Page 7 of An Unexpected Christmas
Which is utterly ridiculous. I probably have a severe case ofdon’t-want-to-be-single-over-the-holiday-itis. It happens all the time with my colleagues; they dive into whirlwind romances between Thanksgiving and New Year, all sugar highs and mistletoe kisses, only for it to fizzle out once the decorations come down.
I won’t be that person. I don’t need it.
But when his gaze lingers a beat too long, when the corner of his mouth almost curves as though he’s fighting himself again, the warning in my head and the answering thrum in my chest collide. Why does he have to be so handsome?
I clear my throat, forcing a smile. “Well… thank you for saving Rudolph from an early grave.”
He exhales sharply. “I can’t believe I just helped you fix the one thing that irritates me most about you.”
I step closer, sweet grin in place. “Or maybe you don’t hate them as much as you want me to believe.”
“Right,” he muses, his mouth tugging into something I can’t decipher entirely. “And now your neon landing strip isbrighter than ever.”
“Exactly. And you’ll be pleased to know I’ve already set the timer to go on while I’m away, so you can really enjoy them even when I’m not here.”
That earns me a low groan and a muttered curse as he rakes a hand through his hair. But there’s no real venom in it. “Unbelievable,” he says, stepping down off the porch. “I’ve officially become an accomplice in my own torment.”
“Don’t fight it, Sam. Just go with it.”
Frankie
A winter wonderland, except I’m stranded
Today is the day; it’s happening. I get to go home to see my family. My suitcase is full of gifts, matching pajamas for the whole family, even my tiny nephew, and I can’t wait.
When I step outside, I freeze at the sight of the snow piled high. It fell in a matter of hours. I’d been too wrapped up in packing and finishing S.B. Taylor’s audiobook again. Not my first time with it, but rereading keeps my mind busy. I hadn’t even thought to glance outside, and now I’m dumbfounded by how much the storm left behind.
“Not today. Everything is going to be fine. That’s what snowplows are for,” I mutter to myself as I wrestle my suitcase down the snow-covered porch steps, the wheels useless against the thick drifts. The biting wind cuts through my coat, but I barely notice. My mind is focused on Boston, on getting to my family, no matter what. I’ve been counting down the days for weeks, and I’m not about to let a little snowstorm ruin my plans.
As I reach the car, the suitcase handle slips from my glove, as the wind carries more flakes directly into my face, and I mutter a curse just as the wind takes my breath away.
Okay, a big snowstorm, but still, I remain hopeful.
Fumbling with the trunk of my car, just about managing to push it open, my cheeks feel as though they’re icing over.
I glance up at the crunch of boots on snow. Sam’s headed my way, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, a hat pulled low, but I can still see the deep set of his brows through it all.
“You’re not seriously driving in this, are you?” he calls, his voice barely audible over the wind.
“I don’t have a choice,” I shout back, hefting the suitcase inside. “I have to get to Boston.”
He steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks at the state of the road. “Frankie, this storm is no joke. They’re already advising people to stay off the roads. You shouldn’t be out here.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, brushing him off as I slam the trunk shut. “It’s not far to the airport, and once I’m there, I’ll be inside, warm, and waiting for my flight. No big deal.”
Sam steps into my space, stopping me from opening the door. “Itisa big deal. The roads are bad now, and they’re only going to get worse. What if you get stuck? Or slide off the road?”
I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the nervous knot forming in my stomach. Why does he care so much anyway? I thought he’d be glad to see me leave. “Look, I appreciate your concern, butI’m fine. I’m not staying here. My family’s waiting for me, and I’m not missing Christmas with them.”
“Frankie,” he says, his voice softer now but no less insistent. “It’s not worth the risk.”
I hesitate for a moment, as I think about my dad carving the turkey, Mom making all four of our favorite potatoes. I shake my head. “I’ll be fine, Sam. Really.”
He places a hand on my arm gently, but there’s something else written on his face. There’s no way he’s annoyed with me; he doesn’t have the right to be annoyed. “You’re being reckless.”
“And you’re being a buzzkill,” I snap, brushing him off and pushing him aside to climb into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut before he can argue further. God, what is his problem today? I’m more than capable of driving in the snow for a few miles. Once I’m on the plane, it’ll all be fine.
The roads are worse than I expected. My car creeps along at a snail’s pace, the tires struggling for traction as the wind howls around me. The wipers thud across the glass, smearing more than clearing. Headlights bounce off the swirling white; the world reduced to two feet of visibility. I should turn around. I should. But every mile I push forward feels like admitting Sam was right, and I can’t—won’t—give him that. I need to try.
