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He was turning into a real MacGyver. I handed him two plastic cups and watched as he expertly squeezed the lemons, added some water, a scoop of honey, ice, and the bourbon. Then he sealed the cups together and shook.

  “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “I bartended in college one semester.”

  Was there anything he hadn’t done? And done well? “Oh.” I handed him two glasses, and he poured.

  “Taste.”

  It smelled delicious. I took a small sip. “Wow. What’s this called?”

  “Honey bourbon lemonade. You like it?”

  “It’s delicious.”

  “Good. Is dinner ready?”

  His cocktail was amazing, and I was about to ruin it with my crappy two-dollar dinner. “Yeah. I’ll bring the plates into the dining room.”

  We sat next to each other, and I fidgeted with my fork, waiting for him to take the first bite. “If you don’t like it we could order pizza or something.”

  “It smells good.” He took a big bite and chewed. “Interesting.”

  My shoulders sagged. “You don’t have to eat it. I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “No, I like it. It’s different.”

  I was pretty sure he was lying, but I let it go, nibbling a bite of my own.

  “So how come I never knew you were a cheerleader?”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

  “Such as?”

  He didn’t have the code to my vault yet. Chances were he never would. “I don’t know.”

  “Were you involved in any other sports?”

  “Not really.”

  I only cheered for one year. After that my mom couldn’t afford to drive me to the meets or get me a new uniform.

  As if sensing how much I hated talking about my past, he changed the subject. “They’re saying we might get a foot of snow by midnight.”

  “I thought we were only supposed to get five inches.”

  “I overheard the guys at the hardware store talking. They updated the forecast. Now they’re predicting as much as two feet.”

  “Ew. Seriously?”

  He laughed. “Don’t you like snow?”

  “What’s to like about it?”

  He shrugged. “You’re a student. You might get a snow day.”

  I also might lose some appointments next week if the roads were bad. “I’d rather be in school.”

  “I’ve never met someone who didn’t like a blizzard. They’re the best kind of snowstorms because everything shuts down. You have no choice but to be lazy and enjoy it.”

  “Snow sucks. It’s messy and dirty and turns people into idiots. Everyone’s running around like it’s Black Friday and there’s a mad rush on shovels.”

  “I think you missed a major defining moment growing up.”

  “Probably.”

  He went to the kitchen and returned with another helping of noodles. Maybe he actually did like it.

  “You know what we’re going to do tonight?”

  “What?” Apparently, we weren’t just having dinner.

  “We’re gonna build a snowman.”

  “Um, no.”

  “Yup. As soon as the ground’s covered enough, we’re going to bundle up and play in the snow.”

  “I hate the snow.”

  “That’s because you’re playing in it wrong. Trust me. You’ll have fun.”

  I didn’t play in snow. It ruined my shoes. And I certainly didn’t trust him. All I could picture were wet socks and cold cheeks and freezing fingers.

  “Can’t wait.”

  24

  Avery

  After finishing the dishes, we watched a comedian do standup on Netflix. I was getting tired, but every time I shut my eyes, Noah nudged me, reminding me not to fall asleep because we had a date at midnight.

  Outside, the sky wore a gossamer mask of powder, and the glass on the windows was starting to crystallize with frost. It was a white nightmare, and he was going to make me go out there and do things in the cold.

  The show ended, and he shut off the TV. As he stood and stretched, a delicious slice of his smooth belly showed.

  “Okay, time to get bundled.”

  I groaned, totally content snuggled under a blanket on my couch. “Are you really going to make me go out there?”

  “Yes. Go put on warm clothes. I’ll meet you back here in five minutes.”

  “I don’t wanna.”

  He was already walking out the door.

  A few minutes later he was back, wearing flannel pajama pants and a thick hoodie. I also wore a hoodie but paired mine with a frown.

  “Give me your feet,” he said, coming over to the couch.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  I rolled my eyes and lifted up my foot. He covered my wool sock with a plastic bag.

