XOXO: A Bundle of Cozy Novellas

Edmund

EDMUND

“So, do you want to build a snowman?”

There was a forced teasing tone to Owen’s voice that Edmund was going to go along with. Anything to get him to relax again. Waking up to realize he and Owen had fallen asleep together, but not together-together, on the couch in front of the fire had filled Edmund with a mixture of exhilaration and anxiety. Owen felt so good pressed into Edmund’s side, relaxed and lost in sleep; Edmund had nearly put a kink in his neck watching him until he stirred awake.

Owen was beautiful, that much was true. Edmund had caught that pillock Andy Dunn staring hungrily at Owen more than once, and he wasn’t the only one. But Owen was so much more than his looks—which was a foolish thought, because all humanity was more than their looks, but Edmund suspected most didn’t really see Owen for the smart and caring man he was. They saw his handsome, almost elegant features and didn’t look any further.

He glanced over at the clock on the kitchen stove. “It’s still early. We can have some breakfast, then we can maybe try and get to the store. I might have cell service there, or maybe they sell charger cables.” He’d had service there last night, so it should be the same today, right?

Owen looked at him, nodding. “Okay, I like plans. I’ll check the porch while the coffee brews and see if there’s a snow shovel. There might be a private snowplow service for the area, but getting to the road could be a problem.”

Edmund watched Owen pull on his boots and coat and wrap his scarf around his neck. He grinned at Edmund and saluted, saying, “I’ll be back!” before opening the front door and disappearing outside.

Once Owen was gone, Edmund released the tension he’d unconsciously been holding since he’d recklessly touched Owen’s cheek. He hadn’t been able to stop himself. Owen had been so distressed, and all Edmund wanted to do was make it better—that’s all he ever wanted to do, make things better.

Jude wouldn’t fire Owen for being stranded in the snow with the highway closed in both directions, but they did need to call and let people know where they were. Before putting the cinnamon rolls in the oven, Edmund looked around the cabin for a landline but didn’t find one. Nothing in either bedroom, either—but Owen was right, the upstairs bedroom was romantic and magical.

He hoped Owen was able to clear the drive; he hoped they were forced to stay at the cabin for days getting to know each other. If Chance knew what Edmund was daydreaming about, he would take the piss out of him. Not that Chance wasn’t supportive of Edmund—he was Edmund’s best mate—but he’d take him aside and give him a little talk about expectations. Chance had consoled Edmund over a broken heart more than once. More than twice, even.

The cinnamon rolls were warm and waiting on the counter when Owen opened the front door again. Chilly air followed him inside as he stomped the snow off his boots onto the mat before pulling them off along with his coat.

“These things are not snow boots; I have snow past my ankles! But, wow, it’s beautiful outside. I managed to shovel a path to the carport. After coffee I’ll work on the driveway, and I was right, a snowplow was clearing the road. I talked to the driver, and he says the pass is still closed and the other pass is backed up for miles. Apparently he’s the same guy who owns the little store. They’re open today, but he doesn’t expect any deliveries until the trees are cleared.”

His cheeks were pink from the cold. Edmund remembered how Owen’s cheek had felt beneath his touch, both soft and prickly where his beard was growing in. How Owen had visibly calmed under the single stroke of his finger, how his amber eyes had gone from stormy to quiet. Now Edmund knew what Owen’s skin felt like, and he couldn’t put it out of his mind. He wanted to touch him again; he wanted—well, he couldn’t think about that, could he? Thankfully he was standing on the other side of the kitchen island, so Owen couldn’t see his body’s response. It was embarrassing to have his libido acting as if he were fourteen.

“Have a cinnamon bun, then we can venture out,” he replied, his voice just a tiny bit growly.

“Okay. Hey, I found a couple pairs of snowshoes out there. They should fit us. Believe me, it will make it easier and more fun to get to the store and back than by car. Or I could go by myself.”

Edmund had doubts about his ability to snowshoe or do anything athletic, but he didn’t want Owen venturing out in the wilderness on his own. And, at this point, Owen could ask him to hike to the moon and he’d have a hard time saying no.

“I’m going to die.”

“You are not going to die.”

“I’m sweating like a… a wildebeest. My legs are on fire.”

Owen laughed; the sound echoed out into the white silence.

“A wildebeest?” Owen wheezed out, “You’re not going to die. I’m sweating too! It’s normal. Just try to stay on the same path I’m in. My legs are burning. It’s been a long time—too long—since I snowshoed.”

They were headed to the tiny grocery store, making their way along the road from the cabin, which had been minimally plowed—but apparently when you snowshoed you were supposed to walk in the unplowed snow. Go figure. They had to lift their legs high up over the snow and then back down again, and also walk with a little wider stride. Edmund admitted to himself the shoes made a difference—his feet didn’t sink deep into the snow—but it was still hard work, and there was no doubt his legs were going to ache tomorrow. But when he’d seen how deep it was, he hadn’t wanted Owen to dig a path big enough for the car; that would take ages, and it was almost noon as it was.

