Sleighed Into Her Cookie

002: Meet my Uncle

ASPEN

I can still feel the heat of his hand on my waist even as I step back and brush the snow off my coat. My brain refuses to cooperate. His deep, sultry tone resonates somewhere beneath my ribs, keeps me frozen in the snow even after we both pull ourselves upright.

He’s… handsome. Damn near painfully so. And yet, I can’t place his age. Early forties? Late thirties? There’s something timeless about him, like he’s been carved out of winter itself, polished smooth with secrets and danger hiding behind those piercing eyes. My brain struggles to form a coherent thought, and my heart is suddenly hammering like I just ran a marathon.

“Uh…” I swallow, flustered, tugging at my scarf like it might somehow steady me.

“Are you always this clumsy, or is it just when you’re dressed like you’re on a snow-themed runway?” His voice rumbles smoothly and… oh God, I’m speechless. Absolutely frozen, so much so that my pulse stutters.

But before I can formulate a response, or, let’s be honest, before I can even manage a normal, functional thought, a sharp voice cuts through the frozen air.

“Aspen! There you are!”

I whip my head around, ready to curse the person who dared disturb this… moment, and my stomach drops. Of course. It’s Noelle. My perfect, radiant, grinning cousin, dressed like she just stepped out of a snow-globe commercial. And, naturally, trailing behind her, almost like the universe’s way of reminding me of my failings, is Grayson. My ex.

I clear my throat, trying to make my heart stop galloping, then shove my hands into my pockets, as the air between us shifts, suddenly heavy and charged.

Grayson’s eyes catch mine, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. He is smooth, confident, but the tension is palpable; he knows what this moment is, knows what we both know. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

“Ah, Aspen,” he says, his voice laced with that familiar arrogance that once drove me absolutely insane. “I see you met my uncle.”

My gaze instantly flicks to the man who helped me. He’s still standing there, seemingly unbothered by the chaos, a small smirk playing on his lips, and I realize Grayson is talking about him.

“This is… Arsen,” Grayson announces.

The man I’m still staring at, Arsen, tilts his head at me, his eyes gleaming with a spark of amusement. “Pleased to meet you,” he says simply, and that smile… it sends heat rushing straight through me. He lets his gaze linger on me longer than necessary, and my knees feel weak under the weight of it.

“Uncle, this is…. ” Grayson falters slightly, like he’s realizing he has to explain the sheer audacity of inviting his ex to his own wedding.

“Aspen.” I say, not sure whether to stick out my hand for a handshake. “The bride-to-be is my cousin, Noelle,” I say smoothly.

“Pleasure,” Arsen says simply, and for a moment I feel like the center of some magnetic pull I can’t escape. The warmth of his touch wasn’t accidental, even the way he openly looks at me over, like he’s checking me out, sends a fresh set of heat rushing straight to places I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about in public.

“I hope you don’t take offence, nephew,” he murmurs, low and teasing, the kind of tone that makes my pulse skip and my knees feel a little weak. “But the cousin is definitely prettier…. And hotter.”

I cough, trying to cover the ridiculous fluttering in my chest, and realize it’s the first time in hours I’ve actually breathed. “Flirt,” I mutter, mostly to myself, but loud enough that Arsen’s eyes twinkle knowingly.

The awkward moment stretches until Grayson clears his throat again, preparing to say something, but the hesitation in his face tells me everything I need to know. He’s going to have to explain the full backstory, and I don’t plan on letting his sexy flirtatious hunky uncle know that his nephew dumped me for my cousin. Not yet at least.

Noelle, in her pristine outfit and impossibly high heels, claps her hands together, breaking the tension. “Well, now that that’s settled, let me show you to your room.”

I follow her inside, the warmth of the lodge immediately enveloping me like a hug. I’m still processing Arsen, the heat of his glance, the ridiculous tension between us, and the absurdity of the weekend ahead.

Once we reach my room, Noelle shuts the door and immediately turns to me with that perfect, saccharine smile. “Aspen, I… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About Grayson. About everything. I know this weekend might be awkward—”

I cut her off with a sharp shake of my head, letting my words fall cold. “It’s the past, Noelle. I’m not here for amends.”

Her smile falters. “Aspen, I—” her jaw tightens as she pauses. She looks at me like I’ve sprouted horns. “Please,” she says, her voice trembling slightly, “don’t ruin my wedding. Just… don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“Just like you ruined what would have been my engagement?” I bite back a retort, forcing myself to nod politely, even as my teeth grit together. “Noted,” I murmur, letting the tension hang like smoke between us.

The evening edges toward the rehearsal dinner, and I find myself stuck in a corner of the grand dining hall, feeling like an outsider at a party that, if everything went as planned, would have been mine. Noelle’s friends, the same group I used to hang out with, now laughed and stared at me like I'm carrying a contagious disease.

I can’t do it. I can’t sit here pretending everything is normal while they all treat me like I’m from some humiliating past. So I excuse myself, muttering something about grabbing some air.

I wander through the sliding glass doors onto the patio covered in snow, the cold hitting me like a brick. I breathe it in, letting it fill my lungs and distract me from the swirl of emotions inside. It all feels quiet and my mind a little more relaxed, at least until I see him.

Arsen.

He’s leaning against the railing, one hand holding his phone, his tone low as he argues with someone on the other end. His profile is sharp and yet there’s something undeniably magnetic about him even in this rare moment of unguarded frustration.

I freeze, partly because he looks impossibly good under the glow of the fairy lights and partly because I know I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this. Not now. Not ever.

“Arsen?” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper, though he doesn’t even glance at me at first. His jaw tightens, and I can hear the tension in his words over the phone.

I hesitate, debating whether I should walk away or wait, but the way he’s standing, the sheer presence of him makes it impossible to look away.

Finally, he ends the call with a sharp click of the phone, letting out a long breath that makes the muscles in his neck tense and flex in a way that’s just unfair to the human eye. He looks up, and when our gazes meet, something passes between us — a spark that sends warmth straight through the cold air and right to the core of me.

“I didn’t expect company,” he says finally, a hint of amusement lacing his deep tone.

“Neither did I,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel, though my fingers itch to reach out and brush against the edge of his coat, just to confirm he’s real.

He steps closer, and the subtle scent of him; wood, smoke, something intoxicating I can’t name—wraps around me, and I swear the snowflakes hanging in the air suddenly seem to dance just for us.

“Rough day?” he asks again, echoing the words the weird man from the airport had said. I stare at him, caught between wanting to confess the mess of feelings roiling inside me and wanting to tell him to stay the hell away.

But the truth? I don’t move. Yet somehow, despite the chaos in my mind, I don't feel alone.

Perhaps the silly wish I made at the airport was coming to reality?