Coop
The snow falls thicker now, with huge flakes drifting in a curtain all around. Sounds mute beneath it while the late afternoon light hides behind the clouds. The sleigh has lanterns on either side which cast their yellow glow in an intimate circle around us. Ahead, Lothario trudges along, his breath billowing like smoke in the chill air.
I pay little attention to the scenery passing by, and more attention to how the snow clings to Tilda’s eyelashes, hat, and dark curls. My pulse is beating in my throat, and I can’t for the life of me read what Tilda’s thinking. I could feel by how her body tensed back in the restaurant that she was surprised I remembered the details of her first day. Of course, I did. I’d never seen a woman like her. She moved into that building like a tour de force, taking in everything and energizing us all in her wake. How did I not realize she was what I look forward to every day when I go to work, and who I miss every weekend when I’m away? Now that I’m getting to see the woman behind the professional veneer, I don’t want to go back to the friendly but distant competition. I want something much more than that.
"You’re staring at me, Coop. Shouldn’t you watch the road or something?” She didn’t even glance my way. I open my mouth to ask how she knew, but she cuts me off. “It’s called peripheral vision, and besides my neck is tingling like crazy. I guess we should talk about it. I mean it’s an excellent start, what you said at the restaurant. Well played. It’s probably time we make a plan for the next two days so that we can both be ready for our little lovers act.”
I close my mouth slowly and face forward. She thinks it was an act. If I weren’t so scared, I’d laugh. The one time I care enough to drop Confident Coop and let some vulnerability out, she thinks I’m acting. I guess that’s better than her kicking me out of the sleigh, racing back to the lodge, and stealing my Jeep to get away from me. That’s something, right? The secret now is not to spook her, I figure. Don’t come on too heavy too fast. Give her time to warm up to me, to the idea of what we could be like. Yeah, that seems like a safe plan. If I can make this “act” alluring enough, maybe she’ll want to know what we could be like together for real.
I nod to myself. That’s the plan. I clear my throat. “You’re right. Where do you think we should, ah, be… in our relationship?”
Tilda glances down at her lap and fiddles with her gloves. Her cheeks are glowing pink, but I can’t tell if it’s emotion or just the cold flakes melting on her skin. “Well, I don’t know that we have to put an exact label on it. You insinuated a pretty believable attraction, so we’re definitely involved, ah, as far as they’re concerned. Which is good. We don’t want to be too new, since we’re trying to convince Danksbury of heart and passion, so I suppose beefing up our act with some convincing physical stuff would be smart. Then maybe we can just let them assume what they will, and we don’t have to get tripped up on words.”
Insinuated? I basically told everybody I fell hard for you to their faces. If that didn’t reach her, what will? On the heels of that thought, I wonder if Mistakolas ever said something similar in front of dinner partners and if that’s why she’s so completely missing the heart in my words. The thought makes me want to ride away with her so no other guy could ever lay a claim to her, but at the same time it also makes me want to ride right back into Denver to punch someone for the second time in my life. I shake my head. And here I thought I was a somewhat emotionally intelligent, civilized guy. Apparently not so much when it comes to Tilda.
“What, you don’t agree?” I glance to the side to find her hazel eyes dark and fixed on my scowl.
I smooth it out as fast as I can. “Oh no, you’re right. My hands are just cold. Here, let’s teach you how to drive this thing so I don’t get frostbite.”
My hands are fine, and no one really needs to drive this sleigh, but I can’t exactly tell her I’m jealous of a guy I’ve never met and one she considers her greatest mistake, now can I? I slide closer to her and wrap my left arm around her waist.
She tenses up, then gives a shaky laugh. “Sorry. We’ve just been low key opponents for so long that it’s weird getting close. I suppose we better get used to touching each other so I don’t do that in front of other people.”
It’s not exactly romantic, but I’ll take it. I pull her close to me, like I did in the restaurant, mainly because I love the way her curves fit to my side. “Is this alright?” When she nods, I lean in and put my mouth just behind her ear. The smell of mint and rosemary clings to her curls. “And this?”
She nods again, then clears her throat. “Oh, you know, yeah sure.”
I smile a bit at that. Maybe I have a bit of an effect on her, too. “You know how you always talk about solid research for the sake of understanding what the client wants? What do you think Danksbury and the people at the lodge want to see? What do you think they expect from a romance like ours?”
She puffs out a breath of air, lifts one shoulder, then sort of bumps me and giggles. “Probably romance-y type stuff. You know, what a bunch of women like.”
My grin widens. So, Miss Forever Confident is nervous talking romance with me? This is going to be fun. “Oh no. You always said when you approach a client, you never assume generalities. So. Let’s start with this. What does Tilda Balistreri find romantic… specifically? The more details, the better, so that I can be convincing.”
I close my eyes and take a shaky breath, then reach up to unzip my jacket. Snow might be coating everything, including us, but this conversation and holding her against me might be enough to melt it all.
