CHARLOTTE

I sink onto the massive bed, flopping onto my back. Uff. It's way more comfortable than my dorm in Burlington.

This is awkward, being around Oliver. Tense. I can't wait to see his sister. She's one of those effortlessly smart and cool girls. We'll drink coffee and Bailey's and catch up.

I hear the insistent buzz of my phone, and I roll over to the edge so I can dig into my purse.

"Mom?" I say breathlessly.

"Are you there? I've been worried."

"Yeah, I made it. The place is pretty. And huge."

"I'm glad you like it. I searched for days trying to find a house that would fit all of us."

"Who else is coming?" Leave it to me to pay attention now that I'm actually here with my five pieces of luggage.

She sighs. "Well, here's who was supposed to come. Your father and me, Sarah, Laura, and Christian, Collie and Sam. Rafael and Justine. Alba and Alex couldn't make it. Alba's on some research ship in the Gulf, and Alex has commitments with the soccer team."

"Hell," I mutter.

"I'm sorry. I know how you adore Alba. Oh, and Oliver. He's coming. Is he there? He was supposed to drive up from Boston earlier today."

"Yeah, about that."

"What, Sharkie?"

"When are you getting here? When is everyone else getting here? Have you heard?"

"That's what I called to tell you. All flights are grounded because of this damn blizzard. Every last one. We no sooner got in the car when the pilot called."

"What does that mean? You're not coming?"

"Oh, sweetheart. We are. We'll be there as soon as we can. Hopefully, we can get there tomorrow, so we'll all be together for Christmas Eve. Justine and Rafael are here to spend the night in hopes that we can get out tomorrow, and Sarah and Laura are stranded in Chicago."

I tune my mom out as she talks in detail about the travel plans of everyone who's supposed to be here by now.

"But Mom," I interrupt, then lower my voice. "I'll be here alone with him."

"With who? Who's there?"

"Oliver."

"What? You've known him since you were born. Oh my God, did he do something weird to you? Was he creepy? I didn't think he was that kind of boy, ah, man, but you never know—"

"No, Mom. He's been super nice. He brought my bags in and everything. He wasn't creepy at all. Far from it."

"Okayyy, so what's the problem? I'm glad he's there, actually. Your father and I didn't like the idea of you being alone in that big house. But if you feel uncomfortable, we can try to find you a hotel. Although I don't like you driving in the dark in a storm. You're probably exhausted. Just stay in your room, and lock your door if you feel unsafe."

"I don't feel unsafe," I cry. "Not at all. He's a gentleman."

"Uh-huh. Okay. Tell me more." I can tell by her tone that the little matchmaking gears in her mind are turning. My entire life, Mom's tried to make love connections with everyone. It started with Uncle Colin (or so I was told by Aunt Sarah) and expanded to everyone in her path. No unattached person was safe. She even somehow paired the mayor of Orlando with the woman who cleans her bookstore. They've been married five years now.

"Tell me more, Sharkie. Give it up."

I fight back a grin. The older I get, the more I talk to Mom like she's my BFF. She used to write erotica, so absolutely nothing shocks her. "I dunno. It's that he's changed. He's bigger. Muscular. More like a man. His voice is deep. When I last saw him, he was a boy. Like a geek."

"Well." I can hear the mirth in Mom's voice. "I fail to see the problem."

"I guess I didn't tell you. We'd had a thing years ago. Well, not even a thing. A night. Okay, five minutes. I had a massive crush on him."

Mom gasps. "I thought you told me everything, Charlotte Marie King. I hope you used protection. When was it?"

She actually took me to Planned Parenthood for the pill a year after my kiss with Oliver, when I was sixteen. Just to be safe.

"We didn't have sex. It was a kiss. Okay, my first kiss. Well, not my first-first kiss, that was at eighth grade prom with...with..."

"Whatshisname. The boy with the cowlick."

Only she can make me giggle with so few words. "Right. Yes. Him. But Oliver was my first real kiss."

At one time, I thought he was my first love, too. But I've never told anyone that, not even my mom. I suspect she knows, by the direction of this conversation.

"Hmm. Interesting."