  “Now, the other one.”

  “I do believe serial killers are supposed to dice up their victims before they start the bagging process.”

  He covered my other foot. “That’ll keep your socks dry.”

  I raised a brow. “Impressive.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of teabags. “Put these in your mittens.”

  “Are we having a tea party?”

  “They’re hand warmers.” He shook them as if activating something.

  The second he placed them in my palm heat warmed my hand. Okay, this wasn’t starting out so bad.

  “Come here.” He held up a jar of Vaseline, and I drew back.

  “What are you doing with that?”

  “It’s for your cheeks. It’ll keep them from getting chapped.”

  I grimaced as he slathered a thin layer over my face. Next, he gave me lip balm and wrapped my neck in a long scarf.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “My nana made it.”

  Aww, he has a nana. I don’t know what was cuter, his grandmother knitting him a scarf or the fact that he called her Nana without blushing.

  “Where are your boots?”

  I frowned at my bagged feet. “I don’t have any without heels.”

  “What about those wooly things girls are always wearing?”

  “UGGs? They aren’t meant to get wet.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll never understand women’s clothing. We better double bag your feet.”

  Once my sneakers were on, and my coat was buttoned. I felt like the little brother who couldn’t put his arms down in A Christmas Story. As much as I was dreading the cold, I was starting to sweat under all these layers and wanted to get someplace cooler.

  Noah faced me and shoved my wool hat on my head. “You’re adorable.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  Actually, he looked hot as fuck in his hoodie and PJs with his duffel coat overtop. He pulled on a black beanie hat and enhanced the look to SWAT team sexy. He was SWawt!

  “Let’s go.”

  “Wait, I gotta lock up.”

  “We’re going right out front. It’s fine.”

  I glanced back at my apartment, scanning all my valuable possessions I worked my ass off to own. What if someone broke in when we weren’t looking? What if they stole my laptop—?

  A sharp whistle echoed down the hall. “Avery, let’s go!”

  I twisted and shut my door, swishing like a fat penguin waddling down the hall as he held the elevator open. Our clothes rustled as we walked through the lobby and I felt like an idiot as we passed the doorman.

  “Evening, Winston.”

  “Evening, Mr. Wolfe.” He jumped up to grab the door. “Evening, Ms. Johansson.”

  I sighed at the doorman, silently informing him that I was being abducted on a midnight, snowy play date against my will. “If we’re not back inside in twenty minutes, send out a search party.” The door opened, and icy snowflakes pelted me in the face. “Oh, yuck.”

  The walks were covered with a good six inches of snow. It caked on the front of buildings and street signs a
nd covered the mailbox and the road. A small path was cleared in front of the door, but that was it.

  Fat, white flakes mixed with a misting of frozen rain. The damn shit was everywhere, sticking in my hair, flicking me in the eye. Who liked this? And it was eerily quiet for the city.

  “This way.” Noah walked to the corner of Delancey, and I waddled after him, our footprints the only proof of human life anywhere. “We’ll start over here and roll it toward the door.”

  I wasn’t rolling shit. I stood off to the side while he formed a boulder of snow. With my arms crossed over my chest, I bounced to stay warm, He packed the snow into a tight ball and rolled it down the walk, each turn increasing the size.

  “Are you going to help?”

  “Nope.”

  I squinted up at the light from my apartment, snowflakes catching in my lashes, noticeably dancing in the glow of the streetlamps. A snowball pelted my shoulder, exploding on impact, getting my cheek wet.

  “Hey!”

  “Help me. This is a team effort.”

  Grumbling, I marched over to where he’d rolled the ball, which I supposed formed the body of our snowman. He fumbled with his phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just wait.”

  He pressed a few buttons and looked up. I followed his gaze but didn’t see anything. Suddenly a flute trilled, and Bing Crosby started to sing White Christmas.

  “A little ambiance…” He pocketed his phone and put his glove back on.

