Let it Snow Read online

  3

  I’ll Be Home for Christmas… or Not

  Dixie

  The terminal was completely deserted, with the exception of a single woman behind the counter at the gift shop who looked as forlorn as I felt. I offered her a smile as I passed, though I knew it probably didn’t look super cheery or festive. For some reason, every step I took away from Brogan compounded my sadness. It wasn’t as if the relationship we’d forged in so short a time could mean much to me, but he’d been kind and open. And let’s face it, I reminded myself, he’s hot as hell.

  There was no one at my gate when I rolled back into the waiting area. I glanced at the update screen, but it still said only “Cancelled.” I pulled out my phone and sat down, dialing Mom’s number.

  “Hello?” Katie, my sister, answered.

  “Hey Kate.” I coaxed some false brightness into my voice.

  “Hey sis! Shouldn’t you be on a plane right now? What’s going on?”

  My heart sank low in my chest and weighed down my voice. I felt like I’d swallowed a rock. “It’s snowing here, Katie. Like, a lot. All the flights are cancelled. I can’t even leave the airport. I’m basically snowed in.”

  “At the airport? But it’s Christmas Eve!”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Mom’s gonna cry.” My sister sounded irritated. As if this was my fault.

  “Can I talk to her?”

  “Yep. Hang on.” As Katie put down the phone, I could hear the music playing in the background and the sounds of dishes clattering in the kitchen. Dad’s boisterous laugh filtered through the phone line, and I felt even more forlorn.

  “Hi, honeybee! When do you get in?” Mom’s voice was happy and warm. I wanted to walk into her arms for a hug.

  “I’m not gonna make it, Mom. My flight’s cancelled.”

  “No! Oh, honey! What will you do? Will it get out later?”

  “I don’t think so. We’re snowed in here at the airport.” I suddenly felt horribly sorry for myself. “I’m going to spend Christmas Eve sleeping in the airport, Mom. I can’t even drive myself home now, the snow’s too thick.” It was a whine, and I knew I was too old to whine to my mother, but hearing Mom’s voice made me think of everything I was missing—and of everything I’d recently lost.

  “Oh honey.” I could hear the tears in my mother’s voice.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom. I really wanted to be there. And to see Nana.”

  “Oh, it’s not your fault, Dix. And I’m sorry, too. I wish I could reach through the phone and pull you out here. I just hate thinking of you all alone in that cold airport tonight.”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” I said, feeling sorry that I’d worried her.

  “Oh, honey. I just can’t think of much more lonely for you … especially with everything that’s happened with Paul.” Mom paused and I could hear her putting on her it’ll-be-fine attitude as she took a deep breath. “Well, here’s what we’ll do. You call me first thing in the morning and let me know what the update is from the airport. If you can get out at all—no matter how early or late—you come right here. And we will not open a single gift until you’re here. And we’ll just keep the big dinner until you arrive, even if we end up having it a week from now. We’re having you here for Christmas, Dixie, you hear me? And you just pretend that today is just a regular day. It’s not anything special, and as soon as you can get out of that awful airport, then the holiday will be back on.”

  I smiled. My mother was the perfect example of a strong southern woman—she’d grown up in Texas, after all. She could be dramatic and tenderhearted, but when there was a trial to be won, she always showed that she was made of iron underneath. “Thanks Mom.”

  “You call me first thing.”

  “I will. I love you, Mom. Merry …”

  “No! Don’t say it. Christmas doesn’t begin until you arrive. I love you, baby.”

  I hung up and let my mind wander back home for a while as I stared out at the thick blanket coating everything outside with a glistening layer of white. My mother’s voice had warmed me and I wanted to hold on to the tiny glimmer of holiday cheer I’d felt through the connection to home. But the air around me was chilly, and the strange quiet of the terminal soon eroded my cheer. I closed my eyes and slumped down into my seat, pulling my coat close around me.

  4

  Baby It’s Cold Outside

  Dixie

  “You can tell me to go away if you’d rather be alone.” Brogan’s rich voice rolled through the quiet air, startling me into springing upright in my seat. That deep sexy voice also made my insides tremble and some of my sadness fade.

  I opened my eyes to see Brogan standing before me, holding a small box tied with a red ribbon. He smiled down at me, tall and perfect in his jeans and Henley shirt, those sexy crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

  “No,” I said, wiping at my eyes and hoping the self-pity I’d been feeling wasn’t written across my face. “I’m happy to see you.” I’d gotten sentimental, and it wasn’t like me. And now my mascara was probably smeared. And that was definitely not like me. And here was a giant piece of sympathetic man-candy, and I was too busy being weepy about not being home at the holidays to appreciate it properly.

  Brogan filled the seat next to me, his body angled toward mine. “I’m not usually the pursuing type,” he said. “And I can definitely take no for an answer. It’s just that … well, maybe this is ridiculous …” He looked into my eyes, something there seeking acceptance, waiting for me to say that he wasn’t ridiculous. Or that whatever he was about to tell me wasn’t, at least.

  “It’s fine,” I said, not sure what I was justifying.

