The Omega’s Beary Special Christmas (A Bear Under The Christmas Tree)

1. Ferris

ONE

FERRIS

“Phone. Check.”

“Wallet. Check.”

“Winter gear. Check. Check.”

“A thousand times check. Enough with the checking.” My friend and business partner, Charlie, was tired of my repeated counting. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

We lived beside and worked at the beach, and no matter the time of year, the balmy air was warm enough for me to take a dip in the sea or walk around my apartment shirtless.

But I was doing a house swap for the holidays and going to a location that was far removed from my condo overlooking the ocean. Instead, I was heading to the deepest, darkest winter.

Maybe that was a tad over exaggerated, but there’d be snow to shovel, chimney fires to avoid, a furnace that fingers crossed wouldn’t break down, and a whole heap of winter clothes that I’d borrowed from Charlie. He’d worn them once after going with his folks on a skiing holiday and vowed he never wanted to see snow again.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” I shrugged.

I’d wanted to experience something different.

Charlie and I were business partners, we lived near one another, and my friends were his friends. Growing up, I’d spent more time at his house than at my own, and we’d both moved from our small hometown to our present location together.

My lifestyle was the envy of many people, and yes, I never took that for granted. Going for an early morning swim, shower, and coffee in my favorite café, I headed to work which involved admin and serving customers but mostly teaching people to surf.

And both of us were so fortunate to live right beside the ocean. We could never have afforded our apartments now, but this area hadn’t been “discovered” when we each got our mortgages.

It was too late to back out of my wintery vacation ‘cause the guy I was swapping with, Hugo, was staying in my apartment for the ten days I was at his place. Charlie was his contact if something went wrong. But unlike a house buried in snow, an apartment overlooking the water was easy to look after.

Unless there was a hurricane. Or a tsunami. Yeah, both those weather events were bad. But how often did we get a hurricane at Christmas? Severe storms? Nah, not going to happen in the ten days I was gone. Actually, more like twelve.

Hugo would show me around his place before he flew here, and Charlie would let him in. There wasn’t much to know about a beachside condo, whereas a cottage at the edge of town, close to the woods, surrounded by snow…

“Sounds like a fairy tale, and you know what happens in the woods.” Charlie was still trying to talk me out of going and instead going up the coast surfing with a group of friends for a few days.

We took turns taking Christmas and summer vacations, but this year, we’d hired a new surf instructor so Charlie could take a few days off during the holiday period.

“Can’t back out. And besides, technically, Hugo’s house is in town. It’s on the outskirts, but he has neighbors on either side.”

“Bears, probably. They’ll sneak into your house and eat your porridge.”

I grabbed him and swung him around so he was staring into my eyes. “You need to reread your fairy tales. The bears were the good guys. It was Goldilocks who trespassed and stole their food.”

“Fine.” He huffed. “But if there are three chairs, one too big, one too soft, and one just right, get out of there fast.”

I held up my phone. “Don’t worry. I’ve got my bear app set up. Any bear comes within a hundred feet and this baby will set off a screeching alarm.”

My friend muttered he didn’t see what good that would do. “Can an app smell a bear? I doubt it, and the noise might anger the animal and they’ll attack.” He growled, and I rolled my eyes at his bear impression.

I jostled him out the door because I didn’t want to miss my flight, and I suspected some of his complaints were delaying tactics designed to do just that.

Three hours later, I peered out the plane window as the aircraft circled over the ocean, the wide strip of sandy beach, the town that hugged the coast, and toward the interior where snow lay on the ground for months.

Charlie couldn’t fathom why I was going so far away, by myself, over Christmas. But my folks and younger brother who lived on the other side of the country were on a cruise. They’d invited me, but as much as Charlie hated the cold, the thought of being trapped on a boat with hundreds, maybe thousands of people was far worse and claustrophobic. I pictured lowering a lifeboat, putting on a life vest, and setting off.

“Fair winds and following seas,” I’d yell as I was marooned in the middle of the ocean and the ship disappeared over the horizon.

I banished those thoughts from my head because I was doing something different: choosing activities, adventures, or tasks I’d never done and that challenged me physically, mentally, or emotionally. Christmas in the snow fit all three of the categories.

