A Very Grumpy Lumberjack Christmas

14. Luke

14

LUKE

L ike the fact that I never ever stopped loving her and never could.

She gazes up at me with so much affection, appreciation, and wonder in her eyes that it’s hard to remember that she isn’t mine anymore. Not really. As soon as New Year’s rolls around, she’ll be gone, heading back to Toronto and her dream job and life there…

Until she comes back again for her annual summer visit and then disappears again for another six months before next Christmas, when I will be able to feel her presence even from two miles down the mountain.

A vicious cycle that only seems to get worse for me each year.

Knowing she’s coming back, knowing she won’t stay.

It was hard enough before tonight, before I made the mistake of letting her into my cabin and my heart again.

Come next year, I don’t know how I’ll even stay in Mistletoe while she’s here.

I might have to take my first vacation ever—maybe somewhere warm like Bali .

She reaches up and brushes her fingertips across my forehead. “What’s wrong? Your brow just furrowed very intensely.”

Noel always was far too observant.

Able to read me like an open book.

In tune with what I was feeling and able to anticipate what I would need.

It was what made us falling apart so much worse.

I force a smile I’m not feeling at the moment, but I won’t ruin this for her.

It may not be the Christmas she wanted—actually, I know it isn’t—but it’s what she’s stuck with. And the least I can do is make it as happy for her as possible without bringing down the mood by mentioning the truth that’s hanging over our heads and will come crashing down as soon as the storm stops.

This is only temporary.

A few days at most.

Just long enough to rebreak my heart.

“I’m fine, Snowflake, just trying to remember how to do the cut-out-snowflake thing.”

She narrows her gaze on me, trying to read me while I put up the strongest wall I have. Apparently, she buys it because she leans up and presses a kiss to my lips quickly. “I’m going to grab my phone. You make the popcorn.”

“I can handle that.”

It gives me something to do—something to take my mind off the sense of impending doom that settled over me.

That won’t do.

Not tonight.

When she’s so happy in this moment.

Noel practically skips across the cabin to where her jacket lies draped across the couch and digs in her pocket as I grab the pot, pour in the oil, and light the stove .

I can’t keep my eyes off her for very long.

The amount of joy she exudes, despite all the reasons she has not to be filled with it right now, reminds me of why I fell in love with her in the first place.

Even as kids, I was drawn to her—her lightness, her smile, the way she could always make the best out of any situation. And like I told her, I always thought she was too good for me, too good for any man, actually.

But that Christmas, when we were sixteen…

I swallow thickly, remembering our first kiss, that surprised look on her face when she realized what it meant.

When we both did.

I knew then that I was hers forever.

I just never imagined forever would only last six years.

I thought we’d spend a lifetime here, building our lives in Mistletoe.

It never even crossed my mind as a possibility that she might leave—her parents, this town, or me.

She moves over to the desk, and I shake my head to try to clear away the memories and darker thoughts as I pour in the popcorn kernels.

A few seconds later, “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas” fills the cabin, and instead of my usual response—a gut-twisting agony and gagging, the desire to flee as far away as possible and clasp my hands over my ears to try to drown out the sound—I actually smile.

Something I don’t think I’ve done in years.

Yet somehow, I’ve done it a thousand times since I locked Noel in here.

Maybe kidnapping her was a good decision…

Noel slips up behind me and wraps her arms around me, pressing her face into my upper back. “Is that the Grinch of Mistletoe, smiling and listening to Christmas music?”

Busted.

I laugh as the kernels start popping and I shake the pot to ensure they don’t stick or burn. “I told you, Snowflake, I never hated Christmas. I just hated Christmas without you. This one is different than the last eight…”

And what the rest will be like without her.

She releases a little sigh, lifting her head from my back to look around. “If we do all this decorating tonight, what are we going to do all day tomorrow? You don’t have a TV, or—”

“I don’t need a TV. I can think of plenty of ways we can keep ourselves occupied on Christmas Day.” I glance over my shoulder at her to find wide blue eyes. “Things I’m not sure sweet, little, innocent baby Jesus would be too pleased with.”

The flare of pink in her cheeks coupled with the sight of her in my shirt makes my heart turn as riotous as the popcorn in the pan.

The popping finally slows and stops, and I incline my head toward the lower cabinet. “Grab the big bowl.”

She slips her arms from around me and snags the big plastic bowl we’ve always used for popcorn. “How do you want to divvy up this work?”

