My car broke down in the mountains. Who cares?
My phone is dead, just like I’ll be in a few hours.
How long does it take to freeze to death? I wish I could Google the answer.
As my thoughts run down a path of complete madness, the sound of tires crunching snow stops my mental breakdown.
A white Dodge Ram pulls up beside me, and a tall man wearing jeans and a navy coat hops down from the front seat. His long legs stride toward me.
“Oh, thank Ernie McSmartypants you came along,” I say as I step out of the car. “I would have died out here.”
The man with dark hair and a full beard to match smiles at me. “Ernie Mcwho?”
I swat away my nonsense. “Nevermind. Thank you so much for saving me. You’re like my knight in shining armor.”
The stranger focuses green eyes on me. “You’re very lucky you didn’t end up in that ravine.” To emphasize the peril, he points to a deep crack in the earth just off the road.
I cringe. “I’m Winter. My car won’t start.”
His chiseled jaw ticks as his eyes roam over me from head to toe. “I’m Kane. Nice to meet you.”
I stick out a mitten-covered hand for him to shake. “The pleasures all mine.”
When does this ever happen to someone like me? A handsome, rugged savior comes to rescue me?
“I’ll look under your hood.”
A sublime tingle moves from my toes to the top of my head as I watch him finger the hood and pop it open. He caresses the cables while chattering away about the temperature dropping, and how the car probably flooded. I’m barely listening, because I’m memorizing the way his body bends over the mechanical gobbledygook like a man who knows what he’s doing. Memorizing the tiny puffs of smoke wafting past his sensual lips as he talks about batteries and oil.
“You probably hit the gas too hard when you tried to start the engine,” he says, snapping me back to the present.
“Right,” I answer, like I paid attention.
He rises to his full height, towering over me. “Let me try.”
I hand over my keys and watch as he sits in my driver’s seat. Please, don’t let it start. Thoughts of him driving me into town turn into climbing into his backseat so we can get it on.
No such luck. The car purrs to life under his manly hand.
He winks at me while showing off a gleaming set of straight teeth. “There.” He says the word like he’s the master of the universe, and an unexpected part of me wants him to be the master of mine.
“Wow, you’re amazing,” I blurt out.
He gives the steering wheel a loving pat before swinging his long legs out of the vehicle. “Will you be ok to make it into town?”
I nod. “Yes, I’m good.”
“You sure? Make sure you keep it slow and don’t brake too fast.”
I don’t want to tell him about the deer and instead slide into the driver’s seat. “Thank you again, Kane.”
He leans against the car frame, one arm slung over the door, staring down at me. “Don’t mention it.”
He shuts my door and, arms crossed, watches me drive away.
Franky Stripeytights. I should have asked for his number.
“Mother, you can’t rush off to get married without telling your only daughter,” I say, turning off the loud beat of the Black Eyed Peas, “Imma Be,” blaring through the speakers as my mother sweats on her elliptical.
She stops pumping her legs and reaches for a huge jug of water. “Once you meet Randall, you’ll understand.”
“Is he made of candy canes?”
Everyone knows candy canes are my favorite, but I’m being sarcastic, obviously. I swear I don’t recognize this woman standing before me. I mean, she’s exercising.
“No, but he definitely tastes sweet.”
“Mom, I don’t want to hear that.” I cover my ears, moving away and tossing myself onto the king-sized bed in her master bedroom.
She laughs at my reaction. “When you fall in love, you’ll be just as corny as me.”
“Not likely.” I rest my back against the mountain of pillows to stare at my mother, taking in her new look of bleached-blonde hair and oh my god, has she gotten Botox?
She smiles. “You’re coming to the annual event, right?”
I nod. “That's why I’m here.”
Every Christmas, Mom organizes an event at her family’s resort in the mountains of Jingle Hills to raise money for Toys For Tots. This year, my helper role has doubled—I’m creating a children’s book to gift the children visiting Santa and also playing Santa’s little elf. It’s not like I have a job anymore, so I’ll have plenty of time on my hands to finish The Adventures of Sparkly Figgybottom.
“Will Randall play Santa?” I ask. Last year, it was cousin Derrick, and let’s just say he was not jolly playing the part.
“No, Randall will be too busy entertaining guests with me. His son will be Santa this year.”