A Christmas Cabin for Two Read online

  I cleared my throat. “Don’t worry. Not gonna try to kiss you or anything.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. Why did I keep saying such weird shit? Besides, kissing him had been on my mind pretty much nonstop since yesterday. I rubbed the back of my neck, which, despite the frigid wind whistling through the slats in the barn, burned almost painfully hot.

  “Um.” Mikah’s eyes flashed wide and fixed hard on the cash box. “So, yeah. I don’t think I fucked anything up. I remembered from yesterday that the trees are seventy, right? And I, uh, followed this very official document for everything else.” He held up the pricing sheet, written out by Abby with glittery crayon on a piece of green construction paper. That adorable, sweet smile was back on Mikah’s face.

  A hard gust of wind slammed into the barn, and Mikah wrapped his arms around himself, grabbing his biceps tight. There was no way that damn jacket was protecting him from the cold on a day like this. His fingertips were white, and I realized with a sharp bolt of worry that he was shivering. My desire to stand around and flirt in the drafty barn evaporated. I needed to get him warmed up.

  “Hot chocolate?” My voice sounded rough even to my own ears.

  “Are you sure you have time? It seems like you guys are pretty busy today.”

  Aside from the distant groan of the saws and the ever-present murmur of the wind, it was quiet. I shrugged. “I have time.” I would gladly give up the extra cash and face my brother’s good-natured irritation if it meant spending even five extra minutes with Mikah.

  After a moment he nodded, murmuring a muted “okay.”

  Mikah followed me at a distance. I glanced back at him, realizing there was a good chance I was making him uncomfortable. I knew my size and taciturn nature sometimes intimidated people. And the fact that I kept gawking at him probably didn’t help. So I tried some small talk, slowing my steps so he could catch up. “Your sister told me you’re from Manhattan?”

  “Yeah.” Mikah’s voice was soft and his arm bumped mine as we walked side by side through the newly fallen snow. “We grew up there. But I moved to Boston for college and stayed. I guess I liked it better than New York. It’s a little calmer. Especially Cambridge. Plus I got a job with Boston Public Schools right after finishing my master’s. But then in August, I found out my position got cut. The district laid off, like, a hundred teachers. I was one of them.” He pressed his lips firmly together and shook his head like he was scolding himself for saying too much. His eyes were wary when they flicked to mine.

  Okay, so my attempts at light, pleasant conversation were a failure. “What did you teach?” I asked, pushing open my front door and shrugging out of my coat.

  “Creative writing and journalism. And one section of AP Lit. But since I mostly taught electives….” He dragged his finger over his throat.

  “Damn. That sucks, man.”

  Mikah shrugged. “Yeah.”

  He stared down at the floor, arms crossed over his narrow chest. I couldn’t tell if he was dying to leave or if he just didn’t mind the quiet. Or maybe he was worried I was about to murder him. In an attempt to ease the awkward silence that slammed down between us like a metal gate, I turned on some music, Christmas with Elvis and The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. The noise seemed to calm Mikah, and he drifted over to the low bookcase crammed with all my dad’s old CDs. It was mostly classic country: Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, George Jones. And of course Elvis. Every single album the King of Rock and Roll ever released. I set a pan on the stove and rummaged around in the cabinet for cocoa powder and marshmallows. No instant stuff today.

  “You like Elvis, huh?” Mikah asked, a smile in his voice. I smiled too. People loved to tease me about my Elvis obsession. But Elvis was the sound of good days. When I came home from school and heard “Jailhouse Rock” or “Heartbreak Hotel” blasting from the boom box in the living room, I knew my dad would be bright eyed, grinning, excited to ask me about my day. Sometimes he would put Elvis on while we worked in the garage, tuning up the tractor or messing around with carpentry projects. The music made me happy.

  “Yup,” I said, eyes raking over Mikah. His lithe frame was clad entirely in black: black jeans, thin black sweater, even his socks were black. I tried not to let myself stare at the perfect lines of his body as he bent down to brush his fingertips over the spines of the large collection of gardening books crowding the bottom shelf. His fingers were long, slim, elegant. I wondered idly if he played the piano.

  “Elvis was my first crush,” I murmured. Mikah’s fingers stilled on the books. He turned to me, eyes wide. I refocused on stirring up the hot chocolate.

