idea how they got wet—maybe I’m stressed enough that I started sleepwalking. Do I have a history of that? No. But I’m not going to try to explain it.
There’s no way what happened last night was real. It was a very vivid nightmare, one I’m going to spend the rest of today trying to forget. Food and coffee should help. And maybe, just maybe, luck will be on my side, and I can get out of here today.
Luck was not on my side.
I didn’t find anyone at the inn to speak to about the internet or if the roads were going to be cleared enough to drive on soon, not even the woman, Sophia, who checked me in last night. The only thing I did find was a pot of coffee and blueberry scones. I was nearly tempted to take what was provided, but I dislike blueberry scones and never drink black coffee. I may have a bitter personality, but I prefer my coffee in the form of a double shot oat milk latte with two pumps of peppermint. Forfood, I like something with protein, like a shake or a hearty egg sandwich or omelet.
After finding no one downstairs, I went back up to my room and put on my coat, scarf, and designer boots and grabbed my purse, deciding to head out into the cold to find the bakery I remember seeing on my GPS as I came into town. Hopefully the Sugar Plum Bakehouse has more than black coffee and pastries, maybe even internet or cell reception.
I walk through the lobby, my cheeks heating as I pass the front desk and the door to the office. It’s wide open, and the light is on, but there’s nobody sitting at the desk inside. My clit pulses, and I scold myself for getting turned on just by walking past the door. I have more important things to take care of than remembering the illicit show I peeped in on last night.
I take my phone from my pocket and check it for reception just in case but find nothing. I huff and stick my face into my scarf, opening the front door. I’m met with a blast of wind that makes my freshly showered and dried hair blow around my face and my eyes sting.
“Fuck,” I mutter, “that’s cold.” I squint and look to the left through the bit of snow still coming down. If I remember correctly, the bakery is up the street a bit.
I take a few steps toward the parking lot to get my car but only make it a foot before I stop. Where the parking lot should be is a mountain of snow. Okay, not a mountain, but it’s a lot of fucking snow.
My SUV has at least a foot on its roof, and the lot is covered. No way can I drive it to the bakery, much less home.
I glance around and find the only way of travel is a sidewalk that looks as if it’s been freshly plowed. A light dusting of snow covers the concrete, but it’s walkable.
I groan, spinning around in a circle to take in more of the area. The sky is gray with peeks of sunlight attempting to come through. The snow that was lightly falling has mostly stoppednow. Thank god. Because as far as my eye can see, there are only mounds of white.
Yeah, I’m definitely not getting out of here today. Maybe not for a few days. I booked the room through Christmas, but I was hoping I wouldn’t need it that long, especially after that nightmare. But like I said, luck’s not exactly on my side. I bet if it were Avery stuck here instead of me, the roads would’ve magically cleared by now, and she’d be halfway home.
