Page 5 of Winter Break Up

Mercer looks like he wants to reach out, his hand pausing mid-air, and then I feel a snowflake land somewhere on my cheek. Rather than touching me, though, his limb drops back to his side.

“True.” He rubs his jaw in a way that makes my thighs clench.

Caught in the moment, a beat or more passes before I break the connection of our eyes. I can do this. I can be professional. Nice. I can work with him for this month and a half and not keep harping on my greatest mistake staring me in the face.

“I’ve got to get back to work. It was … good to see you, Mercer.”

There, that was nice enough. Right?

Damn, I’m never going to make it through the merry season this year.

3

MERCER

“You cut your hair.”

The thought pops out before I can stop it and has Emily turning around with a fright.

“Jeez, I didn’t know anyone was back here.” Her hand flies to her chest, blood-red nail polish capping all of her fingers.

Stomping out of my boots and pulling off my hat and gloves, I take a seat in one of the folding chairs in this little enclosed space. Emily’s parents had this small employee room built onto the back of the barn for the seasonal workers to take breaks in, and it’s serving its purpose right now. Working an eight-hour day in the cold, doing hard manual labor, with sap and pine needles all over you, yeah, you need a break sometimes. We come back here to eat lunch, warm up, goof off, or just slack when we feel like it.

Sure, I could go home since my day is over. I’ve already said goodbye to Mrs. P and handed her my tips for the day. Even though I came back to work on the tree farm, I told her I wouldn’t take her money. Not an hourly wage or the tips. I’m doing this for the nostalgia, for the last-ditch effort to soak up home before my life gets chaotic. As a student-athlete, and with my national team affiliations, I usually get clothes, meals, and travel for free. Sure, there isn’t much leftover, and I don’t come from a family as well-off as the Palmers, but they don’t need to pay me this holiday season. Working with Charlie is payment enough.

So yes, I could have headed home. But part of me feels this magnetic draw to seek Emily out. To have one more conversation with her, no matter how much it will burn me. I’ve gone years without talking to her, and having her right in front of me is the best kind of torture.

“Sorry, just wanted to transform from an icicle back into a real person before heading home.” I give her a small smile.

It’s tougher to muster the sass and charm from this morning when my body aches like it does now. The sun is setting early on the cold horizon, something I haven’t been used to in years since moving to Florida for college. Plus, my knee feels like it’s about to collapse, and I know I overdid it with how much I pushed myself today.

“Mom made a vat of her hot chocolate for the first day.” Emily points to the small kitchenette in the break room space.

My mouth waters. “Damn, your mom makes the best hot chocolate. She buys those big, square—”

“Marshmallows? Yep. Two different kinds, too; vanilla bean and peppermint.”

“God, that sounds delicious.” I drop my head back as I rub my hands together, relishing the feeling returning to my fingertips.

“You’re not used to the cold anymore, huh? It’s not even January, you remember how frigid it gets.”

I haven’t spent much of my winters in New Jersey since college started, what with winter training down in Miami, so I guess she’s right.

“I guess not. My toes feel like popsicles.” A chuckle works its way out of my throat.

Walking to stand next to Emily at the counter, we work in tandem, fixing our cups of cocoa. She pours two hot steaming mugs while I unwrap the marshmallows. The whole act feels intimate, the two of us back here alone, making a snack together. Like we might have in years past. I might have wrapped my arm around her waist and snuck a kiss with tongue in before her brother could find us. The fantasy begins to come to life: my hand sneaking into her snow pants to meet warm, smooth skin, her teeth scraping against my throat, my core meeting hers as I back her up into the counter, and the taste of chocolate on her tongue as I suck it into my mouth …

“When did you get home from school?” Her question invades my imaginary scenario, and I have to stifle a groan.

“Two days ago. How about you?”

Even if I shouldn’t be having daydreams about my ex, hope fills me that we could do this, actually be cordial. Especially if we keep our conversation to small talk.

“A week ago. You didn’t get to celebrate with your grandpa, then?” Her expression takes on a sympathetic pout, and even if I hate people worrying about my family life, it feels nice that she cares.

“No, that was a bummer. Next year, I’m hoping I can fly him out to Miami.” When I can afford it, but I don’t add that.

Growing up with my grandfather as the only parent in my life was both wonderful and sad. Grandpa is the best of us, a man who takes responsibility and loves everyone around him. He raised me with a gentle yet firm approach and was a dutiful parent but also a caring friend. As far as my upbringing, I didn’t have a traumatic one compared to a lot of people out there. Yet, I still wonder what it would have been like to come from a home with two loving parents.

---