  When I asked Mikah if he wanted marshmallows, he just nodded, looking dazed. And when we sat down, he scooted to the opposite end of the couch. Something deflated in my chest, but I quickly tried to shake it off. More light conversation, then he’d leave. I’d go back to my quiet routine. Wake up, exercise, eat, work, sleep, repeat. It was fine that way.

  “So has your dad lived in Jackson long?” I asked, trying to cut the sudden tension in the room with more small talk.

  Mikah gripped his mug with both hands, curling in on himself. I wondered if yet again I’d managed to stumble into a conversational minefield. Maybe I needed to work on my social skills.

  Mikah’s throat clicked in an audible swallow. “A few years,” he said, very intent on inspecting my Christmas tree.

  Once again the conversation faltered. I’d never been good at talking. But I wanted to learn more about this beautiful, adorably anxious man. Besides, the way Mikah flushed at the suggestion of kissing, the recognition in his eyes when I mentioned my crush on Elvis, I was starting to guess he was also somewhere on the queer spectrum. Selfishly, I wanted to know for sure—I just plain wanted him. I also wanted him to be comfortable. Even if he might be into guys, that didn’t mean he would necessarily be into me. All of my stupid inner turmoil bubbled up into my throat, and I groaned. Fuck. I didn’t know how to do this.

  Color rose to Mikah’s cheeks, and he lifted his gaze to mine, glancing at me through inky lashes. He really was adorable. Hot tension arced between us, and my whole body clenched with need at the thought of his full lips against mine. Too bad I hadn’t brought some of that damn mistletoe with me. Taking a slow, deep breath, I decided honesty would be the best course of action. “I want to kiss you.” I looked right at him.

  Mikah’s breath caught. He took a large gulp of hot chocolate, wincing like he’d burned himself. A tiny bit of marshmallow stuck to his full lower lip. Lust sluiced through me when his tongue darted out to lick it away.

  “That okay?” I asked. The words came out low and rough. I cleared my throat. Mikah nodded slowly. “C’mere.” I patted the couch next to me. He slid over, clearly tentative, his eyes still locked with mine.

  With equal trepidation I lifted my thumb to his mouth, brushing over it softly. His skin was warm and flower-petal soft. Then his tongue was on my finger, and electric pleasure thrummed over every inch of my skin. One touch and I was aching for him as his lips closed around the very tip of my thumb. His shoulders dropped, and he gasped, an audible release of the tension he’d been radiating since he got out of his car. Mikah smiled a small, almost victorious smile. Then he closed the rest of the distance between us, and his lips brushed the corner of my mouth, the contact still a little cautious.

  “Please,” I breathed against his lips, my mouth so dry I could barely grind the word out.

  I was frozen on the spot, desire rooting me to the couch. All I could do was stare at him, a little surprised but a lot turned-on as he climbed onto my lap, straddling me. He kissed me again, this time hot and hungry. No one had ever kissed me like this, so open and needy and… present. Now, Mikah was holding nothing back. His lips were plush and smooth against mine, and as his tongue slipped into my mouth, my whole body flushed with delicious pleasure. My brain finally caught up and my hands flew to his slim hips, locking him against me as he pressed openmouthed kisse
s all over my jaw, my ear, my throat, then back to my lips. The intensity of his need was unmistakable in every tiny sigh and soft gasp.

  “Oh God, sorry. Shit. I, uh, kind of lost control there for a second.” Mikah released a shaky laugh and nuzzled his face into the curve of my neck. The intimacy of the gesture only ratcheted up my desire further, lodging dry heat in my throat and pulling a rough growl from my chest. I was dizzy with my need to touch him, to tangle my fingers into his hair, to rub my palms over his skin, to kiss every inch of him.

  His lips curved up in a smile against my throat. “So,” he whispered, and his breath was a feather dragging against my skin. “I don’t actually know your name.”

  As gently as possible, I clutched his narrow shoulders and pushed him back so I could look in his eyes. They were hooded, long lashes fluttering and pupils blown out. “Matt,” I said softly.

