Stuck With My Christmas Crush (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Charlie

I watch Mr Gorgeous Single Dad drive away and I can’t quite believe I turned down his offer. I thump the steering wheel and slap my own stupid face. Why didn’t I just go with him? It would have been so easy to say, “Yes, please. I would love to wait at your place for the breakdown service, and not all alone at the stupid side of the road.” But I am too proud to admit that I need help. And to put myself in another more awkward situation where I am close to a man who is absolutely gorgeous and absolutely out of bounds.

I’d rather stay in my stupid broken chilly car than get in his late-model Chevy with functioning heating and go back to his happy home and meet his equally gorgeous wife and perfect family in their big old fancy house in a manicured park up their private driveway. No thank you.

“I’m fine. Really,” I say bravely knowing that the breakdown guys are delayed because of an accident on the main highway. They called to tell me.

The hot guy gets into his truck and, thankfully, drives away before I cave in and change my mind.

Oh, man. I peer out of the windshield at the ominous heavy grey sky. It’s going to be dark soon. However, the day has never properly woken up, like a lazy person who stays in their pajamas from breakfast until bedtime.

And I am seriously running out of patience. I’ve been waiting for hours for Roadside Recovery and I’m still here. I feel like a prize chump.

Lou calls back. She says that she’ll come get me, but I tell her no; that someone will be with me soon; that according to Roadside Recovery and Insurance, I am a priority customer.

“I’ll be fine,” I say looking out of the window at the scudding clouds overhead. “I’m watching the birds, and you’ll never guess what…” I was going to mention the hot dad from Isabel’s party but think better of it because she would want to know every last detail about him and that would surely use up what’s left of my battery. “… I’ve just seen a fox!”

“Yay! Wildlife.”

“Yes.” I sigh. “I am making the best of the situation. Finding the positive. Smiling in the face of defeat. The world is still a beautiful place, my friend.”

“You got this, Charlie.”

“Yes, I have, Lou. Look, I’ll see you soon. Muah!” And with that, I hang up the call.

I’m bright and breezy when I say goodbye, cutting the call short because my phone battery dropped below ten percent. As I hang up, I think, if I’m so prioritized with Roadside Recovery, then how come I am still here at the side of the road? But talking with my friend has elevated my flagging spirits and shone a spotlight on a situation that really isn’t that bad. I take a moment to breathe and focus on what I’m learning from this experience.

I am a firm believer of Fake it til you make it philosophy and the physiological fact that you can change your mood and frame of mind by smiling: pretending that you’re happy until you actually are. It’s simple but it works .

I’m grinning like a Cheshire cat as a soft misty rain begins to fog up Bertie’s windows. Thinking happy thoughts, I hear the soft misty rain increase in intensity and gently drum on the roof.

My phone rings. I pick up instantly.

“Mr Charlie Lennox?”

“It’s Miss, actually.”

“Hi. Miss. This is Roadside Recovery. I’m sorry to have to inform you that we can’t get a recovery vehicle out to you tonight due to road closure in the area. All our recovery vehicles are deployed at this present time. We’re doing our utmost in these circumstances…”

“What? Can’t get to me tonight? That is unacceptable. What the…”

“Sorry ma’am. I know this is inconvenient. The best we can do is tomorrow morning.”

“No. No. No, no, no. I’m in the middle of nowhere.”

“Is there someone you can call?”

“Yes.” I close my eyes. “Yes, thank you… I’ll do that.”

“Please stay on the line and rate our customer service. Your feedback is imp…”

My phone dies before the end of the sentence.

The drumming rain gets heavier and louder. I’ll wait until it stops. Then I’ll… What? My options have dwindled to one .

I pack as much as I can into my bag and locate my umbrella, which thankfully, is where I thought it might be, stashed under the seat. The rain has not eased up but is getting heavier and turning to sleet, which attacks me on an aggressive diagonal when the car door is whipped open by a sharp gust of wind, as I clamber out. I fumble with the umbrella, which doesn’t want to cooperate, and I pull my faux fur jacket tight around me wishing it was a more practical piece of wet weather gear. My sparkly ballet pumps leak instantly and bone-aching cold sets in.

I lock up the broken car and stomp off up the road to find the turning to the hot guy’s house. Determined not to let things get me down, I put on my happy face and look on the bright side, as I slosh through freezing puddles. At least, when I get to the hotel, I can charge up my phone and call Lou to come and get me. This really is my only option now.

By the time I arrive at the wrought-iron gate, my dress is soaked through, and my faux fur jacket is acting like a sponge. I wrestle with my umbrella which has blown inside out a couple of times in the ever-increasing biting wind. I can’t feel my feet anymore.

