“Officer Patrick North?” I ask.
He dips his head this time, a hint of humor in his eyes.
I let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know if I should be relieved you’re a cop or if you being one means I’m in even more trouble for what I’m thinking.”
Honestly? It’s probably the second one. I’ve never been the biggest fan of the police, and after everything that happened after the holiday party, my dislike became more like hatred. I didn’t go to them because I knew they wouldn’t help me, but I guess I blamed the establishment for their impotence all the same.
Still, he’s one guy—one gorgeous guy—and I can’t make him sleep out in his car during a blizzard because some idiot rented us the same chalet.
Right?
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off with a raise of his eyebrows as he says, “I don’t know. What are you thinking?”
Something crazy. “It’s just… this isn’t a single chalet. There’s two rooms. If you don’t mind sharing the rest of the space with me until we get this sorted out, you can have the other one.”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to put you and your family out. Not at Christmas.”
I shouldn’t admit it, but in for a penny, in for apound… “It’s just me. A holiday for the holidays, I guess. There’s more than enough room for both of us.”
“In that case, if you don’t mind, I’d be happy to accept a room for the night.”
I figured he would. However, right as he lifts up his luggage, I pause him when I speak again.
“Quick question, though. You brought your badge with you,” I point out. I look him up and down, paying more attention to the ski jacket, the blue jeans, and the thin grey sweater peeking out from beneath his coat. “You have your gun?”
“This is my vacation, too, Ms...”
That wasn’t a ‘no’, I notice. I look him over again, not noticing any obvious bulges—which is a relief on one hand, a bit of a disappointment on the other—before realizing that while I know his name now, I haven’t offered him mine.
“Oh. Right. It’s Noelle. I’m Noelle.”
“A Noelle being an angel for me at Christmas. Seems rather…” Patrick purses his lips. “Serendipitous.”
If he says so. “Come on in. Let’s get you out of the cold, and I’ll show you your room.”
Patrick seems like a perfect gentleman—andafter what happened to me, I’m almost more suspicious of anice guy than an out-and-out perv. It’s like I’m waiting for him to grab and grope, to leer and make me uncomfortable.
Only he doesn’t, and instead of being glad that I got snowed-in with a good guy, I show him the spare room, then hurriedly retreat to mine.
I packed enough snacks that I don’t go to bed hungry. Too aware of how dangerous men can be, I locked myself in the room after storing the champagne away for another day. Drinking with a handsome man in the same cabin as me? Yeah, no. Not a good idea, Noelle, especially when he’s only one door down.
I expect that I’ll get up in the morning, the cell service will be back—or, at least, the snow will have stopped, allowing the roads to clear eventually—and then we can find out who really is supposed to be in this chalet. Only the storm has ideas of its own, and on the twenty-third of December, I wake up, change into fresh clothes and boots, try to head outside, and discover that he wasn’t kidding when he said the forecast called for at least a foot of fresh snow. It’s probably a good sixteen inches already, and the snow isstillcoming down.
To make matters worse, my phone has no service, no internet, and the idea of having a handsome cop tagging along on my Christmas vacation… it seems a little more daunting and not as imperative—and, okay,exciting—as it did last night.
I haven’t been on a date since that fateful party. Being alone with a guy? For the first year, I couldn’t tolerate it. The panic and anxiety were terrible, and though I’ve gotten better thanks to Dr. Preston, and the last year was even more successful—though hearing about my ex-colleagues dropping like flies definitely helped—I kept waiting for the same nerves to overtake me last night.
They didn’t. Partly because I trusted the lock, but also because I… I don’t know. In a way, I also trusted the decent, friendly vibes I got from Patrick. He seems like a good guy, and that’s probably how I find myself spending most of the afternoon and evening with him, sitting at the small four-seater table in the chalet’s kitchen.
It wasn’t on purpose. In fact, after I slipped into the bathroom, showered, and changed into something more comfortable since there was no way I was heading out into the snow, I ate breakfast, then hid out in my room. I couldn’t stay in there forever, though, and I didn’t want to. I’m on vacation, too, and after I heard footsteps out in the hall, down the stairs, and probably milling around the kitchen, I took a deep breath and followed him to the living room.
Like me, Patrick checked on the forecast, nodding to himself when he saw that the snow hadn’t let up yet. He apologized again—I brushed him off—and we both gazed at the Christmas tree for a moment. It wasn’t asawkward as I thought it would be, though I decided that we might as well make the best of our Christmas Eve Eve by getting the fire going, sitting at the table while we shared the cheeseboard first, then my favorite butter cookies as we sipped discreetly on some of the remaining champagne.
By the firelight that reached into the kitchen, I learned that he’s older than I thought; he’s thirty-eight to my twenty-six when I bluntly ask. He is from Springfield, like I expected, and his badge is for the SPD. He laughed a husky sort of laugh that sent shivers down my spine when I admitted that I live in Springfield, too, saying something like this was fated to happen.
Two lonely souls heading up to the mountains to be by themselves before some higher power stepped in, bringing us together… shit. I’d love to blame the glass of champagne I had between snacking for the way my face went red at that thought, but the truth is that it was so easy to talk to Patrick about everything and nothing. After all, it’s not like we had anything better to do, and when the snow finally slowed down mid-day, I already accepted that he would be here for another night at least.
As a thank you, Patrick cooked dinner for us using whatever he found in the pantry. It was simple—spaghetti in sauce with garlic bread on the side—but hearty. It went down well with the soda stocked by the resort in the fridge, and after I insisted on washing thedishes, we were back at the table, another glass of champagne poured for each of us.
