Snowflakes in Seattle

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

OLIVE

I had hazy memories of waking in a still-lit house. Of Wyatt gently guiding me to his bedroom and of crawling under his comforter and promptly falling back asleep. Alone.

I wasn’t alone in my dreams, though. The dream that woke me with a start had been a disjointed horror movie starring Wyatt and myself boinking in an airplane bathroom, trying to rush to orgasm before the plummeting plane hit the ground.

The sex had been frantic and rough and full of screaming. In pleasure or impending doom, I couldn’t tell.

A stress dream, clearly. Wyatt didn’t seem like the kind of man to rush anything, and I knew from experience I’d need more space than an airplane bathroom for a really good time.

Now, after that little surprise from my subconscious, I’d have a hard time looking my temporary roomie in the eye. Shouldn’t have teased him about the dom-sub thing either, probably.

Rolling over, I groped for my phone. It took me a moment to remember that Wyatt had had to drag me in here and that my phone and watch were likely still on the coffee table in the living room.

Daylight filtered in through the navy curtains, though that didn’t help me gauge the time. But it was Christmas morning and Wyatt had a fully decorated tree out there with a stack of gifts underneath, though he had planned on spending Christmas alone. He’d also been wearing snowflake pajamas last night. All signs pointed to him being an “open presents before seven” guy.

Shoving aside newly sprung nerves— stupid dream —I crawled out of his warm, soft bed. Time to make myself presentable for Christmas with my childhood crush.

First, I yanked my hair out of the octopus situation on top of my head and ran a brush through it. The tank-and-shorts pajamas chosen for my tropical vacay would have to do; I hadn’t packed anything remotely appropriate for my wintry Seattle layover or my one night in Anchorage. Hopefully I could get a flight soon. My suitcase full of sundresses and swimsuits would do me no good here.

I eyed Wyatt’s dresser longingly. I bet he had cozy sweats and comfy tees in there, much like the snug white shirt he’d been wearing last night.

Shaking my head, I fished my toiletry bag out of my suitcase and crept toward the door. All seemed silent. Maybe he was still sleeping.

I moved to the bathroom, the next door over. My palm hit the knob the same moment the door swung open wide. Billows of steam and delicious body wash that had to be called “Come to Daddy” invaded my senses. I fought a whimper.

Wyatt’s hazel eyes were extra green this morning, his curls wet and finger-combed, the beard trimmed. He looked soft and clean, and awfully cute in those snowflake pajamas. I took a step back, feeling my cheeks heat. His cheeks turned just as pink as he swept my form and stepped closer, trying to move out of the doorway. Panicking, I clamped a hand over my mouth. He could not get near my morning breath.

“What is it?” he asked, frowning.

I shook my head and scooted past him into the bathroom, careful not to brush against him, and slammed the door a little too hard.

Jesus, what had happened to chill Olive? The woman who could make business deals and cliff dive without a second thought? The girl who’d faced her lifelong crush almost casually yesterday?

Wyatt knocked softly on the door. “You okay, little Olive?”

Somehow, the nickname soothed me. I blew out a breath before opening the door a crack. “All good. Merry Christmas, Wyatt.”

He responded to my smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners in a way that tugged at my belly button. He had aged beautifully. “Merry Christmas.” He tipped his chin toward the living room. “You’ve got presents to open, so hurry up.”

I forgot about my dragon breath. “I do?”

But then I remembered he’d run to the store last night and come back empty-handed. He had been hustling for me. My heart fluttered at the gesture. “Wyatt, that’s so kind.”

He chuckled, low and deep, and like that green haze in the sky, I could swear his eyes twinkled. “Don’t thank me yet, little Olive.”

“Two minutes!” I cried, intrigued, shutting the door again and jumping into action.

I didn’t want to keep Wyatt waiting. Not when he’d gone out of his way to include me in his Christmas.

Very soon, I joined him in the living room. The first thing I noticed were mugs of steaming coffee on the table. Die Hard -themed mugs, no less. The man had seasonal coffee cups. Two shiny silver boxes, with bows, were stacked next to my cup. Wyatt’s pile of gifts was much larger. His back was to me as he grabbed the last package from under his festively lit tree.

