Snowbound Christmas Wish

When Emma Keller woke up on Christmas morning in a stranger’s bed, wearing nothing but a borrowed shirt and a headache, she knew she had officially blown up her carefully planned life. The room was not hers. The shirt was not hers. And the memory of the man who had undressed her came back in sharp, dangerous flashes. Storm grey eyes. A small scar near his brow. His mouth on her skin while snow hit the windows of the inn. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Her mother’s name lit up the screen. Emma closed her eyes. She had not come here for this. Twelve hours earlier she had not even known his name. --- Twelve Hours Earlier – Berlin Central Station The night Emma decided to run away from Christmas, Berlin did everything it could to pull her back in. The station was full of lights and color. Families in red scarves. Kids dragging glittery suitcases. Couples arguing over tickets and kissing between announcements. Carols floated from a small speaker somewhere and mixed with the metallic echo of arriving trains. Emma stood in the middle of it with one suitcase and a one way ticket to a village nobody at work had ever heard of. “Snowbound Christmas package. Perfect for healing hearts.” That was what the ad had promised. For her it meant the perfect place to disappear. Her phone vibrated again. This time it was a message from her ex fiancé at the top of the screen. Fabian: I heard you’re not coming home this year. Emma, we should at least talk. She did not even open it. Her thumb hovered for a second, then hit “Block.” The small click of the button felt almost like revenge. “Rough night?” The male voice came from behind her. She turned so fast that her suitcase rolled sideways. A tall man stood a few steps away, one hand in the pocket of a dark coat and the other holding a paper cup of coffee. His hair was a mess of dark brown waves. His jaw carried the kind of stubble that said he had simply forgotten to shave. It still looked unfairly good on him. His eyes were the real problem. Grey. Sharp. Observant. They looked like they could see parts of her she did not want anyone to touch. “Rough year,” she answered, lifting her chin. She nodded toward his coffee. “Does that fix it?” “Not really,” he said. “But it keeps your hands warm while you make bad decisions.” Her ticket was still in her hand. His gaze dropped to it, quick and direct. “The village,” he read aloud, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You do know it is basically a giant Christmas postcard on a mountain, right? Not the best place to hide from the holidays.” “Good thing I am not hiding,” she said. “I am changing the scenery.” “Is that what we call it now?” He took a sip and studied her over the rim. “Changing the scenery, alone, on Christmas Eve, with eyes that look like they want to burn something down.” She gave him a narrow look. “Do you always psychoanalyze strangers?” “Only the interesting ones who look like they are about to get on my train.” The announcement for their platform echoed above them. He tilted his head toward the signs. “Come on, runaway. The mountain will not wait forever.” He walked away, the crowd opening around him. Emma stared at his back for a moment and then her suitcase began to roll after him. She followed. Same train did not mean same life. She was sure she would never see him again once they arrived. That was just one more thing she was wrong about. --- On the train she found a free seat by the window. She pushed her suitcase into the rack, sat down and rested her forehead against the cold glass while Berlin began to move. Lights outside turned into blurred lines. Inside, people talked quietly, laughed and opened snacks. Emma tried to breathe with the rhythm of the wheels. In. Out. This was distance. This was not crying in the bathroom while her mother pretended not to hear. “Is this seat taken?” She knew the voice before she looked up. Storm grey eyes. Dark coat. Same coffee cup, now empty. Of course. She gestured to the seat opposite her. “Apparently the universe has a sense of humor.” He sat down and stretched his long legs. Their knees almost touched. “Or the universe thinks you should not drink alone tonight.” “I was not drinking.” “Yet.” He held out his hand. Up close she noticed the faint scar on his right brow, a thin white line. “Liam,” he said. “Professional bad decision.” She almost smiled. “Emma. Former good decision.” His fingers were warm around hers. For a moment neither of them let go. She pulled her hand back and wrapped it around her phone. “So, Emma Former Good Decision,” he said. “What did Christmas do to you?” “It introduced me to a man who thought ‘fiancée’ meant ‘until someone better shows up.’” He winced. “Let me guess. He chose Christmas Eve for the big show. People love drama.” “He chose my parents’ dinner table,” she said. “And their good wine. And a blonde friend from work who had no idea why everyone went quiet.” Something dark passed through Liam’s eyes. “And they say romance is dead,” he muttered. “At least you upgraded your holiday company.” “What about you?” she asked. “Why are you going to the village, Liam Bad Decision?” He looked out at the dark window and his jaw tightened. “Family place,” he said after a pause. “I used to go there with someone who believed in Christmas wishes.” A short humorless smile touched his mouth. “She is not around