  “It’s just … well, I was really glad to meet you. And I know it’s hard not being home at Christmas. And doubly hard to be stuck at the airport with some obnoxious stranger …”

  “You’re not obnoxious.” I said it faster and with more conviction than I’d intended. But, I mean, he wasn’t. He was hot, had a sexy accent, seemed to care that I was feeling sad … He wasn’t obnoxious at all.

  “Thanks for that,” he smiled. “Anyway, it’s quite forward, I suppose, but I wanted to get you something. It’s not much. The selection was a bit limited.” He held the gift out to me, the ribbon sparkling under the harsh terminal lights.

  Ohhh, I loved me a present. But this didn’t feel quite right. “No, I can’t,” I said, jumping to my feet.

  Brogan pulled his hand back and looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed …”

  “No! I want it!” I had never turned down a gift in my life. “I want the gift, Brogan. I just feel terrible because I haven’t gotten anything for you!”

  “You don’t need to get me anything,” Brogan said, his shoulders relaxing and the smile coming back in full force.

  “Don’t be silly! Stay right here!” I jumped up and grabbed my shoulder bag from the chair beside me. “Will you watch my bag? I’ll be right back,” I said, turning to rush away without getting an answer. I skipped a few steps away and then turned back to smile at him, and was surprised to feel my heart warm as I looked at him there, his long limbs stretched out and his lopsided grin aimed at me. He was a good man, I thought, though I didn’t have much to go on, and I didn’t have much faith in my own ability to judge the opposite sex at this point. He gave me another wink, and I turned away, down the terminal. I could get used to that wink.

  The hot Irishman was right—the options were definitely limited. The little gift and news shop beckoned with boxes of chocolate and neck pillows, but I hoped there might be something a bit more appropriate. I tried to remember if I’d passed a jewelry store or any place selling men’s clothing. Maybe I could find a nice wool scarf. But the only store selling that type of thing was closed, the metal gates pulled down and the doors locked. I stared at a small Tumi shave kit in the window, but there was no one to sell it to me. And I had no idea what Brogan might have gotten for me.

  Was it ridiculous to be shopping fo
r a gift for someone I barely knew? And what was really an appropriate gift for a hot man with a panty-dropping accent who I planned to spend the night with? In the airport, of course. Not planned to spend the night with like that. Unless, of course … I found myself staring dreamily into the closed shop, picturing myself with Brogan in all sorts of compromising situations.

  Right. Because there are so many romantic spots in which to get busy in an airport terminal. Let’s see, there’s the companion care bathroom, behind the counter at the gate ... the list goes on.

  I shook my head, coming back to my senses. No, I would certainly not be sleeping with Brogan at the airport, and rightly not—I was a proper grown up woman after all. Sort of. When it suited me, at least. And why was I thinking about sex when I’d just ended a long-term relationship? I barely knew this guy.

  I turned around and went back into the small gift shop, staring up at the tabloids for a long minute before turning back to the task at hand. Nothing seemed right, and the shop was small enough that I really just needed to turn in one place to see everything. Which must have been amusing to the clerk, who asked politely, “Can I help you?”

  I smiled, embarrassed slightly at my indecision. I approached the small woman with the dark hair and friendly smile. “I’m so sorry. I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”

  “Maybe I can help?”

  “Well, maybe. I’m looking for a gift.”

  “A souvenir?”

  “Not exactly. It’s for someone who lives here. A man.”

  The clerk smiled and then looked around as if seeing everything for the first time, apparently as flummoxed as I was by the utter lack of appropriate gifts.

  “He’s very handsome. I just met him. And I need a gift, see, because we’re spending the night here together.” I smiled at the clerk.

  “I see.” Smile dropped. Eyebrow raised.

  “Oh, no! Not like that. Well, I mean, probably not. I mean … we’re snowed in. Well, of course you know that.” I forced my lips shut and looked down for a moment. “He’s a friend,” I began again, slowly. “And I’d like to surprise him. With something nice.”

  The clerk seemed relieved to have the situation summed up in such an appropriate way. “Well, let’s see what we have,” she said, turning away from me to reach behind the counter. “Coffee cup with amusing saying? Ear buds? How about some chocolates?”

  “Hmm,” I said aloud. “Let’s go with the coffee cup, and I’ll take this keychain here.” I pulled a keychain off the rack. It was silver and showed oysters and the Chesapeake Bay.

  “Oh yes, that’s very popular. And this mug is an interesting choice …”

  The mug was simple white and said, “Shh. There’s beer in here. Don’t judge.”

  “It’s an inside joke.”

  “I thought you just met the guy?”

  Clerky was getting a little personal. “We clicked,” I said, daring the girl to ask more questions with my tightly pursed lips.

  “And will you be needing a gift box?”

  “Yes please, and a bow if possible.” I smiled again.

  “Certainly.” The girl handed the wrapped gift over and took my money. As she handed me the receipt she leaned over the counter, glancing around. “There’s a little closet at the end of the terminal that hardly ever gets locked.”

  I stared at her.

  “With brooms and stuff in there.”

