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Christmas morning comes before I am ready. I fight to stay buried in the fog swathing my head. I want to stay lost in the happy dreams. Dreams of Christmas mornings with my entire family surrounding me. I don’t want to face a Christmas alone with a pathetic Christmas tree. I don’t want to remember the moment when I let my fear shove Simon out of my life. And I don’t want to face my hangover.
As I come fully awake, I groan and press my palm to my forehead. The headache is already starting. Between the wine and the sugar that I consumed last night, I don’t stand a chance of escaping unscathed. I shift my hips, trying to get comfortable, but my body is no longer limber enough to get away with sleeping cockeyed on the couch.
I peel one eye open. It is sticky with the eye makeup I was too drunk and sad to remove and the aftermath of a crying jag that lasted longer than it should have.
You would think, as a grown woman, I would know that sappy romances don’t make heartache better.
Squinting my eyes, I peer around the room at the mess of chip bags, crumbs, and wine bottles, but the light reflecting off the snow is like a laser straight into my brain. I snap my eyes back shut. Groaning, I turn onto my side, pulling my knees up against my chest. The comfort of the fetal position does little to settle my stomach or ease the ache compressing my chest.
Something clatters from the direction of the kitchen. My heart pounds, but my muscles are slow to react, and I almost slide onto the floor, trying to get to my feet. There isn’t anyone here to make noise. The ladies are snowed in somewhere that isn’t here. The house should be silent, especially with the sound-deadening effects of the snow. Clutching at the arm of the couch, I squint my eyes against the light, straining to hear more.
Little noises work their way into my parched brain. The definite sounds of another person. I tense, readying myself to react. The scent of bacon hits my nose, and the room spins as my stomach roils.
Despite the vice squeezing my skull and the tenderness of my stomach, elation dances up my spine, bringing a smile to my face. Bad guys don’t break in and cook you breakfast. The ladies must have made it home last night, after all!
“Charlotte?” I call out quietly. They would have gotten in very late, and I don’t want to wake anyone up. “Jenna?” I manoeuvre myself to my feet. No simple task when my joints feel like they have seized. It will take a week of yoga to get myself straightened out again.
“You’re awake.” The gravely tone of his voice wraps itself around me, making me sway.
“Simon.” I moan deep in my throat. My heart flutters. This can’t be happening. Heat twines its way up my neck towards my cheeks. I have the irrational urge to hide behind my shawl, like it will change the fact that he is once again seeing me at my absolute worst.
I don’t need a mirror to tell me that I am a hot mess. I can feel it in every bone in my body.
He moves closer, and I step backwards, my calves bumping up against the couch. “What are you doing here?” The words crack in my dry mouth. He can’t be here.
“Making you breakfast.”
“I don’t need breakfast.” My heart races, and panic crawls its way up my parched throat. I need to mount a bigger protest, but my brain is stuck in neutral, and I can’t seem to get the words to come.
He tips his head, appraising me. “You look to me like you could use some breakfast.”
My stomach rebels at the thought of food, churning like water trapped in a whirlpool.
“And maybe a few of these.” Simon holds out a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water.
I hesitate. He is right. I desperately need the painkillers. But what does it say if I accept his help? Am I surrendering something that I can’t afford? My brain is too muddled for me to make a coherent decision. I know I need to protect myself from the dream of Simon, but I also badly need what he is offering.
Self-preservation wins out, and I nod my head. He hands me the glass of water, then shakes two pills out of the bottle into my hand. I quickly down the pills.
“How did you get in here?” My brain finally kicks in enough to question the situation.
“Nolan texted me the code.”
“How did—” I shake my head. “Never mind.” I know full well how Nolan got the code.
Simon grins. “I would have gotten you some Gatorade too, but the roads into Christmas Cove are completely blocked.”
“We’re snowed in too?” I am aware enough to know it is completely the wrong thing to be focussing on. But I need something to cling to other than the fact that Simon is being a complete sweetheart after my performance yesterday.
“Yeah.”
