Let It Snow Page 3

  “This is nice,” I say, really not meaning to. I want to take it back as quickly as it came out, because it feels too intimate, like it reveals too much.

  He lets out a low hum that rumbles through his chest, then rests his chin on the top of my head.

  I want to stay here forever.

  I let out a long, contented sigh.

  I could swear, swear, that Josh does, too.

  We wake up early for the long drive to Pittsburgh. I tiredly offer to drive for the hundredth time, but Josh insists he doesn’t want me to have to deal with low visibility because of all of his stuff shoved in the back of the car. So, I trudge over to the coffee pot and start a brew to wake us both up.

  Josh plants himself in the lone armchair in the room, probably because he’s a sleepy zombie in the morning and if he stays on the bed he might fall over and zonk out again. I sneak the nutmeg out of my bag and stir a little into his cup, then walk it over to him. He takes it with both hands and offers me a rough, “Thanks, Ames,” before I head into the shower.

  When I get out, Josh is already dressed—he’d taken a shower last night—and there’s a bagel sandwich waiting for me on the desk, which is serving as our makeshift table.

  I put my hair up in a bun, not bothering with makeup. That’s one good thing about being best friends with the guy I’m hopelessly in love with. He’s seen me with makeup on, without, sleepy and grumpy and held my hair back while I barfed unceremoniously into the toilet; there’s no need to impress.

  Josh and I eat together with the local news broadcast in the background. When we’re finished, I clean up as Josh does a Dad sweep of the hotel room, making sure we haven’t left anything behind.

  He tells me to wait in the lobby while he warms up the car, and takes my bag with him so that I don’t have to carry it. He texts me a couple minutes later to let me know it’s okay to come out, then we make our way on a long drive towards Lexington.

  The tree farm is owned by a really nice old man who gives us apple cider as we select our mini tree. He ties it to the roof of Josh’s SUV, and I can’t wipe the grin off of my face as we continue on toward Pittsburgh.

  “Are you happy?” he asks, leaning back in his seat, casually gripping the steering wheel.

  “Yes, very. This is the first time I’ve ever had a real tree! Dad usually drags the tiny pre-lit one out of the box when he pulls the Christmas decorations out of the attic.” I sigh happily, planning out the decorations like the world’s biggest dork. “My room is gonna smell delicious.”

  He laughs. “I’m glad we stopped.”

  I look at him, his gorgeous profile and the way the setting sun lights him from the side. He’s just beautiful in every way, inside and out. His kind heart makes me ache for him, a physical pain in my stomach that only gets worse the closer we get to Connecticut.

  “Thank you for thinking of me,” I tell him.

  He turns and looks at me, a soft smile on his face. “Always.”

  Chapter Four

  Neither one of us worries too much about the clouds we see gathering on the horizon as it gets dark. We’re from Connecticut and we’ve seen our share of snow. We’ve even seen a few light showers along the way. So, it isn’t a big deal when we see the first couple of flurries, but it does get gradually worse until the visibility is pretty bad.

  It is, of course, not helpful that daylight is fading.

  This foreboding feeling pushes me to pick up my phone, and scroll over to my weather app. When I see a red bar along the top, I know we’re in trouble.

  “Josh,” I say, and I can tell the pitch of my barely-concealed panic gets his attention. “Did you know there’s a blizzard coming?”

  It takes him a second to work that out. “A blizzard?”

  “Yeah, like a ton of snow falling down from the sky at record quantities, right in the area we’re headed.”

  “Can we turn back?” he asks.

  Hopeful, I check that option. We could maybe change our route a little, but if the outer bands of this thing are like this everywhere, we’d wind up in the same situation, just in a different place.

  “No. You didn’t check the weather?”

  He doesn’t dare take his eyes off the road to glare at me the way I know he wants to. “I was kinda busy, you know, packing up my entire life and stuff. Didn’t you?”

