Cliff squeals. Like, a full-body squeal as he launches his small body at his dad’s. That little video clip will live rent-free in my mind forever. The bliss of it all. Todd stands back, but I can see he looks relieved, too.
And then, miracle of miracles. A weird meow erupts out of Jack. Hey-presto! There’s a black and white cat in his mittened hands.
Time stops. Or stills. Or slows way the heck down as I somehow absorb his words, that he was shoveling, scared a catout of its hiding spot, then chased the damn cat down—his words, not mine—until he caught it. Because he didn’t want the cat to freeze.
This grumpy-ass ranch hand, who doesn’t seem to understand Christmas cheer, just risked frostbite to rescue a cat who really didn’t want to be rescued, all because he was worried about it.
The cat allows the boys to coo over it and pet it, then hops down, purring, and shakes and saunters over to the woodstove to take a bath. Smart cat.
“Can we keep it?” Cliff asks, jumping up and down. Then, “We’ll name it Kringle! Our Christmas cat!” More jumping.
Jack smiles at his son, though his face looks pained—making me wonder if he isn’t also hurt. He murmurs a “We’ll see,” then takes in the sight of us. “Heading outside?” His half-frozen eyebrows rise.
“Yes. Our first comet check of the night.” Todd looks proud as he tells his dad, then shoves his toque back on his head and walks to the door.
“Are you coming?” Cliff asks as he follows Todd. I cringe a little, knowing that Jack has to be frozen. But he just nods, takes the telescope case from my hand, and follows his boys back out into the frozen night.
Though the snow is still coming down, Jack has made a neatly packed trail to what I assume is the backyard. There’s a slight incline from the cabin, and I’m sure in summer it would be lovely, but in snow boots, snow pants, and a big, heavy snow coat, I’m sweating trying to get to the top of it. The clearing is also packed, making it mostly easy to set up the telescope.
“I see it!” Cliff says, pointing up to the night sky. A pale white streak is visible just at the edge of the tree line.
“That’s it. It will be brighter tomorrow. Part of my job this weekend is to monitor it.” I line up the sights of the telescope. My first good look at the Kringle Comet takes my breath away—not hard to do in the cold—but still important.
Close up, the comet is almost an icy blue against the night sky. It’s longer than I imagined it being, even though I’ve read all the specs on it repeatedly. It’s beautiful. A thing of rock, ice, completely devoid of life, and yet feels like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen; a gift just for me. “Here,” I say, stepping back so I can have my moment in peace.
It’s probably silly getting emotional over rock and ice. I know it in my head. But my heart refuses to listen; it’s stubborn that way. This is my pride and joy, glowing in the night sky.
I expect lots of “ooohs,” “wow!” and other exclamations of surprise. But there’s nothing. Silence. When I blink away my tears to look at the trio, they’re silently taking turns back and forth. It’s like someone turned the volume off on the movie I was watching. Cliff tugs his dad’s sleeve, and they look at each other with wide eyes, but that’s it. They understand the assignment. We’re in the cathedral of this comet; silence is needed.
Once we’ve had our fill, I pack up the telescope, hands shaking in the cold. By the time I stand, the boys are already down the slope to the cabin. It’s just Jack and me. “I appreciate you waiting, but I know you’re freezing. I’ll be fine.” It feels weird to break the silence with my words.
Jack grunts something, taking the case from me again, and holds out his other hand to me. I stare at it, not sure what he’s doing. “Take my hand. We can support each other back to thecabin.” His voice cracks and rumbles, like stones preparing for an avalanche. The independent feminist in me bristles at the idea that he doesn’t think I can do it on my own.
But then I see a shiver run down his body. Maybe he needs me more than I need him. Grasping his hand, we make the trek back to the cozy warmth inside of the cabin. I slip, or trip, or a yeti grabs my ankle, I can’t be sure, but I know I’m going down, and that despite the fluffiness of the snow, it’s going to hurt.
My body never touches the snow. Jack’s arms wrap around my middle, tight like a vice, and pull me into his chest, hard even through his many layers. We stand like that, a beat too long. Despite everything being frozen, I can smell his sandalwood scent from earlier today. It’s the scent of wanting and belonging. Without thinking, I stretch up and press my lips to his. Quick, chaste. Enjoying the scratch of his scruff on my lips, and the jolt of desire that strikes me. I continue on, walking carefully, and he follows without a word.
He stops me at the bottom of the porch. Through the windows, we can see the boys on the sofa with the cat and the Switch. At this rate, we could be gone for days, and they probably wouldn’t notice.
“I know this isn’t what you planned, but thank you for letting us tag along. I can’t remember the last time I saw Todd this excited about anything other than a video game. And it’s certainly the longest these two have gone without fighting, possibly since Cliff could hit back. Who knew a ball of ice in the sky could revive my family? And my heart?”
The last sentence is almost an afterthought; I have to lean in to hear it. I don’t know what to make of this grumbly man in the snow. But he’s quickly melting a soft spot in my heart for him. Smiling, I lick my lips, trying to hydrate them, trying to think ofwhat to say. ‘You’re welcome?’ ‘Glad the snowstorm could work in your favor?’ But luckily, I don’t have to actually say anything.
Jack is kissing me. And this time, it isn’t chaste.
Chapter 7
Jack
Standing up there, cricking my neck to stare at the sky with Dr. Holly and my boys, I had the impression that Becca was there with me, watching us. That damned comet is her blessing; that it’s okay to open up and let love in, that she wants us to thrive and be happy. And sure, I could say I already knew that. But there was something magical, divine, that I felt in the bottom of my soul.
Dr. Holly Doughty talking about her telescope, about rocks and space debris, about stars and distant galaxies—things that I take for granted—is jaw-dropping sexy. I know the brain is the largest erogenous zone, but I’ve never thought of the brain itself as sexy. Or that being intelligent was sexy. Not that my Becca wasn’t intelligent; she was, but we were young; the things that mattered then seem to matter less now.
When Dr. Holly pressed her lips to mine earlier, there was a literal explosion in my body. I knew I needed more. I wouldn’t be able to function, let alone breathe, without feeling her lips on mine again. That poignant pause at the bottom of the porch, wanting to say thank you before the boys heard us on the wooden steps, felt like my moment, my one chance.
And I didn’t want to miss it.
Dr. Holly’s lips are so soft and plump, like rose petals, but with a hint of chocolate in them. She opens her lips to mine and moans when I respond in kind. The sound of her sighing into my mouth urges me forward, pulling her into me, finding purchase through my mittened hands to her juicy backside. She’s science and magic all wrapped up together with a pretty Christmas bow. All I want is to be lost in the moment forever, savor the heat of her body against mine, her breath against my cheek as I leave a trail of kisses along her jawline to her ear. “You’re so perfect,” I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice. Her breath hitches, sending a signal straight to my dick, which strains against my jeans.
