Christmas is Cancelled

chapter Six





Plunged into darkness once Dean closed the door, Tilly fumbled but managed to relight the candle on the third attempt and perched on the bunk. She stared at the flame and tried to fall into some kind of trance. Anything to distract her from the book and stop her mind from racing. It had gone into overdrive, imagining one scenario after another, each one as ludicrous as the next. Pity she’d always sucked at meditation.

The lodge was bleak without him there, and she didn’t even have her phone to play with. By the time she’d finished folding and refolding the blankets until they were perfect, and arranged all the candles in the drawer so they pointed the same way, the lit candle had already burned down halfway. So much for, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He’d been in a state when he’d left, but surely he wouldn’t just leave her there? There was bound to be a decent explanation, maybe he’d had to go farther than he planned to get a signal? He was probably on his way back right now. But what if he wasn’t? What if he was hurt? Maybe he’d had an accident and couldn’t get back?

She pried open the door, earning a face full of snow and two broken fingernails for her efforts. There was no sign of him anywhere, just a trail of footprints already half-filled-in with fresh snow. If she was going to go after him then she needed to go now, before they disappeared altogether.

The sensible and cautious half of her brain was screaming at her to stay in the hut where it was safe and dry and warm. Dean knew his way around the hills, she didn’t, plus he knew where to find her when he was ready, but she’d let the responsible side of her brain rule for too long. She was sick of it, and sitting around waiting was maddening.

Twice she’d opened that drawer, and twice she’d berated herself. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the siren song, calling to her, tempting her, persuading her to take a little peek. She had to get out of there before she did something she’d regret.

After ramming her hat and gloves back on, she grabbed her coat and blew out the candle, then slammed the door shut behind her. The snow was up to her ankles, and the cold breeze blew the mental cobwebs away, reinvigorating her. The more distance she put between her and the book, the lighter she felt, as though touching it had tainted her.

She didn’t have to go far before she spotted him. His dark clothes were easy to see against the blanket of white. He sat on a big lump of rock with his back to her, staring off into the distance, apparently too consumed by his thoughts to hear her coming. His back was stooped, his chin resting on his fist. She could just imagine the look on his face; the vibe coming off him was downright gloomy.

Ducking behind a tree with a trunk thick enough to give her some cover, she made enough snowballs for a decent assault. She had to bite back a giggle, sure to reveal her position. The ice soaked into her gloves, and the cold nipped her fingers as she packed the balls tight.

Nobody was allowed to be gloomy on Christmas Day. He was asking for it, plain and simple. Taking aim, she deployed the first one. Bull’s-eye. She hadn’t been in the rounders team at school for nothing.



***



Dean leaped to his feet and spun round to face his attacker with his hands raised, but there was no one there. He couldn’t even see what had hit him. What the hell? He looked left and right, moving cautiously, his body on alert as he scanned the area.

A new set of footprints had joined his. Sensing movement in the corner of his eye, he looked up and caught sight of Tilly diving back behind a tree at the exact same moment a snowball exploded against his chest, showering him with snow. She cackled loudly as he wiped the crystals off his face, but he saw the next one coming just in time to dodge the full impact, smacking into his shoulder instead.

“Oh, now you’re asking for it,” he said, slipping her phone into his inside coat pocket. “Two can play at that game.”

Keeping half an eye on her, he bent to scoop up his own fire power and took another direct hit on the top of his shoulder. Damn she was a good shot; some things hadn’t changed. Would she remember how he’d always been an excellent shot too? Retaliating with three shots of his own, the rush he got when they all struck home warmed his belly. Even with the tree to hide behind and him going easy on her, she was getting pummeled, but her laughter echoed off the hills.

They never used to get a lot of snow on the south coast. On the rare occasion it had settled long enough on the ground, the three of them—him, her, and Phil—had fought some epic battles. Her tactics had failed this time though; she’d run out of ammunition. She had two options, come out in the open where there was still plenty of snow, right where he was waiting to pounce, or she could make a run for it.

