A Very Merry Mess (Cider Cove Sweet Southern RomComs #3)

Elliott

ELLIOTT

The guest house creaks and groans around us, the wind outside pressing against the old wood beams like there’s a secret it must extract. The air itself is charged with expectancy. I’ve already climbed into the bed, while Ry dashed into the bathroom after me, saying, “Don’t you dare break down my pillow wall, Ell.”

I’ve been tearing down all her other walls, that’s for sure. “She’s been kicking down yours too,” I mutter with a quick glance over to the still-closed door. I’ve put another trio of logs in the stove, and that should keep this place snug and cozy until morning. I hope.

I look up to the ceiling, only the glow of the fairy lights shining down on me. My stomach clenches and churns around the delicious Italian meal I consumed. “Hey, at least you didn’t drink candle wax.” I scoff up to the ceiling, the ridiculousness of picking up that jar flowing through me. I literally couldn’t tell the difference between it and a tumbler of liquor.

I press my eyes closed, because they hurt so much. It’s so much better when I’m not straining to see, and my pulse fires from the front of my face to the back of my skull. I should’ve taken some painkillers tonight, but the bathroom door opens, and the possibility of me getting out of bed right now zooms to zero when I open my eyes and look over to Ry.

Ryanne’s pajamas are a pale cream, almost white, with bright green pine trees on them. They’re blurry, but I can see enough to tell. She puts one hand on her hip and cocks it out, a bright smile on her face. “Well?”

“The pjs are spectacular,” I say. “Very festive.” I’m wearing way more than I usually do to bed, as I have on a t-shirt with my gym shorts.

She grins as she comes toward the bed, and her step is shy as her smile fades. “You left the wall.”

“I know how to follow directions,” I say, though I want to grab every pillow she strung from the headboard to the foot of the bed and fling it out the front door.

The bed jostles a little as she sits down, her back to me. Then she exhales as she leans over and unplugs the string of lights above us, plunging us into blackness. Then she lays down, the comforter moving as she pulls it over her.

I have to say, three weeks ago, I’d dreamt of something like this. I had no idea it could actually happen. “Midnight confessional,” I whisper. “Starts now.”

She rolls, and though I can’t see, I sense the pillow between our heads moving. Then Ry tucks it against my side and eases into my arms. I sigh right out loud and whisper, “I’ve laid with you in bed before.”

“As friends,” she whispers back. “This is different.”

She’s not wrong, so I don’t argue. “I’m serious about this, .” Her voice is a soft murmur, reminding me of velvety rose petals.

The air hangs heavy between us, my heart rate picking up slightly as I shift my weight to hold her closer, that darn pillow still wedged between our bodies. “About what?”

“Me and you.” She runs her hand up my arm and right under the sleeve of my tee. “About us. This relationship. I want to continue it after the holidays.”

I feel the warmth spreading through my chest, and I can’t help but grin. “You mean this is more than just a fun holiday fling?”

“When have fling and Ryanne ever gone in the same sentence?”

“Never,” I whisper, but my chest fills with ice.

“I know you don’t really want serious, but?—”

“I’m working on it,” I say, and it’s so much easier to talk to her in the dark. “There are things—there’s a reason.” The ground has disappeared beneath the bed, and I’m floating out in very dangerous territory now. Can I tell her about my degenerative condition? Will she treat me differently?

Of course she will, a tiny voice says in my head. It grows bigger and louder, and I swallow back my midnight confessional. This isn’t about me. Not tonight.

“I feel crazy for this confessional, but here we are. I’m scared.”

“I am too,” I whisper. “But Ry, you’ve become more than my best friend. Surely you know that.”

She softens in my arms, and I press a kiss to her hairline. Here comes my confessional, and I keep my eyes closed as I say, “You light up the darkest parts of the night for me, the blackest parts of my soul.”

She hums quietly, everything about her calm and demure now. A minute passes, then two, my mind racing with disorganized words. I have to tell her about my vision, and now feels like a great time. She can’t see me, and I won’t be able to witness her horror when I tell her I’m going blind, and that’s the reason I’ve sworn off serious relationships.

“Ry,” I whisper, the words nowhere near ready. I’m just going to open my mouth and say whatever comes out. Then, Ry snores softly, and I realize she’s fallen asleep. I exhale slowly, letting all the tension and fear go with my breath.

