Let it Snow Read online

  Problem solved. I’d just chased away the most interesting man I’d met in at least a year. Not that relationships founded in airports based on chocolate and delays had much promise. Not that I would know, actually.

  As soon as he was gone, the depression settled back in, and I began to wonder if I should get another cupcake for myself. The first one had brought a handsome Irish man with it. But a second one would probably only result in a sugar coma and a painfully tight waistband.

  I sighed. Maybe it had been a mistake saying goodbye like that. It seemed like maybe he’d been intending to stay. But no, I thought, he would have gone his own way sooner or later, and the more my desperate mind attached to him, the harder it would have been. I’d only sensed some kind of spark because I was hurt and dejected and my romantic compass was all twisted around. Maybe it was broken forever.

  I decided to walk the terminal. After all, I’d just ingested at least eight hundred calories in coffee and cake. And my Spanx were becoming somewhat constrictive under the red sweater dress I wore. Best to move around a bit. I wheeled my bag back out of the coffee shop and turned to walk the long terminal, my strides sure and confident.

  I walked up and down the terminal several times, using my best big city walk—head held high, knee boots carrying me in long decisive strides like I was on my way to an important meeting. I looked straight ahead and pretended not to be scanning the gates for any signs of an Irishman with dark, gloriously wavy hair and a killer smile. I wasn’t looking for him, not really, and so when I spotted his long legs stretched out before him at gate 21, I purposely looked the other way as I passed, pretending that the newsstand ahead was drawing my attention. And when I turned at the end of the terminal and walked quickly back, passing 21 again, I checked my phone as I strode by, glancing only once out of the corner of my eye to see that Brogan was still there, reading the paper. The third time I passed, my already crappy mood deflated further. Gate 21 was empty. No hot Irishmen anywhere.

  I let myself really look that time, scanning the empty seating area for a long minute, which was probably why I didn’t notice him standing smack in front of me. And why I bowled straight into him at full ramming speed.

  His long solid arms caught me and stopped me from sending both of us flying. “Careful there, love!” He was laughing as he righted me, and then he took a step back, that handsome grin lighting the area around me with a warm glow and sending my panties to the floor. Okay, not really, but man—this was the definition of a panty-dropping smile.

  “Why are you standing in the middle of the walkway?” I was angry, but mostly at myself. He’d surely seen me scanning for him like a girl with a desperate crush. But I was also a tad bit annoyed that he had stood there, certainly knowing I’d run right into him. Or was annoyed really the right word? He’d put himself there, and waited for me to crash into him. Maybe I was a bit more flattered than annoyed. Still, there were better ways to get me back into conversation.

  “Just testing.” He winked again.

  “Testing what?”

  “I thought I might’ve gone invisible.”

  That was it. He was insane. I knew there had to be something wrong with him. No man could be that hot and have a perfect sexy accent, too. I raised an eyebrow. “No, not invisible. Just standing right in the way.”

  “Well, see, you walked by twice and clearly didn’t see me over there trying to catch your attention, so I wondered if maybe I’d gone invisible.”

  “I saw you.”

  “Ah, did you now? But I saw you too, and you were pretending not to see me, I think. So I thought I’d just make it a bit harder for you to pretend.”

  “I wasn’t pretending. I was, uh, walking. For exercise. After the chocolate and all.” What was this guy’s game? I felt the flush rising over my chest and up my neck.

  Brogan stood just a tad closer than was polite, and some heady man-scent was wafting around him, making me dizzy and confused.

  “I see.”

  “Why did you want me to see you?” I asked, swallowing my pride.

  “We’re the only two people alive in the airport. I guess I was a bit lonely.”

  I stepped back, out of the reach of Brogan’s cloud of seductive scent. What was that, anyway? “We aren’t the only two people here.” I nodded at the portly bald man sprawling over four chairs at my gate and then pointed beyond him to another woman quietly reading. “And that isn’t exactly a compliment, you know.”

  “What’s not?”