My eyes narrow. “How did you get here, then?”
“I walked.” He shrugs. Then turns towards the kitchen. “I need to check on breakfast.”
“Why?” I follow him.
“So, it doesn’t burn.”
I shake my head, regretting it instantly, when it feels like my brain is smashing against my skull. “No.” I haul myself onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Why did you come here?”
He turns from the stove and looks directly at me. “Because I didn’t want you to be alone on Christmas.”
I suck my breath in hard, trying to maintain my equilibrium as the room sways again. But this time it has nothing to do with my overindulgence, and everything to do with the man standing in front of me.
“How did you know?” I groan inwardly. It doesn’t matter how he knows. It isn’t like he is some deranged stalker. What matters is that he cared enough to look in on me.
And that is terrifying.
I am not ready to face what it means.
“Nolan texted me to say everyone on the boat tour had to stay the night at the Driftwood Inn, and that you weren’t there.”
“Why aren’t you on the tour?” Desperation underlines my tone, completely wrecking my effort to appear nonplussed at his presence here. I can hear it, and I am sure Simon can too, but I am helpless to change it.
I feel raw, vulnerable, and completely exposed.
“I thought you were going, and I wanted to give you some space.”
“Me?”
He turns back to the stove, flicking off the burner, then plating the bacon and eggs. I am still processing his words when he places the food in front of me. “You need to eat up, because I have a surprise for you.”
“Surprise?”
He smiles mysteriously at me and hands me a fork. “Eat. And then maybe, you might want to get changed.”
I cover my suddenly flaming cheeks with my hands. In all the confusion, I forgot that I must look like a zombie with yesterday’s makeup smeared all over.
“It’s a cute look, but I don’t think you’re going to want your kids to see it.”
“My kids?” I need to stop blurting out one- and two-word answers. I need to get control of this situation, because right now, it feels like I am two steps behind and wading through sand.
Simon just winks and turns to fix himself a plate.
I practically inhale the food. My stomach might still be dodgy, but a little bit of greasy food is exactly what it needs to settle. Besides, I didn’t have any supper, and I am starving. Chips and chocolate might be soul food, but they don’t fill you up.
After I eat, he shoos me out of the kitchen, insisting that he will clean up while I shower. I probably set a record for the fastest shower, and while I don’t exactly feel human when I emerge dressed for the day, at least I feel a little less ripe.
I find Simon in the living room, with a tablet propped up on the coffee table. My breath catches at the scene in front of me. There is a fire raging in the hearth. Outside the window, the snow sparkles in the sun, and our tree looks a few degrees less pitiful than it did in the dark hours of the night. All in all, the scene looks pretty Christmassy, and it makes my heart squeeze.
I am thinking things I shouldn’t.
Simon grins at me, and a tingle dances down my spine. He gestures to a spot on the sofa. I raise my eyebrows at him, desperate to know what he has cooked up, but I take the seat without question.
“Merry Christmas, Mom.”
Clasping my hand over my mouth to cover my gasp, I tear up as I turn to the tablet and find the faces of not only my three kids but also my two stepkids, Brandon and Leah.
“How—” I look at Simon, and he is grinning back at me.
“Charlotte gave me Lillian’s email address. She arranged the rest. You should talk to them.”
He slips out of the room, giving me privacy, and I focus on the screen. “Merry Christmas. Did Santa come?”
“He brought me a wetsuit.” Jake holds it up for me to see. “I don’t need it here, but when I try my new surfboard that Dad says is waiting at home, I will.”
“That’s great, honey.” I am not one hundred percent thrilled Greg is getting him set up for a sport like surfing without consulting me, but I am too happy to protest right now. “I’ve got your gift waiting for when you get back.”
“Rad, Mom.”
“Surfers don’t really say that,” Lillian chides.
“Yes, they do,” Jake retorts.