“I’m going blind,” I whisper, the words ready and eager to come out when she can’t hear me. Of course. “I won’t be able to see in oh, probably five years. That’s why I don’t date anyone seriously. I’m not going to saddle them with taking care of a blind man for the rest of their lives.”

Now that I’ve said it, though she didn’t hear me, I truly relax. After all, holding Ry is about as close to heaven as I’ll ever get, and I don’t have to see to make this incredible non-sight memory.

I pull on my thick winter coat and tuck my scarf down into it as I glance out the window of the guest house, the snow falling gently in soft, fluffy flakes. “It’s snowing,” I say. Ryanne sits at the tiny table at the end of the couch and galley kitchen, and she stands up, the chair scraping the cement floor.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ryanne’s voice is laced with concern as I zip up my coat. “You’re not obligated to join my family’s tree-cutting tradition just because you have a Y-chromosome.”

I pause for a moment, my heart flipping over her as she comes nearer. She tucks her arm through mine and leans her head against my bicep. “It’s going to be fine. They go every year.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to.”

“And I’ll what? Hang out here while you ladies gossip and bake?” We went to breakfast, the scent of waffles and bacon hitting me square in the face the moment we’d opened the guest house door. Ry had huffed, but she’d not complained about it again. And I got the itinerary for the day: Men—tree cutting. Women—cooking and chatting.

Honestly, both aren’t great options for me, but I can’t be the only one who doesn’t go out in the forest. I just can’t.

Her light laugh dances around the room, a sound that instantly brightens my day. “Just promise you’ll come back unscathed. That means no climbing trees, no stubbornly trying to get the tallest one, and absolutely no lightning bolts.”

“Lightning bolts?” I scoff. “You’ve been watching too many holiday movies, Ry.”

“I’m just saying—trees can be dangerous.”

“Flying pigs might be next,” I tease. I step toward the door. “I’ll be fine.”

She rolls her eyes and stands there, arms crossed, a mixture of pride and worry etched onto her face. “Don’t let my dad say anything rude.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t pay attention to Danny either. He always says things will take twenty minutes, and that’s never true.”

“Ryanne,” I say, turning to take her by the shoulders. “I’ll be fine .”

“Kiss me before you go.”

“Oh, beg me.” I grin at her and lean down to do what she asked. She clutches the collar of my coat in a needful way, but I’m already late, and I can’t be caught kissing her when I should be gathering on the porch with her brother, dad, and in-laws.

So I kiss her quickly, say, “See you soon,” and walk out to the frosty morning while she stays inside, probably taking a few minutes to ground herself before she joins her sisters and mom. Everyone in this house seems so excited to partake in the Luckson family traditions, and I won’t deny it makes me nervous to be the new guy in this massive family gathering.

The crisp air fills my lungs with a sharp bite, invigorating and terrifying all at once. The world is completely still, blanketed in winter white, and thankfully, the snow seems to be slowing. I go around the garage, and sure enough, everyone’s waiting for me already.

“Let’s get this over with,” Danny calls from the front porch. That’s right. I’m on a Christmas-tree-cutting mission with Ry’s dad, her brother, and her brothers-in-law, Rob and James. All the classic manly men ready to reclaim their territory as they tame giant trees with chainsaws. I join them, my excitement weaving in and out with my nerves.

“What are we looking for in the perfect tree?” I ask Danny as we begin to walk down the driveway toward the edge of their property. He’s bundled up in an oversized coat and a beanie, his breath puffing out in clouds of vapor, and the expansive snowy field stretches out before us, interspersed with various evergreen trees standing tall against the winter sky.

“Depends on who you ask,” he says with a cheerful grin. “Me? I like something symmetrical. My dad wants something with good girth.” When he says nothing about Rob and James and their opinions on what makes a good Christmas tree, I know my place.

“We’ll be out for half an hour at most. Dad says he’s spotted a good one already.”

“Down by the creek,” Leo says, and I throw a smile to Ry’s dad. I have no idea where the creek is, but I know it’s further than I probably want to walk in the snow. Up ahead of us, Rob and James carry black sacks over their backs, and I wonder what’s in those, as Leo’s pulling a sled with rope, the chainsaw, and a couple of axes on it.