  “Mikah,” he returned, pointing to his chest, although I already knew. He leaned forward to skim his lips over mine. Finally I gave in to my desire to fist my hand into his messy dark curls. His hair was even softer than I’d imagined, and I gripped it hard, crushing our mouths together. The kiss deepened, both of us pressing on each other like we couldn’t possibly get close enough. Mikah rolled his hips, rutting his hardness against me, and I trailed my hands down his back to hold him tight against my body.

  “Whoa!” Our heads both snapped up at the gust of cold air and booming sound of John’s voice that accompanied it. I slammed my head back against the couch and groaned as Mikah clambered off of me. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought you were alone, dude.” My stupid brother’s dumb voice was heavy with mirth.

  Mikah had actually thrown a pillow over his crotch like we were in high school. I couldn’t help but grin. Giving his knee a quick, gentle squeeze, I made the appropriate introductions. Well, as appropriate as possible given the uncomfortable circumstances. “John, this is Mikah. Mikah, this idiot is my brother, John.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” John inclined his head, doing his dumb charming cowboy routine. Mikah nodded but mostly looked like he wanted to die on the spot.

  “Did you need something?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  “Well, it’s getting kinda busy out there. Could use your help.” John looked suddenly sheepish. “But, um, I’ll give y’all a minute.” He yanked the door shut, and through the large front window I watched him dart back to the barn with an irritating spring in his step.

  “Shit.” Mikah huffed, wheeling on me. “I’m so sorry. Did he know?”

  I nodded and traced my fingers over the fine line of his jaw, then over his lips again. They were damp and swollen. “Yeah. He knows I’m gay. He’s probably in seventh heaven right now. Always trying to matchmake.”

  Mikah snorted; then we both dissolved into laughter. It felt good. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at ease with someone who wasn’t John or Katie.

  “Sorry, though. I totally interrupted your day. And, honestly, I’d better head home. My older brother gets in tonight, and everyone’s freaking out trying to get stuff ready. Luca’s totally my dad’s favorite kid.” His wry expression seemed a little forced.

  “Don’t apologize. I’ll take an interruption like this any damn time.” I chucked him under the chin, and he rolled his eyes. Being with Mikah felt surprisingly natural, easy like slipping into a favorite wash-worn T-shirt. “Can I get your number maybe?” I asked, desperately hoping he’d say yes.

  “Fuck yeah.” Mikah beamed and wrenched his phone from his back pocket. I gave him my number, and he texted me so I had his, the distant buzz sounding in the pocket of my coat. “Do you want to hang out tomorrow, like maybe get a drink or something?” His nervousness was back, like maybe he was worried I would say no.

  I knew that tomorrow the farm would likely be slammed with people hurrying to get trees and greenery, now that the holiday season had officially begun. I also could not have cared less about ditching all of my work duties to spend every possible minute with Mikah. “Yeah.” I brushed his hair back from his face because I couldn’t seem to stop touching him. “Do you like hiking?”

  He made a seesaw motion with his hand, and I remembered that the guy didn’t seem to own any functional winter clothing. “I’ll try it,” he hedged, looking incredulous.

  “Okay.” I heaved myself off the couch before tugging Mikah to his feet. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let him go. Instead I hurried to the entryway and handed him his impractical jacket. “Meet me at three at the Cache Creek Trailhead. And try to dress warm.”

  Chapter Three

  Mikah

  TINY bubbles fizzed around the translucent strips of orange zest. Catching my lower lip between my teeth, I scooped the pieces of candied citrus peel out of the simple syrup, then carefully arranged them on a sheet of waxed paper. Nonna had always insisted that good, homemade candied orange was the key to excellent panettone. This would be the first year she wasn’t around to make the Christmas bread, since she had, unfortunately, decided to stay in Palermo to spend the holidays with my zia Paola and cousins. But even if Nonna wasn’t going to be here, I wanted everything to be perfect. On a marble slab next to the sink, Elena rhythmically kneaded the egg-yellow dough, filling the kitchen with a buttery, yeasty aroma.

  Our older brother, Luca, wandered in from the living room, dark hair perfectly slicked back, tapping away on his phone. “Any coffee left?” he asked, not looking up.

  “No, Mikah drank the last of it.” Elena threw me under the bus.

