A Very Grumpy Lumberjack Christmas

21. Noel

21

NOEL

N othing in Toronto is at all like Mistletoe.

We may get snow up there—lots of it sometimes, depending on how the lake is acting on any given day—but I’m constantly surrounded by pavement, skyscrapers, smog, and thousands upon thousands of people living on top of each other.

There is nothing like this in the city.

No real space.

And condo living for so long has made me forget how incredible it feels to not hear neighbors through the walls, cars honking on the streets, or people yelling on the sidewalks below my windows…

Being on the mountain and in Luke’s cabin has reminded me how truly stunning and peaceful the north woods are—when Mother Nature isn’t trying to blow you away with blustery winds and dump enough snow and ice to literally drown you.

Or make you spin off the road.

Standing out here on his porch, staring out at the beautiful landscape I still know by heart, I can’t help but let my gaze drift over to where the tree that’s now in the house once stood.

The full day of snow and wind yesterday has almost completely filled in the area he dug out to get down low enough to cut it, but I can still see the indentation—and the strange empty place where it used to be between a few other trees.

Last time I was up here, it had been small, only a sapling. One of many Luke planted around the cabin to give himself more privacy. But in the last eight years, it grew to be tall and strong—like the man who put it there and chopped it down.

He cut it…for me.

I fight back the tears as he presses his hand against my lower back and urges me down the bottom step. His deep footprints in the snow that must come up to at least his knees disappear around the cabin to the left.

“Luke, what are—”

He jumps off the bottom step and places his back directly in front of me, motioning with his hands. “Climb on.”

I snort-laugh. “You’re joking.”

Having Luke Crisp give me a piggyback ride was not on my Christmas bingo card.

Then again, none of this was.

It was supposed to be spent with Mom. Making sure she’s okay. Supporting each other through Christmas and celebrating our favorite holiday the best we can without Dad.

Instead, the last few days have ripped open old wounds and made me remember why Luke Crisp was always my person.

Shaking his head, he glances over his shoulder at me. “I only have one pair of snowshoes up here, and they aren’t big enough to support both my weight and yours. Which means…the only way we’re getting where we need to go is by walking the same path I already created this morning, st aying in the places where the snow is pushed down, and my steps are a lot longer than yours. This will be a lot easier than you trying to keep up with me on your own.”

Shit, he’s right.

It’s been a while since I have walked around in this type of heavy accumulation on the mountain, but I remember how easy it was to sink in too deep.

If he already created a path to where it is we’re going this morning, it will be easy enough for him to stay in his own footsteps.

And impossible for me.

But it means he went to a lot of work before he woke me to give me a way to get to wherever he’s taking me.

I narrow my eyes on him. “Where are we going?”

That tiny half grin plays at his lips. “It’s a surprise.”

“You know I hate surprises.”

“I don’t think you’ll hate this one, Snowflake.”

Releasing a heavy sigh, I finally relent.

I throw my arms around his neck and jump to wrap my legs at his waist. He catches me easily, grasping my legs to secure me to him. Leaning forward, I feather my lips over his ear. “At least I get to choke you.”

He sputters and laughs. “I didn’t know you were into that. We missed out on so many opportunities over the last two days…”

“We might still have one before I go back up to Mom’s.”

Luke shivers at the suggestion in a way that I can feel all the way through my body, despite both of us being bundled up.

It heats me from the inside out, though I don’t really need it.

He was right about the weather. As the storm went out, warmer air came in. It’s still hovering around freezing, but the bright sunlight through the wispy remaining clouds that still drop a few snowflakes warms my face.

I tip it up toward the sky as Luke sets off, stepping in footprints he created this morning.

“You’re really just going to carry me wherever we’re going? I thought you said it was too dangerous.”

“I said it was too dangerous to take you down the mountain.”

But we’re not going down.

This way is a relatively flat area, compared to some of the steeper inclines—like the one going to the lot and road would require navigating. There’s only one place we could be heading.

“Are you taking me to the lake?”

His steps falter slightly, and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head.

Excitement bubbles up in my chest, and I practically giggle.

The lake this time of year means one thing—skating.

In the summer, we would swim, fish, play around on the rocky shore, and threaten to throw each in fully clothed, but in the winter, the frozen-over surface serves one very important purpose: acting as Luke’s own private rink.

His boots crunch through the snow. He easily maneuvers across the clearing toward the small grouping of trees we’ll have to make it through to access the lake.

I wouldn’t have expected anything else.

Luke was born on this mountain. He’s lived here his entire life. It’s a part of him.

And I expected him to leave?

That choking sadness envelops me quickly, just as it did the day I drove away from him.

Mistletoe is my home, too, and I’ve always loved this mountain. But the ability to move beyond it, to spread my wings to take my dream job, trumped all that.

Plus, I always knew I would come back.

With Mom and Dad here, it wasn’t like I wouldn’t visit often.

Dad may be gone now—a fact I’ve been struggling so hard not to dwell on—but this place has stayed the same. It has welcomed me back.

So has the man whose back I’m currently clinging to.

Luke may not have been very friendly or welcoming at first, but once we made it through—or more like pushed aside and ignored—the pain of the past, he’s been nothing but the same sweet, caring, and giving person I always knew him to be.

Who would carry me to the lake so I can skate in my favorite place.

The closer we get, finally stepping into the trees—the final barrier before we hit our destination—the more excited I become.

Luke chuckles. “You’re bouncing back there.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, Snowflake.” He peeks over his shoulder at me with a smirk. “I can feel it like a vibrator against my back.”