  I want to tell him I was too busy working and freaking out about being in love with him, but thankfully manage to keep that to myself. “No. Your mom is the mom-est of moms, I’m surprised she didn’t see this and map out an alternate route for you.”

  “She’s working on a big trial; she’s been in court all week.”

  I’m really regretting deciding to surprise my parents by turning up on their doorstep. My mom would usually take over the mom stuff when Josh’s wasn’t available.

  I sigh heavily. Too late to worry about all that now, this is what we’re dealing with.

  We’re kind of in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania, so I don’t have much hope that there are a ton of options available to us.

  I scour Google Maps for a saving grace, and find it in a little town called Holly Hill. The name sounds festive and bright, like some kind of magical place that would be the center of a Christmas rom-com. Turns out they have a motel there, and it looks decent.

  “There’s an exit about five miles away,” I tell him. “If we can make it there, there’s a small town a little ways down the main road. They have a motel there, and I can’t book online but I can’t imagine they wouldn’t have a vacancy.”

  We crawl to the exit, which is unfortunately pretty steep and also has a steep drop off either side. Josh flips on the four-wheel drive as we attempt to stop for the flashing red light at the bottom of the hill.

  “Drive slow,” I whisper, more to myself than anything, like I can just will him to not press the brakes too hard and send us careening into a very large tree.

  “I’m from Connecticut,” he says, like that somehow gave him infallible snow-driving skills.

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Turn right at the light,” I tell him. “It’s a ways down the main road, and the motel is on the right.”

  Of course we have to traverse a giant hill to get to this place, but we manage to do it rather quickly and safely. On the other side of it is a cute little town square with some kind of municipal building. There’s a giant lit tree outside, which makes a little thrill shoot through my Christmas-loving heart. There’s a general store next to it, and a restaurant right cross the street, in the same parking lot as the motel.

  The Holly Hill Inn consists of six rooms, an office, and a restaurant just off to the side in the parking lot. Despite the record-breaking snowstorm hurtling toward them, everything seems to be open. We pull into the motel parking lot; it’s a nice enough looking place, although seeing it in the daylight would definitely expose more of its warts. It’s one level, like one rambling ranch-style house. It’s painted black, but there are lights strung from the awning that stretches out from the first room to the last, and they were hung with the kind of precision and care that I admire.

  There are a few cars in the lot, and Josh pulls up in a spot right in front of the office. He runs inside, and I can see through the giant windows that he’s chatting with a really friendly older woman at the front desk who reminds me of my great aunt Margaret. She’s grinning at him like he’s the first ray of sunshine she’s seen in months.

  He hops back in the car a few minutes later with a pamphlet and a key on a keychain shaped like a giant piece of holly.

  I gotta respect the commitment to theming.

  “Looks like you have a fan,” I tease.

  He laughs. “Her name is Anne. She called me pumpkin. She also said that everything’s gonna stay open, no matter how much it snows, so…I guess we don’t have to worry about starving. Although I’m gonna run over to the general store before it gets too bad just in case. She said they close in an hour.”

  We pull into a spo
t in front of what I assume is our room, #6. Josh grabs the bags as I fumble with the lock and eventually get us into what’s going to be our home for however many days.

  It’s your typical motel room, surprisingly not as old or unfortunate looking as I would’ve imagined. Clearly the place has been here for decades, and while it isn’t very modern, it is very clean.

  And the bed looks fluffy and inviting.

  Bed as in singular.

  One.

  For both of us.

  “Uh…” I say, glancing at the queen. It’s not that Josh and I haven’t ever slept together in the traditional sense, because we have, many times. But once puberty hit we kind of avoided it for whatever reason, and of course it would come back into play when I’m having a crisis about wanting to drape my body over his and never let go.

  “Anne said they have a double, but the heat isn’t working,” he says, walking into the room and putting our stuff down next to the small couch and coffee table on the far side of the room.

  “It’s fine,” I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. “So long as you aren’t a complete cover hog.”