I dump the popcorn and nudge the hot pot to the back of the stove so we don’t accidentally knock into it.

Noel grabs a few pieces and pops them into her mouth, chewing as she examines the cabin, then taps her chin with her finger. But my eyes drift down to her exposed legs.

The creamy skin of her lower thigh.

To her shapely calves and ankles.

And her adorable feet with her red and green toenails.

“I think I should do the stringing because my fingers are smaller and it might be easier for me. You can cut the snowflakes, and then, we’ll both work on the tinsel.”

I lick my lips, remembering how good her skin tastes. My cock strains against my jeans .

“Luke, did you hear me?”

Slowly, I lift my gaze to meet hers. “Oh, I heard you all right, Snowflake. I was just wondering if this can wait another hour or three.”

She playfully swats at my shoulder and smiles. “It can’t. I want to be done before that clock hits midnight.”

I glance up at the clock on the stove that reads 9:30 and groan, my already semi-hard cock aching at the thought of having to put off being inside her again, even for a few hours.

After so long, I want nothing more than to spend every waking moment I get with her wrapped around each other.

But this is important to her, which means it’s important to me.

I press another kiss on her forehead. “Whatever you want, boss.”

“Ooh, I like that.” She does a little shimmy that makes her loose breasts sway under the flannel fabric of my shirt and her thighs jiggle. “Call me ‘boss’ anytime you want.”

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to bend her over this counter and fuck that sass right out of her. “Don’t do that again.”

Noel raises a brow, playing coy. “Do what?”

Shaking my head, I scowl at her. “You know damn well what you just did, woman.”

“Do I?” She turns to the counter and leans over it, pretending to stretch and allowing my shirt to ride up and expose her completely bare ass…and pussy.

Fuck.

“Jesus Christ, you didn’t put your underwear back on.”

It never occurred to me that she wouldn’t. I put her thong and leggings in the bathroom with one of my shirts and her sweater after I got out of the shower and found them dry.

So that isn’t why she’s left herself bare.

She shakes her head, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and batting her thick eyelashes. “I sure didn’t.” Twisting back to face me, she pushes up on her bare toes and presses a kiss against my neck, just below my ear. “That’s your incentive to work hard and fast so you can do me hard and fast when you’re done.”

A growl rumbles in my chest, and she chuckles and snags the popcorn and cranberries and rushes over to the couch before I can get my hands on her.

“I need you to grab me a needle from the sewing kit.”

Maybe I can stick it in my cock to get it to go down?

“What makes you think I still have one?”

She gives me an incredulous look. “You may cut your sleeves off your shirts like a fucking madman, but I also know that you can sew a button and would much rather do it yourself than take it all the way down to your mom.”

I hate—and secretly love—how well she still knows me after all this time, after so many years of apart.

She’s spot-on about the sewing kit and the fact that I hate asking Mom to do anything for me.

That woman is a saint who already has to deal with enough bullshit from me. I will not go to her with any tiny inconvenience, like losing a damn button off one of my flannels.

Noel watches me make my way to the small linen closet next to the bathroom, tug it open, and pull out Grandma’s old sewing kit box with her name engraved on the top.

I let my fingers drift over the letters, remembering sitting on her lap while she darned socks and fixed tears in my clothes from running around in the woods and ripping every single piece of clothing I owned.

Of all the things she could have left me when she passed, this was the most unexpected .

And what meant the most.

Noel’s eyes are on me when I turn back to her, and she grins when she sees what’s in my hands. “I knew Frances would never let us down.”

She runs her hands reverently over the top of the box, then flips it open, snags a needle from where it’s pushed into the puffy pin-cushion top, then begins to string it with the dental floss.

“Why don’t you just use the thread?” I motion to the several different colors in the kit. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

Noel raises a blond brow. “Are you questioning my methods?”

I take a step back and hold up my hands. “I would never question you. I value my life too much.”

And right now, keeping her happy and her spirits lofty, knowing her mother is two miles up the mountain, alone on Christmas Eve, take priority over arguing with her about something so trivial.

Especially when I’m sure she has a valid reason.

She smirks. “I’m using this”—she holds up the dental floss—“because it’s waxed and it’ll slide through easier, even though it’s thicker than thread.”

Damn.

That’s brilliant.

I never would have figured that out or even thought about it. Yet, she seems so confident in her plans. Like she hasn’t just done this before, but recently.