The double gate is chained together, which isn’t very welcoming for guests arriving at the hotel. I search the ivy-covered walls on either side for a button to press, but there isn’t one. I grab the gate with both hands and shake it vigorously. I call out, but my voice is whisked away by the wind and drowned by rain. The roof of a small house or a shed is behind a dense bush close by. I call out again, louder this time, and a massive dog comes hurtling around the corner and jumps up at the gate in front of me growling and barking fiercely. I’m so shocked I scream and drop my umbrella which instantly blows away.

“Rocko. Down boy,” a man says as my phone drops out of my pocket and splashes into a puddle when I bend down and scrabble around trying to retrieve the inside-out umbrella. “Don’t be scared. He’s a big softy. Aren’t you, boy.”

I drag my hair off my face and blink the rain out of my eyes to see Mr Gorgeous Dad lifting the weighty chain and pulling it through to open one of the gates.

“Come on in,” he shouts through the deluge.

Rocko stands to attention to let me pass. The hot guy closes the gate behind us and repositions the chain but doesn’t lock it. I follow him around a corner to a teeny tiny house that wouldn’t look out of place in a Disney movie about princesses and evil stepmothers. Mr Gorgeous Dad takes off his raincoat under the porch and gives it a shake. Then ushers me in, shuts the door behind me, and hangs his coat on a peg in the hall. Inside is warm, dry, and relatively quiet after being out in the rain which still insistently hits the roof and windows.

“Hey, thanks so much. The recovery guys can’t come for me until tomorrow,” I say with teeth chattering. “Can you believe it? I’m not going to be awarding many stars on their customer service feedback form, that’s for sure.”

“Is this what you have for your emergency kit? A fake fur and an umbrella?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, if you’re driving any distance, it’s a good idea to be prepared for all kinds of emergency.”

“Thanks. Well, I did have roadside emergency cover, but that has clearly let me down.” I follow the hot guy into a tiny living room which is warm and cozy, so I forgive him for lecturing me. “So, if I can please charge up my phone I’ll call my friend, and she can come and get me. She’s only an hour away. Maybe a bit more, but…”

“Sure.” The hot guy takes my phone and wipes it on his sleeve. “But it looks a bit wet. You might need to dry it out before plugging it into the mains.”

I feel myself physically sag as he says this. My energy saps away by the second.

“You’re right.” I take the phone back and wipe it on my sodden jacket. It’s a futile act. The phone gets wetter .

“I’m Jason by the way,” says the hot guy holding out a hand for me to shake. “I’ll get you a towel. You should get out of those wet things. Hyperthermia is real and dangerous in these circumstances.”

“Oh yes. Right,” I say taking off my jacket which drips on the floor. Jason disappears through a door on the other side of the room by the fireplace.

Rocko is curled up on a wingback chair. He’s off-duty and snoozing. I take in the furnishings of the tiny space which doesn’t look as if it has been decorated for a hundred years. The wood stove is set beneath a carved wooden surround. Everything in the room is old. I feel like I’m in a museum or a living exhibit which gives a visitor an authentic taste of yesteryear. Jason comes back holding out a towel for me.

I take it gratefully and rub the towel over my head and dry my face, but suddenly I remember my fairy make-up of mostly pink glitter, which transfers to the snowy-white towel.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jason rolls his eyes then says, “I’m going to get you a hot drink. Sweet coffee.”

“No sugar thanks.” I wrap the towel around my shivering shoulders .

“Not sugar. Honey. It’ll give you an energy burst without spiking your insulin.” He begins to walk to the other door in the room but stops mid-stride. “I’ll wring this out over the kitchen sink,” he says taking my soggy faux fur with a derisive smirk. “I can’t imagine a more impractical jacket in this weather.”

As Jason turns to leave, I forgive yet another lecture and I listen as he fills the kettle.

“Well, Jason. I didn’t think I was going to be hiking in a snowstorm when I left my house this morning,” I shout after him.

“You need a decent jacket. Waterproof. Padded. Something you can sleep out in, if necessary,” Jason says as he comes back into the lounge, shaking my substandard fake fur and arranging it on the arm of Rocko’s chair beside the fire.

“Thanks,” I say looking around, trying to formulate a plan. I’m still chilled but warming up a little.

“Alright. Here’s what I think we should do,” says Jason with a serious expression, combing his fingers through his dark wavy hair - an action so captivating, it takes my mind off my horrendous predicament. “First, we should see if we can get your car started. I have jumper cables, so that might be all that’s needed. But before we go out there again, you need to put on some dry clothes. ”

“Oh, I’m fine,” I say, my voice juddering with shivers. “And I don’t have anything dry.”

“I do. What I suggest is you take a hot shower to warm up. I’ll sort out something for you to wear. Then, by that time, your phone should be dry enough to plug in and it’ll be charging while we’re getting your car sorted out. How does that sound?”

“Are you Jason Bates? Is this the Bates Hotel? I’ve seen Psycho and I know what happens to the lady in the shower.”