Page 4 of All I Want for Christmas Eve

“We need to get to shelter ASAP,” he says, his playful tone suddenly gone. “If we’re not inside within a few minutes, we’re going to be in total whiteout conditions. We’re not going to be able to get any sense of direction for hours. Maybe days.”

“Shit,” I say hoarsely, realizing he’s serious. All the little patches of stars in the sky have disappeared, and the weather is changing rapidly. If I know anything about snowstorms from growing up in Minnesota, it’s that you don’t want to mess with them.

Plus, I didn’t have the common sense to bring my cell phone.

If the snowstorm catches up with us, we’re going to have to camp out in his plane. And while I’m sure there are lots of toys and goodies on Santa’s Sleigh, it is also partially on fire, and I prefer a few more amenities.

“This way,” I tell him, guiding him toward my house.

We begin moving as quickly as we can, toward the faint glow of my house in the distance. As we begin, we discover that his leg is injured, and he has a slight limp. He needs to keep an arm around my shoulders for support. I try to hold him up as best as I can, by pressing a hand against his chest, but he is a big guy, and it slows us down. As the snow begins to swirl around us, we are incentivized to pick up our pace until I am jogging slightly, and he is hopping along as fast as he can on his injured leg. I can hear him groaning in pain, and a pang of fear strikes my chest. I hope he’s going to be okay.

The snowflakes become fluffier and denser.

Plane-crash-dude wasn’t joking. The storm is picking up steam by the second. It’s becoming harder and harder to see through the onslaught of snowflakes. By the time we are a few feet away from my house, my kitchen lights are no longer visible through the window. Every story I’ve ever heard about someone getting lost in the snow forever runs through my mind as we stumble forward through the darkness of the blizzard.

It’s pitch black now.

When my hand connects with the exterior of my house, I exhale in relief.

I want to hug my house for existing, and for being good and staying here, exactly where I left it. Moving toward the front door, with the hand of the strange man on my shoulder, we enter the cabin and shut the door behind us. Some snow and wind swirls in anyway, nipping at our skin.

The man laughs as he removes his coat and snow pants, revealing a slender, toned physique. “Take that, Alaska! I survived again.”

Is that a designer suit? Who the heck wears a designer suit out here in the tundra? I guess it’s true when they say you never know what a man has underneath his snow pants. Although I don’t think they’re talking about his clothing. And does anyone actually say that?

He is brushing the wrinkles out of his clothes, as he moves over to my favorite armchair. “I owe some major thanks to my guardian angel, here.”

“I’m not an angel,” I assure him.

“That’s right!” he responds, sitting down abruptly. “You’re my future wife.”

“You can’t just decide that sort of thing for people,” I tell him, as I remove my boots and coat. Then, realizing I’m standing there only in a wet, white nightgown, I place my coat back on with a frown.

“I am not deciding,” he says. “Fate has decided. Now that we’ve survived a blizzard together, a veritable bonding experience, we are sure to fall in love posthaste.”

I roll my eyes so hard that they hurt. “Posthaste? Who says ‘posthaste?’”

“I do,” he answers simply. “And I’m sure it’s going to rub off on you once we start spending more time together.”

“Look, buddy. I think we really just need to call you an ambulance, and get you some help. Then you’ll be whisked away into the night, we’ll never see each other again.”

“An ambulance can’t drive in this storm,” he points out. “Even if you called Medevac for an air ambulance, it would be dangerous for them to fly. We’re stuck out here until the blizzard passes, and we’ll have to perform our own basic first aid. I’m not badly injured, I promise. I’ve survived way worse.”

“Worse than a plane crash?” I ask him skeptically. “What else have you survived?”

He seems thoughtful. “The 90s. The Backstreet Boys breaking up. My high school girlfriend moving to Canada. My college fraternity hazing.”

I sigh. This man is going to be frustrating to deal with. But at the same time, I can see he is shivering and hurt, while saying all these silly things intended to distract from the severity of the situation. “Fine,” I concede, moving to the fireplace. “Let’s get you warm.”

I crouch down and begin to arrange the logs in a manner that will give them plenty of oxygen. As I’m doing this, the lights in my house begin to flicker. Yes, I imagine that soon we will be without power.

“I never got your name,” the man says, as he watches me try to light the logs.

“It’s Eve,” I tell him, as I blow gently on the embers.

He doesn’t respond for a second, and when I turn around, he is grinning from ear to ear.

“That’s an excellent name for my future wife,” he tells me, nodding. “Because I’m Adam.”

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