  Does she think we’ll get bored enough to mop the place up? I wondered. Ooooh. Realization hit and I grinned at the girl. “Thanks. That’s nice of you.”

  “Just knock before you go in. You know, there are other people stuck here, too.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m not saying I’d be the one in there of course.”

  “Of course not.”

  The girl was suddenly blushing furiously. “I mean, I’ve only gone in there once, and it was only because I’d had a glass of wine before my shift and Jose was wearing this tight-fitting shirt, and …”

  “Say no more.”

  “Yeah. Anyway. We didn’t do anything.”

  “Not my business.”

  “Not much anyway.”

  “Not to worry. My lips are sealed.” I smiled at the girl and gave her a little wave as I turned back toward the gate where Brogan was waiting for me. Happiness, or something close, skittered through me as I returned to the gate with my little package.

  The two glasses of wine I’d consumed had served to make me a little bit tipsy, which had resulted in my momentary bout of holiday-related sentimentality. But Brogan had put a quick end to that when he’d put himself right back in front of me, bearing gifts. I wasn’t materialistic by any stretch of the imagination, but I did like gifts—and I admitted to myself that I liked Brogan. There was something about his admission of recent failure that struck a chord in me. Hadn’t I failed recently, too? Maybe we were both terrible judges of character.

  That makes us either perfect for one another or an altogether horrible idea. I shrugged. It was only one night, anyway. Everyone could use a new friend. Especially a tall, muscular friend with sparkling eyes and a painfully sexy Irish brogue.

  I stopped into the bathroom on my way back to Brogan. I pinched my cheeks and bit my lips a bit after tousling my shoulder-length red hair. That’s better. I admitted to myself that maybe there was a possibility that I was hoping for something more than friendship.

  Brogan sat up straighter as I returned, holding the little package behind my back.

  “Struck out, then?” He didn’t look even a little bit disappointed. The wide grin made his dimples appear and the eyes sparkled as I approached, making him seem very happy to see me.

  My stomach flipped as I caught his eye. There was something there, I acknowledged. If nothing else, there were certainly less desirable people in the world to be snowed in with.

  “Not at all,” I said, pulling the package from behind my back.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Brogan said.

  “Really, it’s nothing.”

  “Well, we can’t open them now anyway,” Brogan said, a serious look on his face.

  I slumped into the chair next to him, feeling my lower lip threatening to pop out into my signature pout. “Why not?”

  “It’s not Christmas yet, darling. Let’s go get some dinner.” Brogan stood and offered me his arm. “Plus, we need to find a tree to open them in front of.”

  “In front of which to open them.” The words were out before I could stop them, and I kicked myself. Why, oh why, was I so anal?

  “That too.” Brogan took my suitcase and shouldered his own leather bag and we walked back toward the one restaurant that was open.

  5

  Chestnuts Roasting

  Dixie

  It was nearly nine o’clock, but it appeared that with nowhere else to go, and several passengers stuck in the airport, the few facilities that were open were going to remain so.

  We sat at a cozy table against the wall of the restaurant and ordered dinner.

  “Care to see the wine list?” the waiter asked.

  “Absolutely,” Brogan said, smiling at me in a way that made my insides shiver. He was gallant and gentlemanly, and his attention was focused on me in a way I wasn’t sure Paul’s ever had been. I didn’t think Brogan had looked at his phone once in my presence, actually. And Paul’s might need to be surgically removed from his hand.

  And my god, his smile.

  That smile was beginning to be dangerous. Every time he flashed it, I found myself squeezing my legs together tightly.

  When the list was presented, Brogan asked if I saw anything I liked. I thought about bullshitting, but the guy had been hired to work at a winery. Probably not the best plan. “I’ll be honest,” I told him. “I usually just drink what’s poured for me. So much of it tastes the same.”

  Brogan dropped the list to the table and let his mouth fall open in pretend shock. “No,” he said. “White and red definitely taste different.”
r />   “Well, I did know that.”

  “So which do you prefer?”

  “White, I think.” I looked over the list of white wines. “What do you recommend?”

  “Beer’s my thing, Dix. I know a little about wine, but to me, it’s all about what you like. I can’t stand having some snobby wank telling me that sweet wine is for little girls and California cabs are too fruity. That’s up to the drinker, I think. And if I want a nice little Finger Lakes Riesling, then there should be no judgment there.”

  “Are we getting a nice little Finger Lakes Riesling?”

  “No, too sweet.”

  “Well, I agree with you, and I’ll admit to something totally stupid.”

  “Stupid and wine-related? This should be good.” Brogan’s eyes glittered above the single candle on the table and he leaned forward slightly.

  I noticed how the corded muscles stood out beneath the dark tan on Brogan’s forearms, the clean square cut of his fingernails. There was something about a man with nice hands. “I like pink wine, but I don’t order it because it’s embarrassing.”

  “That’s utterly ridiculous.”

  “I’ve been mocked.” I put my hands to my chest to show how deep the pink wine mocking had wounded me. “A man at a business dinner asked what I’d have and when I ordered a rosé, he actually rolled his eyes and wondered aloud why all women insisted on drinking pink wine.”