anymore, but the habit stayed.” The way he said “not around” made her chest tighten. She did not ask more. For some reason it felt like questions would break something important. The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. The ticket conductor passed, then the coffee cart. Liam bought two cups and slid one toward her. “For the road,” he said. “To bad choices that do not involve ex fiancés.” She tapped her cup lightly against his. “I can drink to that.” --- By the time the train reached the small mountain station, night was thick and the snow had turned serious. The wind hit her face as soon as she stepped onto the platform. “Welcome to nowhere,” Liam said beside her. “Population: people who clearly have issues.” A shuttle bus waited outside. The inside smelled of wet wool and cinnamon. Emma took a seat near the back. Liam dropped into the seat next to her, so close that their shoulders touched every time the bus bounced. She should have moved. She stayed where she was. The village appeared suddenly, after a curve in the road. Warm lights. Wooden houses. A huge Christmas tree in the square. Ornaments glinted through the storm. It was beautiful in a painful way. The kind of place where people fell in love over hot chocolate. Emma pulled her coat tighter. She was here to write an article and to breathe. Not to fall for a man with a rough voice and soft eyes. The bus stopped in front of the inn, a three story wooden building with a sloping roof heavy with snow. A sign over the door read: Pinecrest Inn – Where Wishes Come Home Inside, the lobby smelled like pine, firewood and something sweet. A large stone fireplace warmed the room. People lounged on sofas with steaming mugs. At the front desk a woman with silver hair and sharp eyes smiled at them. “Reservation?” she asked Emma. “Emma Keller,” Emma said. The woman typed, then frowned. “We have a small problem.” Emma’s stomach clenched. “Please tell me my room is not cancelled.” “No, dear.” The woman’s voice was kind. Her eyes were apologetic. “The storm damaged one of our heating systems. We are fully booked. At the moment we have only one warm room left.” She looked at Emma, then at Liam. Emma understood at once. “No. I booked a single room.” Liam rested his elbows on the counter. “I am guessing I booked a single room too.” The manager gave a polite, worried smile. “It is a twin room. Two separate beds. Very warm. If one of you gives it up, you must walk down to the next guesthouse. In this storm it is not safe.” A gust of wind shook the windows. Cold air slipped through the door and around Emma’s ankles. Liam glanced at her. “I do not mind sharing as long as you do not snore.” “I do not snore,” she snapped. “Problem solved.” He shrugged. “Or I can sleep in the lobby chair and complain about my back all day tomorrow.” The manager seized the chance. “Yes. One room is best. Much better than frostbite.” Every warning bell in Emma’s head rang at once. Sharing a room with a stranger. On Christmas Eve. Her mother would have a heart attack if she knew. The wind howled again outside. She imagined dragging her suitcase through the snow to another inn that might not even have space. She also imagined Liam folded awkwardly in an armchair because she had insisted on pretending she was not at all curious. “Fine,” she said. “We share. Twin room. You stay on your side. I stay on mine.” Liam’s smile was slow and confident. “Agreed.” --- The room was smaller than she expected and warmer than she thought it would be. Two beds stood side by side with a nightstand between them and a lamp that cast soft yellow light. A window opened onto the forest. Snowflakes stuck to the glass and melted in slow trails. Her suitcase waited at the foot of the left bed. Liam’s bag sat by the right. She closed the door and the click seemed louder than it should. “Relax,” Liam said, taking off his coat. Underneath he wore a black sweater that fit him very well. “That is your bed. This is mine. Peace treaty signed.” She dropped her coat on a chair. Her pulse still had not calmed down. “I am going to shower,” she said, grabbing her toiletry bag. “Do not look through my suitcase.” “Never crossed my mind,” he replied, already reaching for the TV remote. The bathroom filled quickly with hot steam. Emma stood under the water until her skin tingled and the cold left her bones. She tried to wash away the station, the train and Berlin. This was just one night. Tomorrow she would walk in the snow, drink hot chocolate and work on her article like a sane person. She wrapped herself in a thick towel and pulled on one of the inn’s long shirts. It reached mid thigh and left her legs bare above her socks. She opened the door. Liam was stretched out on his bed, hair damp from his own shower. The lamp light drew shadows along his jaw and throat. He looked up. His eyes slid down her legs before he caught himself and looked back at her face. “Nice shirt,” he said. His voice sounded a little rough. “Very effective argument for bad decisions.” Her cheeks warmed. “This is what they gave me. Unless you want me to sleep in wet jeans.” “I am not complaining.” She walked to her bed, very aware of his eyes on her. “Do you want to go downstairs?” she asked. “There was a bar by the lobby. We could be around other people.” “Did you see the snow?” he asked. The wind rattled the window as if to answer. “The bar is probably