Snow One Like You (3 page)

“
That’s three months away,”
she stalled, attempting a positive twist on the sadness she felt
over their eventual departure. She’d raised the calves, and felt a
strong connection to them.

The twins wandered off. Fresh hay had
been delivered, and they bedded down with their legs tucked under
them. Allie and Rhys departed.

He took her hand once again, as they
left the barn. He tugged her to his side, and they bumped arms,
hips. She liked the feel of him. Solid. A man in his
prime.

Back inside the store, Rhys heel-toed
his Nikes. He stood in his wool stocks, hands in his sweat pants
pockets, waiting for her. She took off her thermal jacket and
tugged off her mittens. Her hands were cold. She blew on them;
rubbed them together.

Rhys watched her. Her nerves got the
better of her. She shivered. He wrapped his big hands about her
own, shared his heat. He brushed one thumb along the side of her
hand. Back and forth. Friction warmth. Circulation soon returned to
her fingers. Her palms began to sweat. She pulled back.

“
Better?” he
asked.

“
Much.” They stared at each
for what could’ve been seconds or a full minute. She felt
lightheaded. Her stomach, soft. They needed to move beyond the
backdoor. She cleared her throat, asked him, “Have you had
supper?”

He shook his head. “The kitchen and
dining room were closing. I didn’t have time to grab a bite at the
lodge.”

“
Pancakes?” she
offered.

“
Breakfast for dinner, why
not?”

“
Your choice of syrup.”
Syrup was the fastest selling item in the general store. There was
blueberry, strawberry, pumpkin, banana, butter pecan, and a dozen
other flavors.

Rhys debated, before deciding, “I want
your own blend.” Allie was creative in the kitchen. Her specialty
was raw maple syrup shot with bourbon. It tasted like a sweet
liqueur. The caramel and vanilla, and oaky bourbon, brought a slow
burn to his belly. The syrup was delicious drizzled over pancakes.
Possibly even more flavorful on bare skin. Which was yet to be
determined.

For the first time in all the years
he’d known her, his thoughts turned sexual. He wondered how the
mixture would taste on a naked Allie. Heated syrup dabbed on her
full lips, dripped over her slender bare shoulders, down her
ribcage, into her navel, and spread across her stomach. Lower
still. Lickable.

She affected him. Greatly. His body
reacted. His breathing deepened. He grew hard. Right then, right
there. Full on and beyond his control. He blamed Allie for his
erection. Along with the mistletoe. She should never have climbed
the ladder. Never should’ve fallen. Never have slid down his body
in a slow-motion tease. They never should’ve kissed.

Enticement was brought to a whole new
level. Temptation made his chest ache. She distracted the hell out
of him. The softness of her lips, the fullness of her breasts, the
way her hips cradled his groin, stayed with him. He couldn’t move
without feeling her against him.

They’d been friends forever. He was
now looking at her as a lover. Good idea? Bad? He wasn’t certain.
Sex could enhance their friendship. Or ruin what they had. Logic
steered him away from the bedroom. His body disagreed. Wanting
her.

He moved beyond the mud room, and into
the kitchen. Allie followed. Given the look in her dark blue eyes,
she’d noticed his rise. She wasn’t frightened or offended. She
appeared curious. And as at odds as he was in handling the
situation. Doing nothing seemed right at the moment.

The electricity held, with only the
occasional flicker. The kitchen was small, but he’d always found it
comfortable. He’d shared countless meals with Allie and her parents
over the years. So why did he now view the round table as a sexual
position? He could picture Allie nude, and perched on the edge. Her
thighs tight about his hips, clutching him close. He’d enter
her-

“
Hot chocolate, apple cider
or coffee?” she broke across his thoughts.

He rubbed his forehead, erasing the
image. Pancakes. He needed to concentrate on food. Not taking her
on the tabletop. Damn the ladder, he silently cursed. And the
sexual feelings that left him hard. He cleared his throat “Coffee’s
fine.”

