Christmas With My Ex (Stuck For the Holidays)

10. Nicholas

TEN

Nicholas

Run, run, Rudolph, Santa's gotta make it to town.

11:37 am

The chai tea in my cup is warm, spicy, and... honestly, not great. I take a sip, trying to hide my grimace as Rives looks at me expectantly.

“Well?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

I swallow hard and give her a half-hearted smile. “It’s, uh, interesting.”

She snorts, shaking her head. “You hate it.”

“I don’t hate it,” I protest, holding up my hands defensively. “It’s just... really intense. Like a punch of cinnamon and potpourri to the face.”

Rives laughs, her beautiful blue eyes brighten in a way that makes me weak in the knees. It’s nice, seeing her loosen up, her guard dropping a little. I got a glimpse of that last night when we had a beer, but she was right back to hating me, it seemed, this morning.

We’ve spent the last hour or so making tea and cracking jokes, and for the first time today when I ran into her, literally, it feels easy. This comfortable way we have with each other is what made me fall so hard for her before. And it's still there.

“I guess it’s an acquired taste,” she says, taking a sip of her own cup. “Mine’s pretty good. You just need to have better tea skills.”

I narrow my eyes, feigning offense. “Oh, so now you’re the chai tea expert?”

She shrugs, her smile teasing. “Clearly. I’ve mastered the art. And, I'm sure I have a more sophisticated palate.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I think I’ll stick to coffee.”

We stand there for a moment, the class wrapping up around us, people gathering their things and heading out. I watch her as she adjusts herself on her crutches, her movements slow and deliberate but confident.

I can’t help but feel grateful for this—this unexpected chance to be with her again. It’s weird to think about how close we came to never seeing each other again, and yet, here we are, stuck together in this snowy, small-town resort over Christmas. If it weren’t for the snowstorm, we wouldn’t be standing here, laughing over bad tea and awkward memories.

I'm all but certain if I tried in any other setting she would have given me a polite "hell no," and moved on with her day. Here, she is captive, so I have a chance to work my magic a little more.

Maybe this was what we needed. Forced proximity to break through the walls we’d built after our messy breakup. We’ve both changed, but the connection, the easy banter, the chemistry are all still there.

I take another sip of the tea, trying to push away the thought of our breakup, but something else creeps in instead. Her fall. The sled ride down the mountain. I haven’t told her yet that I was there, that I saw her before the guide stepped in.

Should I? Or is it better to leave well enough alone? She seems happy now, relaxed. Telling her could ruin everything we've done to chill the ice wall between us.

I glance over at her, noticing how the light catches in her hair, the way she’s smiling at something someone else said.

Maybe I’ll just leave it be. It's not like she needs to know I was the second skier on the mountain yesterday.

"Hey, did you ever hear back about your MRI?"

"You know, I didn't. I had a message to call the office from yesterday afternoon. I must have been enjoying my lamb shank, or something else less savory. When I got the message this morning, I called, but no one is answering. I wish they would have just left the results in the message."

"Hmm. Well, hoping for good news for you there."

"No news is good news, right? If we can deny its existence, then it doesn't have the power to ruin our day, right?"

"I like it. Yes, stuff it down and avoid it. Got it. Rules for life."

She hits my arm with the cloth napkin she is holding. I'm loving the fact that we can be together like this, just like it was before things started going sideways.

“Ouch,” I say, feigning a hurt arm. “What do you say about walking to the Last Dollar Saloon? Looks like the sidewalks are mostly clear.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Walking? You mean hobbling?”

“I could always give you a piggyback ride,” I offer, flashing her a grin.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

I laugh. “Your loss. But seriously, if you’re up for it, we can grab a beer. It’s only a couple of blocks, and the fresh air might do us both some good.”

She hesitates for a second, glancing at the door, then back at me. “You sure you want to be seen with a limping woman on Christmas Eve? Isn't that a sign of a man of ill repute, or something?”

I shrug. “Perhaps, but I hate drinking beer alone, so I'll take what I can get.”

Her smile softens, and for a moment, I think she’s going to say no, but then she nods. “I could use a change of scenery. Let’s go grab a beer. Just no piggyback rides.”

“Deal,” I say, relieved and oddly excited. My mouth waters at the prospect of a cold beer.

