Finding Me in the Storm (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

Chapter Thirteen

Elaina

I am going to die. Seriously, that thought seems to happen a lot around Nate. As a medical professional, I know how to stop others from near death, but for some odd reason, I keep doing what Nate dictates—against my better judgment.

“Maybe a little looser on the way home,” Nate tells me as we get off the snowmobile.

“I will let you drive in peace and not hold on for dear life if you promise to slow down,” I grumble in response. “That was truly terrifying.”

“You are one of those people who doesn’t speed even when on an open freeway, aren’t you?”

“I will admit that I have been known to put my foot to the metal during long road trips. Still, that is a metal box that has some protections against me being flung into trees or having branches slap down into my face.”

“Fair enough,” he says as I glance around the town.

Nate wasn’t lying; there were candy canes on every streetlamp, flickering lights of all the colors of the rainbows in nearly every shop—and Christmas music blaring on the street. This reminds me of a quaint town I once saw in a movie. Instantly, I feel the tug of the season, and all the worry I’ve been experiencing today fades into nothingness.

“This is amazing,” I tell Nate, spinning in circles. “This could literally be the village in the North Pole, at least how I imagine it. Christmas was always my favorite time of the year, not for the presents. I just loved the music, laughs, and, of course, the amazing sweets.”

“Oh, you and me both,” Nate says as we head toward the main walk down the street. “When I first saw Haven that first Christmas here, it was the selling point I simply couldn’t deny. Now, before we walk, though, I want to introduce you to the best little hamburger joint in town,” he says, as he grabs my hand and all but drags me down the block.

“It’s outside?” I question.

“Well, it’s a hamburger shack. There is barely enough room for the massive grill inside. James cooks burgers and nothing else. I’m telling you; I don’t know what his secret flavoring is, but you will never eat another burger when you don’t think of this,” Nate tells me as he sidles up the window for four.

My eyes go to his face in shock. “You are eating three?”

“I’m betting you eat two and me the same,” he says.

“Never in my life.”

He just arches his brow in the way he does, which begs me to prove him wrong. I mean two burgers is a ton, and I’m not that hungry. Part of me will make sure I don’t wolf down the second just for the satisfaction of another win in my column.

“You ready?” Nate turns with a foil-wrapped present he holds out to me.

I move the foil and reveal a juicy burger with a slice of cheese, ketchup, mustard, and one long pickle. Simple enough. I give a little smell, and it doesn’t change my life in any way.

I shrug and take a bite.

“Oh wow,” I mutter as I savor the juicy burger.

It has a well-seasoned taste of garlic, maybe some parsley and oregano. Nothing too overwhelming that it will clash with the condiments. The burger is perfectly cooked with just a slight grill burn on the outside and a juicy center. Also, you just know instinctively this is not a processed or frozen burger. All the flavors are fresh.

“Okay, you might be right,” I agree with a slight roll of my eyes again. “This is amazing.”

“I tried to tell you.” He says, going to town on his.

I watch the scene unfolding around me as I enjoy the dinner. We are standing as there are no seats in the small seating space outdoors to the right of the hamburger shake. People are milling around in all directions, little street vendors announcing cookies, cocoa, and even photos with Santa. The beautiful architecture of the small town is enhanced by the snow that caps all the rooftops and gives a distinct Christmas feel to the entire thoroughfare.

“This is so beautiful,” I mutter as my eyes go heavenward. “You can see the stars above and feel like you fell into your favorite Christmas movie.”

“Well, it doesn’t have Snoopy or that crazy blanket kid, but we do Christmas up right.”

“Linus, the crazy blanket kid is Linus,” I tell him as we toss our trash.

“Care to walk?”

“I would love that,” I reply as we start down the sidewalk to our right. “This must be amazing to live in such a place. You can almost imagine the world slowing down to just relish every moment here. I know that it is touristy, but somehow, I don’t feel that here.”

“It’s really nice. I enjoy visiting various cities around the world, but yes—when I’m here there is tranquility about things. Even with the resort, I would say eighty to ninety percent of the time, it is just mellow, laid back, and makes me understand how blessed I am to be able to make a living and reside here,” Nate says.

“You know, I don’t necessarily want to live in Chicago or any of the other places I’ve applied to. The problem is that you can’t make the kind of money in rural spots—or ski towns,” I tell him.

“Maybe not, but how much do you need to make? I know that you could have loans and other obligations to pay off. Look at all of that, and maybe make a plan. You could work for the next five years to take care of all of that, and then be free to do a nonprofit, rural clinic, or something you believe might fulfill another part of your desires,” he says.

“You know that it’s not the money. I could make do on just housing alone,” I tell him. “It’s just what has always been expected. I think if I were to tell my parents that I’m taking a rural clinic’s offer or Doctors Without Borders, they would both have strokes. I don’t want to let them down after all they did to get me to this point. Also, I have Luna, an apartment, and a life in Chicago. Starting over while working a new job would be exceptionally hard.”

“People pack and leave places all the time. You can’t keep making convenience and other people your crutch. What do you want?” Nate asks.

“I don’t know. I want someone else to make this choice for me.”

“No can do, Doctor. You have to heal yourself, but I can provide a bit more distractions if you like.” Nate turns to me with a grin that tells me to say no.

I find my mouth opening in agreement, though, before I can filter anything.

“Great. Have you ever bobbed for huge marshmallows in a swimming pool of hot cocoa?”

“No. Who has—” I stop short, as I already know the answer to the question.

Nate is dragging me along, and for now, I let the job worries die. There is no ability to continue being morose when Nate is around. The man has boundless energy and an enthusiasm for life that I truly envy. I just hope that with all these distractions, the answer somehow miraculously appears to me by morning. Time is running out, and as much as I would love to stay here—I think I’m headed back to Chicago.