  “That you hoped I might come over because I’m the only other person here. That’s kind of like saying that I’d be your last choice of people to hang out with if there were any other choices.”

  Brogan shook his head quickly, the amber eyes crinkling at the corners. “That isn’t what I meant at all,” he said. “No, love. I hoped you would say hello because I actually wanted to stay and talk back at the coffee shop, but you excused me so quickly. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind and that we could spend our wait together.”

  “What for?” I cringed as soon as the words were out. Here was a gorgeous man asking to spend time with me at a time when I literally had nothing else to do, and I was acting like a suspicious wench. One who could hardly form a coherent thought, thanks to the combination of the guy’s magical cologne and his God-given good looks. I blamed Paul. He’d made me relationship-challenged.

  Brogan winced a bit. “What for?” he repeated. “You’re a bit of a straight shooter, aren’t you Dix?”

  Oh God, he called me Dix. I had a soft spot for handsome men who called me Dix. Truth be told I had a soft spot for handsome men, period. But the assumed familiarity of the nickname … well, that was a whole other level of attraction.

  “I’ll tell you the truth,” Brogan said. “I was headed home today, not looking terribly forward to the holiday. And then I saw you in the coffee shop over there, and something about you seemed to glow, and I wanted to meet you. And then when I did, and you had that wonderful sexy voice and that gorgeous smile, I wanted to stay and get to know you. And now I see you marching up and down the terminal in this clingy red dress, walking like a woman on some kind of mission, and I just found myself scrambling for an excuse to talk to you.”

  I think my mouth dropped open somewhere toward the beginning of Brogan’s little speech and I took the opportunity to shut it, having no idea how to respond.

  “And Dixie, I was just hoping that maybe if I stood here and got your attention again, you might decide that it would be okay to come to the bar just over there and let me buy you a drink.” Brogan pointed over his shoulder to the bar on the corner of the terminal.

  I still couldn’t figure out what to say, but listening to that much of Brogan’s accent all at once had my insides melting and my knees near to buckling. I could pretend to be angry or indignant, or whatever it was I’d been pretending to be a few moments ago, but in reality, I would go just about anywhere he asked me to. I nodded.

  “Yes? A drink, then?” A sexy grin spread across Brogan’s face, revealing the dimples on either side of his sculpted lips.

  “Yes,” I managed.

  2

  Let it Snow

  Dixie

  Brogan took the handle of my bag from my hand and offered me his arm, and together we walked toward the bar. We settled onto stools and Brogan positioned my bag just next to us.

  A beleaguered bartender approached. “Merry Christmas,” he said, his words in no way matching the sour expression on his face. “What can I get you?”

  I found myself still staring at Brogan, unable to get over his straightforward speech, his incredible scent, or his good looks. I hauled myself back to reality and asked for a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Brogan ordered a pint, and we faced one another, drinks in hand, once surly bartender guy had dropped them off with an ironic-sounding “enjoy!”

  “To new friends at the holidays,” Brogan said, tipping his glass toward mine.

  “To new friends,” I agreed, finally r
ecapturing the ability to speak. The wine tasted good and the warmth it created in my stomach met the butterflies that were swooping and darting around in there. Having their wings doused in wine seemed to settle them down a bit.

  “Tell me something about yourself, Dixie.” Brogan watched me after he asked the question, his eyes dropping to my mouth as I licked my bottom lip, thinking about my answer.

  The way his eyes darkened as he returned his gaze to mine set a small fire glowing low in my stomach and a warm excitement crept through my limbs. “Well, I’m from Oregon,” I said. “But I’ve been living here for a few years now.”

  “What brought you to this tiny town?”

  Did I want to tell him that story? I guessed I had little to lose. He was a stranger, after all. “A man,” I said, looking into my glass and then risking a look back up to see if I’d lost him. His amber eyes were still on my face, and he turned his body more fully toward mine. I felt like it’d been years since anyone had shown this much interest in anything I’d said. “A guy I met in college. He grew up here and came home to take over his dad’s business.”

  “I see,” Brogan said, his voice low. “And this man is still in your life?”