"My first French kiss. I was fifteen. It was at that party his family had that one summer. You remember. His going away to college party." Oliver was only seventeen, but because he was so smart, he'd gone to college a year early.

"Right. The one at their house on the beach." She draws out the last part of that word, and I know she wants me to tell her more.

"Yeah, that one. Really, it was nothing. It felt like something monumental at the time. Then we didn't really talk after that because he went to college. I assumed it was because he didn't want anything to do with a high school kid. Or maybe he wasn't that into me. It's not like I could even talk to him on social media because he's one of those weirdoes that doesn't Snapchat or Instagram."

"Well, that explains a lot. Justine always said that he asked about you often. I always suspected he was attracted to you. The two of you were so close as children."

How does she know these things? "Everything was monumental back then, right? It just feels uncomfortable now. I dunno."

"Well, as long as you think you're safe with him, why don't you just relax and have a nice time? You probably have a lot in common still. You've been studying hard, and I'm sure he's been studying hard at his school. And you have such a shared history. It's sweet."

I groan and flop around on the bed.

"Do you have condoms with you?" Her voice is practically a whisper.

"Mom!" I yelp.

"You should always be prepared."

"Yeah, of course I do." Not like I've had any reason to use them recently. All the guys at my school are into one thing: Tinder. Endless swiping. Never-ending text threads. Lukewarm hookups. Zero conversation. Subzero attraction. The allure of apps and hookups faded by the end of freshman year. Dating in college is such a grind. Not the good kind of grind, either.

I don't have much hope that post college dating's all that satisfying, either. So I've vowed to stay single until I'm thirty. Or forty.

"Good girl. Listen, Justine and Rafael are here, and I don't want to be rude. I'm glad you're there safe. Call if you need me. I love you."

"I love you too. Oh, Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Did you hear from the doctor?"

Her pause sends a spike of fear into my chest. "No, I haven't. Maybe tomorrow. I'll call you when I do. Don't you worry, okay? Everything will be fine. Just relax and have fun with Oliver."

I rub my lips together, trying not to burst into tears. "Okay. I love you. Tell Dad I love him too."

We make kiss-kiss noises and hang up.

And I weep.

It takes me a while to stop blubbering. Dammit, this is supposed to be vacation. It's the last winter break of my college years. I've got to get a grip. Mom doesn't want me to worry.

The unknown is hella scary, though. Somehow, Mom's test result has plunged me into adulthood almost overnight. Or it feels that way. It's all so serious. I wasn't ready for this. But I guess no one ever is.

I take a deep, shaky breath.

This damned snowstorm isn't making things any better. I pull back the curtain and peer out. Holy Frosty the Snowman.

The snow's blowing sideways in the night sky. My window overlooks the driveway and the parking area adjacent to the house. It's snowing so hard now my tire tracks have disappeared.

In my three and a half years at school in Vermont, I've never seen it snow this much. In past winter holidays, we've gone to Vail or Whistler or Tremblant. This is our first year in Vermont, and our first year staying in one house with more than just Mom, Dad, and me.

Sighing, I grab my phone. I'm surprised to see a warning flash on my screen.

EMERGENCY ALERT

Blizzard warning in this area till 12 p.m. EST Saturday.

Prepare.

Avoid Travel.

Check media.

—NWS

Damn. It must be a bad storm if the weather service or the government or whoever is sending out alerts for the next eighteen hours. I'm grabbing the remote for the TV in my room when I pause.

I've been in my room for a half hour. It's not cool to leave Oliver downstairs by himself. I need to at least hang out with him for a little while. I can't just sit in here and watch The Weather Channel by myself.

Being offended about a minor brush off six years ago seems a bit dramatic, even for me.

I'm an adult now. A woman. Someone who gives zero fucks about men and their games. Oliver's probably like the rest of them, anyway. How can he not be like his brother Alex, who screwed two of my friends? That was a debacle. He'd slept with one on a Friday, another on a Saturday, when they visited Madrid a few years ago. The shit hit the fan on Sunday when they both realized what had happened. They'd all called me in the middle of the night to grouse.

As kind as Alex is to me—he'd never dream of coming on to me, because he knows I'd never put up with his cavalier treatment of women—he's a fuckboy with a capital F.

