After a brief moment, we take our mugs to the table Finnlay dedicated to us, separating once more to wash our brushes and return our tools. As we file out of the building, we find each other again, settling in beside each other on the shuttle. I revel in the warmth of his body next to mine and don’t make any attempts to keep my leg from pressing into the outside of his.
I push logic to the back of my mind. The nagging voice that lives there reminds me that I’m in no space for any kind of romantic connection, or that I don’t know this man enough to let myself feel even a bit of the comfort he’s providing me. Talking to him, allowing him to make me laugh and blush and smile — it feels like being a kid again. It feels like Christmas.
“Not to push,” he says, his voice low to my ear so only I can hear him. “I won’t call you by that name again if it makes you uncomfortable, and I respect you being so plain about it, but what beef do you have with being called ‘Princess’?”
“Oh,” I sigh, rolling my eyes. “It’s stupid, it’s…what my ex used to call me.”
“Ah,” he mouths, understanding washing his features as he leans back into his seat.
“I know it’s dumb, it’s not a big deal,” I scramble to add.
He turns his charmed expression onto me, shrugging. “Grief is funny like that.”
“I said he’s my ex, not that he’s dead.” I don’t know why I feel the need to correct him on that.
His deep eyes turn molten as he holds my gaze hostage. The tension that dissolved so easily in the ceramics studio converges in a simmering heat at the base of my core.
“Krystal.” My name is a low hum falling from his lips. “I hope you know I mean no offense by this,” he adds, wetting his lower lip. “And I know you don’t really know me at all,” he says.
My body leans towards him as if hearing the words isn’t enough; I want to feel them fall on my skin, too. “If you give me a chance, by the end of this trip, I’ll show you why he might as well should be.”
Nick
The weight of my Canon grounds me as I capture the first flurries of snow for the evening. Crescent Bay during the winter is like being trapped in a snow globe, in the best way. A bittersweet sensation burns my cheeks; I can’t help but think about how much Juno would have loved it here.
Flashes of his face, smiling wide with his one missing tooth, come to the forefront of my mind. A memory of the first time he saw snow in person. We were living in Florida at the time and decided to spend the holiday in Aspen, just for him. We could barely afford it. Marie was getting her Master’s in Psychology, and I was the DP on a documentary about the retirement community in Naples. We’d argued about whether we should spend the money or not, but I eventually pulled the trigger, buying the tickets and booking the Air B&B behind Marie’s back.
The following year, when we had to spend the holiday in the hospital watching our son fight to keep his eyes open…well, none of the money we’d spent on anything that gave us these happy memories of him, bright-eyed and full of energy, seemed to matter anymore. I would have spent it all and more to make more of those memories with him
Outdoor lights hanging from tree to tree flicker on above me. The hazy, yellow lights cast a golden glow over the freshly fallen snow. I capture the image of it, the colors painting an ombre of the warmth of the foreground to the cool purples and indigos in the sky, all framed by the shadows of the trees that separate the two.
It’s only 4:30, but it looks like we’re transitioning from the afternoon straight into midnight. I turn the collar of my coat up and rub my hands together as I head back inside. The rich aroma of dinner floats through my nostrils and lands right in the emptiness of my gut.
The food here has been the most pleasant surprise so far.
Tonight’s menu consists of short ribs, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, collard greens, roasted chicken, and baked asparagus. My mouth waters as I grab a small bowl and head for the large pot of lobster bisque waiting for me to devour it.
When I turn to find a seat, I see Krystal sitting by herself with a half-eaten bowl of her own before her. A smile threatens to bloom across my face at the sight of her, brows furrowed in intense concentration with a vice grip on her phone.
Then, she slams it face down on the table, pushes her chair out with a screech so loud it attracts the attention of the entire room, and storms out while hugging herself tightly. My smile turns down into a frown. Without thinking twice about it, I rest my bowl aside and follow her.
“Hey,” I say, approaching cautiously when I get near. “Everything okay?”
A sour chuckle tumbles out of her. “No,” she says.
Silence stretches between us, exacerbating the newness of our friendship. I contemplate leaving her alone, but that’s justit — we’re both here by ourselves. If it were me, I would want someone to listen, even if they had barely just learned my name.
“I’m here if you want to talk about it,” I offer.
She shrugs. “Nothing to talk about.”
I take a deep breath, tempted to pry until she gives in to the pressure and just spits it out. Instead, I relax into one of the lush leather sitting chairs. “What are you doing?” She asks.
It’s my turn to shrug. “Just because you don’t want to talk, doesn’t mean I can’t still be here.”
Her eyes cut to mine, and I can see them shining with unshed tears. Her brows knit together as she studies me, puzzled.
“Am I not allowed to be here?” I ask, hiding the humor in my voice.
