Snowflakes in Seattle

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

WYATT

I just want to touch her.

I’d made the wish silently, yet it had come true anyway.

After opening her gifts, Olive had nearly ended up in my lap, all soft skin and supple form. For once, my brain hadn’t conjured detailed dreamscapes. My mind had gone silent and still. I’d been present . Nowhere but on my couch with Olive Blake.

I swapped my cooling coffee for my insistent phone, hitting the green button while struggling to tear my eyes away from the empty doorway she’d disappeared through.

A chorus of “Merry Christmas!” came through the speaker. I smiled at the image of my dad and Anita both trying to crowd into the frame, like my stepmom wouldn’t win out.

“Merry Christmas, fam,” I chuckled.

“Did you open your gifts yet? How’s Olive?”

I willed my cheeks to stay their baseline color and kept my expression neutral. No one needed to know how beguiling I found my houseguest. “As sweet as I remember, and no, I haven’t. I waited like you asked.”

“Good. Open the ones from your father first. The plaid paper.”

Propping my phone up against the stack of coffee table books, I began working my way through the pile of gifts. A really nice Dutch oven set from my dad, who loved to cook as much as I did. Dressy shirts and a new coffee table book about the history of Lake Union from Anita. A bougie coffee subscription and a gaming controller holder from my mom. A gift card to my favorite outdoor supplier from all three of them, which was awesome since I was considering a new paddleboard.

“Thank you. Seriously, every year you guys spoil me.”

“You work hard all year for us, son. I’m sure you’ll keep making us proud,” my dad replied.

His words were innocent, complimentary, but misgivings stirred in my stomach. “Making us proud” was likely code for keeping Vertex on its upward trajectory after he retired, whether I wanted that responsibility or not.

A shuffle in the doorway to the kitchen diverted my attention. Instinctively, my gaze shifted toward the sound. To her.

My lips lifted in a smile. Goddamn, Olive looked good in those snowflake pants.

She hovered, clearly not wanting to interrupt.

“Is that Olive?” I heard Anita say.

“Mm-hm.”

“We want to say hi,” Anita admonished.

I picked up my phone and flipped the camera around so they could see her.

“There she is,” I replied.

“Hi, sweetie!” Anita gushed.

Striding forward, Olive joined me on the couch. “Hey, guys. Happy holidays. Thanks so much for helping me find a place to stay.”

I kept the camera on her.

“Wyatt was happy to help,” Anita answered. “We’re so sorry you’re missing your vacation, though.”

“Any word on flights?” my dad added.

Olive tucked her long hair behind her ears. “Yeah, actually. I just got a flight out for the 29th. Some beach time is better than none at all, right?”

My stomach jumped. Four more days with Olive was the best Christmas gift yet. I wanted to know more about her diversity program. More about her.

“I’m going to look for a hotel so Wyatt doesn’t have to keep sleeping on the couch in his own house,” she continued.

The hell she would. But we’d argue about that off camera.

“Are you and Wyatt wearing the same pajamas? How cute ,” I heard Anita say. “And don’t worry about putting him out. I don’t think falling asleep in his gaming chair is all that rare of an occurrence. Save your money, honey.”

Just this once, I didn’t mind Anita’s meddling. I happened to agree wholeheartedly. But if I didn’t end this call soon, she’d dig further into the matching pajamas.

I flipped the camera back to me. “All right, guys. I’m going to spend some time with my guest. Thank you again for the amazing gifts. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Sure. Merry Christmas, son. Merry Christmas, Olive,” my dad said, overlapping Anita’s gushing goodbyes.

I hung up and dropped my phone back onto the table, ignoring the text that came through almost immediately from Sherlock Anita.

“So, I’m stuck with you, huh?” I teased, getting a better look at Olive, tucked into my couch, legs crossed beneath her.

She shook her head. “I’m serious about a hotel. Something will probably open up in the next day or so.”

I flicked my thumbs together, wondering how to ask her to stay without sounding desperate or creepy. “Do you want to go?”

She blinked a few times, but held my gaze. “Not really, no. I’m comfortable here. But I feel guilty.”

The rush of relief nearly crushed me. “Don’t. Please. I don’t want you to go, either.” I rose and started picking up the Christmas mess, snagging a giant bite of cookie as I went. I saved all the fancy ribbons, like I did every year. One of these days, I’d learn to use them on gifts. “And you’re gonna be glad you stayed once you see what’s in the fridge.”

A curious smile lit her features. Without a word, she leapt up and loped to the kitchen. A laugh rumbled from my chest at her happy shriek a few seconds later. “Wyatt! You didn’t have to.”

She appeared in the doorway again, a bottle of cold-pressed juice in her hand. I’d bought every flavor, since I didn’t know what she liked. “There’s little bows on them,” she said, hand on her chest.

I smiled in answer and continued cleaning, hoping she didn’t see how her happiness made me just as elated. It wasn’t her , I told myself. I just liked doing nice things for others. “Liar,” I whispered to myself.

She twisted open her juice. The green one, I noted. The grossest-looking. “So, what are we doing today?”

I turned to face her. Christ, she was stunning. Her silky hair and soulful eyes would be my undoing. “What do you feel like?”

“Oh, no. I’m not getting in your way. What would you be doing if I wasn’t here?” she pressed.

“Massacring an undead army?”

She almost spit out her mouthful of juice.

“Only until the lighted boat parade tonight,” I rushed to say. “I have an epic view from my roof deck.” I pointed to the ceiling.

Her mouth—those perfect pink lips—popped open. “Really? A lighted boat parade? That sounds super fun.”

“Yup. I’ve got chairs, blankets, whiskey. I usually have a fire. It’s one of my favorite traditions.”

She made a happy squealing noise. “Can I hang out with you until then? Read, or watch you play video games?”

I just stared. The women I brought home rolled their eyes at my preferred pastime. Even my friends ran the other way when I broke out the controllers. No one had ever nerded out with me. “You want to watch me play?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “Or maybe you can teach me.”

A moan escaped my mouth. “Don’t tease me, little Olive. That’s dream girl stuff right there. I might not let you go.”

Smirking, she settled herself back on my couch. “We’ll see about that, old man.”