  He’d thought of everything, even had the foresight to set a stereo in his window. His apartment was going to be freezing. I couldn’t help it. I smiled.

  “I see that smirk.” He took my hand, tugging me into the empty road.

  Just as the backup chorus began to sing, he spun me to his chest and wrapped his arms around me. “What are you doing?”

  “Dancing with you.”

  “Um…”

  “Humor me, Avery.”

  I went with it, my pants swishing with every step as he turned me in a slow circle. We were literally dancing, in the center of Delancey Street, under the glow of antique streetlamps, as snow fell around us.

  “Relax, Avery. Embrace the moment.”

  I let him lead, mostly because I didn’t know how to dance like people were supposed to in real life. I only knew how to do the freshman mixer hold, where I wreathed my arms around a guy’s neck and swayed from side to side. Noah knew how to dance. It was unexpected and romantic. When the song ended, I was a little sad it didn’t last longer.

  But Noah didn’t let go. He held me and continued to turn as our feet made tracks in the snow and Nat King Cole took over singing The Christmas Song.

  A lump formed in my throat. I loved Christmas carols. They were like fables of perfect lives, where families didn’t fight during the holidays, and the turkey was never dry, and people decorated with real greenery instead of cheap metallic garland and flea market, felt placemats.

  His arms tightened around me, and I rested my head on his chest, blinking as the music echoed from his apartment window down to the vacant street. I didn’t know how to process this magical moment, but I wanted to keep it forever.

  I bet Noah had a lifetime of beautiful holidays at his picturesque family home. I found myself trying very hard to imagine what childhood might have been like for him. How different it probably was from the holidays I had as a kid.

  My chest tightened as Judy Garland’s Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas played next. This was my favorite carol of all. The hope of a better year ahead and troubles being left behind, miles away. The thought of real friends and togetherness. My eyes closed as she belted out the need to muddle through, and my lashes were suddenly wet with something other than snow.

  Enough. That was enough.

  I pulled away and turned so I could wipe my eyes without him seeing how ridiculous I was. “So…” Stupid mittens getting in my way. “How do we do this snowman thing?”

  Once I had my face under control, I turned, and he kissed me deeply, wrapping me in a tight grip I never wanted to loosen. I gave in, because, in that moment, it was exactly what I needed.

  The music suddenly switched to Mariah Carey’s All I want for Christmas is You. I was such a sucker because those bells made my mouth smile against his and my indifferent, tough girl façade took a major hit.

  “You like this song?” He smiled into my eyes, his teeth flashing behind a puff of breath as he smiled.

  “I love all carols.”

  Our breath formed a cloud of vapor between us, and I realized this was one of those unforgettable moments that make the word nostalgia so beautiful. I wanted to dip it in gold and seal it in time. I wanted to tell him I loved him.

  The proverbial record skidded to a stop in my head.

  I didn’t love Noah. Did I? No. Of course not. And my feelings didn’t matter anyway. I couldn’t love anyone. Especially Noah, because I hated him six hours ago and I was clearly suffering some sort of honey bourbon, yuletide, snow-induced acid trip brought on by too much stress.

  But, for a second, I pretended I could love him, and he could maybe love me. I imagined being in an actual relationship with him and dancing in the snow like this every year. My brain was casting its own romantic comedy, the sort where Hugh Grant narrated, and I was the girl the great guy wanted most of all.

  I was definitely tripping, but wow. It was an incredible fantasy.

  “You’re smiling.”

  Of course, I was. I mean, who had nights like this with men like him? This was insane and perfect and… “You’re amazing.”

  His grin stretched across his handsome face. “Why, Ms. Johansson, I do believe that’s the first compliment you’ve ever paid me. My, my, I’m all atwitter.”

  “That’s not true. I said I liked your cocktail earlier.”

  He cupped a gloved hand around his ear. “I’m sorry, did you say you liked my cock earlier?”

  “Way to ruin it.”