The Last Dollar Saloon

12:03 pm

We push through the door, and a whoosh of warm air feels like it is sucking the door and us. The familiar scent of beer and wood mingling in the cozy atmosphere is a welcoming call.

Rives is laughing, her breathing still a little uneven from the walk—or more accurately, the stumble.

"Brrrr. It is ridiculously cold out there," she exclaims as she hobbles in.

"It's dropped a few degrees since yesterday for sure."

“Someone needs to lose their job if they consider those sidewalks clear,” she says, giving me a pointed look. “I've been all over the world skiing and I've never seen embankments of snow on both sides of the sidewalk like that. They have to be seven feet high in some spots. We must have really gotten a lot of snow last night.”

I grin, shaking the snow off my jacket. “You’re welcome for carrying you those last hundred yards, by the way.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t need to be carried. You’re too damn stubborn to listen to me. But, thanks, anyway.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “You sure about that? Because the way you almost went down three times makes me think you do need the help.”

She lets out a soft groan, rubbing her arms like she’s trying to shake off the crutch-induced workout. “Okay, maybe. Who knew crutches were such an arm workout? I think my arms needed the break more than my knee.”

“I'm going to put forth that we both earned these beer, then,” I say, holding the door open as she hobbles inside.

"As a fellow medical professional, I’m not going to argue with you there."

The place is alive with laughter and conversation. Christmas music plays low in the background, but it's soothing rhythm is unmistakable, adding to the charm and vibrancy of the day.

It’s Christmas Eve, and the bar is packed with folks who either live here year round or, like us, are stranded in this winter wonderland. Lights twinkle from the rafters, wreaths hang on the walls, and the whole place has that laid-back holiday vibe.

Rives glances around before heading for the bar. “I think I’m going for that Face Down microbrew again,” she says.

I follow her to the counter, remembering yesterday’s confusion. “When you said that name yesterday, I had no idea what you were talking about. Thought you were trying to make a joke about your fall or telling me to beat it or something.”

She chuckles, her eyes bright with amusement. “I was saying all of the above. But, it’s also a great beer. The bartender told me it's called that in reference to face-planting in the snow after too much fun.”

I laugh, watching her as she orders. There’s something different about her today. Looser. More at ease. It’s intoxicating to see her let go, and I can’t help but notice how much I’ve missed this. Missed her .

"Where do you want to sit?" I ask as we wait for our beers. "Bar again or do you want to grab a table?"

"Let's find a table by the window so we can people-watch," she says, grinning. You can't help but adore her and to be drawn in by her mischievous personality. She is so much fun when she is in her element. This is the Rives I remember.

We grab our glasses and find a small table near the window, the snow outside reflecting the glow of Christmas lights. The snowstorm might’ve calmed down, but it left behind a lot of snow. It’s still super cold, and everything looks like it’s wrapped in a blanket of white.

“So,” I say, taking a sip of my beer, “you planning on staying here in this tiny snow globe of a town forever? Or is this just a vacation thing?”

Rives looks up at me, her expression soft but guarded. “My flight out is supposed to be Wednesday. I guess it depends on what happens with the weather and if the roads open up. Have you heard if there are any more snow storms out there?”

There’s a hint of something in her voice, something that tells me she’s just as unsure as I am. Because as easy as this is—laughing, joking, falling back into something that feels almost familiar—I can’t help but wonder what happens when we go back to Knoxville. When the bubble bursts, and reality hits.

I take another sip of my beer, watching her over the rim of the glass.

There’s a part of me that wants to believe this could be more than just a holiday fling because we both happen to be in this remote place, alone. That maybe we’re not just two people acting on impulse, stuck in the same place at the same time.

But the doubts are there, lingering in the back of my mind.

Is it just the snow, the isolation, that’s making this feel like it could work? Or is there really something left between us?

I push the thought away, focusing on the moment, on the way she’s smiling now, the tension from earlier gone.

At some point, Rives stands, grabbing her crutches. “I’ll be back, potty break,” she says, and I nod, watching her maneuver her way toward the hallway at the back of the bar.

I sit there for a minute, finishing off my beer, when the thought crosses my mind that maybe I should head to the restroom, too. It’s not far, but in this old saloon, the hallways are narrow and dark, a small reminder of how cramped this entire town is.

