Christmas at Fox Ridge

2. Eira

Chapter two

Eira

Six Months Later

“ T hat’s a penis inside a hot dog bun.”

“Sure is.” I grab my phone from Holly, shoving it in my coat pocket before any innocent souls in this crowded coffee shop become permanently scarred by the bizarro dick pic on my screen. “This is what dating is like now. Don’t you miss it?”

“I just…” She takes a slow sip of coffee with a pensive bunching of her eyebrows. “What possessed him to flop his sausage into a hot dog bun and take a photo?”

“Probably wanted to stand out from the countless normal dick pics women on this app receive.” I shrug, taking a deep breath of the coffee-scented air.

Holly and I have been regulars at Sipsters every Sunday morning since a roommate mix-up in our first year of university led to us becoming inseparable. Used to be that we came here for breakfast wraps—the ultimate hangover food—and to recap whatever wild shit we did the night before. Now we lament adult life and she manages my online dating profiles, swiping left and right with the occasional pause to confirm whether I like mustaches (I do), or ask what my feelings are on facial piercings (take them or leave them).

“It definitely stands out.” Holly’s fingernails tap against her mug. “Let me see it again.”

With a laugh, I hand over the phone. “You’re sick.”

She curls up in her oversized armchair, and her fingers spread across the phone screen to zoom in, paying no mind to the patrons milling about behind her who could accidentally look over and get a real eye-full at ten a.m.

“Who is this guy, anyway?”

“That firefighter you swiped on. We were supposed to go for dinner last night, but I told him I had a migraine after he sent me that.”

Her head tilts for a different angle of the photo, and she squints like she’s trying to unlock a secret code. “I bet I can tell you exactly what his dinner plans were. Okay, so what about the guy you went out with on Thursday?”

“ Fuck that guy. ” I take a swig of my coffee, staring across the cafe at a couple who can’t take their hands off each other. “The entire time we browsed the menu, he was going on and on about macros. So naturally I stuck to a side salad and then ordered pizza when I got home. Plus, when I mentioned my illustrations, his only question was if I have a ‘real job’.”

“Fucker.” She slides my phone across the table to me and makes a face. “Somebody with as much talent as you doesn’t need a blood— and creativity —sucking corporate job. Macro-dummy would know that if he bothered to look at them.”

I snort. Something tells me showing him my explicit monster smut illustrations wouldn’t sway his opinion. “Unfortunately, the bloodsuckers pay well, so I have to tough it out for the foreseeable future.”

I do well selling illustrated book covers and character art commissions, even bringing in hundreds of dollars each month through a paid platform where I post NSFW drawings weekly. But as much as it pains me to admit, I doubt I’ll be in a place where I’m making enough to pay the bills anytime soon—at least, not if I’m going to keep my $2,500-per-month apartment in the city.

“At least the holidays are coming up, and my vampiric boss is closing the office for a few days.”

“Speaking of the holidays, have you figured out what you’re going to do for Christmas?”

Tossing my head back with a groan, I slump further down into the chair and look out the window. Piles of off-white snow line the slick city street, and people trudge cautiously down the sidewalk littered with blue de-icing salt.

“Since Mom and Dad are doing a Mediterranean cruise, abandoning their only daughter, I guess I’ll sit at home and draw. Hopefully I can make a few pieces to sell on top of my commissions.” I shrug casually. “And please don’t feel the need to give me yet another pity invite to come to Daniel’s parents’ house like I’m your pet dog.”

I don’t really care that my parents won’t be around. We’ve never been the type of family to go all out for holidays, anyway. Dad drags the pre-decorated tree up from storage on Christmas Eve, and the three of us eat our weight in food while watching movies. The morning of the twenty-sixth it’s back to business as usual. But this year I’ll spend the entire holiday season rotting alone in my studio apartment.

“You’re our love-child, not dog.” She wags a finger. “Actually, I was wondering how you’d feel about renting a cabin in the woods.”

I blink at her. Then down at the expensive heeled boots on my feet. Then back at her.

I’m waiting for the punchline.

Seems there isn’t one .

“Yeah, no, Holls. I know we’re annoyed with my parents for ditching me at Christmas, but I don’t think that warrants them coming home to find out their only child died alone in the woods.”

“I think the police would contact them on their cruise. They wouldn’t have to wait to find out.”

“Even worse. Now I’m dead and it’s ruining their holiday.” The last bit of coffee goes down cold. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but when have I ever given off ‘cabin in the woods’ vibes?”