Hugo wasn’t able to meet me at the airport, but he’d sent a friend to pick me up.

“Ferris?” A huge bear of a man with a wide smile waved and gave me a hug. “I’m Hector.”

On the drive to Hugo’s house, Hector filled me in on all things snow of which there was a lot. Despite the car’s heating, I shivered and gulped as I looked out the window at the piles of white stuff, some of it shoveled and not so white, more grimy and icky.

“Ever built a snowman?” Hector took his eyes off the road, but my horrified expression had him staring straight ahead.

“Can’t say I have.” I did the “hit the non-existent brake” thing every time Hector swerved around a vehicle or pulled up too late so we were only a few inches from the car in front. Maybe the guy was a racing driver, but I wished he’d practice his skills on the racetrack.

“I can’t imagine going through life and not having the thrill of building a snowman or having a snowball fight.” His wicked grin didn’t inspire confidence, and I made a mental note to refuse a snowball fight with him. I could see me needing medical attention and was glad I had good insurance.

“Hugo should have finished his work call. He was sorry not to meet you.” Hector pulled off the highway and wound his way around narrow streets. When he passed a grocery store and pharmacy, I tried to remember first left, second right, third right, but lost track. My phone would direct me when I needed to stock up on food. Hugo said all the basics were in the fridge or pantry and I wouldn’t need to shop for a few days.

“This is my place.” Hector passed a white, two-story house with green shutters. Two doors down he stopped the car outside a light blue wooden house with a deck out front and a balcony on the second floor, both enclosed by white railings. The doors on the double-car garage were closed, and Hector drove into the driveway, more sedately than he had during the journey from the airport.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the house. Hugo had sent pics but none of them did the building justice, and as I got out of the car, I felt I’d stepped into a winter wonderland that shopping malls were always promising, and failing to deliver, with their Christmas decorations and Santa’s workshop.

The roof was covered in a thick layer of snow that reminded me of icing. I was tempted to clamor up the side of the house and lick it.

A red-brick chimney poked out of the roof, and the house was surrounded by tall pine trees, each with lashings of snow. If the snow on the roof looked like frosting, the stuff on the branches was similar to a light dusting of icing sugar. And on the mailbox there were what appeared to be bear ears. That was different.

The cold bit at my cheeks, but my attention was on the front door that opened and a man much taller than me stepped out. His red-and-black flannel shirt, broad chest, and muscular arms made me think of woodcutters from all the fairy tales I’d consumed as a kid. He was much more yummy than those fictional characters, though.

But I shook that image out of my head as I strode toward him along a path clear of snow. But instead of meeting me halfway, he sagged against the stair railings, and Hector murmured something as he raced toward his friend carrying my bags as if they weighed nothing.

“Not now. Not like this,” Hector muttered.

Oh gods, Hugo suffered from an illness or condition and he was having a flare-up. Poor guy. Warm sea breezes couldn’t cure him, but they might provide comfort. He had to get on that plane. I’d have to message Charlie and get him to forget the surfing getaway and stay close to home in case Hugo needed him.

But Hugo recovered and stood up, his huge frame towering over me. He smelled yummy, like freshly baked bread. I sniffed, filling my lungs with his scent.

“Sorry, I hurt my ankle a few weeks ago and it still twinges sometimes.”

He was fibbing, I was certain, because a muscle twitched in his cheek, but it was his business to keep his medical issues private.

“Warm ocean water might ease your pain.” I gripped his hand, and the poor guy jerked back as if I had one of those hand buzzer shock thingies kids used to use, or maybe they still did.

He smiled, but the guy must have been in agony because he was grinding his teeth.

“Why don’t we show Ferris around the house and the yard because you have to get on that plane.” I could have sworn there was a hidden message in Hector’s voice, almost as though he was threatening Hugo.

Hugo nodded right on cue, and we followed him into the house. I took off my boots inside the door, but as my slippers were in my suitcase, I strolled around in my socks.

“This is beautiful, so warm and cozy. I can see myself spending most of my time in this room.”

But Hugo’s pained expression suggested what? That he’d prefer I left.

I couldn’t fathom what his problem was and was glad he was leaving soon. But I would miss his jeans-clad ass. Shame he couldn’t leave that behind.