Miss Christmas

MEREDITH

I’m barely able to feel the tip of my nose. It’s so cold. Despite the hot air that’s attacking my face, I’m in physical pain from the way my cheeks are stinging.

My teeth are chattering, and the man beside me glances at the road repeatedly before pulling over.

“I’m just gonna check the road. I can’t see much out of the windshield,” he explains, jumping out of the truck.

I’m grateful he’s left the heating on, and I inch closer to it, the warmth thawing my chilly skin.

He’s right. I can’t see shit out of the windshield. The snow flies at the window—a flurry of gray and white snowflakes that the windshield wipers can’t keep at bay.

I jump when the driver-side door opens, letting in a gust of icy air.

“How is it?” I mumble, closing my eyes as I rest my hand over the heater.

“Abysmal. Winters here are always pretty harsh, but this is something else. I’m just gonna call my friend at the garage and see if he can make it out of town.

“This truck has winter tires, and it still wouldn’t get down that slope. It’s like glass.”

This is all I need. My car is buried in a snowy hillside somewhere with all my belongings in it, and now I’m stranded in a truck with a stranger.~

God, he could be a serial killer.~

I peek at him out of the corner of my eye, finding dark hair peppered with gray, hiding his features. He’s broad, and his hands are covered in scratches and cuts.

He exhales, and I avert my eyes when he speaks into the phone.

“Nat? It’s Dill, is he there?”

Seconds pass, and he groans.

“Seriously? It’s bad here. I’m out by Cardiac Hill, and I can’t get the truck down. Can you get him to call me? Yeah. Might need him to take this woman I’ve picked up to the garage.”

He hangs up, finally turning to me. I keep my head down, refusing to look up.

I know that name. ~Dill~.~

“Apparently, there’s no way into town at the minute. I don’t live far from here. If I can get the truck there, you’re welcome to come with me.”

“Dill?” I whisper, moving my hair so I can focus on him.

That jaw. The same full lips that I’d fantasized over for years as a girl. The eyes, the pools of ocean blue that are studying me with curiosity.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me. Dylan, but my friends call me—”

“Dill,” I breathe as I turn to him.

He frowns then, his eyes widening as he laughs softly.

“Wait,” he intones, his mouth curling into a smile of disbelief. “Is that you,~ Merry Christmas?”

The childhood nickname that followed me to school makes me nauseous with memories of my heart dancing when Dylan Charmer would call me that every time he saw me, only for him to fall in love with someone else.

“Oh my god.” He laughs, tugging the hat from my head. “Where’s the red hair gone?!”

“I’ve not had red hair since I was sixteen.” I scoff, remembering how he called me Rudolph. I tug the hat back on, sending him a glare. “So, now what are you going to call me?”

He stares at me, his eyes registering the hurt in my voice.

“Ah, shit. Was I a dick? I was. I’m sorry.”

“Can we just go? I’m freezing,” I huff, blowing on my hands to enforce the point.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, still staring at me. “I liked your hair red.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I wonder who Dylan lives with. It’s probably Claire Denim. He was always with her.

I had my money on them getting married young. But I turned my back on that crowd, desperate to get into the big wide world.

The truck battles against the wind, and to my horror, it slides to the left as Dylan struggles to keep the steering wheel straight.

“Shit,” he curses as I grip the side of my seat, praying we don’t crash.

Somehow, Dylan controls the car, easing it back into the center of the road. We exchange a glance, and he pretends to mop his brow.

“It’s treacherous out there.”

“Where do you live?” I ask, wondering if he still lives where he always did.

The number of times I would try to find excuses to go near that place, Chestnut Farm.~ Run by his mom and dad, they supplied the best spuds this side of Devon, and my mother would drive there every week to collect a fresh bag.

Obviously, I would go with her, but that was once a week, and Dylan was never anywhere to be seen.

I used to try to convince my best friend, Grace, to walk the massive distance from her house just to catch a glimpse of him, but she’d roll her eyes and snort with laughter at me.

I was desperate to see him.

“Southey Lane,” he replies, peering through the windshield.

“Not at the farm anymore?”

“No, Mom and Dad still are, though.”

“Still selling the best potatoes this side of Bellwood?” I grin as he chuckles, a sexy sound that comes from somewhere deep beneath the many layers of clothes he is wearing.

