Page 32 of All in December
I can’t help but laugh as I shake my head at that. “Kids.”
“She might be younger than him, but they both challenge each other endlessly,” he says.
I smile, watching them zip along ahead of us, bundled up and fearless.
By the timewe finish skiing for the day, I’m wiped out. My body is aching, and I’m dreaming of hot chocolate by the fireplace before being wrapped up by Nash in bed.
I’m following behind Nash as we drive down the windy, snowy roads toward our cabin. It’s only about ten minutes or so before Nash turns into a driveway. We approach a log cabin with a window wall and a large wraparound porch with Edison lights strung up. It’s beautiful and so very Colorado.
Nash parks, and I pull in right beside him. He helps Emma out of the car before heading up the stairs to unlock the door. Emma and Benji are grabbing their backpacks from the trunk, and Sam does the same, eager to get inside with them. As soon as Nash opens the door, the kids barrel inside, and he walks back to his SUV. I only have a duffle bag, so I grab that and walk over to see if Nash needs help with anything.
“Anything I can do?” I ask, coming up next to him as he’s shuffling through the trunk.
I see his eyes flick to the house and then back to me. “You can give me a kiss while the kids are out of sight.”
“Mmm, I can do that,” I say as I step closer to him. He pulls me in with his right arm and gives me a kiss. It’s not apeck, but it’s not a full-on earth-shattering makeout session either. Regardless, I can feel the passion behind it, and it only makes me look forward to tonight even more.
“Can you grab that grocery bag right there?” he requests when we pull apart, pointing to a reusable shopping bag.
“Sure thing.”
“Great, that should be all we need,” he confirms, pressing the button to shut the trunk before picking up the cooler and carrying it up the front steps as our boots crunch over the packed snow.
Inside, the cabin smells faintly of pine and wood smoke. It’s small but thoughtfully laid out—as the floor plans showed—with an open kitchen, stone fireplace, and a long table in the dining room. They’ve also put up a Christmas tree with red, white, and green bulbs and white lights. It feels like the perfect touch to make this stay even more special.
As expected, the boys are already in the room with the bunks, and I bring our bags to the other room. It looks just like the photos with a white duvet and patterned pillows. I set my duffle and his backpack by the closet door in the room and make my way back to the kitchen to help Nash.
“Dad, did you bring my crayons?” Emma asks her dad as I round the corner of the kitchen.
“Sure did, check your backpack, I stuck them in there for you.”
“Yay!” she yells, hurrying to get them. A moment later, she has her coloring book open and starts filling in what looks like a penguin on ice skates.
Nash continues to unpack the cooler, and I rush over to help him with the bag I’ve set on the counter.
“Thank you again for planning all of this. It’s already been an incredible weekend,” I say as I pull out a head of garlic, abundle of fresh rosemary, and a tiny bottle of olive oil from the bag he set on the counter.
“I needed more time with you, and another night with you even more,” he whispers.
“Oh yeah?” I raise an eyebrow, trying to sound playful, but inside I’m jittery with nerves in the best way. The anticipation of his hands on me tonight has goosebumps breaking out across my skin.
He flashes me a look that’s somehow both innocent and loaded, and we’re both well aware Emma is still at the kitchen table coloring, even if she is absorbed in her own world. “Yeah. But first, we cook.”
“Okay, let me get the fire started first to really set the vibe,” I say, already crossing the room toward the fireplace to take a moment to breathe. I grab some of the kindling they left out and place a couple of small pieces of wood on top. The kindling catches fast, and soon, with the addition of bigger pieces of wood, the flames catch and are crackling behind me. I turn on the TV and click over to YouTube, searching for my favorite Christmas playlist.
“Are you a Christmas music guy or is this gonna drive you nuts in ten minutes?” I ask as I hover over a holiday classics playlist.
Nash shoots me a grin from where he’s chopping herbs at the counter. “Depends. If you start playing a country Christmas playlist, I’m walking out.”
I snort. “Okay, that’s fair.”
“I like the old stuff, though,” he adds, tilting his head toward the music I have queued up already. “This kind of thing is my favorite.”
That’s all the confirmation I need as I hit play.
“My mom used to put this kind of music on while shewrapped presents. She always said Bing Crosby made everything feel more festive.”
Nash hums. “That’s a nice memory. Even if it wasn’t all snowy, white Christmases.”
