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The smirk that crosses my face is untamable. I say, “I know exactly what you meant.”
I’m not totally sure how to transition from here.
Which is probably why the Universe just sent me my next Christmas wish. Another stranded traveler on the road.
Chapter 8
Mary
I open my door and I’m about to hop out of his way, assuming the driver side door is still getting pelted by the wind, snow and ice. But then Bear grabs both my arms.
I gasp as I’m suddenly in the air. He is once again lifting me, this time over his lap as he scoots himself out underneath me. He plops me down on the driver side, and I think I hear him mutter, “No way I’m letting my weather girl get snow and ice on her again.”
My heart skips a beat at this bossy side of him. He’s done enough—pulled me out of the snowstorm, kept me warm, made me laugh, flirted with me in a way that isn’t even creepy at all—but his increasing protectiveness of me is feeling more and more erotic as the night wears on.
I see him grab a large ice scraper with a metal edge before he hops out.
“Let me know if I can be of any—“
But before I can finish that sentence, he casts up a warning look. His wolfish eyes are telling me to stay put. Normally, I am not compelled to listen to anybody who’s so bossy with me. But with him, it works.
It’s ridiculous that I’m listening to him. I’m a helpful person, almost to a fault.
So, am I just going to let him keep me shut up in this cab?
Yes. Yes, I am.
I watch him move around through the blinding snow. There seems to be only one passenger, and she’s done a 180 in her Lincoln Continental right on the ice and can’t seem to get enough traction to get the tires moving in the right direction. When the wind lets up for half a second to reveal the night sky, the headlights shine on a road sign. My brain tracks to our location. We’re headed back into town. I finally accept that I’m not going to make it to any party, but I should at least let Jenna know what’s going on.
I take out my phone and text her: Car stuck in snow. No damage. Did you see my vid? Rando tow truck driver picked me up. Funny story—he’s out here on the roads all night long helping stranded drivers, for FREE. What?! I know. He’s…pretty hot, IMO. Weird night.
Jenna texts back shortly: OMG. I hope that’s not just a line to make you think he’s a nice guy. But I trust your instincts.
I text her back to say I’ll let her know as soon as we end up where we’re going…wherever that might be.
The person that piles into the back seat of the crew cab is not actually an old woman. I had only assumed this because I saw a blonde wig and the Lincoln. Now that I see this person up close, it’s actually a very famous local drag artist, Madam Violet Bick. She’s wearing a luxe purple overcoat and boots with heels as high as heaven. She buckles herself in and shouts, “It’s colder than a witch’s titty out there!”
I turn in my seat and gape at her. “Madam Violet, Merry Christmas!”
She returns my smile and extends a hand covered in a fur-lined leather glove. She apologizes for nothing; that leather and that fur is real. I squeeze her hand.
“Enchanté. You can just call me Violet,” she says.
“We've met before,” I say. “I did a live feed at your club after the tornadoes came through last year. You were doing a supply drive for people who had lost their homes.”
Bear has hooked up the Lincoln to the tow line and has chipped away at the ice holding the driver side door closed. He’s cussing as he piles in, slamming the door against the rushing wind. He cranks the heat and pulls off his ice-covered gloves, blows on them.
Violet’s glittered eyelids pop as recognition floods her face. “Oh my god, Chief Meteorologist Mary Reed from Channel 2!”
I laugh as I give Bear an elbow. “Did you hear that? She knows my proper title!”
Bear turns and nods to Violet politely and looks at me. “That’s all right by me. I’m the only one allowed to call you my weather girl.”
I cluck my tongue at him. “It’s a little sexist, don’t you think?”
Violet is checking the state of her wig in a compact mirror and picking out tiny chunks of snow. “Oh, you two are too young to be arguing like old marrieds. How long y’all been together?”
My heart drops into my stomach and then lurches up into my throat. It’s like being on a rollercoaster. I look over at Bear and I laugh. “We’re not together,” I say.