My giggle carries through the woods, bouncing off the trees. “You know I can’t resist the lake, Luke.”

“I know, which is why I don’t mind trudging through this snow, carrying you on my back to get there.”

God, why does he have to be so goddamn sweet?

Why can’t he just be the grumpy, grinchy Scrooge everybody thinks he is?

It would make leaving this afternoon or tonight, or whenever it finally happens, so much easier.

Instead, he’s morphed back into the Luke I knew. The one I was so helplessly, overwhelmingly in love with.

Tears prick my eyes again, but I can’t wipe them away without releasing my hold on him and probably falling backward to my death.

“You all right back there? You got awfully quiet…”

I lean forward and press a kiss to his temple. “Yep, I’m good.”

We’re almost there anyway.

I could never forget this landscape or the way to the lake, not with as many times as we went up there over the years.

Long summer nights.

Crisp fall days.

Chilly winters spent on the ice.

Those stunning springs when everything came back to life again.

We spent countless hours on the banks of this lake, and as we step through the edge of the tree line and it finally comes into view, my breath catches. Rabbit and other animal tracks mar the otherwise pristine white blanket, but instead of the mounds of snow that should be covering it, half of it has been cleared, the icy surface visible and waiting for us.

“How did you get the lake cleaned off?

He glances back at me as he approaches the shoreline and then slowly lowers me down to my feet. “I got up very early this morning.”

“I would say so…”

Between trudging through the snow to reach it and then cleaning off the snow with nothing more than the shovel still propped against a bank he created, this must have taken hours.

A large duffel bag sits near us on the cleared shoreline. “Is that what I think it is?

He smirks. “It is, if what you think it is are ice skates. ”

“You have skates that will fit me?”

Clearing his throat, he glances away. “I still had your skates.”

And he doesn’t sound too happy to tell me that.

Like admitting he held on to them was somehow conceding defeat in a war we aren’t fighting. At least, I don’t think we are.

“But I thought…” I try to process his admission. “I thought you got rid of everything that was mine.”

“I did.” Luke glances at me, his eyes darkening. “Mostly.” He motions to the bag. “Now go put them on. I have one more thing for you.”

More?

How could there possibly be anything else?

He’s already done so much for me—and to me—over the last few days.

Luke moves to the other side, where the bag and shovel wait, and reaches down into a snowbank for something he obviously hid there. When he pulls it back up, his gloved hand is wrapped around the last thing I expected him to have waiting for us.

I bark out a laugh. “You’re serious?”

He wiggles the hockey stick back and forth, grinning deviously. “I want to see if your skills have improved at all since you’ve been gone. I mean, you did go to work for an NHL team. If you can’t score on me now…”

I scowl at him. “I’m going to kill you, Crisp.”

That damn grin of his only deepens as I reach down and unzip the duffel bag, then pull out the skates I spent so many hours in.

They look exactly the same.

Dirty and beat up from excessive use.

Well-loved.

Like an old baseball glove.

I lower myself onto the snowbank to use it as a bench, tug off my boots, and ditch my mittens to pull on the skates.

They still fit, still feel so familiar.

Like the man approaching me.

We still fit, in all the ways that should matter. But it wasn’t enough then, and I don’t know how it can be now.

He grabs his out of the bag and does the same, much faster than I can. As he double-knots his final lace, he glances down at my trembling fingers that are starting to go numb without the mittens, despite the warmth of the day, but I can’t wear them and tie my skates at the same time.

“I got them for you, Snowflake.” He pulls off his gloves with his teeth, drops them near our feet, then ties my skates and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Now, let’s see if you can fulfill that promise of my death.”

Smug.

But he won’t be for long.

I scowl at him, and he pulls a puck out of his pocket and tosses it at me.

Busy tugging my mittens over my cold hands, I barely manage to catch it against my chest before he skates backward onto the ice, pulling his gloves on. “You don’t have any goalie gear.”

He barks out a laugh that echoes across the ice and the clearing. “You’re not going to hit me, anyway, so I’m not worried.”

I push to my feet, grab the stick, and step out onto the ice. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, Crisp?”

One of his dark brows arches. “Well, I played varsity hockey, and you know I kept at it in those years after. I think those skills are going to come in very handy against the likes of you. You never could score on me.”

Annoyance mixes with the warmth our banter has created in my blood, and I drop the puck, never taking my eyes off Luke as he skates back to the far side of the cleared ice, where he’s drawn a rectangular goal onto the ice with something—probably a Sharpie.

“That’s the goal?”

He nods, settling in front of it and crouching slightly.

“I’m going to feel bad if I hurt you, Luke.”

His brow pulls down slightly, and he flinches.

Shit .

That was a really bad choice of words, considering all the damage that was done.

But it’s true.

Guilt has gnawed at me since he came clean about how he felt the other night. I always felt awful for what happened, but the last few days have reopened those old wounds.

And I’m about to feel bad for what’s going to happen now.

I skate over to where I tossed the puck, then nudge it forward slightly to get in a better position and line up the blade. “You’re ready?”

Luke winks. “As I’ll ever be, Snowflake.”

That wink sets me off, tightening my grip on the stick. “You asked for it.”

“I sure did…” He mutters it under his breath, but I still catch it.

Are we still talking about our little game of hockey or something else?

Either way, I plan on giving Luke Crisp exactly what he’s asking for—at least as long as we’re out on this ice.

I wind back and release the hardest slap shot I can, straight at his head.