“When was the last time you did that?”

Noel’s shoulders stiffen slightly, and she clears her throat, tucking her bare legs under her and settling deeper into the couch. She starts threading on a few pieces of popcorn, followed by a cranberry, only to repeat the pattern again. “The team actually hosted a Christmas kids’ night last year. Right before I came home for the holiday. I took charge of activities.” Her gaze darts to mine, concern darkening the blue. “This was one of them.”

My gut churns, and acid crawls up my throat. “Oh…”

The thought of her doing this there .

Celebrating Christmas somewhere else.

Maybe with someone else.

It’s enough to make me want to walk out into that storm again.

“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” flips on the speaker and allows me an excuse to walk away from her before I say something I shouldn’t. I turn it up slightly, then think better of it. “Do you want me to change the song?”

This was one of her father’s favorites.

Always an emotional, sensitive man, Russell would often tear up just hearing those first few lyrics.

And Noel always followed suit.

So much like her dad.

She gives me a tight smile and shakes her head. “No, I want to hear it.”

No matter how painful it might be, Noel wants to remember her father. All the things about him. The things he loved.

“Whatever you want, Snowflake.”

I hesitate, considering sitting next to her and pulling her into my arms to comfort her, but she seems engrossed in what she’s doing. Her fingers moving deftly to glide the popcorn and cranberries on with precision and ease.

My attempt to console her could result in pushing her in the wrong direction, into despair instead of toward the holiday joy I’ve been trying to stoke tonight.

Instead, I move over to the kitchen and set to work on the paper snowflakes, knowing full well this was another activity she did with the children last year .

Just like we always did it when we were kids.

Before love and life complicated things.

I hold up the triangle shape and turn the folded paper toward her. “Am I doing this right?”

“Wow.” Her blue eyes widen. “You remembered.”

The corners of my lips twitch despite the uneasiness that’s settled between us momentarily. “We did make them for what…twenty years?”

I can still vividly remember cutting paper with those tiny plastic scissors that had the rounded blades.

Noel grins, quickly returning to her work. “Probably close to that.”

Another memory flashes through my head when I unfold my first attempt—that isn’t great.

The awkward, uneven cutting and patchy holes remind me instantly of the one Russell always hung on their tree. One Noel made him in preschool and he cherished as much as he did that horrible Nutsack that always graced their mantle.

I glance over at Noel. “Your dad always loved these…”

Her hand stills, and she closes her eyes, sucking in a sharp breath. “I know.” She gives me a tight smile. “Even with all the expensive decorations and the lights and the store-bought crap, handmade things like this”—she holds up the few inches of garland she’s created—“were always his favorite.”

“That’s because you made them.”

Her eyes flick up to meet mine.

“Just like me, your dad loved Christmas so much because you did.”

Lips trembling, Noel shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s true. He grew up here, surrounded by all this.” She waves a hand absently. “It was bred into him.”

I work on cutting out another snowflake, careful to avoid snipping where it’s held together in the middle, while trying my damnedest to make this one more even. “That may be true, but he always looked the happiest when he was with you and your mom, doing anything together around this time of year, especially the tree lighting.”

She releases a heavy breath. “I still can’t believe they canceled it…”

“Can you blame them?” I look up and out the front window, though I can’t actually see anything but a wall of white—snow reflecting off the cabin light. “This storm is the worst I’ve seen in a long time.”

As if to prove its point, the sound of a massive tree branch cracking somewhere outside cuts through the air.

Noel flinches, head whipping toward the sound. “Oh!”

“Don’t worry, Snowflake. I took care of all the widow-makers.”

Shit.

Poor choice of words, considering that’s what her mother just became.

Her eyes cut over to me again, but they don’t hold any of the animosity over what I said, just relief. “You did?”

I nod and motion outside with the scissors in my hand. “I may not like spending time around people. May not like going to town, but I don’t have a death wish, Noel.”

The words come out a little snippier than I intended.

But there are definitely people in this town who would think I wished something like that to happen.

Because I never gave them any reason not to.

“Well…”—she releases a long, relieved sigh—“that’s good to know.”

We both get back to work, each of us silent and in our own heads as her playlist continues to cycle through all the classics .

Sometimes, she sings softly to herself; others, she’s silent and focused on her work.

I have no idea what that woman is thinking.

Whether it’s happy memories with her father or me.

Or terrible ones that will remind her of why we broke up in the first place.