  He laughs, because he can’t defend himself from that one. “I promise I’ll be a complete cover gentleman.”

  I head back to the door, because we forgot some precious cargo.

  “Wait, where are you going?” he asks. “It’s gonna get really bad out there soon. Anne said it could be a couple of days before we’re able to leave.”

  Something sinks in my chest. Great. Two or more days of same-bed sleeping torture. I suppose that’s what I deserve for being dumb enough to not turn on The Weather Channel before we left on this trip.

  “I’m going to get the most important thing that we can’t leave outside.”

  His brows crinkle in this maddeningly cute way. “What?”

  “The baby tree that we specifically made a stop for. It needs water, we can’t just keep it strapped to the top of your Explorer, Josh,” I say, like he’s neglecting an actual human child.

  I expect him to make fun of me, but instead I’m met with this look that kind of makes it seem like he thinks I hung the moon.

  “I’ll get the tree,” he says warmly. “I’m gonna just run across the street really quick to see what they have, and I’ll rescue it on my way back if that’s okay.”

  I take a deep breath. “That’s okay. Want me to come with you?”

  He shakes his head. “No, you stay here where it’s warm.”

  Always so chivalrous.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he says, and he is for the most part. I unpack a little, crank up the heat, and twenty minutes later he walks through the door carrying a giant bag, an old coffee can, and my beautiful baby tree. He carefully sets it up in the corner, while I take the coffee can and fill it with water.

  After I’ve gotten the tree situated, this wave of exhaustion seems to hit both of us. Josh pulls a couple of sandwiches that he bought from the restaurant next door out of his giant bag of goodies from the store. We eat those, then I head into the bathroom to change into my jammies.

  When I walk out, Josh is in a pair of sweatpants but sans-shirt. It’s not like I haven’t seen him shirtless before. I have, many times. It’s just that he hasn’t gotten into sleep mode until after I’ve been in bed during this trip, and seeing it now, after everything…it’s different.

  All I can focus on are the strong muscles that span his back, the sharp cut of his abs, the slightest hint of his Adonis belt peeking out from where his pants are slung low on his hips. I remember a time when I could look at him without wanting to put my hands all over him, but that’s long gone. I want to memorize every inch of skin with my mouth.

  Whew, I’m in trouble.

  “I’m gonna brush my teeth,” I say when he catches me staring. I grab my toiletry kit and disappear into the bathroom at record speed, not anticipating that Josh would follow me in there.

  He pulls out his toothbrush while I pull out mine, and we dab stripes of toothpaste onto our brushes like it’s a synchronized Olympic event.

  We’ve done this before in another lifetime, when we were both pint-sized humans and needed stepstools to reach the faucet. Back when we were still young enough to have sleepovers at each other’s houses.

  We’d make faces at each other in the mirror and giggle with foamy mouths. Josh must be remembering the same thing, because he’s the first to stick his tongue out. Then he anchors the brush head under his top lip and lets it hang out like a giant fang. I laugh, and cross my eyes, pursing my lips together and pushing a little bit of foam out, like a weird fish.

  Josh’s laugh echoing off the walls is my favorite sound.

  It’s a sweet moment, one of a million we’ve had together throughout our years as friends.

  God, I’m gonna miss him.

  We climb into bed like it’s just something we do everyday, and while I’m getting situated as far away from him as I can without seeming suspicious, I accidentally brush my ice-cold feet against his calf.

  He hisses. “Jesus, Ames. I forgot how cold you always are.”

  “That’s rich coming from a giant furnace,” I say, pressing my feet further into him for revenge.

  He playfully grabs me by the waist and pulls me next to him, trapping my legs between his as he cradles me against his body.

  Strictly platonically, of course.

  “Nice, warm” I say, muffled against his chest, which is doubling as a very comfy pillow. It takes everything in me not to turn my head and breathe deep. I don’t roll away and Josh doesn’t either. We just lie together like that and fall asleep, tangled up together.

