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Once I’m outside, feeling the snow crunching under my feet I feel him behind me.
On the back landing overlooking the drawing room, where we spent the night in.
Lucian wraps a puffy jacket around my shoulders, and once I see him walking by my side I notice he has one on too.
“Ever ridden a rusty old sled?” he asks, making a face at the vintage one he’s holding up in his hands.
“Not really,” I tell him, retuning an awkward look.
“Then I’ll go first,” he adds, pointing to the top of a small rise as he steers me towards it.
It’s not rust at all. I think the word they use now is patina, and the wooden slats on it are oiled and look sound to me.
But I’m not sure I could even-
“Push me!” Lucian says suddenly, sitting on it and gripping the thick cotton cord, a plume of condensation bursting from his mouth as his whole body tenses.
I do my best, but once inertia takes over, he’s plummeting down the frozen hillside, making me gasp until I hear his cry of delight.
I feel like we should have brought two sleds now, and watching him sprint up the hill, I know we’ll need a whole fleet of sleds.
For the future fun I know we’ll have.
I can feel it inside me already.Chapter TwentyLucianThe next slide down the frozen hillside, we make together. I’m holding Carol firmly in front of me as she grips the sled’s cord.
My stomach dips as we cross over the peak of the hill and don’t stop moving until we reach the bottom, fresh snow dusting us both as we reach the bottom.
I’ve never felt so alive. Never felt like I’ve had so much fun.
And it’s all because of Carol.
Without her here I’d never feel the same way.
Sitting behind her, I squeeze under her chest with my arms, hearing her moan with excitement.
Neither of us wanting to get up just yet.
I hug her from behind, closing my eyes as I smell her hair until I feel her shiver.
“We should get you back inside,” I decide, noticing the snow starting to fall thicker now.
I catch her when she stumbles climbing back up the hill, lifting her into my arms, and trailing the sled in the snow behind us.
“I can walk. I can do it,” she tells me, but I shake my head, “but I want to carry you,” I tell her.
“I like having you so close.”
Carrying her back to the house, we go in the same way we came out. The old part of the house, which I make a careful study of on the walk back.
It’ll take some doing, but something tells me we’re gonna need the room anyway.
Setting Carol down once we’re in, and stoking the fire again, I ask which end of the place she’d prefer.
“Old or new?” I ask, holding my arms out and waiting for her reply which I think I already know.
“Old,” she says quietly with a smile.
“I should check on our dinner,” I suggest, wondering just how long we’ve been gone.
“Come warm me up first,” Carol coos, hugging her elbows on the couch and pretending to freeze so I’ll go to her again.
I can’t resist, and the thoughts of food are the furthest from my mind as I hold her again, running my hands over her, hearing her mew with satisfaction.
The sound of a smoke alarm breaks both our concentration though, and I bolt to the kitchen.
“It’s okay. It’s alright,” I assure her when she comes in. “Just a little overheating.”
I open a window after stabbing the alarm off with a broom handle.
I only left one hotplate on too high, thankfully there’s no real damage.
Turning to ask Carol if she’s okay, and I only see her smiling.
Laughing.
“It’s alright,” she tells me. “I can’t even boil water.”
We both end up laughing and checking on the other dishes, there’s no harm done there either.
“Everything else smells great!” she exclaims. “What can I do to help?” she asks.
Pulling her close I peck her nose. “Eat it all like a good girl when it’s ready,” I tell her.
“And until then?” she asks, feeling my front with the palm of her hand.
“Don’t spoil your appetite,” I caution her, telling myself as much as her.
There’s plenty of time for that.
I catch her peeking into the ovens and wanting to lift pot lids, so I gently wrestle her away from all that.
Hooking my arm around her waist and leading us back to the living room.
“No tree. No decorations here, but a full Christmas dinner?” she remarks, eyeballing the place again, making me feel more of a recluse than I am.
Okay, maybe not.
“Like I said, it’s the staff. If it were up to me, I’d probably be in the office with a ham sandwich.”
“Do you hate Christmas too?” she asks, making me frown.
“I don’t hate it at all,” I confess. “I’ve just never had anyone to…” I break off and we both fall silent.