“We’ll be back to have hot chocolate before lunch.” Danny grins, and his enthusiasm over pine trees is slightly infectious, if we’re talking fatal diseases.

“Sounds like a solid plan,” I reply, quickly looking around, hoping to catch a glimpse of this mysterious creek that’ll have us out and back in less than thirty minutes.

“Snowshoes,” Rob says when we reach the end of the road, the trees closer and taller now. Looming. And it’s the middle of the day, but I swear it’s almost as dark as nighttime in the forest.

“Snowshoes?” I ask as he and James drop their bags and start pulling out this new development. I’ve literally never seen a pair of snowshoes, let alone worn them. They do know there’s no snow in South Carolina, don’t they?

I watch as Danny steps into a pair and pulls the straps tight over his boots. Even with slightly blurry vision, I can do that, and before I know it, the five of us are properly equipped for the next leg of our journey.

No one seems to notice that I wait for all of them to go ahead of me, and I step into Leo’s footsteps and the sleigh tracks, my focus completely on the ground only a few feet in front of me. My breath starts to come quicker, and I pause to take a moment to look up and around me. The trees are magnificent—tall, lush, their branches heavy with soft white snow. My excitement builds as patches of light filter through the trees, illuminating the men in front of me.

It’s literally the most perfect Christmas forest scene in the world.

But we keep passing trees. Perfectly good pine trees. Tall ones. Short ones. Symmetrical ones. Girthy ones.

And there’s no freaking creek anywhere.

I focus on my feet again, the soft squishy-crunch of snow beneath my feet the only sound. Images of Christmas Future stream through my mind, and as crazy as it might sound, Ryanne is in every one of them. She wants serious, and her midnight confessional rings through my head. I want to tell her. I need to tell her.

“You’re going to tell her.”

My voice almost sounds foreign among so much silence, and that’s when I realize…there’s so much silence.

I come to a stop again, because I can barely walk and look around on flat, dry ground, and I certainly can’t do it in a fluffy snowbank. When I look up, I expect to see Ryanne’s dad only a few paces ahead of me, with Rob, James, and Danny in front of him.

There’s no one. Only me. The realization sends a rush of adrenaline coursing through me. “Hey,” I call out, my voice battling against the stillness of the trees. “Where you at?”

My own words echo teasingly against the towering pines. The air feels colder now, sharper, as if the forest itself is beginning to close in around me. I take a few hesitant steps forward, scanning left and right to catch a glimpse of my companions, but nothing moves beyond the trees. Thankfully, I can see their footsteps, but I have no idea if I can catch them.

“Guys?” I step deeper into the snow, the crunching noise reminding me of just how little traction I have on these snowshoes. “Leo. Danny?”

Just then, a distant sound—a burst of laughter filtering through the branches—meets my ears, and I follow it, my heart hammering. I trust Ryanne’s family, but this is insane. Have they completely forgotten about me already?

“!” Danny’s voice pierces the winter sky, and a small wave of relief washes over me. I pick up my pace, briefly forgetting how difficult walking with snowshoes is. I’m winded in mere moments, but I reach the edge of a stand of trees and see the Lucksons another hundred yards in front of me.

How do they move so fast? My word. I need a Mars rover companion to press down the snow and make walking easier.

Danny waves both hands above his head, as if I can’t see him. He yells something, but I can’t make it out.

I suck at the air and take another step, my feet immediately slipping despite the snowshoes. Panic strikes, and I fight to maintain my balance, my arms windmilling to grab onto something solid, but there’s nothing but air.

“Stay there!” Leo yells, but that’s not going to happen.

I’m already falling.

I tumble forward, my snowshoes tethering my feet awkwardly in the deep snow, pitching me headfirst into a bank of the cold stuff—which is so not as soft as I imagined it to be. I sink deep into it, flailing my arms to push myself out, but it keeps shifting, never solidifying. My face brushes against an icy solid, and I sputter, catching an unexpected mouthful of snow as I gasp for breath.

When I finally can push myself up, I can’t see anything. Just whiteness everywhere. Funny, I’ve always thought the world would be black once I finally go blind.

Then, the worst thing in the world happens—worse than me falling face-first into the snow in front of Ry’s family. Worse than this horrible weather and devilish activity. Worse than going blind.

The enormously strong scent of a skunk hits me—right before I get sprayed.