I tried to ignore the stab of emotion in my gut. The whole scene was just so surreal. So sweet.

I didn’t date. I had a couple of guys I called when I needed more than a solo session in the bedroom. I had an assistant at work and my bestie, who was a gift from every god, but not many people around me who acted simply out of the goodness of their hearts. Wyatt’s actions didn’t surprise me, because he’d always been kind, but they warmed me all the same.

He smiled when he spotted me. “Breakfast,” he said, pointing to the coffee table.

My gaze lowered as I neared. “Cookies for breakfast?” Mine was salad plate-sized and covered in so much frosting, sprinkles, and edible glitter that it was hard to distinguish its original shape. Possibly a gingerbread person? “Did you make these?”

He scoffed. “Give me some credit. You’ve tried my amazing meatloaf. Gregg, next door, his grandkids made them for me.”

“Cute,” I replied, dropping down on the couch and covering up my bare legs with the throw blanket I’d fallen asleep with the night before. It was chillier in the window-filled living room than it had been in the bedroom. The urban lake, I noticed, was resplendent in the daylight, ringed with high-rises that dwarfed the towering evergreens along the shore. Wyatt’s houseboat faced west, so I could see the Space Needle in the city skyline across the lake.

I smiled into my coffee. It was beyond crazy that I had ended up here.

Wyatt joined me on the couch, a smirk growing on his lips. “Ladies first, little Olive,” he said, placing the final gift on his pile and grabbing his own coffee. His crossed knee was bouncing as if he was physically vibrating in anticipation. I’d totally called it: Christmas was Wyatt’s jam .

“Give me a sec.” I had to contribute something . I snatched my phone off the table, ignored the dozens of messages waiting, and queued up some poppy Christmas music. “There. Now it’s perfect.”

“Yeah, it is.” His hand clutched the mug tighter as a flicker of concern swept across his face.

My heart twinged again as I slid a nail through the silver wrapping paper on the first box. Sometimes, it seemed like Wyatt’s thoughts slipped out without him meaning them to. Like the holy fuck moment last night. I would never forget his face when I first walked in.

I pulled the cardboard box out of the paper and flipped it over. After a moment, I burst out laughing. Wyatt had given me a matching set of snowflake pajama pants.

I flicked my gaze up. His wide grin nearly did me in. “Those better not be what I think they are,” I said, gesturing to the other box.

“Oh, they are.”

Matching slippers. I knew it. Now we really would be old together.

I kept that thought to myself.

I did not, however, keep my hands to myself as I launched across the couch to give him a hug. My heart felt light, hopeful, all the coziness and kindness filling me up in places I hadn’t realized were empty.

But I wasn’t prepared for how perfectly I’d fit against his body. How I’d simply melt into him. His free arm wrapped around my back and held me close—then closer. There was no space between us as I nestled against his chest.

My hair caught on his beard as his cheek moved against the top of my head. My lips were so close—too close—to his neck, my face pressed into that crook where neck meets shoulder. A spot reserved for lovers. I could lick the stubble there if I wanted.

“Thank you, old man,” I whispered.

“You’re so welcome, boss.”

I closed my eyes against the sensation of his rough voice rumbling under me.

I needed to pull away. I needed to remember that this man and this place were temporary. But Wyatt was so warm. So solid. And he smelled so good . Luckily, his nearby phone made the decision for me, chirping loudly and driving us apart.

“That’ll be my dad and Anita,” he said as we retreated to our respective corners of the couch. His cheeks weren’t pink this time, but I noticed that his body had oriented toward mine.

He ignored the ringing phone as he stared at me.

“I’m glad you’re here, Olive,” he said finally.

No nicknames. Just me.

A smile flickered on my lips. “Me, too.” As badly as I’d needed time with my bestie, as strange as it was to spend Christmas away from my family, some part of me acknowledged that there was nowhere I’d rather be.

I stood, breaking the spell he’d woven. “I’ll let you get that while I go change.”

I would absolutely be wearing my new pants for the remainder of my time at his house, however long that would be. Needed to figure that out today.

But Wyatt still didn’t move to answer his phone as I left. Instead, I felt his gaze on me all the way out of the room.