“
Freshly made.” She poured
him a cup. Dropped in a sugar cube. Just the way he liked it. “Park
it.” She nodded toward a Retro chrome chair with a red leather
seat.

Painfully stiff, he wasn’t ready to
sit. So he stood and sipped. He sought a diversion, something to
take his mind off the sway of Allie’s hips as she puttered along
the counter, putting together ingredients. He started counting the
numerous spices, herbs, and seasonings on a tiered wooden rack.
Lady was organized. She kept them alphabetical. Allspice, Bay Leaf
Ground, Black Pepper, Celery Salt, Chili Powder...down to White
Peppercorns. Finishing, he finally took a seat.

She turned, topped off his coffee,
with a tentative smile. “Buttermilk, apple spice, or blueberry
pancakes?”

He preferred buttermilk, but blueberry
was her favorite. “Blueberry,” he said.

She blew him a playful, appreciative
kiss without thinking. Then blushed. At any other time, he would’ve
winked back. Tonight they walked a fine line. Awareness on one
side; desire on the other. Neither wanted to be the first to
crossover.

The griddle was hot, and Allie poured
the ingredients into a pancake dispenser. Six evenly spaced
pancakes soon sizzled. Flipped once, she plated the cakes. Then
heated her special syrup. She debated a chair next to him, but
chose one across the table. He took that as a sign she wasn’t ready
for him. He would never push her into anything she’d regret. He
never wanted her to regret him.

Rhys was hungry. He thickly poured on
the syrup, then ploughed through the blueberry pancakes as if he
hadn’t seen food for a week. Allie ate more slowly. She savored
each bite.

She eventually patted her stomach;
pushed her plate toward him. She’d eaten two pancakes, and was
feeling full. “Sure?” he asked before helping himself to the last
one.

“
I saved room for dessert.
Brandy-soaked harvest cake.”

She loved sweets. Always had. Hard
candy to chocolate-dipped jelly sticks. Cakes and cookies. Skinny
as a kid, she had a high-metabolism. She was always active. Her
curves came in her twenties. Whatever weight she gained, went to
the right places. She had a great body.

He cleaned his plate, only to
accidentally drip syrup at one corner of his mouth with his last
bite. Without thinking, Allie grabbed a paper napkin, rose slightly
off her chair, and went to wipe his lip. Unplanned, yet perfectly
timed, his tongue darted out and swept two of her fingertips. She
dropped the napkin, and he fully sucked her fingers into his mouth.
Time startled, stilled.

Their breathing slowed, shallow and
intimate, as he dared swirl his tongue, slowly, sensually. The
action could win or fail him. He needed the win.

“
Do I taste good?” her
voice was no more than a whisper.

“
Good enough to eat,” he
said, as she withdrew her fingers.

She dropped back on her chair. Dazed.
Uncertain.

He wanted to lick his way down her
body, but controlled himself. He settled for dessert instead.
“Cake,” he requested. It was a family favorite. His,
too.

“
You’re in luck,” she said.
“There are two slices leftover.”

She collected their dishes, and took
them to the sink. There, she rinsed them off and stuck them in the
dishwasher. Moving down the counter, she came to the cake stand.
She removed the cover; dished up the cake made with walnuts, fruit,
and a healthy dose of brandy. She gave him the largest
slice.

He was stuffed at the last bite. Ready
to burst. He pushed back from the table, needing to move. Seeking
activity. He glanced out the kitchen window. Snow whirled on the
wind. Slamming against the glass. Whatever he did, would be done
inside. What to pursue? Besides Allie.

“
What were your plans for
tonight?” he asked her.

“
Alone, I would’ve
restocked. Set up after-Christmas sales.”

“
I can help do
that.”

“
No need.”

He shrugged. “Not much else to
do.”

“
There’s a TV in the loft.
Go watch.”

“
It’s Christmas Eve. I’d
rather hang with you.” And he meant it. “I’ll carry boxes from the
storeroom. Assist with your displays. We can listen for Santa’s
sleigh and reindeer hooves on the roof.”