  Now I’d have to struggle all over again with our dad’s space-age espresso machine. I longed for the easy familiarity of my moka pot back home, the comforting sound of the coffee percolating on the stove. Then I remembered, yet again, that this faux-rustic mansion was my home for the time being. Not too bad, all things considered. But I still hated my dad’s fancy coffee maker.

  Popping one of the slightly cooled pieces of orange peel into my mouth snapped my mind right back to where I didn’t want it to go. To the day before. To the way Matt’s body had reacted to me licking the marshmallow off my lips. The sweetness lingering on his tongue. The way his strong hands had gripped my waist and tangled into my hair. The way he’d smelled like fabric softener and pine. The surprising trust he showed for me to help him out with his business even though he hardly knew me.

  I splashed a little cold water from the sink on my face and patted my heated skin with a clean dishtowel. The last thing I needed was to get hard while hanging out in the kitchen with my siblings. Scratch that. The actual last thing I needed was to be thinking of Matt at all.

  Last night had been restless: punching my pillow, rustling around in bed, thinking of what I might say and what he might say when we saw each other next. I was almost sick with wanting. Finally, failing to pause the looping reel of our kiss in my mind, I’d decided that I was going to cancel our date. If I was already obsessing over Matt to this degree after spending all of a collective hour in his presence, there was no way I could handle seeing him again. Having just emerged from the fog of heartbreak, I was terrified of intimacy, and I was fine with that fact, thank you very much.

  As if Elena could read my mind, she glanced up from her steady kneading and pinned me with a long look. “What happened with the Christmas tree dude yesterday? You were gone for a while.” Her perfect eyebrows arched toward her hairline.

  Luca looked up from his phone. “Christmas tree dude? You already seeing someone, Mikah? Because you shouldn’t rush into anything….” His broad shoulders tensed under his blazer. I had never seen my brother dress casually. Or act remotely calm. He’d always been overprotective and intense.

  “Stai zitta,” I hissed, shushing Elena and ignoring Luca altogether.

  But my brother, undeterred, set his phone down and started efficiently preparing himself an espresso. He spoke with his back to me. “Dad says you’ve been sullen since you got here. And I don’t blame you. The way Josh handled the breakup was bull
shit. All I’m saying is you should take some time. You’re only twenty-four. Relax. Go skiing. Get to know yourself again. You don’t need to be jumping into a new relationship just a few months after you got dumped.”

  My stomach dropped at the mention of Josh’s name. Dumped didn’t even begin to describe what he’d done. But what word did one use to describe an abrupt radio silence after three years of dating, one of them a desperate attempt to make things work long-distance, followed by a curt letter detailing his engagement to someone else? I guess dumped would have to work.

  “Luca, drop it.” Elena’s voice was gentle. But then she turned to me. “That guy was gorgeous. And he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Please, please tell me he, like, bent you over a hay bale and had his way with you.”

  My cheeks burned. “Jesus, El. You’re disgusting.” Actually, though, that sounded really hot. Or it would have if it weren’t my damn sister saying it.

  “Oh my God. Something did happen!” Elena clapped her hands together. “Dimmi!”

  I threw my head back with an exasperated sigh. “We kissed, you weirdo. Whatever. It wasn’t a big deal.” Lie. I couldn’t stop thinking about the perfect way our mouths had fit together.

  Luca took a break from stirring sugar into his coffee to drag a hand over his trim beard. He and our father sported identical facial hair. And now he was also wearing the exact same all-knowing, patronizing expression our dad favored. Great. “Mikah,” he began, and I half expected him to call me caro the way our mom did, “are you sure this is a good idea? You know you don’t exactly have the best track record.”

  God, my family was never going to let me live down my romantic failures. I’d been a shy kid. So when I finally came out in high school and started dating Steven, everyone had been thrilled. He took me to concerts. We went to parties together and hung out with his friends in artfully shabby apartments in the Village. My family’s joy had evaporated, however, when Steven came over for dinner, and they discovered he was a senior at NYU. I was seventeen and hadn’t even seen anything wrong with the whole arrangement. I’d felt lucky he was interested in me. Between that debacle and the recent collapse of my relationship with Josh, I didn’t really blame Luca for being concerned. Well, logically I didn’t blame him. I was concerned enough for the both of us, though. I’d recently learned that opening up to someone was basically a recipe for disaster. Clenching my fists, I stared anywhere but my brother’s face.