  But he hadn’t ruined anything. He was so outrageously adorable I couldn’t take it.

  “You know, you’re prettiest when you laugh. It’s a great sound.”

  Something trembled in my chest and, before I realized I was moving, I threw my arms around his shoulders and kissed him, lifting my feet off the ground and making him hold me whether he wanted to or not.

  He laughed and stumbled back. “Oh, shit!”

  And we fell. So not quite like the movies.

  Luckily, we were wearing enough layers that we didn’t get hurt on impact. We rolled to our backs and groaned, staring up at the swirling wind, coated in what appeared the sweetest sugar God had ever made. Under the quiet moonlight, it was … majestic.

  My mitten covered hand closed around his, and I smiled, my legs stretching. I tipped my face into the cool flurries and hummed happily.

  “Let’s make snow angels.”

  Swiping our arms and legs from side to side, we lay in the middle of the street, laughing, making angels in the snow. Maybe I liked snow after all. It had to be a dream because it was too perfect to be real.

  25

  Avery

  I stomped my feet, waiting for them to warm as chips of ice and drips of slush melted onto the hardwood. Noah pulled down pots and mugs as he measured out powdered cocoa and milk. Seriously, what other guy had the ingredients for hot chocolate on hand?

  I peeled off my hat, my hair a mix of chilled waves and sweaty kinks. It was nearly two in the morning, and I was too wound up to go to bed. Luckily, Noah wasn’t tired either.

  I feared if I shut my eyes this feeling might end and I’d never be able to find it again. So, I decided sleep wasn’t really that necessary.

  I glanced at his expensive barstools. “I’m going to go change my pants. These are all wet.”

  He shot a smile over his shoulder. “Just take them off.”

  I paused, considering it. “Okay.”

  He did a double take, and I laughed, stripping until I was in nothing but
my T-shirt, thong, and thick wool socks. Noah rounded the island so fast he slipped on a puddle of slush, catching himself before he hit the ground. I gasped, but he seemed fine, and then he was staring at my lower body. No, not staring. Gawking.

  “Fuck. You’re so fucking… Fuck.”

  I laughed. “You wanna take off yours?”

  He yanked down his plaid pants and stomped them into the floor. His briefs were looking a little snug with all that pressure building between his hips. I took a mental picture, never wanting to forget the sight of his exposed thighs and knobby boy knees, pants bunched around unlaced boots and that look of enchantment in his eyes. He was adorable.

  “Your milk’s boiling over.”

  He frowned, then cursed and grabbed the pan off the burner as it hissed and steamed. I laughed as he carefully transferred the hot milk into mugs and stirred in the cocoa, topping it off with mini marshmallows.

  “Cheers.”

  We clanked our mugs and—oh, my gawd!—it was the best damn hot chocolate I’d ever tasted. “This is exceptional.”

  “Thanks. So many compliments tonight. I can’t wait to write them all down in my diary.”

  “You can be such a guy and such a girl at the same time.”

  “Guys can be sensitive.”

  “I think it’s more of a deep-rooted sarcasm. I don’t buy for one minute that you keep a journal or even have a book in this apartment.”

  “I have an old Playboy from the sixties that my dad gave me. Does that count?”

  “No.”

  I had a slight dairy allergy, but the hot chocolate was so damn good I pretended my allergies weren’t real for a minute. Halfway through my cup, I forced myself to put it down, but it wasn’t easy.

  We sat on the kitchen stools, the carols still playing from his den, the world’s greatest snowman guarding the door with Winston downstairs.

  I grinned and stole another sip of cocoa. “This is probably the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

  “It’s January.”

  “Shh. Don’t spoil it.”

  When everyone else disappeared a few weeks ago, I sat in my apartment eating a vat of gingerbread cookie dough with a spoon and crying over Home Alone. It wasn’t even one of the sad Christmas movies, but I always cried on Christmas. And somehow I knew crying alone on one of the happiest days of the year was better than going home.