full. Here we have quiet, two beds and…” He reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle. “Secret Christmas whiskey.” “You brought your own alcohol?” she asked. “A man must be prepared.” He opened the bottle, took a sip and passed it to her. “For the file called ‘Christmases we survived.’” The whiskey burned her throat in a good way. Warmth spread through her chest. “One more,” he said. “For ex fiancés who do not get to own mountain trips.” She drank again. The knot in her shoulders loosened a little. They sat on his bed without really deciding to. The bottle went back and forth between them until it was almost empty. At some point she ended up with her legs tucked under her, facing him, laughing at his story about the turkey he had set on fire. “You burned the whole dinner?” she asked between giggles. “In my defense, I warned my brother I do not speak the language of ovens,” he said. “He still lets me near the kitchen. So clearly he is the real problem.” “Your brother still talks to you?” she teased. “Sadly, yes. He thinks I need supervision.” His eyes softened. “Do you have siblings?” She shook her head and her smile faded. “Just me. My parents put all their hope in one kid. I am still trying not to disappoint them.” “You are here,” he said quietly. “You did something for yourself. That sounds more like survival than disappointment.” The way he said it made her heart stumble. The laughter faded and left a different kind of silence. She noticed how close they were. His knee touched her thigh. His hand rested on the blanket between them. If she moved a little, her skin would touch his. Outside, the wind screamed around the building. Inside, she could hear both their breaths. “This is a bad idea,” she said. “Probably,” he answered. “Most interesting things in my life started like that.” He lifted his hand slowly and brushed a piece of hair away from her face. His fingers lingered against her cheek. “Emma,” he said softly. “Tell me to stop and I will. We can finish the bottle, argue about movies and tomorrow we act like we were just two strangers stuck in a snowstorm.” No one had said her name like that in a long time. Warm. Careful. Curious. She thought of Fabian’s cold eyes. The blonde girl at the table. The way she had run here just to prove she could breathe without them. For once she did not want to be careful. Her hand slid around the back of Liam’s neck. His skin was hot under her fingers. “Do not stop,” she said. His eyes darkened. He closed the last bit of distance and his mouth met hers. The first kiss was slow, almost shy, as if he was testing the shape of it. When her lips parted on a soft sound, the careful part burned away. His hand moved to her waist and pulled her closer. Her fingers clutched his shoulders. The room tilted for a second as she shifted onto his lap. The inn shirt climbed higher on her legs. His fingers touched bare skin and she shivered. He kissed her deeper, tasting of whiskey and something that felt too much like hope. His other hand slid up her back, warm and steady. “Emma,” he breathed against her mouth. “You are sure?” She tugged at the hem of his sweater. Her voice came out rough. “I am tired of thinking.” He let out a low laugh that turned into a soft groan when she pulled the sweater over his head. The air touched his skin for a moment, then her hands did. He was all heat and muscle under her palms. His mouth moved to her throat, to the hollow at the base of her neck. Her head fell back. A quiet gasp escaped her when his teeth grazed her skin. The room shrank to the feel of him. His weight. His scent. The steady beat of his heart under her cheek when she pushed him back on the pillows and followed. Outside, snow beat on the glass. Inside, the storm moved under their skin. Clothes became a blur. Hands fumbled with fabric and buttons. They paused only to look at each other in the lamplight, searching for doubt. She did not see any in his eyes. She did not feel any in herself. When he finally settled his hands on her hips and guided her closer, Emma’s last clear thought was that this was madness and that tomorrow she might hate herself. Tonight she felt alive. His kiss slowed. Their movements matched, steady and burning. The world outside the wooden walls dropped away. --- Much later, with the lamp off and the room lit only by the pale reflection of snow, Emma lay with her cheek on Liam’s chest. His heartbeat thudded gently under her ear. Her body felt heavy and warm. “This changes nothing,” she whispered into the dark. “Tomorrow I am still leaving. And you are still a stranger.” His fingers drew lazy circles on her shoulder. He was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “Strangers do not usually know how you sound when you try not to cry,” he said. “Or how you taste when you stop.” Her throat tightened. She lifted her head to look at him. A sharp knock broke the silence. “Mr Hartmann?” a male voice called from the other side of the door. “We need to talk. It is about the land deal. You cannot keep putting this off.” Emma froze. Land deal. Mr Hartmann. Slowly, she turned back to the man in the bed. Liam closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and met her stare. “Looks like Christmas just got complicated,” he said. For the first time since she had arrived at the inn, Emma had the sinking feeling that the biggest secret in this room was not hers.