She flicked her gaze back the way she’d come and broke into a sprint. Far too easy to read. He was already off and running. He’d taken a different route in a bid to catch her by surprise, and his heart was pounding from the chase. His spirit had come back to life as if she’d unlocked a part of him he hadn’t known for years—his inner child maybe? When was the last time he’d just let go and had fun?

He’d timed his chase perfectly; she didn’t see him lunging for her in a flying tackle knocking her to the ground. “Do you surrender?” he demanded, trying to sound butch and not laugh at her petrified squeak.

“Never!” she cried, laughing so hard she could hardly speak.

She tried to squirm away, so he let her get back up onto all fours and scramble toward freedom, like a cat playing with a mouse. He waited until she’d gone a few yards, wiggling her delicious derriere, before he flashed out a hand to catch her ankle, bringing her crashing back to the ground.

This time he flipped her over and climbed on top, straddling her hips and pinning her down. “I said...do you surrender yet?” He scooped up handfuls of snow and shoveled them on top of her, one after another, burying her torso in fine white powder.

“And I said...” She yanked up his coat and top and pulled him down on top of her. “Never!”

“Argh!”

His body went into shock as the snow pressed against his bare stomach. Not content, she grabbed up even more handfuls and dumped them onto his bare back, rendering him temporarily paralyzed. Seeing her chance, she hooked her arms around his ribs and reversed their positions. He couldn’t help feeling grateful for the ice cold snow as she straddled him. It was as effective as a cold shower.

“Does this mean I win?” she asked, her eyes wild with glee, her cheeks flushed and one side of her smile rising higher than the other. His heart skipped a beat. What he wouldn’t give to be able to kiss her again.

“Yeah, all right, you win.”

“Good.” She leaped off him, giggling as she flopped onto the ground beside him to make snow angels. “This is quite possibly the most fun I’ve had in years, but I think I’m a bit worn out now.”

He shuffled his hand across until his fingertips were touching hers, innocent enough and not too obvious. “Yeah, me too.” Neither moved, panting as they lay on their backs in the snow, looking up at the sky. There wasn’t a single sound until her teeth started chattering.

“Come on, T-Bird,” he said, getting to his feet and reaching for her hand. He hoisted her up onto her feet whether she wanted him to or not. “Before we both end up with hypothermia.”

“T-Bird?” She shot him with the eyebrow again. “So does that make you a Pink Lady?”

He shuddered, and the sound of her laughter lifted his heart even more. “Good point, scratch it off the list.”

The walk back to the hut seemed to take a lot longer than he’d expected, which could be down to the way his jeans were now brittle and sticking to his legs every time he bent his knees. They had to be more comfortable than hers though, they were practically molded to her legs anyway. The snow was falling thickly again, and she couldn’t stop shivering. He’d never been so relieved to see the lodge, complete with smoke coming from the chimney.

“So c-cold,” she stuttered, stepping inside the doorway. She was actually dripping onto the floor; no wonder she was struggling. Grabbing her coat, he hung it on the back of the door next to his then lit the candle again before offering her the bottle of whiskey.

“Here, try this.” She hit him with a definite you-must-be-having-a-laugh look, so he shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, putting the bottle to his lips to take a swig. Her eyes were popping out, but she wasn’t to know the bottle was his. “Are you sure now? I can vouch for its warming qualities.”

He offered the bottle again, and she took it hesitantly, looking up at him like a deer caught in headlights. A very cold and wet deer. He rolled his eyes, and it did the trick, like he hoped it would. Tilly’s still unable to resist a direct challenge.

“Bloody hellfire,” she wheezed, trying not to choke it straight back out.

“What do you expect? You’re supposed to sip it, not gulp it down.” Ignoring his own advice, he took another swig, needing the Dutch courage for what he was about to suggest. “Right, you’re going to have to get your kit off.”

“What?” she spluttered, her eyes wide with shock.

“You heard. Get your wet gear off and wrap yourself in one of those blankets you’ve folded so immaculately. You’re turning blue.”

“Oh.” She dropped her gaze and nibbled her bottom lip. “But what about you? You’re just as w—”