“My brain is too cold to make a joke about penetration,” he said as we stepped onto the porch. “I just hope they have some rooms for us.”
Oh fuck. That thought hadn’t even occurred to me.
He opened the door, the wind catching it and flinging it open. Isaac guided me inside as he forced the door closed behind us.
As the howl and bluster of the storm ended and we blinked the snow out of our eyes, we both realized we were standing inside a certified Christmas fever dream.
It was Christmas if Christmas were designed by a handful of Scottish great-aunts. It was Christmas if Christmas were designed by a generative AI whose only inputs were the art on Christmas popcorn tins and the last season ofThe Tudors.
Garlands were everywhere, trees were stuffed into every corner. Giant antlers hung above the doorways and dripped with shiny green leaves and red berries. Long tapers were lit on the mantel and on scattered tables in the lobby, competing with the crackle of the fire and the twinkling lights from the trees and garlands. There was no way to decide if this was too much or absolutely just the right amount.
Isaac and I blinked.
“A little chilly out there?” asked a well-manicured bearded man behind the desk as he worked on a floral arrangement. A cat sat on the edge of the desk, licking a paw, like a background actor given a brief to make the scene feel extra cozy.
“Frigid. Every bit of me is frigid,” I confirmed. “Please say you have some rooms available for the night.”
He set the flowers aside and opened his tablet. It was reassuring to see something not made of poinsettias or antler bone in here. “You two help yourself to the hot chocolate bar while I have a look. We were fully booked this morning, but I’m sure I’ve had a few cancellations with the storm and all.”
I was still shivering, so Isaac poured us both a cup of hot chocolate and dumped extra marshmallows into mine. Bless him.
The steaming liquid warmed me enough to have a coherent thought as the man behind the desk said, “Well, it’s your lucky night. My junior suite is available, but I’m afraid it’s just a double bed. There’s a little love seat in there as well if you two were hoping for—”
“We’ll take it,” Isaac said.
Given that Isaac had an imminent date and that it was absolutely inadvisable for us to wind up in bed togetheragain, I knew I should fuss about how one of us would need to take the sofa or something, but right now, all I could think of was a hot shower.
We took our room key, an ornate gold thing with a hefty burgundy tassel keychain, to our room on the third floor. The suite was actually the only room on the third floor and was very obviously a converted attic, but it was still charming and, best of all, warm. A small fire was going in the antique fireplace, and the bed was piled with a princess-worthy amount of quilts and blankets.
“I’m freezing my tits off,” I said the moment the door shut behind us. “Okay with you if I get a hot shower real fast?”
Isaac bit down on his bottom lip, pouting a bit, like he’d hoped this might be a group activity, and nodded. Such a hot Sad Boy, but if I didn’t put my body under a scalding stream of water, I might never be warm again.
I shucked off my jacket and wiggled out of my tights and sweater dress as I ran into the bathroom and started the water.
The clawfoot tub reminded me of the one my mom had had but never used, which had always turned into an outfit discard receptacle when she was trying to get dressed for a fancy event. This little bed-and-breakfast did one thing right though: the rainfall showerhead that sent water cascading over my shoulders. Steam billowed over the shower curtain, and I stood there for what felt like an hour.
When I finally felt ready to turn off the water, I stepped out of the tub and found a stack of remarkably small towels, which would cover only the front part of my body, because of course hotels never seemed to get the memo that most guests need something bigger than a goddamn hand towel.
With my hair twisted in another towel, I stepped out into the room, where my trail of clothing had been folded into a neat pile on the bed.
Isaac lay on his back, his arms behind his head, his boots kicked off and his feet crossed. The four posts of the bed were so dramatically tall that they nearly scraped the ceiling.
His eyes raked over me with the towel clutched to my chest.
“All yours,” I said, nodding back to the bathroom, glowing with steam.
He stood and lazily walked toward me, like he was savoring this moment.
Stopping just inches from me, his fingers brushed across my shoulder as he said, “Yes, it is.”
Chapter Twenty
Isaac
Her eyes were pools of rich, dark brown in the shared glow of the fire and the small lamp in the corner of the room. She dropped her gaze to the space between us, and I found myself hypnotized by the sight of her lashes on her heat-flushed cheeks.
Doris’s words floated to the surface of my mind—a long life, full to bursting—but I pushed them away. I didn’t want to think about love or death or continuing to live. I didn’t want tothinkat all, because I already knew what I wanted, and I had known it since seeing her at the wedding and maybe since we’d met.
