Page 132 of Snowed In
“Can you at least put it on some toast?”
“It’s Christmas Day. If I can’t eat chocolate spread for breakfast on Christmas Day, then when can I?” She taps the jar. “I feel like you’re not in the festive spirit.”
“I feel like you need to eat a bag of spinach.”
She put the spoon in her mouth instead, pouting when I add my chopped banana to my oats.
“Do we have to clean the hot tub, or can we use it again?”
“It should be okay,” I say, glancing outside. It’s sunny now, and there was only a light flurry of snow this morning, meaning we should probably try and leave if we can, but neither of us has brought up that possibility. It’s like if we don’t mention it out loud, we can both pretend nothing exists outside our little winter hideaway. Nothing but these four walls and us.
I finish making my breakfast while Megan grabs our teas, the spoon still dangling from her mouth as she follows me back to the nest we’ve made in front of the fireplace.
She settles cross-legged on the cushions, completely at ease as she eats her terrible breakfast and gazes at an old sitcom on the television. She’s semi-dressed but is wearing my sweater instead of hers, something that is several sizes too big for her and keeps slipping off her shoulder, revealing the freckles there.
I got to know her freckles intimately last night. Her freckles and her curves, and the scar just above her left knee. The tattoo on her hip. I especially liked that. A small smattering of stars that I discovered on one of my many inventories of her body. I couldn’t stop touching her. Luckily for me, she didn’t want me to.
“Stop staring at me,” she says, as we dig into our breakfasts.
“Never.”
“I’m eating.”
“I know. The way you have Nutella all over your chin?”
“Yeah?”
“Hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” I say, and she dips her spoon into the jar again. “You’re really going to finish the whole thing, aren’t you?”
“Most important meal of the day. And—” She gasps as I lean forward, closing my lips over the spoon. “A thief. That’s what you are.”
“You have to eat a banana now.”
“So we’re just making up rules now? We’re just—” She smiles against my lips as I kiss her. Kiss her again and again and again. “You’ve got really long eyelashes,” she says when I pull back.
“So, I’ve been told.”
“And you’ve got a shadow,” she adds, dragging her fingers across the stubble on my jaw before putting our food to the side. “And chocolate on your mouth,” she whispers, licking it off as she climbs onto my lap. “Would it be weird if we stayed here forever?”
“No,” I say instantly, and she laughs.
“Yes, it would.”
“People have definitely done weirder stuff.”
“I don’t think we can afford it.”
“I’m the boss.” I shrug. “I’ll say it’s being fumigated.”
She pushes me back until we’re lying against the cushions, draping herself across my chest, and yeah, I could definitely stay here forever.
Megan falls silent, but I can tell something’s on her mind, and sure enough after a few seconds, she shifts against me, her voice curious. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“Is this about that rash because I swear it’s just—”
She bats my arm, smiling. But when she speaks next, her words are soft. “Why don’t you get on with your dad?”
It takes every ounce of control within me not to tense, knowing she’d feel it if I did. “What do you mean?” I ask lightly.
