Page 93 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
“I need to put more clothes on,” Ethan grumbled, sounding more than a little bitter about it. “But thenyou’llput more clothes on, and I don’t like that. But”—he pushed up and looked down at her—“I like you cold and shivering even less. So...”
They scrambled into their layers and then he padded toward the fireplace. “Hey. At least someone left some wood.” He pointed to the stack in the corner.
The cabin clearly wasn’t used very often, but it wasn’t totally abandoned, either, and Maggie busiedherself, opening cabinets and trying not to think about the last few hours. Or the last few days. Or the last few years. Maybe it would be better not to think about anything ever again?
“Hand me that old newspaper, will you?” Ethan squatted in front of the fireplace, and Maggie passed the paper, then watched him rip off the back page and light it with a match before nestling it into the wood.
Thirty seconds later, a small flame flickered and caught. And grew. And Maggie watched the glow take away the shadows. She felt the first little tendrils of heat taking away the chill. And she heard Ethan’s words again:It’s the part where I say that you should trust yourself. It was the first time anyone had ever tried to take away her doubts.
“Hey.” The voice was soft and gentle. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head likenothing. But what she thought wasthank you. What she said was “Whoever stocked this place didn’t leave any snacks.”
Then Ethan pulled something from his coat pocket. “You mean like this?” Maggie didn’t recognize that brand of chocolate but she didn’t exactly care when Ethan said, “Come here.”
And that’s how she found herself nestled in front of the fire in her archnemesis’s arms on Christmas Eve, eating mystery chocolate and wondering exactly how her life had come to this and exactly why it felt like she might like it.
“Let me look at you.” He tilted her head toward the orange glow of the flames and used the cuff of his shirt to wipe away a spot of blood.
“I’m okay,” she reminded him.
But he only growled and kissed her again, and she looked down at the ground because looking at him was dangerous and she’d almost died enough already.
The newspaper was right there, something from the village—a headline about Christmas Eve service and the coming storm, but Maggie couldn’t stop staring at the date: December twenty-second. Just two days before.
Two days.
Two days since they’d arrived. Two days since she’d met Eleanor. Two days since the man behindher had been her enemy. And then her friend. And now more. At least it felt like more? All in the matter of two days.
Maggie shouldn’t have been surprised. Her whole life had changed in two seconds once. Two days could alter the universe.
“What?” He pulled the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around them both, making a cocoon that smelled like dust and snow and Ethan.
“I was thinking... this is only our third night here. It feels like a lifetime.”
He made a noise, then interlaced their fingers. “Next year, let’s go someplace warm for Christmas.”
He said it like that was something people do—make plans a year in advance and keep them. They look forward to things and dates and dreams. They live life as if they’re never going to stumble through a door one day and leave their whole world on the other side. He said it like he didn’t know that plans are like hearts: they get broken.
His lips brushed against her temple and stayed there as he asked, “Did I just freak you out?” And Maggie tried not to cry. Or laugh. Or run out into the blizzard.
“Me? No. I’m not freaking out. I’m totally—”Freaking out.
“Hey—” The arms squeezed tighter. Like even Ethan was summoning his courage. Like it was the bravest thing he’d ever done. “I know the world hasn’t given you a lot of reasons to believe this, but just so you know, if you were mine, I’d never make you park the car because my shoes are suede. If you were mine, I’d carry you through the storm. If you were mine, I’d fight the sky.”
The wind still howled and the snow still fell, but Maggie couldn’t even hear it over the roar of her own heart. She was supposed to say something. It was definitely her turn to say something! But the words got stuck, so she wrapped her arms around him. And her legs. And she squeezed tighter too.
“Ethan, I...” She couldn’t get the words out, so she pressed her lips to his instead, and when shepulled back, her cheeks were wet and his hands were in her hair and—
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’ll get there. I had a head start.”
“Since when?” She felt herself blushing, suddenly obsessed with the loose thread on one of Ethan’s buttons. “Since Tucson?”
His hands stilled. It was like he had to summon his courage to say, “Since the elevator.”
But that didn’t make any sense. They’d never even been in an elevator except—
“The one where we got stuck?”
