Catch Yourself a Snowmance (Have Yourself a Merry Little #2)

4. Carson

Chapter 4

Carson

Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals!

~ Kevin McCallister, Home Alone 2

A weekend with these women? Gage texts me. Are we going to be making gingerbread houses and singing carols?

I smile and send him a look from across the driveway.

A group of us have been sent out to collect wood from around the property so we can keep the fireplace going when the weather turns. We made it through our first night, though it was a bit drafty in the cabin. I just slept in sweats. And we woke to news of a pending storm. It could be a good snow which will just mean better skiing, but from the sound of things, we might get hit with a bit more than we were hoping for.

Gage and I walk back toward the cabin a few minutes later, our arms filled with branches and sticks we’ve rounded up to add to the pile of already chopped wood next at the end of the porch.

“Breakfast is served!” Noelle shouts out to the others who are milling around the yard picking up whatever wood they can find.

“Muffins and eggs!” Noelle’s voice is cheery and welcoming.

“I’ll take anything I didn’t have to cook,” Mitch says.

“Ditto,” Gage adds. “Thanks, Noelle.”

“It’s my pleasure. But we’re running pretty low on provisions. They were supposed to stock the kitchen for us. Maybe with the switcheroo they never got to it.”

The nine of us crowd into the kitchen which has a bar and a table for six in it. We wash our hands and grab seats, serving ourselves off the platters and out of the bowls Noelle set out. There’s a pitcher of orange juice on the counter and another on the table where I end up sitting next to Alyssa. She’s quiet, not exactly grumpy, but not as cheery as Noelle.

“So, we can do this a few ways,” Liam says once everyone’s seated and eating. “We can draw straws or we can ask for volunteers. We figured two of us ought to go into town and grab some things before the snow starts.”

“I’m good to go,” I volunteer at the same time as Alyssa says, “I’ll go.”

We look at one another and she gives me a shy smile.

“It’s settled then,” Liam says. “You two run into town. Noelle made a list. We’ll all chip in. Add anything you think we might need. When we looked through what we brought, it seems we packed enough snacks for a week, but only one puzzle and a questionable DVD collection. We need a lot more staples if we’re not going to be able to get to a store for a few days.”

We finish our breakfast, clean up, and I offer to drive.

Alyssa hops into my passenger seat, cradling a mug of coffee in her gloved hands.

“Sorry,” she says after buckling in. “I’m not quite human until I’ve had my first cup of coffee.”

“Totally understandable. My sister’s the same way.”

“You have a sister?”

“Four, actually. I’m the middle child. Two extra moms, and two I have to keep an eye on. They complain I’m the main reason they never dated in high school.” I pause and smile over at Alyssa. “I take that as a compliment. They didn’t need the kind of knuckleheads boys are at that age. I did them a favor.”

“So, boys are not knuckleheads after that age?” Alyssa smiles playfully at me from across the car.

“Oh, I’m not implying that at all. I think we’re part knucklehead until we die. Just the proportion decreases with age.”

She giggles and I smile. I like her laugh. She’s easy to be with. Not as uptight as that day she came to my house with Noelle. She seemed offended by my very existence then.

I drive down the winding road past the rental office and take the two-lane highway that heads along through the mountain community until we come to a gravel parking lot lined in pine trees. The building looks like an old-fashioned rural market with a broad wrap-around porch and clapboard siding.

“The Old Mercantile.” I read the sign. “This should be fun.”

“I love places like this,” Alyssa says.

We walk up the wooden steps and I hold the door open for her. The floors are wood plank and the walls have snowshoes and license plates and other memorabilia hanging all over them.

“Welcome to the mercantile!” a man behind the counter shouts over to us .

I wave and smile at him. Alyssa grabs a hand-held basket and pulls the list Noelle gave her out of her pocket.

“Let’s see …” She looks around. “Should we divide and conquer?”

“Nah. I think I’ll just stick close and learn from you.”

“Learn how to shop?” she scrunches up her nose and I take her in for the first time.

Mitch is right. She’s pretty cute. Long brown hair that falls across her red ski jacket. She’s in good shape, but it’s her eyes that get me. Brown eyes with long lashes. And when she crinkles her nose she looks pretty adorable.

“I’m sort of a guy-shopper.”

“A guy shopper … ?”

She stands in place, studying me, so I elaborate. “I’m sure not all men shop like I do, but I’ve been single for a while, so it’s protein bars, protein powder, bread, lunch meat, cheese, eggs, some simple dinner ingredients and enough vegetables to silence the voice of my mom in my head.”

She laughs again and I like it. Making her laugh feels like an accomplishment somehow, even though I get the feeling she laughs a lot.

“Okay, well … I’ve been single for a while too.” She offers. And then she blushes. “Not that you asked. And it’s not pertinent. Just … I shop pretty much for one too.”

“I could have asked. Glad to know.”

She tucks a strand of her silky brown hair behind her ear.

I’m not flirting, am I? I shouldn’t. We’re friends with people who are getting married. Don’t date your friends’ girlfriends’ friends. That’s a life motto—and a mouthful.

I did that once. It nearly ripped Gage and me apart for a minute. But then he broke up with Cindy, so my history with Cindy’s best friend was moot. Still. That was a close call. One I won’t make again .

Alyssa clears her throat. “We’ll start with dairy and work our way to meat and then the dry goods. Maybe you ought to grab a basket too.”

I follow her directions, staring just a little too long into her eyes. She smiles at me and then turns toward the cooler at the end of the aisle.