She was wistful. “We’ve spent a lot of
Christmases together over the years.”

They had a lot of memories between
them. All good. Tonight could be even merrier. He had a lot of
Ho-Ho-Ho in him. He’d brought a gift for her. One chosen by his
heart. A sterling silver necklace with a mistletoe pendant. It
represented their first kiss. And hopefully not their
last.

“
Holiday music?” she asked
as they left the kitchen for the main store. He nodded. They both
ducked around the mistletoe. Total avoidance. She proceeded to
download several songs, then connected her iPhone to a speaker
docking station located on a shelf of snow globes. She kept it
light. Updated versions of
Santa Claus is
Coming to Town
.
Jingle Bell Rock
. He hummed and she
sang along to
All I Want for Christmas is
You
. Their eyes locked with the final
notes. Her cheeks pinkened. She was first to look away.

“
What did you request from
Santa this year?” she asked, her back was to him as she organized a
display of assorted teas in decorative tins, making room for more
flavors.

“
New skis, which I’ll pick
out and pay for. You?”

“
A second shop,” was said
so softly, he barely heard her.

“
Another general store?”
This was news to him.

“
Smaller, on the order of a
gift shop. An extension of Hartley’s, perhaps in a hotel or
lodge.”

“
I have a
lodge.”

“
I wasn’t
hinting.”

She’d never asked him for anything.
Doubtfully ever would. He scratched his jaw. Forester Lodge had a
small recreation room off the central lobby. Tables and card games
presently filled the space. It was seldom used. Guests at the lodge
chose outside activities. They came to excel. To hike, ski,
snowboard, to physically exert themselves.

Following supper and after-dinner
drinks, visitors scheduled time in the spa. A sauna or massage.
Dust had long-settled on Monopoly and Clue. The seal on the deck of
cards, never broken.

“
What would you sell?” he
encouraged her.

“
Similar to what I do
here.” she said. “All-things Vermont, necessities and
novelties.”

Simplistic, but saleable. The idea
took. Perhaps it was time to exchange board games for keepsakes.
“Maybe I could move you up-mountain,” he said.

“
Maybe you should check
with your parents first.”

Practical Allie. His mom and dad
adored her. She was like a daughter. They would welcome the
expansion. It was a win-win for both families. “Something to
consider.”

“
Contemplation’s good.” She
returned to the tea, only to raise a question he hadn’t expected.
Allie touched on his personal life. “Whatever happened to Victoria
George? At one time she wanted to bring designer winter wear to
town.”

Victoria…gorgeous and
high-maintenance. He’d met her at the lodge, vacationing. They’d
dated four months. A renowned fashion designer, she found mountain
living difficult. She missed the glitz and glamour; the fast-paced
lifestyle of New York City. Which Rhys found toxic.

She’d begged him to retire from skiing
and become the face of Rugged Ice, her latest men’s collection.
Never meant to be a male model or spokesman, Rhys had passed.
Without second thought. He’d been fond of Victoria, but hadn’t
loved her. The Green Mountain Range called to him. It was his life.
Always would be.

“
Not enough action at the
lodge for her,” said Rhys. “Whenever she came to visit, her stays
became shorter and shorter. Until they were
non-existent.”

“
The heart of the mountain
beats quiet and peaceful,” Allie softly said. “You value the steady
pulse.”

She understood him. He was physically
strong, but gained inner strength from nature’s own serenity. His
soul soared when he skied. There was nothing like it. He shook out
his arms, shifted his stance, and asked, “What can I bring you from
the storeroom?”

“
Boxes marked Country Store
Cookbooks and glassware.”

He glanced up at the rafter, and
sidestepped the mistletoe. He wondered what Allie would do if he
stood under it. Would she approach him for a kiss or pretend not to
see him. Perhaps he’d chance it later. Better still, maybe he’d
catch her beneath the sprig of spiky green leaves and white
berries. An opportunity not to be missed. He’d make his
move.