The area was stunningly beautiful, and the snow had stopped falling—for now, anyway—leaving the world blanketed in white. Edmund had found a pair of sunglasses in his car that took care of the worst of the glare, and if they carried them at the store, he was buying a pair for Owen. Their surroundings looked like something out of an old-timey Christmas card: glittering, pristine, and perfect. Birds, he couldn’t name them, fluttered here and there snacking from feeders left out by homeowners. The most incredible thing, to a Londoner like himself, was the silence. It was absolutely quiet; the only sounds were the birds fluttering and calling to each other and the crunch of the snow as he and Owen hiked across it.

“What is it like here in the summer?” Edmund asked.

“Not as quiet as this,” Owen acknowledged, the cold air misting from his words, “but still peaceful, away from the crowds. Too far from Leavenworth to tempt the Oktoberfest throngs. Lake Wenatchee is two or three miles that way.” Owen pulled his hand out of his coat pocket and pointed into the distance, Edmund had no idea what direction. “Okay, just a little farther now. We’re almost there.”

Edmund, who’d turned to look where Owen was pointing—as if he could see the lake from where they stood—turned back around, misjudged his next step, and was swallowed by a snowdrift. He flailed about and his sunglasses fell off, leaving him momentarily blinded.

“Bloody fucking hell.” He’d landed on his back and was now stuck, helpless like some sort of shabby beetle—a very poor evolutionary design, in his opinion.

“Can you… Let me help you.” Owen’s face appeared in Edmund’s line of sight; it was obvious he was trying not to laugh.

“Go ahead, git, laugh, get it out of your system.”

Owen leaned down, offering Edmund a hand up. Some devilish imp suddenly possessed Edmund. Instead of letting Owen pull him up so he could stand or, more likely, crawl out of the snow, he used his greater weight to tug Owen into the snowbank. He landed on top of Edmund with a whump and a grunt.

“Did you just call me a git and pull me into this mess?” Luckily Owen was grinning as he pushed himself off Edmund.

“You were laughing!”

“I was. I’m sorry, it’s just, just that your feet were sticking up like?—”

“Like a beetle’s?”

“Maybe?”

Owen twisted around on top of Edmund’s body as he tried to find purchase and pull himself out. His cold cheek brushed against Edmund’s, then his face was right there too, close enough Edmund could see the striations of color in his eyes. They weren’t merely amber; there were green and brown accents in his irises, all surrounded by a darker ring. He felt himself flush again. Well, it was good to know his circulatory system worked just fine—at least he could blame his high color on the exercise.

Nimbly Owen climbed out of the snowbank, his knit cap askew and the red scarf around his neck slightly unwound. For a moment he just stood looking at Edmund, his hands on his hips, a grin on his face and smiling eyes.

“Do you want a do-over?” Owen asked. “Are you going to behave this time?”

The Mercantile was still open when they arrived, although it looked like a lot of people had been in shopping and there would be no deliveries that day. Edmund was a sweaty mess underneath his clothing. He loosened his scarf and unzipped his parka. Owen waved at the man behind the counter, and Edmund thought he must’ve been who Owen talked to that morning. Unzipping his coat all the way, he found his cell phone in an inner pocket, powered it on, and was happy to discover there was cell service.

First, he called Chance—luckily, he was able to leave a message for his overprotective best friend. Second, he called Jude, explaining he and Owen were trapped for at least another day. Jude was remarkably understanding, saying he’d heard about the trees falling and was glad they were both safe.

“Tell Owen not to worry, these things happen. We’ll check in Monday.”

“Thanks, Jude, he’s been quite concerned about his job.”

Jude sighed. “It’s been a difficult few months. I should’ve been more observant. Thank you, Edmund, for letting me know.”

“No worries, mate.”

While he talked, Edmund watched Owen move around the store. He’d grabbed a metal basket and slung it over his arm while he shopped. When he disconnected from Jude, Edmund emailed the owner of the cabin asking for one more night and thankfully got an almost immediate answer of yes.

Finally, he joined Owen in the produce section. On his way across the store he passed a display of inexpensive sunglasses and picked out a pair for Owen. The store sold all sorts of things besides groceries and wine. T-shirts, sweatshirts, postcards, souvenirs, mugs, pretty much everything a weekender could need or want.

“What did Jude say? I really should’ve called him myself.”

“He was fine, glad we’re both safe. You’ve nothing to worry about,” Edmund reassured Owen again.

Owen sighed. “I know I can’t do anything about being stuck here—should I feel guilty I’m having a good time being stranded with you?”

Owen’s words sank deep into Edmund’s heart. He wanted them to mean more than they did.

“I’m having fun too, except for nearly being buried and left for dead in the snow.”

“You weren’t buried , you were hardly covered. Are you a secret drama queen?”

Edmund widened his eyes. “Did you just imply I’m a drama queen?”

“I didn’t imply, I simply asked a question,” Owen replied, chuckling. “And it was answered, I believe.”

Before they left, Owen used Edmund’s phone to call the hospital. Unfortunately, one of the things the store was out of was the proper cable for Owen’s phone. He would have to wait until they returned to Skagit.

“It was a different nurse today,” he reported with a smile. “She said Pearl’s resting and behaving. She’s less dehydrated, and they’re probably going to let her go home tomorrow.”