“Yeah, and eggs, don’t forget the eggs.”

“It’s strange being back here,” I murmur, and I wonder why I say it aloud. I blink rapidly to find Dylan gazing at me before he snaps his eyes back to the road.

“You back to see Cassie?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, Mom and Dad are in Oz, and I didn’t want to spend it alone.”

Great, Meredith. You sound like the saddest person on the planet.

“Yeah, always good to spend it with family,” Dylan continued cheerfully. “That’s what Christmas is all about, or so they say.”

I detect an air of humbug in his tone, and I instantly challenge him about it.

“Don’t you like Christmas?”

He rolls his eyes, a smile curving his lips as he replies. “It was better as a kid, put it that way.”

“Aww, you miss getting a sack of gifts from Santa?” I tease, watching him intently.

Why would someone not like Christmas?

“I don’t miss anything. I just think it’s great for those that are surrounded by people they love, you know? It gets a bit sad to be still sitting at the table with your parents at our age.”

“You’re single?” I ask in disbelief, my mouth moving before my brain.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Dylan asks, his brow furrowing as he turns into a lane I recognize.

“I don’t know,” I admit, biting my lip. “I kind of assumed you and Claire would’ve made it together.”

“Claire?” He laughs, pulling into a drive that is thankfully flat. The tires crunch on the snow beneath them, and I breathe a sigh of relief when he cuts the engine.

“Claire, who?”

“Denim.” I shrug, hoping I sound nonchalant.

“Christ, she was my girlfriend in school!”

“Exactly,” I exclaim as he shakes his head, exiting the car.

I follow suit but instantly slip onto my ass the minute my feet touch the slippery ground.

“Bloody hell, you’re a right city girl,” he mutters, dragging me up with difficulty, my feet still sliding on the invisible ice.

“I’m not—” I huff as he guides me to his front door. “I just have the wrong footwear on, that’s all.”

The door is a simple green-painted wooden job, with a golden knocker on the front that’s faded significantly.

“Let me guess, you have a pair of sturdy snow boots in your car back there?” he says, his southern twang making my heart ache a little.

I’ve missed being here.

“Yes,” I lie, refusing to let him know how unprepared I am for this climate. I have my bunny slippers, but he’ll find that amusing.

The door swings open to reveal a rustic lodge-type living room to my right, with huge logs resting in the grate in the center of the room.

The thick wooden beams have been stripped back to their original beauty, and the two-seater sofa is covered with thick, soft blankets that I yearn to wrap around myself.

There’s no television and no photos anywhere. You wouldn’t know who lived here, that’s for sure. There’s a clothes horse in the corner of the room, and a few T-shirts and jumpers hang casually from it.

“Tea?” Dylan asks, heading through a door to my left.

“Do you have coffee?” I ask, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s Co-op’s own, no Starbucks here,” he says, and I nod.

“Great.”

He disappears into the tiny kitchen, and I stand awkwardly in the hallway.

“Grab a blanket from the sofa,” Dylan calls from the kitchen. “I’ll put the fire on in a mo.”

I nod gratefully, which is pointless as he can’t see me. I head into the living room, stealing the thickest blanket I can see and wrapping it around my shoulders before sinking to the soft sofa.

Moments later, Dylan is pressing a cup into my hand, and I inwardly grimace when I see the thick, dark liquid that has turned up with no milk or sugar.

I won’t ask. He’s been kind enough so far.

Dylan goes about setting the logs on fire, and I can’t help but watch as he does so, his broad frame apparent beneath his shirt, which he tugs off upon standing.

“You’ll soon be warm.” He smiles, tossing his jersey onto the arm of the sofa before joining me.

A whiff of woodsy cologne greets me, and when he exhales, I’m swooning. Peppermint. He’s like a romance hero from one of my books.

“So, what happened?” Dylan asks bluntly, nodding at my hand.

I follow his gaze with confusion. “Sorry? What?”

“Your wedding ring. You’re not wearing it.”

The indentation on my finger has captured his attention, and I clear my throat.

No way am I getting into this.

“Can you try your friend again?” I ask crisply, and Dylan gazes at me, the lines at the corners of his cerulean eyes crinkling with intrigue.

He can be intrigued all he wants. There’s no way on earth I’m discussing my failed marriage with Dylan Charmer.