As I walk toward the restroom, I see her coming back, still hobbling on her crutches. We meet in the middle, in the dim light of the hallway, barely enough space for both of us to pass. My hand brushes her arm as we squeeze by, and suddenly, I feel the spark between us flare up.

We both freeze, the hallway suddenly feeling much smaller, the distance between us shrinking in an instant. Her eyes lock on mine, and I don’t think. I react.

Before I can stop myself, I lean in, my lips brushing hers. It’s soft at first, tentative, but the second I feel her respond, something inside me snaps. My hand finds her waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.

She gasps against my mouth, her crutches clattering against the wall as I pull her into the nearby restroom, kicking the door closed behind us. I lock it without thinking, my heart racing, my breath coming fast.

The taste of her lips ignites a fire within me, a desperate need that I can't—and don't want to—control. The restroom is cramped, the sink taking up most of the space.

The large mirror reflects the urgency in our eyes.

Rives' crutches fall to the floor with a clatter, and she winces slightly, her hand instinctively going to her injured knee. It's a reminder that we need to be careful, but the look in her eyes tells me she's just as lost in this as I am.

I press her against the door, my body pinning hers. My hands are everywhere, tugging at her clothes, eager to feel her skin. I can't get enough of her. The taste of her mouth, the softness of her breath against my cheek, the way she moans softly when my fingers skim the edge of her waistband.

She fumbles with my belt, her movements hurried and clumsy with need. It's a frantic dance of hands and lips and tongues, each of us desperate for the other. I help her, our fingers tangling together in our haste. My jeans are pushed down just enough, and I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her pants.

I lift her slightly, supporting her as she wraps her good leg around my waist. The other one hangs free, and I'm mindful of it, making sure not to put any pressure on her injury. She's trapped between me and the door, and it's intoxicating, the way she moves against me, seeking friction.

Our kisses are messy and deep, full of unspoken promises and years of longing. I can feel her smile against my lips, a shared moment of joy amidst the chaos of our desire. It’s just the two of us, in this tiny space, caught up in a whirlwind of passion that neither of us saw coming but should have.

I enter her with a single, smooth thrust, and we both gasp. She's tight and hot around me, and I have to pause for a moment, just to catch my breath and rein in the need to move. She feels too good, and I'm terrified of losing control too quickly.

But Rives has no such qualms. She urges me on with her hips, her fingers digging into my shoulders. I move inside her, each thrust punctuated by the soft slap of skin on skin, the rustle of clothes, the ragged sound of our breathing.

The world outside this bathroom ceases to exist. There's no snowstorm, no holiday, no postcard town, no past, no future—only the here and now, the two of us joined together in the most intimate way possible. It's wild and uncontrolled, yet there's a tenderness to it, a connection that goes beyond the physical.

I can feel her tightening around me, her body coiling like a spring. I brace myself against the door, driving into her with renewed vigor, chasing that precipice with an urgency that borders on desperation.

And then she's there, her body shattering around mine, her cry of pleasure muffled against my shoulder. I follow her over the edge, the force of my orgasm hitting me like a freight train, leaving me breathless and shaken.

For a long moment, we stay like that, neither of us willing to break the silence. Our breaths slow, our heartbeats gradually returning to normal. I lower her gently to the floor, making sure she's steady on her feet before I pull away, already missing the warmth of her body.

We dress quickly, the sound of our laughter filling the small space as we fumble with buttons and zippers. It's a light, joyful sound, one that I realize I've missed more than I care to admit.

As I watch Rives adjust her clothes, a sense of contentment washes over me. This—this right here—is what I've been missing. The connection, the laughter, the raw, unadulterated passion. It's always been there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to ignite once again.

I take her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. "Come on," I say, my voice filled with quiet promise. "Let's get back to the bar before they send out a search party."

She grins, leaning in to press a quick kiss to my cheek. "Only if you promise not to drag me into any more bathrooms. At least, not tonight."

I chuckle, opening the door and leading her back into the dimly lit hallway.

“I make no promises," I tease, winking at her as we step out into the bustling bar, the sound of conversation and laughter a stark contrast to the intimate silence we left behind.