“That’s great to hear.”

The walk, hike, whatever, back to the cabin was a little easier. Edmund’s legs had stopped burning, although he figured he’d just lost all feeling in them. As they approached the cabin with their groceries, Owen gasped, “Ooh, I forgot about the hot tub. I’m turning the temperature up on that baby. There’s nothing like getting in a hot tub after being out in the cold.”

His legs wanted the hot tub; his fragile ego did not want Owen to see him even partially naked. Besides, he hadn’t brought anything to wear in the Jacuzzi.

“We don’t need suits, after all, it’s just the two of us.” As if Owen was reading his mind.

Edmund didn’t answer. They drew closer to the front patio and the hot tub . His brain filled with things he couldn’t be thinking about. Like Owen. Naked. Or even just mostly naked. Naked. Naked. Naked.

He cleared his throat, not knowing what he was going to say. Owen beat him to it.

“With enough wine, we won’t care if the neighbors come and join us. Not that we have any right now—but if we did have them, we wouldn’t care. I swear you won’t regret it, and your legs will feel a million times better.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you’re turning on the Jacuzzi so it can warm up, and I’m opening the wine?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Owen replied. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

Edmund entered the combination for the door. Once inside, after taking off their various layers and damp boots, the two of them quickly put away the groceries and other things they’d bought: two more bottles of wine (it wouldn’t do to run out), a thick hooded sweatshirt with Plain Mercantile emblazoned across the front, hot cocoa mix—Edmund had this idea that cocoa would be romantic, but maybe he just had a sweet tooth. Owen had shaken his head when he unloaded everything at the checkout but hadn’t protested Edmund’s purchases, and he’d worn the sunglasses on the way back.

“Right then, go turn on that tub, I’ll see what I can do about getting the fire going.”

Owen went back outside to fiddle with the hot tub, and Edmund asked himself what the hell he thought he was doing. Then he ignored himself and moved over to the fireplace to see what he could do about heating the place up… just a little.

Edmund stood in the freezing cold outside and debated if he should wear his undershirt into the hot tub. If forced to describe himself, he would’ve said he looked like a polar bear. As in fat, hairy, and pasty white. But if he wore the undershirt it would be wet, and then he would… well, there was a washer and dryer, but?—

“Quit thinking and get in the damn hot tub. It feels incredible.”

Taking a deep breath like he was about to rip off a plaster, Edmund pulled the undershirt off over his head, leaving it in a heap off to the side, then stepped down into the bubbling water.

As soon as the hot water caressed his skin, Edmund forgot all about his inhibitions.

“Sainted mother of Jesus, why didn’t you tell me it would feel this good?”

“I did tell you,” Owen replied.

“Right.”

Edmund found one of the benches in the tub and made himself comfortable. He sank further down so the water came up over his chest, shutting his eyes and groaning with pleasure as he stretched out and his sore muscles began to relax in the hot water. When he opened his eyes, Owen was watching him with an expression on his face Edmund wasn’t sure of.

“Wine?” Owen asked.

Edmund nodded, and Owen handed him a plastic wine goblet filled to the top. He took a big sip, letting it sit on his tongue before he swallowed. A hawk or other hunting bird screeched overhead.

“Tell me more about yourself,” Edmund asked over the hissing of the hot tub. He was enjoying the sensation of his shoulders and head being cold while the rest of him was pleasantly warm. As he moved on the bench to stretch out his legs, he accidentally bumped against Owen’s foot under the water. The steam rising off the warm water gave everything a soft edge, and, Edmund noted, the sun was just starting to go down.

“You’re the interesting one, world traveler, et cetera.”

“I was known as the most boring man in England. Still am, actually.”

Owen laughed. Edmund wanted him to do it again and again.

“No, really,” he protested, “when anything interesting happens, I am usually as far away from it as physically possible. Chance met Dave Matthews once, just walking down the street in Kensington. Where was I? Home sick with the flu. Surprise Madonna concert? I had exams.”

He made Owen laugh again: success.

“If you could go anywhere right now, where would it be?” Edmund asked.

“Right now? Nowhere. I’m having a ridiculously good time, especially now that I know Pearl is okay and I’m not going to be fired the minute I walk in the door of Canopus Monday. But if I wasn’t here… I’ve always dreamed of going to France. I can’t speak a lick of French, but…” He shrugged.

“I speak passing French,” Edmund offered.

Owen’s eyes widened. “Of course you do. What don’t you do? I tell you, growing up in a small town didn’t do me any favors. The only foreign language I speak is pig latin. I’m sooo jealous. So, um, when you moved here you didn’t leave anyone behind in London? A boyfriend, anyone special?”

Was Owen fishing for information? Edmund barked out a laugh. “Boyfriend? I’m lucky I have friends, and it’s only one friend at that. I’m not trying to sound pathetic, but I just don’t have a huge circle of people—and certainly not a boyfriend hiding in the woodwork.”

“I don’t have one either. A boyfriend, I mean. Well, I have a fake boyfriend now: you, because you told Aunt Pearl we were dating.”