  Chapter Five

  We wake up still tangled together. I think I beat Josh into consciousness by about a minute or two, but I can tell he’s waking up by the way his breathing changes. I’m still tucked up against his side with my head on his chest. His bottom half is turned toward mine, and my legs are trapped between his thighs, my feet toasty warm.

  I’m a coward, so I pretend to still be asleep as Josh gently slips out from beneath me and heads into the bathroom. A few seconds later, I roll over and check my phone. It’s 7:30, and my weather app shows nothing but heavy snow for the rest of the day. Bright white light breaks through the edges of the curtains, so I can tell without even looking that it’s probably snowed a great deal overnight.

  The bathroom door opens and Josh emerges with a sweatshirt covering his previously bare chest. I’m a little disappointed, but it’s probably for the best.

  “Good morning,” he grumbles.

  I smile, because he’s always such a grouch first thing. “Good morning.”

  Thankfully this room has a coffee pot, which Josh is filling with water from the bathroom tap. Once he flips the lid closed, he yawns and ruffles his hair.

  “Did you sleep okay?” he asks.

  “I slept great,” I tell him. “No complaints. Covers are fully intact, feet are nice and warm. A-plus, would recommend.”

  That gets a smile out of him. “I’m glad to get such a rave review.”

  “How about you?”

  “Great, amazing. A-plus, would also recommend,” he says. “Do you mind if I open the curtains?”

  I groan and sit up, figuring I’ll be in a better position to face the onslaught of light if I’m halfway to getting up. “Go for it.”

  Josh is kind to our retinas and inches the curtains open so that we can get used to the light. I blink irritably, and once I’ve finally adjusted to the brightness, I gasp.

  That is…a buttload of snow. I slide my feet into my slippers, then lazy walk over to where Josh is standing. The windows are old and not well insulated, so it’s an arctic blast over here.

  The wind is heavy and the snow is blowing. It’s practically a white-out, we can barely make out the lit tree in front of the municipal building across the street. It’s actually kind of pretty.

  It’s obvious that someone at the motel has done their best to try and keep things clear be
cause the sidewalks only have a few inches of snow on them compared the the foot plus in other areas. The parking lot is looking better than the rest, too.

  “We really are gonna be here for a couple of days, huh?”

  “Looks like it,” Josh says. “Good thing we weren’t cutting it closer to Christmas.”

  Seriously. For all our bad planning at least it seems like we may be able to make it home on Christmas Eve.

  The coffee is almost done brewing, so to brighten my mood I pull out the string of lights I shoved in my bag for my baby tree, pull it out of the coffee can full of water so I don’t electrocute myself, then set it up in the corner of the room near the window and carefully drape the lights on the delicate branches.

  When I plug it in, I clap for its majestic beauty, which makes Josh laugh.

  I turn back to look at him, and he’s standing there watching me with the corner of his mouth tilted up in a faint smile.

  “If you make fun of me…”

  “Ames,” he breathes. “Making fun of you is the very last thing on my mind.”

  “How does it look?” I ask, admiring my handiwork.

  “Looks real good.” I shoot him a smile over my shoulder, then head off to the coffee machine with my little bottle of nutmeg stashed in my pocket.

  While I’m pouring, Josh asks, “Should I move the couch so we can watch the snow?”

  The idea is nice, but, “Do you think there’s anything creepy under there?”

  He hums. “Good point. Maybe I’ll move it a little and make a judgment call.”

  He pulls it back from the wall, and there isn’t even a speck of dust on the carpet. “Wow,” he says, moving it further. “Nothing.”

  “We’re definitely giving this place a five-star rating.”

  Once Josh has the couch situated, he grabs the blanket off the bed and takes a seat, while I carry over our coffee. He takes his mug and I sit down, careful not to spill. When I’m settled in, Josh tosses the blanket over me.

  Not that I need it for warmth since his body is so close to mine.