Oliver worships his older brother, or at least he did. So, he's probably picked up Alex's habits and attitudes toward women. And he's way too good looking and rich to not be in hot demand by every woman with a pulse at MIT.

I wash my face, add a long sweater layer to my boho outfit, apply lip gloss, kick my boots off, and respond to a bunch of texts from friends. Glancing in the mirror, I assess my outfit. Cute and appropriate for a ski vacation...except for the stockings that stop about two inches above my knee, which means a few inches of thigh peek out.

It looks a little too sexy without footwear. I dig in a bag, pull out my calf-high, white faux fur boots, and slip my feet in them.

Checking myself in the mirror, I almost giggle out loud through my sniffles. The idea of hooking up with Oliver flits through my brain. I probably would, if he hadn't ghosted me when we were teens. And if I wasn't feeling so afraid for Mom.

So. The boots stay on.

Oliver's in the kitchen when I go downstairs. He's in front of an open oven door, bent over slightly.

I check out his ass for the third time. Then I clear my throat because I feel a little too pervy.

He notices me and shuts the door. "Hey. You want pizza? It's meat-free. You're still vegetarian, right?"

I slide onto a high stool at the massive white granite kitchen island and set my phone in front of me. "Yeah, sounds good. How'd you remember?"

"Found a bunch of pizzas in the freezer. I think your mom had them stocked. We have enough food and booze to last the winter."

"Well, at least we won't have to resort to cannibalism if we're stranded."

He busts out laughing. I'm admiring the hint of stubble on his face when it dawns on me that he hasn't answered my question. He remembered I'm a vegetarian?

"Beer?" he asks, pointing to the fridge.

"Why not?"

There's an awkward silence while he grabs the bottles out of the fridge and goes through every drawer looking for an opener. He hands me an open bottle, then clinks his to mine.

"Cheers."

"Cheers. Hey, I got this alert on my phone. It says this huge blizzard's going on till tomorrow." I wave my phone at him, and he grabs it.

"Yeah, I got the same one. Supposedly this is one of those hundred-year storms." He pauses and taps on my phone. "Nice screensaver. Where was it taken?"

My screensaver is Mom and me. We're both in little black dresses. "Thanks. That was in New York. My mom met me there for my twenty-first birthday."

A grin spreads on his face. "That's really cool. Spending your twenty-first birthday with your mom. Most people get obliterated at a frat party or club."

"We did get tipsy." I smile, recalling how we'd gone to the Algonquin, drank champagne, and looked for the resident hotel cat.

And then I remember that I might not have any more weekends in New York with her. My eyes grow wet, and I shudder in a breath.

"You okay?" He tilts his head.

"Yeah." God, this is so hard. "No."

His eyes grow round. "What's wrong?"

"Jesus, I'm falling apart in front of you within an hour of getting here."

"Sharkie, we've known each other our whole lives. I know we haven't seen each other since...since high school. But tell me what's going on."

So he is acknowledging, at least a little, our kiss. That's a start. "Sorry. It's my mom. She had some weird test results last month. Health stuff. It's why she organized this whole vacation, this cabin, for everyone. For your parents, and Dad's sister and brother. I think she's worried this will be her last Christmas. The words testing for breast cancer are never good."

A fat tear rolls down my cheek.

"Oh, Sharkie. God. I didn't know. I'm sorry." He rounds the island kitchen counter and puts his big hand on my back.

Lord. He smells so good. What twenty-three-year-old guy smells like fabric softener and freshly cut Florida grass? I swivel the chair into him, and in one fluid motion, he takes me in his arms. Uh-oh. I like this. Too much. I wrap my arms around his neck. He's all muscle and comfort.

Through my sadness, I feel flare of desire. The heat from his body is like a lit match pressed against my skin.

Sadness and lust battle for control in my body. Not cool.

I don't want him to think I'm a total mess, so I straighten my spine, which is his cue to back away. He does. That's a good sign that he understands my boundaries. Usually college turns good-looking guys into disrespectful dicks.

I pray Oliver isn't a dick.

"I'm probably overreacting. She was supposed to get results today but didn't. Maybe tomorrow." I swivel away and reach for a napkin so I can dab my eyes.

