Unwrapped Read online

  "You don't lock your door?" I blurted out as he reached for the handle and it effortlessly turned in his hand, the very idea of someone leaving their door unlocked foreign to me, like some rerun of a detective story from the fifties when people didn't realize it was an open invitation.

  "Who is gonna break in?" Jack asked, voice warm and when I looked, his eyes matched. "The Abominable Snowman?"

  Yes, well he had a point there, I mused as he led me inside.

  We stopped just inside the door, me because I was taken aback. Him because I had blocked him from coming in any further.

  His interior matched the exterior in stunning perfectness. I had never watched HGTV and felt envious of the spaces before. But as I stood in Jack's foyer, I felt jealousy.

  Directly ahead against the back door nestled between four floor-to-ceiling windows with no drapery, was a giant stone fireplace, fire sparking happily. Above was a huge canvas print of a fox. In front of the fireplace were two olive green leather armchairs set at a catty-corner with a small drink stand between them. To the left of the fireplace was a oatmeal-colored sectional that butted up against the wall that closed off the staircase to the second floor. To the right of the fireplace was a small dining area that melted into the kitchen with stainless steel appliances and shiny marble countertops. The whole space had exposed wood. The floor was wide-planked, but not overly shiny.

  It was rustic-chic. It was straight out of a catalog.

  "That fireplace is just begging you to sit in front of it with a book and some hot chocolate," I said, completely forgetting about the pain in my head as I entertained the idea. I turned my head to look at Jack who was watching me with those intense brown eyes of his. "Is your wife an interior decorator?"

  "I'm not married," he said automatically, no inflection.

  "Are you an interior decorator?" I pressed. To that, he snorted.

  "I think you bumped that head a little harder than we thought," he said with one side of his lips tipped up. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up," he said, using my arm to pull me toward the stairs. I followed, with little choice, but also because I wanted to see more of his house. The hall in the second floor had the same wooden floors, the same wood walls, and closed doors. He led me to the first one on the right and straight into bathroom heaven.

  Seriously.

  Heaven.

  It was the only room I had seen so far that didn't have the wood floors, but instead had gray tile. The same gray tile went up and into the glass shower enclosure. It was the kind of shower you saw in remodels too, with none of that hideous silver or brass bracket nonsense. It was fully glass. In the center of the room was a round, yes... round, soaking tub. And I mean soaking tub. A man as tall and broad as Jack could sit down in it and be covered past their chest. It was perfect and I wanted nothing more than to strip my clothes off and climb inside. To the left of the room was a double vanity with matching round mirrors.

  "Here," Jack said, leading me toward the sinks and pulling a cushioned seat out from under one of the sink cutouts. "Sit," he said, waiting for me to do so then walking behind me to go rummage around in the linen closet.

  I took a breath and looked in the mirror, expecting it to be bad so the reality wasn't too horrifying. There was blood down the side of my face and neck, and even a little dried into my hair. My eyes were small and red. And my face had an overall pinkness to it thanks to the cold. I had always had the kind of complexion that ran toward flushing and blushing depending on the situation.

  Jack came back a minute later, spreading items over the surface of the counter and turning the water on to wet a washcloth. He squeezed out the excess water and turned toward me, reaching for my hat and gently pulling it up. I hissed at the scraping feeling over the cut next to my eye, an action that made him wince as well as he tossed the hat onto the counter. His hand moved out and gently stroked my hair off my face and tucked it behind my ear. The intimate sensation sent chills through my system and a shiver coursed through me visibly, making Jack's eyes snap to mine for a second- deep, assessing, before he turned back to the cut and started cleaning it.

  I took deep breaths as he got the blood cleaned up, reminding myself that it was just an itty bitty baby wound, even if the whole of my head hurt. He reached for the triple antibiotic, smoothing it onto a cotton swab and swiping it across the cut before taking out the butterfly strips and applying two. He did all of this silently, all of his focus on his task. And, well, I took the opportunity to take in more of him. His scent, for example. It was something hard to place at first, but manly. Like a pine-scented soap and sawdust and just a hint of male musk. It was intoxicating. It was the kind of smell any red-blooded, straight woman wanted to curl up next to and breathe in before bed.

  How he was unmarried, well, that was completely beyond me. Not only was he obnoxiously good-looking, he must have been at least somewhat successful to have such a nice house. He had a slight mountain man alpha-ness about him, but it wasn't obnoxious. If anything, it just spoke of a man who was used to being alone and therefore getting his way so he didn't exactly put much thought into being objected to. He had done the right thing in bringing me back to his house, not seeming to be annoyed or inconvenienced for it. And he took care of my head with the gentleness of a lifelong pediatrician used to having to be softer than normal doctors. It all added up to husband material.

  Maybe he was a workaholic.

  Or maybe there was a scarcity of women out in his frozen tundra.

  Finished with my head, he moved around and cleaned up his mess, went back to the linen cabinet and came back with a bottle of aspirin. He shook two into my hands and filled a disposable cup with tap water. I threw back the pills with a silent prayer that they worked and took a sip.

