Page 7 of All I Want for Christmas Eve

He swallows. “You have to marry me,” he says, waving a cake pop at me like a judge issuing a decree.

“You don’t know anything about me,” I tell him pointedly.

“I know you’re damned beautiful,” he says with a decisive nod. “You can make a fire to keep the house warm. You can make a damned good cake pop and expert-level hot chocolate. You rescued me from freezing to death in a blizzard, and brought me into your adorable little cabin. I think you’re swell.”

“I don’t always make cake pops,” I tell him, “or cook much of anything at all. I would be a terrible wife.”

“Impossible. Besides, think of the wedding invitations. ‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of Adam and Eve.’ Catchy, right?”

I nod. “That part’s catchy, but I bet you have a horrible last name.”

“It’s Wintergreen.”

Hmmm. Eve Wintergreen. Eve Frost-Wintergreen. Not awful.

Wait, why am I even considering this? Am I insane?

“Besides,” Adam adds, “it’s lonely out here at the edge of humanity, isn’t it? Even the toughest, most fearless, and indestructible person needs someone to rely on, and someone to love. Don’t you think so, Eve?”

I do not respond for a moment, but I just turn to stare out the window at the storm. By the time I look back at him, he is nodding off. “Adam?” I say softly.

He looks up at me in surprise and yawns. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little bit exhausted. Do you have somewhere I can crash?”

“Right over there,” I say, gesturing to my bedroom. Then I realize that he needs help getting over there.

I move to his side and help him stand. I carefully guide him over to the bedroom, but as I do so, I inhale the masculine scent of him. It is so nice that it makes me a little lightheaded. It’s some sort of musky cologne. I guess I didn’t notice it before, when the storm was raging all around us.

Okay, so he smells like a man, and sounds like a man. Big deal. That’s just what men do. It’s not that impressive, Eve. It’s not a reason to sign marriage papers.

He seems to grow heavier with the final few steps. I reach down and pull back my comforter so that he can get in.

Adam grunts as he lowers himself to the bed. He lies there weakly for a moment, and squeezes my hand. “I would have died out there without you, Evie.”

I swallow. “You can’t give me a nickname after meeting me less than an hour ago.”

“But I feel like I’ve known you a lot longer than that,” he says. “Like maybe you were always here waiting for me to find you. Doesn’t it feel like we were meant to meet? Like we’re right where we’re supposed to be?”

I do not respond. I realize that I am holding my breath, because his hand feels very nice against mine. I can’t remember the last time I was touched by another human being. It’s very comforting and warm. I don’t really want him to let go.

“You’re my Christmas miracle,” Adam says. “Eve is the perfect name for you, because you look like Christmas Eve. Like a magical silent night, filled with anticipation for something wonderful that’s about to happen.”

His hand falls away, and his eyes flutter closed.

I stand there speechlessly for a moment.

“We should get married on Christmas Eve,” he mumbles in his sleep, and that ruins it.

I groan loudly as I move toward the door, unable to believe that I found him romantic for a second. He is probably married already, for all I know, and just joking around for the hell of it. Turning back, I glance at his hand for a ring or a tan line with narrowed eyes. I see none, but this is Alaska, and we don’t always get enough sun to develop tan lines.

Why do I care, anyway? I shouldn’t take anything he says seriously. I have no idea who he really is. His name might not even be Adam Wintergreen. That’s a ridiculous name, and definitely the type I would choose for a character in a book. It’s probably a name he made up on the spot to avoid me discovering his real identity. I’m not even going to glorify him by looking that name up online, because I amnotinterested.

It occurs to me that I should probably change out of my wet clothes. Adam was wearing proper protective gear, so he didn’t get quite as wet as I did. Which is lucky, because I didn’t have a change of clothes for him.

I collect a fresh nightgown from my dresser quietly, trying not to wake him. Then I move to exit my bedroom. Pausing in the doorway, it is then I realize that I have nowhere to sleep.

“Fiddlesticks,” I say grouchily.

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