"No, you're not. You're close to your mom. It's like me and my dad. When he got in that car crash, I thought I was going to lose it."

"Wait. I didn't know about that. When was it? Is he okay?"

"It was in downtown Miami, some idiot ran a red light. Dad was really lucky because it only clipped the back of his car. But they took him to the hospital anyway, and when my mom called and said something about internal injuries, I'd never been so afraid."

I nod, staring at him through my wet lashes. "So, you understand."

"Yeah. I do. You just need a distraction until you know what's going on with her."

My breath hitches as we stare at each other. What's he suggesting, exactly?

"See, that makes you grin. I just need to entertain you until they get here. Get your mind off everything."

I grin. There are many ways he can entertain me. Starting with those full lips of his. And those hands. I imagine them sliding down my ribcage and clutching my hips as we—

He laughs. I laugh. The laughter fades.

The awkward silent pause is back. Hoo boy. This is going to be an interesting night, me with graphic sex fantasies, not sugarplums, dancing through my head.

"So, about that blizzard." He takes a sip of his beer and eyes my cute furry boots. He quickly looks away, and his aura is suddenly aloof. Too much emotion for him, probably. I'm a lot to handle, at least that's what other guys have said.

"Yeah. That blizzard. Let's check the forecast." I fiddle with my phone and pretend to look at weather.com with a serious look on my face. "Yep. It's going to snow for a while. I've never seen it like this in Vermont."

He looks at me funny, probably because it's kind of ridiculous. It snows in Vermont. All the damn time. Sometimes from October to May. I turn back to the phone.

"This is an unprecedented storm." Then I remember that he called it a hundred-year storm, and I shut up. Why am I so nervous around a guy I've known all my life?

"At least you wore the proper boots." He grins.

"Are you talking shit about my boots?"

He shrugs. "You look a little like a woolly mammoth."

I throw my balled-up napkin at him, and we laugh, the awkwardness evaporating into thin air.

We spend the next few minutes talking about safe subjects—the weather, school, his sister, the weather again—when I smell the distinct aroma of burn.

"Uh, Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"I think the pizza's burning."

"Oh shit!" he yells.

When he opens the door, a cloud of smoke wafts out. "It's not that burned."

He dons an oven mitt—what is it about muscular men wearing oven mitts that's so sexy—and pulls out the pizza stone. He sets it on the granite-topped island in front of me, then slides the mitt off his hand.

"See, it's only burned on one side." He takes a round pizza cutter and, with more finesse than I'd expect, expertly slices it into eight perfect pieces.

I lean toward the pizza to inspect it. "I'll take the burned piece."

"Nah, I'll eat it. It's my fault for being distracted." He turns his back and opens a cabinet.

Distracted? Hmm. I raise an eyebrow.

Plates in hand, he returns to the pizza. "What?" The grin is back.

"Why were you distracted?" Oh Christ, I sound way too flirtatious. He'll probably assume I'm throwing myself at him.

He chuckles and scoops a non-burned piece and slides it onto a plate. "Ahhh."

I take the plate from him. "Ahhh?"

"This is awkward." He puts two charred pieces on his plate, tears off a piece of crust and crunches the blackened pizza. It must taste like hell. All the while looking at me with those beautiful eyes.

I clear my throat and wriggle an arm out of my sweater. "That fire's pretty warm. Really heats the whole house. So? Why is it awkward? Why were you distracted?"

He swallows, and the side of his mouth quirks up. "Not trying to be creepy or anything, but you look different than you used to."

I slow my chewing. He totally thinks I'm a freak or something. I wipe my mouth with a napkin. "What do you mean by that? How'd I used to look?"

He shakes his head, laughing. "Don't get paranoid. You used to be cute. Now you're...you're..."

"I'm what?" I pick up my pizza slice and smile at it. This is fun, flirting with a guy in person and not through a stupid cell phone.

"You're gorgeous now. Even with the woolly mammoth boots." His voice lowers just a touch, and if I was warm before, I'm breaking out in a sweat now. "Especially with the woolly mammoth boots."

His voice is genuine and tinged with desire. His smile tugs at that secret place inside of me.

Score one for the furry boots.

____