  “Ah, no.” My response was clipped and angry, and I regretted the way it had come out. I took a long drink and then continued. “Not anymore. It turned out he was in lots of other women’s lives, too. So we broke up.”

  “Recently.”

  “Not that recently.”

  Brogan raised an eyebrow.

  “Three weeks ago.”

  Brogan nodded and then took a long drink.

  “Your turn,” I said. “What’s your story? How does an Irishman end up in a tiny Maryland town?”

  “Ah, that’s a long story,” Brogan said.

  “And that’s not an answer.”

  “Picked up on that, did you?” He took another long drink and shifted his position. His knee pressed up against mine.

  The contact of Brogan’s body against mine sent my mind reeling. Suddenly I was picturing his hands on me, pushing my dress up my thighs, peeling my tights from my legs. Wetness crept between my legs as the heat from his body ebbed through me.

  I thought back, frowning with the effort, but couldn’t remember the last time Paul had made me wet just by touching me. Actually, I couldn’t remember the last time Paul had touched me.

  “Well, it’s a sad story with a sad ending, I’m afraid.” Brogan gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and his knee pressed against my leg more firmly.

  “I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” I told him. I knew I was prodding, but I wanted to learn more about the gorgeous man with the suddenly sad eyes. “What could be so sad?”

  Brogan looked down into his beer, and then back up. “Failure. Failure is sad.”

  “I have a hard time believing you could be a failure at much.”

  “Why? Because of my winning smile? My natural charm?”

  I felt the blush climb my cheeks. “Pretty much that, yeah.”

  “Doesn’t help you run a business, I’m afraid.” Brogan shook his head, his lips pressed in a firm line. He picked up the pint and drained it.

  I knew a few things about running a business. “What kind of business are we talking about?” For a moment I forgot the heat of Brogan’s leg against mine. My mind had clicked into gear.

  Brogan raised an eyebrow but continued. “A winery. A small boutique winery on the Bay that wanted to branch out into microbrews.”

  “Are you a winemaker?”

  “No. A brew master. Or I was. I think this venture may have ruined my reputation.” Brogan lifted a finger as the bartender wandered by, and another pint appeared in front of him, along with a second glass of wine for me. “The place advertised for a craft brewer, and I’d been looking for an opportunity in the states, to be closer to my folks. I didn’t do much checking around, or ask as many questions as I should have about the setup. They bought everything I told them I’d need, and expected a near-immediate profit. And of course that’s pretty much impossible.”

  “They over-extended,” I said. “And stretched everything too thin.”

  “They did.” Brogan raised his pint. “And they got it all set up, got me out here, and let me get the first brews made. And then they hit the wall. And one easy place to cut was my salary. So I’m a brew master without a job at this point.”

  “I’m sorry, Brogan.” I put my hand on Brogan’s knee, not really thinking about it. But as soon as I felt the firm solidity of him, as soon as my hand had crossed that short distance between us, I felt as if I’d jumped off a cliff into another dimension. The air in the small space we shared felt charged and electric, and Brogan’s eyes darkened.

  I didn’t remove my hand, and a second later, Brogan’s was covering it. He put his pint on the bar top and reached down with his other hand, lifting mine between his own, as if to inspect it. But instead, he raised my palm to his mouth and placed a slow soft kiss in the center of my palm. My stomach flipped and I involuntarily clenched my thighs together.

  “Thank you,” Brogan said softly. He didn’t release my hand, instead held it in one of his, his thumb stroking circles across the top of it, his eyes never leaving my face.

  It might have been the wine, it might have been the sudden feeling of closeness brought on by Brogan’s confession, or it might have been the fact that I had never met anyone I so immediately wanted to straddle, but I did something completely outside my usual perfectly-planned personality. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his.

  He didn’t back away, but I felt him stiffen in surprise. That didn’t last long. In the next instant, he’d released my hand, and both his hands were cupping my jaw, his fingers in the hair behind my ears. His lips moved on mine, softly at first. And then his mouth was moving hungrily, and his hands were slipping around me, one at the back of my head, the other dropping to wrap around my back. He was pulling me toward him, and my insides were buzzing, excitement and arousal pouring through me.