  "Come on," he said, nodding his head toward the door. "Let's get you settled so I can go get your bags before they all freeze."

  "Oh," I said, stopping suddenly. "No. Let me bring them in. They're my bags..." I reasoned.

  Jack turned back to me, brows furrowed. "Is it so uncommon for a man to do shit for you that you can't accept a hand when it's offered? You were just in a wreck. You knocked your head. You're in pain. Let me handle the bags."

  Well then.

  He had a point.

  "Okay," I said with an uncertain little nod as he led me to the door beside the bathroom, opening it to reveal a spare bedroom. It wasn't as big or grand as the other rooms, but it was still nice. The full-sized bed had a plush gray and white comforter that matched the heavy drapes on the large windows, to block out the morning sun when you were sleeping in. There was a fireplace across from the bed. It was in no way as fancy as the one in the living room, but it was still novel to have a fireplace at all.

  Without a word, Jack went over to said fireplace and quickly got a small fire going before going to the door and stepping into the hall. "Get some rest, doll. Come down when you're feeling better."

  With that, he shut the door and I was alone.

  It took me all of two minutes to kick off my shoes and throw off my gloves and fly into the bed, feeling chilled, and so incredibly tired it was insane. I had been on the road for so long. And from a City native who barely ever drove anywhere, it was taxing. Especially in the bad weather. And, thanks to my entire adult life working in a hospital, I knew that nonsense about not being allowed to sleep with a concussion was, well, nonsense. And, with a head splitting like mine was, the only remedy was sleep.

  Beneath me, I could hear Jack coming in and out with all my bags. Despite it being his fault that we were in this situation at all, I did feel a small amount of guilt at hearing him cart my endless bags and boxes in.

  Luckily, I only fretted over that for about five minutes before sleep finally claimed me.

  I woke up a while later, completely disoriented, a headache still hanging in there in my temples. The fireplace across from me was nothing but glowing embers and the room was noticeably chillier without it. It got cold in the City. It even froze at t
imes, but this was a whole different level of chilly, the kind that seeps through the walls and windows even with the heat pumping. I climbed out of the almost annoyingly comfortable bed with a somewhat loud grumble, especially when my feet met with a floor that was cold even through the thick material of my socks.

  I walked over to the window to pull the heavy drapes, and almost started at seeing how bright it was out thanks to the nearly full moon and the white that blanketed the world as far as you could see. And you could see far thanks to the giant piece of sprawling land, nothing else in sight but a large building I figured was a garage of some sort. The snow was still coming down endlessly, the fat, fluffy flakes swirling around in the wind.

  There was no clock in the room and the brightness outside could have indicated eight at night or four in the morning.

  The house was quiet, almost strangely so.

  I was used to apartment buildings. It didn't matter what time of day or night it was, there were always signs of life. You could smell the chili cooking across the hall, hear the baby next door crying for a bottle at night, or the low hum of a television, footsteps in the corridor, doors closing. Something. There was always something.

  Noise.

  I was so used to noise that quiet was actually weird to me.

  What a strange life I led.

  I moved as quietly as I could across the floor and into the hall, leaving my door open, and heading down the stairs. I found the main floor a good ten degrees warmer than the second and when I rounded the wall, I stopped short at seeing Jack's large frame reclined in one of his chairs, a cup of coffee on his thigh, his hand holding it by the top, a book held open in his other hand. The fire in front of him was roaring and the snow was falling steadily out the giant windows.

  It was literally picture perfect.

  I had a sudden urge to go dig through my bags and find the one from the craft store. The contents were a gift to myself- sketch books, charcoals, pastels, watercolors, and canvases. I had always thrived on art as a kid and teen before I had to grow up and go to school and get a job. I thought it would be a nice treat to give myself, especially because I would have nothing to do from Christmas to New Years when I would finally have to pack up and head home.

  Really, it was almost cheesy to think (or maybe super cheesy depending on how much of a cynic you are), but I genuinely wanted to paint the image of him.

  Maybe one day, when all of this was over, I would do it. It would be a fun way to remember a truly interesting holiday.

  "How's the head, doll?" his deep, unexpected voice asked without looking, making me jerk back slightly before I took a couple tentative steps forward, seeing the pile of my bags that weren't food sitting on the couch.

  "Not great, but better," I admitted, moving past him, feeling a little too uncomfortable in the situation to sit down in the other chair. I went instead to the window, looking out at the deck that was so covered in snow that you could only see a hint of railing from where the wind had blown off the snow. "What time is it?"

  "A little after one," Jack said and I could feel him watching me.

  I turned back to face him, waved a hand toward the bags, and gave him a small smile. "Thanks for bringing in my bags."

  "No problem. Want something hot to drink? I know it gets cold upstairs, but I figured it would be creepy to come in and build up the fire while you were sleeping."

  That was oddly intuitive for a lumberjack mountain man.

  I didn't expect him to have boundaries like that.

