Damn him. What the hell was I supposed to do about that?
It snowed all day on Thanksgiving—the scattered flurries descending as I drove to the soup kitchen turned to a light fall by the time I left for my mom’s house, making the roads slippery. Cars slid through stop signs and swerved into curbs as drivers struggled to maintain control, as if they’d forgotten that brakes don’t work the same in winter weather. I saw quite a few near-accidents and the aftermath of two actual collisions, and both times I slowed down and craned my neck like a gawker to see if Charlie was one of the cops on the scene. Even though he’d told me last night he wasn’t a traffic cop, I still felt annoyingly disappointed that I didn’t see him. That I wouldn’t see him.
While we ate, the snow fell hard and steady, and by the time I was helping my mom do the dishes, a good three or four inches had fallen.
“It’s bad out there,” my mom fretted, peering out her kitchen window into the yard. “And it’s getting dark. I bet the roads are awful. You should just stay here tonight.”
“It’s beautiful out there, and I don’t need to stay here. I’m a careful driver.” I dried off a handful of silverware and put it back in the wooden case on the counter.
“Well, you better get going sooner rather than later. Want me to pack you some leftovers?”
“You’re busy. I can do it.”
As I piled food into plastic containers, I wondered what Charlie was doing right now. Had he eaten dinner with his grandfather? Was he alone tonight? An idea popped into my head—Charlie’s cell number was on his card. When I got home, I could call him and see if he wanted to come hang out after work tomorrow, watch a movie, eat leftovers with me. If he hadn’t gotten a home-cooked meal today, he might be craving one.
Happy with the plan, I took extra helpings of turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole (which I hated so I figured Charlie would love), mashed potatoes, acorn squash, and maple-glazed carrots. Cranberry sauce and gravy went into separate little jars, and I packed everything into one big cardboard box.
“Good Lord, Erin, you’re going to be eating Thanksgiving dinner for a week.” My mother brushed her short, wavy hair out of her eyes with her forearm since her hands were sudsy.
“I’m taking some for a friend.” I disappeared into the back hall to grab my coat, hoping she wouldn’t ask who the friend was.
But she’s a mom. Of course she asked.
“What friend?”
For some reason, I felt strange admitting it was Charlie. “One of the teachers at the studio. Her family lives far away, and she needed to stick around here and study for midterms anyway.”
“You should have invited her, silly. We had plenty of room.”
I freed my hair from the collar of my coat and buttoned it up, eyes downcast. “I know. Next time.”
I said my goodbyes, shuffled through the snow on the driveway, and set the leftovers on the back seat. I was planning to drive slow, so I figured they’d be safe enough there. After starting the car, I dug the scraper-brush from underneath the seat and cleared the windshield and windows. My hands were numb by the time I finished—I’d forgotten my gloves in the house.
But I was too anxious to get home and call Charlie to go back and get them.
#
Once I was standing in the kitchen, though, cell phone in one hand, Charlie’s card in the other, I had second thoughts. What if it was too soon to call? What if he saw this as a sign I was attached? That I was clingy? Emotionally needy?
Oh, relax. If he doesn’t want to come over, he can say no.
And if Charlie and I were going to legitimately be friends, I had to get over feeling like he’d be analyzing every move I made to make sure I wasn’t getting carried away. His hang-ups were not my problem—I was returning a favor that was all. If he took it the wrong way, screw him.
I punched his number into my phone, but before I could hit send, someone knocked softly at the back door.
Immediately my pulse picked up. I glanced at my alarm command center, a little screen set up on my kitchen counter. Armed—Night, it said.
I breathed a little easier. I could peek out and see who it was, plus I had my cell in my hand. I cleared Charlie’s number and hit nine-one-one so that all I’d have to do was press send. As I did this, the person knocked again, a little more forcefully this time.
I moved toward the door and looked out.
My heart rate kicked right back up again.
It was Charlie.
On the wall keypad, I pressed Disarm and typed my security code. Then I opened the door and drank in the sight of him against a backdrop of white snow and black sky. He had snowflakes in his hair.
“Hi,” I said, my insides tense with excitement.
“Hi.”
“Are you the burglar?”
His lips tipped up on one side. “No.”
“Are you the big bad wolf?”
The grin deepened. “Yes.”
Snow blew into my kitchen on an icy gust of wind. I backed into the kitchen, setting my phone on the counter. “Rough night to be out hunting, Mr. Wolf.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” Kicking the door closed, he rushed toward me and took my head in his hands, his warm mouth slanting over mine. Tentatively, I put my palms on his damp wool coat, his kiss drawing me in. He looped his arms around my back, lifting me right off my feet.
My God, what was this? What was he doing to me? Had he changed his mind about being just friends or was this just another anomaly we’d dismiss later tonight as Lonely Holiday Sex? Between all those questions, three words beat a sweet little rhythm through my head—our first kiss, our first kiss, our first kiss.