She clears her throat again, tucks her chin, and flattens those cute lips of hers into the business face Tilda. Rather than let her get comfortable in that, I wiggle her over so that my torso is a bit behind her, my arms fully around her. I tuck the reins in her hands and position my face so that when I talk, my lips brush the tip of her ear. “Here, take these. You might as well learn to drive while we chat. Now. Romance. Let’s pretend I want to sweep you off your feet. How do I go about that?”
A little shiver passes through her. I’m hoping it’s an excited reaction to my touch, and not a freaked out one. Just in case, I take my hands off hers and pull back a few inches.
Her spine stays perfectly straight, and she clenches the reins like they’re what’s connecting Lothario and the sleigh. When she speaks, she tucks her chin and tilts her head. “Right. Sweep me off my feet. I don’t know. I mean in any other situation, you’d be cheating by asking me this straight out. But these are extenuating circumstances and we’re just pretending. Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say I’m probably the kind of woman who appreciates a man who wants to make me laugh, who’s interested in hearing what I have to say, one who genuinely wants me, and only me. That sort of thing.”
Done, done, and done, my dear Flinch.
I take the reins from her hands and loop them around the hook attached to the sleigh just for that purpose. To make sure I claim all her attention, I pull off my gloves, then reach up to dust the snow from her cheeks and adjust her scarf. If my fingertips brush the nape of her neck, the edge of her jaw, and her earlobe, it’s purely by accident. “I can work with that. We have about fifteen minutes back to the lodge. Lothario wants dinner, and he’s walked this road a thousand times; he doesn’t need our help. What do you say we use our time wisely? How about if I suggest a few things, try a few things, and you let me know what hits and what misses?”
She nods and squeaks out something that sounds like, “Sure.”
I let my smile come slowly. “I showed you at the restaurant that I want to hear what you have to say, and not just this weekend. Let’s move on to the wanting you part. Would this be convincing?”
With the lightest touch, I ease my hand from the scarf to the side of her face, my fingertips tracing the way until they rest at her hairline. My thumb travels the line of lower lip, while my gaze takes its time studying her features. She has a tiny scar above her right eyebrow that I noticed the second time I met her. I brush the tip of my forefinger across it, and her pupils dilate just before her eyelids lower. I ease my face close to hers, so that my lips brush the scar when I ask, “How did you get that scar, Flinch?”
Her eyes close all the way, she leans into me slightly, and her voice comes out a whisper. “I tried to kiss a goat.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Her eyes fly open, and she pulls back a bit, a shy smile on her beautiful lips. “On the forehead. Apparently, goats don’t appreciate that sort of thing.”
My hand is still cupping her face. My heart is pounding. And more than anything, I need to feel her lips on mine, but the fear of screwing up practically suffocates me. I barely recognize my rough voice when I say, “Tilda, kiss me.”
Her gaze drops to my lips, and hers open slightly. It almost knocks me out of the sleigh. For a moment she doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just considers. It’s the longest moment of my life, and I hold my breath. Then slowly, she tilts her face up and leans in.
The kiss is gentle, tentative, and I’m terrified to move. I leave one hand on her face, but I grip the seat with the other. She takes her time letting her lips settle onto the curve of mine, and my heart pounds hard enough that I’m sure she can feel it. When she starts to pull away, it takes everything in me not to hold her there. But she doesn’t go far. Her warm breath brushes the place where our lips touched, then, with a slow, sweeping move, she slides her mouth across mine first one way, then another, before barely taking my bottom lip in hers. I’m not even sure my heart remembers it should still be beating at this point, but I let go of the seat and press her closer to me. If I’m going to have a heart attack, this is the best way to do it. She smiles then, her lips still touching mine, and my world tilts. I’ll never see her smile again without remembering this kiss. She exhales, right when I’m sure I’ll never be able to breathe again, and kisses me again.
Way too soon she pulls away and whispers, “I think that was a successful practice session.” Her hand reaches up, and she slides her fingertips beneath the edge of my cap.
"Not nearly enough." My voice breaks on the words, but I don’t care. But when I pull her towards me, something hits the sleigh, and we jerk to a stop.
Tilda’s gaze snaps to the side, and she gasps. That’s when I hear the giggles. I glance to the front of the sleigh, confused to see it pressed up against some deck railing. That’s when I realize not only did Lothario guide us safely back to the lodge, but he climbed two of the stairs so that he could eat the apples from a fruit basket on the deck. Right at Danksbury’s feet, where apparently she’s been offering refreshments to the other guests while they waited for us. Now they’re all holding their fruit and staring at the lunatics that were so busy making out they literally rode a sleigh into the lodge.
Seamus swerves a bit, looks at Lothario, then at our sleigh, then at the thermos in his hand. “That’ll be enough eggnog for you, me old mucker.”
With that, he sways and wanders back into the lodge.