“That’s why you’d be perfect.” This is a sales pitch . I know one when I see it. And the way she’s leaning forward, steepling her hands and staring into my soul would be a dead giveaway for even the most unobservant. “I’ve told you before that my brother has a ranch a few hours outside the city, right?”

My stomach rolls at the mention of Lucas, and a vivid slideshow of the night we spent together flashes behind my eyes. Normally, any social engagement leaves me reeling over the things I might’ve said wrong. All the potential ways I could’ve embarrassed myself without even knowing it—the moments where somebody quickly changed the subject or pulled a face after something I said.

With Lucas, I embarrassed myself in the worst way, yet didn’t have a niggling voice telling me he thought I was a complete loser. I didn’t go home and lose sleep replaying every second of our interaction.

Okay, maybe I did… but in a good way. No room for self-loathing inside the effervescence of each Lucas-infused thought. His touch branded into my skin, scent ingrained in my memory, and kiss stained on my lips. My mental tape of that night wore out from being played so often.

Sitting at the bar until well past midnight—long after the party guests left and the live band packed up—I drew various bar-patrons on cocktail napkins. Then Lucas guessed who each one was, and we made up absurd backstories for every person we didn’t know, constantly trying to outdo one another.

“Terry actually just found out his wife spent their entire life savings on 1990s Beanie Babies,” I whispered, punctuating the end with a tipsy hiccup and finishing the details on what had to be my thirtieth napkin drawing. The subject was a lonely looking, middle-aged man wallowing in a concerning amount of cheap vodka at the far end of the bar.

“People have always said they were going to be worth a lot of money one day,” Lucas shrugged, finishing the last of his bourbon.

The thought of tasting it on his tongue made my core tighten, and I instinctively licked my lips.

“Maybe that day is coming soon, and she knows something we don’t,” he said.

I grimaced. “Sure. But at what cost? Terry kicked her out, and she’s living in a self-storage unit with 10,000 stuffed animals.”

Lucas’s empty glass clunked against the bar top, and he undressed me with a heated gaze under the dim bar light as he swallowed. “You should come back to my hotel.” A statement rather than a question.

My fingertips teasingly walked the length of his muscular forearm, feigning sultry confidence. “To check out your Beanie Baby collection?”

With a laugh under his breath, he said, “Nothing I plan to do to you tonight is child’s play, Eira.”

“Earth to Eira.” Holly’s fingers snap directly in front of my face. “How was La-La-Land? Is Ryan Gosling as dreamy as we think?”

No, but your brother is.

“Sorry.” I blink away a fleeting memory of Lucas kissing his way down my body in the dark hotel room. “He’s still the hottest of the Ryans. What’s the scheme you have planned?”

“So, my brother’s ranch. I convinced him to rent out the spare cabin as a vacation rental. Lucas renovated it, and it’s gorgeous. Doesn’t feel like a cabin in the woods, I promise. Since we’ll mostly be renting to city people, and you’re… you , I thought you might be a good test subject.”

“A good test subject for murder?”

“There will be nobody around to murder you.” Just me and him. Alone. In the woods. “And Luke doesn’t exhibit any classic serial killer traits, so I think you’re safe. Besides, you’re both total homebodies, and he’s a complete grump. I bet you won’t even see him.”

None of that sounds anything like the charismatic, flirty, and funny guy I spent the night with. The mountain man who stole every ounce of my attention all night, who tenderly washed my body in the hotel’s walk-in shower after hours of intense sex, and who insisted he order room service before I left the following morning.

“He didn’t seem that way at your party,” I say.

“You caught him on the one night he let loose. He’s usually so wrapped up in trying to keep the ranch afloat. And it sucks he’s so stressed and irritable all the time, because he’s a really sweet guy.”

“And having somebody intrude on his personal space over Christmas is going to make him less stressed and irritable?”

“Like I said, you won’t even see each other. Spend the holidays there and let me know if anything needs to change to make it more inviting for guests. He hates the idea of having a vacation rental, but I’m hoping the extra income will take some weight off his shoulders.”

Okay, if I frame it as being helpful , the idea doesn’t sound so terrible. Getting out of the city means a few days to work on commissions, unplug from dating apps, and relax. Without distraction, I’d be able to get a lot done.

Sure, Lucas and I hooked up once six months ago, but I’m confident we can be adults about that, on the off-hand chance we see each other from afar.

“There’s a gorgeous clawfoot tub big enough you can submerge your entire body,” Holly says with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, fuck . Now I’m sold.”