Page 14 of Saint Nick
Another storm rolled in that night, swallowing up the town in a blanket of white. By morning, everything beyond Sandy’s porch had disappeared beneath thick, quiet snow. The world looked softer, slower—like time had been folded in on itself, and she loved it.
She stood at the window, mug of coffee in hand, staring at the way the snow kept falling, steady and relentless. The streets were empty. Even the distant hum of traffic was gone. It was just her, the house, the storm, and Nick.
Nick leaned against the kitchen doorway behind her, his voice rough with sleep. “They said the plows won’t get to the side streets until tomorrow.”
She turned, meeting his gaze, and couldn’t help her smile. His hair was sticking up a little, and he was wearing just his boxer briefs. Over the past couple of days that he’d been staying with her, while snowed in, they both hadn’t worn much in the way of clothes—and that was just fine by her.
“So,” she said lightly, “you’re stuck with me.” Sandy crossed her small kitchen and handed Nick a mug of coffee as he grunted his thanks.
He gave one of those quiet, crooked half-smiles that always gave her butterflies. “Yeah,” he said. “Guess I am.” He sipped his coffee as the two of them stood side by side in her kitchen. Having him in her space somehow didn’t feel inconvenient at all. In fact, she felt as though he fit there with her.
By the second day of being snowed in, with no plow in sight, the house had settled into a quiet rhythm. Nick hadstopped lingering at the edges of the kitchen like he didn’t belong there. Now he moved around it with a kind of comfortable ease—grumbling about her too-strong coffee but drinking every drop anyway.
In the evenings, they ended up on the couch, a blanket tangled over their legs, Christmas movies flickering on the TV. Sandy loved the old, predictable kind with snow-covered towns, small miracles that didn’t seem to happen in real life anymore, and slow kisses under mistletoe. Nick pretended to roll his eyes, but she caught him smiling at the screen more than once.
“Don’t,” he muttered the third time she caught him.
“Don’t what?” she asked, feigning innocence.
“Don’t smirk at me like that,” he grumbled.
“I wasn’t smirking,” Sandy insisted.
“You were definitely smirking,” Nick countered. Her laughter filled the living room, warm and unguarded, and the sound made his mouth twitch like he couldn’t quite help it. Under the blanket, his thumb brushed against hers, a quiet, steady touch, and Sandy knew that whatever was happening between the two of them wasn’t going away any time soon.
“You being here,” she started, not sure how to phrase her question, or even if she had one. “Is it strictly because we’re snowed in, or are you okay with being trapped with me?”
He pulled her onto his lap, and she willingly let him, loved the way that he seemed to need to touch her as much as she did him. “I want to be here,” he assured. “Hell, if it wasn’t snowing, I’d come up with some other excuse to stick around here, Sandy. I’m not here just because I can’t go anywhere else. In fact, Mace and some of the guys have offered to come over and plow us out, but I told them not to bother.”
She didn’t hide her gasp, “Really?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said, “I’m right where I want to be. How about you? Are you sick of me sticking around?” Nick asked.
She settled back on his lap, snuggling into his body. “Well, you have been pretty tough to take,” she teased. He playfully swatted her ass, and she yelped, loving the way that the heat spread up her body. God, everything about this man turned her on.
Sandy gently kissed his lips and smiled at him. “I love having you here,” she said. “I honestly don’t want it to ever stop snowing.” He pulled her down, sealing his mouth over hers, and she let him take control. She was being honest—if Nick never left her little home, she’d be happy. Because, for some reason, he was beginning to feel as though he belonged there with her.
On the third day, she decided they would make cookies—Christmas cookies, to be exact. It started neatly enough — mixing the sugar and butter, sifting the flour. But by the time the dough hit the counter, it looked like a snowstorm had exploded in her kitchen. Nick stood there, sleeves shoved up, flour dusted across his forearms and T-shirt. She wasn’t sure how, but he made baking look sexy.
“This is chaos,” he grumbled.
“This,” Sandy corrected, laughing, “is Christmas.” She flicked a little flour at him, just to make him squint at her. He dragged his hand through the powder on the counter and brushed it against her cheek in retaliation.
“Nick!” she gasped, half laughing, half pretending to scold him. That grin, small, rare, but completely real, lit his whole face. It was the kind of smile that made her chest ache in the best way.
They ended up at the table decorating cookies, bumping elbows over trays of frosting and sprinkles. She teased him forpretending not to care while carefully outlining every edge of a star-shaped cookie, as if it were a competition.
“Perfectionist,” she said as though it were a bad thing.
He didn’t look up from his creation. “Shut up,” he grumbled. She rested her chin in her hand and just watched him for a while. There was something about this — about the way the house smelled like sugar and cinnamon, about the snow still falling outside, about him standing there in her kitchen as though he’d always belonged there that made her heart feel full. And by the end, they were both sporting sugar highs and upset tummies from eating way too many cookies.
That night, the cookies were cooling on the counter, the TV hummed softly in the background, and snow continued to fall against the windows, as they curled up on the couch again, blanket tucked around their legs, the warmth between them quiet and sure.
Nick reached for her hand, his thumb tracing small circles against her skin. Sandy rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in the steady rhythm of him. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. But something had shifted. She could feel it in the way he exhaled, softer than he used to. She felt it in how natural it was to lean into him, taking the comfort that he was silently offering to her.
For the first time in a long time, Christmas without her mom didn’t hurt. It felt warm. It felt like this. It felt like them. And she wasn’t sure that she’d ever be able to spend another Christmas alone. The question was, would she have to?
NICK