  I slid off the stool and let myself be pulled between Brogan’s legs, my own arms sliding up his firm hard thighs and wrapping themselves around the sides of his perfect butt, pulling myself closer to him.

  As our mouths opened to one another and our tongues met, I leaned into his solid heat and felt his firmness pressed against my stomach through the thin cashmere of my sweaterdress.

  “Ahem.”

  The sudden sound of the bartender clearing his throat reminded me where we were, and I practically jumped away from Brogan, finding my own stool again. I smiled sheepishly at the bartender, who glared at us with an eyebrow raised.

  “Sorry, Mate,” Brogan offered the man. “Got a bit carried away. Christmas spirit, you know.”

  “Keep it tame, folks. This isn’t a Holiday Inn.” The man turned and walked down to the other end of the bar.

  “Sorry,” I said, not meeting Brogan’s eye and feeling suddenly ashamed of myself. What had come over me? “I’m not usually like that.”

  “Like what?” Brogan asked, leaning down to catch my eyes with his own. He was grinning. “You’re not usually gorgeous? Or you’re not usually such a sensational kisser?”

  I felt my insides threatening to turn to molten heat again. “I’m not usually so forward.”

  “Well, neither of us is usually stuck in an airport under four feet of snow on Christmas Eve,” Brogan said. “And I rather like forward, I think.”

  Hearing Brogan mention the holiday reminded me of the fact that I was about to spend my holiday in an airport, instead of with my family. And that it might have been my last chance to see my grandmother.

  I smiled at Brogan and sipped at my wine. He was handsome, and we could definitely have some fun, but he wasn’t family. And this wasn’t the way Christmas was supposed to be. And though I was happy to have someone to spend the holiday with, it didn’t change that I was stuck in an airport. And I was beginning to miss everything I’d anticipated about going home.
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  I imagined my parents’ house, decked out with tiny twinkling lights everywhere. Mom did Christmas right. She did Christmas big. The tree reached for the soaring ceilings and was festooned top to bottom with shining glass ornaments. There was a special one for every year of my life, and another for every year of my sister’s. The tree held all of the Nutcracker ballet characters from the years that I thought I was a ballerina. It held a Statue of Liberty and a huge Times Square ornament, from the years when I lived in New York City. And the most recent additions were a suitcase and a silly piggy bank to represent my job selling investment options to corporate benefits officers.

  The last time I had been home had been almost three years ago. I’d been certain that Paul was going to marry me any day—hell, I had the ring that said he would, but he kept putting off the wedding. I’d been delusional, I decided, but I’d been happy. Or at least I’d told myself that I was. It didn’t matter now. Paul had distracted me, and my grandmother had aged while I’d been busy. And now I might never get to see Nana again.

  I stared into my glass and was surprised to see that it was nearly empty. I’d drained it during my rumination, and Brogan had seemed to sense that I needed the silence. He watched me but didn’t interrupt my thoughts. I looked up at him and smiled. “Thanks so much for the drink. I probably better get back to the gate and see what’s going on. I need to call my family and let them know I won’t make it tonight.”

  Brogan glanced toward the windows where snow was piling high and still coming down in blankets, but he accepted my exit gracefully. “Thank you for spending part of your holiday with me, Dixie. It was the best part of my year so far.” He leaned in and kissed me gently on the cheek.

  Swoon.

  For a second, I struggled with my decision to walk away. I’d never see this guy again, so there was no real point in spending my evening with him when I should probably be on the phone with Mom to see if maybe the holiday festivities could be delayed a day or two. If the planes went out tomorrow night, they could hold off on opening presents until then, and maybe I’d get there in time to help with dinner. My mind began turning, planning, and my normal life crept back in, pushing the magic I had just felt swirling around me and the hunky Irishman to the edges of my consciousness. “I’d better go,” I said, sliding off my stool and turning my roller bag back toward the gate.