Alyssa pulls a few bottles of milk out of the fridge. “This stuff is pricey. I guess they have us over a barrel since we’re up the mountain.”

“It’s vacation. I have a few rules on vacation.”

I wink at her and then realize I just winked at her.

“What are your rules?” She places two bottles of milk in my basket and two in hers.

“One: don’t fret too much about prices. Budgeting is for daily life. Vacation is for splurging.”

“Okay.”

“Two: live in the moment. Life’s full of demands. Vacation should be full of spontaneity.”

“I like that,” she says with a soft smile.

She grabs some eggs. Then some more. “Two dozen or three?”

“Four,” I say. “I think we might have gone through nearly two dozen this morning. Maybe we can get some oats and other hearty breakfast foods to make up the difference. I make a mean quiche. Let’s get some half-and-half so I can make a few quiches. That will spread out the egg consumption.”

“Man shopper, huh?” She props one hand on her hip and studies me.

“Didn’t say I couldn’t cook.”

“Okay then. Lead the way to the quiche ingredients. And we can grab oats when we get to dry goods.”

We end up taking two trips through the store with our handheld baskets, laughing and talking easily as we load up on candles, flashlights, matches, s’more fixin’s I insisted we throw in, and enough food to last our big group at least four or five days.

On the drive back, I look over at Alyssa and say, “So let’s indulge our hosts. They want us to get to know one another better.”

“Okay. What did you have in mind?”

“How about favorites?”

“Favorites?”

“Yeah. We go through categories and each tell our favorite … like, favorite song. Mine is … well, now I put my foot in it.” I chuckle and glance over at Alyssa. “I have too many favorite songs.”

“Tell me a few of them.”

“Okay. Let’s see. The Smiths. Like, There is a Light That Never Goes Out . But, if I’m in more of a Friday night, let’s go dancing mood, maybe old R & B like September by Kool and the Gang. Or something by Bruno Mars. And, being from Tennessee, I love a good two-step. But when I’m in a stay at home, introspective mood, maybe …” I give her a look. “You cannot judge. And no, I’m not a Swiftie.”

“Taylor Swift?”

“Her acoustic songs.” I don’t even look over. “Your turn.”

She giggles. “Not a Swiftie?”

“Not. And it’s completely your turn.”

I’m smiling too. She’s fun and I’m immune to female taunting. Four sisters. The end.

“Okay. Favorite songs. Put Your Records On by Corinne Bailey Ray. That song just makes me happy. Country songs? Hmmm … God’s Country by Blake Shelton. And pretty much anything by the Eagles. But I also love Norah Jones. Do you know her? ”

“Yeah. Bluesy singer?”

“Mm hmm.”

“I like her too.”

“Okay,” I say, wishing the drive to the cabin were just a little longer.

The clouds are getting heavy in the sky, telling us they’re not playing. Snow is coming and not a little.

“Food …” I say. “You first.”

“Food. You’re going to be sorry you asked. I’m kind of a foodie,” she smiles proudly.

“That’s what I like to hear. A woman who eats.”

“Don’t all women eat?”

“Some don’t. Some are so concerned with their weight they act like anything outside a salad bar is a crime.”

“True. That’s sad. I love food.” She giggles nervously, but it doesn’t seem like she’s embarrassed.

“So …” I look over at her.

“Okay.” She rubs her hands. “I love warm cookies. Especially plain, old-fashioned, chocolate chip, and the kind of cupcake that’s so moist you can’t imagine how they baked it so well—with the perfect buttercream frosting. And I love a good steak and potatoes. I’d rather have salty snacks than sweet. Popcorn … chips … pretzels. Oh! Those honey mustard onion ones. Those things make me glad I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You know. They aren’t the kindest to your breath.”

“Well, the way I figure it, if you and your boyfriend eat the same thing, it cancels out in the kiss.”

“You would think so. But … it must have been a while since you’ve kissed someone who ate honey mustard and onion pretzels.”

I chuckle. “It’s been a while, yes. ”

“Okay. Your turn,” she says, effectively shifting the topic while turning slightly toward me with a little bounce.

“I’m pretty happy with the menu you chose. I’d add pancakes. Fluffy, right off the griddle with some good syrup. And I’m a sucker for ice cream.”

“What flavor?”

“Pretty much any. But I love chocolate chip.”

“Okay,” she says, taking over for me. “Vacation spot …”

I pause, look at her, and I don’t know what comes over me. The pines line the road and the secluded feel of the mountain town surrounds us. Knowing we’re going back to that campy cabin with its drafty floors and the big stone fireplace that should have probably been cleaned this summer … I can’t explain the reason, but I say, “Here. Right now.”

She smiles softly. And then she surprises me by saying, “Same.”

Then she adds, “Well, here, and St. Thomas. I went there a few years ago with my sister. It was incredible.”

“Favorite Memory?” I ask as we pull onto the last stretch of road before the cabin.

“Baking with my grandma growing up. It’s not just one memory, but a scrapbook full of moments. But those were my happiest times. You?”

“Watching football with the guys. We act like savages, yelling at the TV, eating junk food. But I love that I’m a grown man with friends I can count on and just let loose with. And when we’re watching a game, it sort of brings that feeling more than any other time.”

She smiles at me. “I remember walking in on one of those testosterone fests.”

“You looked like you wanted to high tail it out of there.”

“You had Dorito dust on your shirt. ”

“No!” I can feel a blush creep up my neck. “If you ever meet my sisters you can not tell them that detail. I’ll never live it down.”

She laughs hard. “Your secret’s safe with me.”