I smile at the familiar sibling banter. This is exactly what I needed this morning. Once they have told me all about their trips, their gifts, and what they have planned for the rest of the day, we end the call. Jake and Brandon have a surfing lesson they need to get to, Leah is going swimming with the dolphins, and Lillian and Abigail have a last-minute snowmobile adventure before they have Christmas dinner.
“You okay?” Simon appears at the door to the kitchen.
I smile contentedly up at him. “My heart is aching, but in a good way. Thank you for this. It’s... It’s everything.”
“I know.”
A silence descends over us. There is so much that needs to be said, but I know that if I bring it up, it will ruin this harmony between us, and I want to hold on to this for a moment longer. I can’t let him stay, but I don’t want him to leave.
“You did promise me a wild hot tub experience,” Simon says, with an emphasis that suggests something naughty.
“I... I... I didn’t.” My face explodes with heat at the same time that tingling pleasure bursts from my core.
He tips his head to the side with a cocky grin. “I remember something about your birthday suit...”
I didn’t think my face could get any hotter, but it is a burning inferno. I forgot about the first time Simon was at the cabin, and how I blurted out my intention to hot tub naked.
“We could roll in the snow,” he says, breaking the tension building between my core and the dangerously sexy images his words are creating in my fevered brain.
“Are you crazy? I am not rolling in the snow.”
“So, you’ll go in the hot tub with me?” He grins mischievously.
“Simon... I...”
His face grows serious. “You can trust me, Ruby,” he murmurs.
I bite my lip. I want it to be simple, but it isn’t. The ball of confusion pressing against my chest erupts, and I fight to keep the panic inside. “I know—” My voice has a hysterical edge to it as I fight to keep the fear clutching my throat at bay. “It’s me I can’t trust.”
One minute he is standing in the kitchen doorway, and the next he is sitting beside me, staring deeply into my eyes. He doesn’t say anything, leaving me the space to finish my thoughts. He places his hand over my clenched fist, just resting it there, until I let it relax, flipping it over to grasp his.
“Greg hurt me so deeply that it changed me. I can’t let myself go there again.”
Simon squeezes my hand, then pulls it up to his mouth, pressing his lips against it. Pleasure swirls dangerously in my belly. Pursing my lips, I look away. I want to give in. I just don’t know how.
“I believed Amber.” My words are barely more than a whisper. It is mortifying to admit it out loud. But as I do, the tension across my shoulders relaxes. There is a voice in my hungover brain telling me that Simon gets me. After a decade of marriage, Greg never figured me out, but Simon has.
“Anyone would have,” he murmurs softly.
Panic explodes up through my chest, and I let go of his hand. I can’t let myself succumb to the temptation. My heart has been shattered too many times, and I can’t risk it again. I need to be there for my kids, and I can’t do that if I am a depressed mess.
“No. I knew you better than that. But my instincts are broken.” I look away. I can’t meet his gaze. It is breaking my heart that I can’t let him in. It doesn’t matter if I am making the biggest mistake of my life. This is about self-preservation.
I need my girlfriends here. They would stop me from screwing this up. They would remind me of what happened the last time I let myself be lured in. I need them to keep me from crumbling.
Stupid snow. A white Christmas isn’t worth this.
“Ruby, I’m not trying to steal your life. I just want to spend time with you.”
My eyes whip up to his, and I instantly see the truth in them. I bite my lip, trying to contain the surge of emotion-fuelled tears clogging my throat. In my bones, I can feel his sincerity, and it is terrifying.
He takes a strand of hair and tucks it behind my ear. “And maybe some of your kisses, because they do something to me that science can’t explain.”
Something inside me cracks and a deluge of heat and desire overwhelms me, pushing out the fear and uncertainty. Before my mind can throw up any more obstacles, I scramble up on to my knees, straddling his legs. His eyes widen. Then they flood with a want that has my muscles melting.
He wraps me in his arms, snaking them up into my hair, pulling my lips closer.
“Are you sure?” His voice is raspy, accentuating his need.
“Yes,” I gasp. I have never been more certain of anything. I press my lips to his, and I show him exactly how sure I am.