  "Well, if at anytime you want to come in and fix the fire, I am cool with that," I said, shivering a bit as I moved to sit down in front of the fire to try to warm myself up.

  "Want some coffee?" he asked, lifting up his cup as he got to his feet.

  "Sure. Cream and two sugars please," I said, watching as he turned and walked away from me. "What book are you reading?"

  "The newest Felix Smith," he informed me, stirring my cup and walking back toward me.

  "Felix Smith? But that book isn't supposed to come out until March," I insisted. I liked Felix. That wasn't surprising seeing as everyone who liked reading liked Felix Smith. He was the voice of a disenchanted generation.

  "Nope, it's not," he agreed, handing me my cup and going back to grab the book, handing it to me.

  I reached for it, putting my cup down. I ran my hand over the cover, seeing the print under Felix's name that said it was an advanced reading copy. "What, are you like a book blogger or something?" I asked, flipping to read the back. The blurb wasn't even up online yet.

  He chuckled at that. "Do I seem like a book blogger?" he asked, sitting back down. And, well, he had a point. "Nah, Felix buys from me and when he does, tosses me one of his books. He stays up at Coral Cabins when he writes."

  "Really? Is he there now?" I asked, maybe a little too excited at the prospect.

  "Not that I know of, but it's possible."

  "What's he like?" I asked, a little embarrassed to do so, but I couldn't help it. He didn't have an online presence. He didn't even have a small biography or picture on his books or website.

  "Ah,depends on his mood. Sometimes, he comes off like a dick at first. Other times, he's all charm. Either way, he's a decent man. He is just lost in his head most of the time and hard on himself when he is working. Won't even come out of his room to do laundry or hit the grocery store."

  "If you don't mind my asking, what does he buy from you?"

  "Exotic meats," he answered immediately.

  "I'm sorry... exotic meats?"

  "Yeah," he said.. "You know those subscription box things?"

  "Yeah," I said nodding, having at least three different ones delivered to my door each month.

  "I have one for exotic meat jerky: duck, pheasant, elk, venison, and boar. It's all organic, free range, and sustainably farmed."

  "Meaning, what?"

  "That I have, over the years, brought in all the different animals and let them loose on my land to live without cages and chemicals and shit."

  "Wow. That's an interesting business," I said, meaning it. I ate meat. I wasn't offended by the fact that he was a hunter. In fact, I had a lot of respect for him that he did it in a humane and environmentally friendly way.

  "It pays the bills. Let's me live on a nice piece of land."

  "How do you handle the large amount of..."

  "I have a smoker out back. And it's not quite as big as the makeup boxes and shit," he told me, shrugging off his success. And he had to have been successful. Subscription cases, in general, weren't cheap. And organic, cage free meat was expensive as well. He had to have been bringing in a fair amount of income. Plus, he had a gorgeous house on a giant piece of land. That didn't come cheap.

  "What do you do?"

  "I work the desk in the emergency room in New York."

  "And you got off for the holiday?" he asked, seeming surprised. "Aren't a shitton of idiots burning down their apartments with Christmas lights and deep fryers and getting alcohol poisoning?"

  "Which is why I have worked every other Christmas season and the holidays themselves for years. This year, I decided to do something different."

  "And spend it all by yourself in a cabin? You weren't planning on offing yourself or some depressing shit like that, were you?"

  "Ah... no?" I said, brows low.

  "Just saying. A woman, alone in a cabin at Christmas... doesn't look good."

  "I had no intentions of sticking my head in the oven. No worries. I just... never really had a traditional Christmas before. I wanted to give it a try."

  "So you bought out the entire holiday section at the store?"

  "Not a big Christmas fan, I take it," I said, taking in the gruff, almost dismissive way he talked about it.

  "Wouldn't know. I haven't celebrated in a decade."

  "But you live in a snow globe!" I insisted, waving a hand out toward the windows.

  "A snow globe, huh?" he asked, his rugged face breaking into a small grin, m
aking his white teeth stand in stark contrast to his dark beard.

  "Would you make fun of me if I go out in the morning and build a snow man?"

  "Mercilessly," he said without a pause.

  "I'm still going to do it," I declared, sipping my coffee, finding he liked to make it with a kick. The kind that made you seriously wonder if it put hair on your chest. I guess that explained his look. "So, how long do you think it will be until you can bring me to Coral Cabins?"

  He paused then, letting out a breath, putting down his coffee, and leaning forward so his elbows met his knees. "Got some bad news for you, Lyra," he started and I felt my belly twist. "We're really far up out here and this road isn't a government one."

  "So..."

  "So, if this keeps up, you'll probably be here until, at earliest, the day after Christmas. That's if we're lucky and it doesn't snow again."

  "The chances of that would be..."

  "It's December in Vermont."

  "I'm guessing that is lumberjack mountain man speak for slim to none."

  "Lumberjack mountain man speak?" he asked, lips twitching.

  "It's truly a miracle that you don't communicate entirely with grunts and grumbles."

  "You haven't seen me in the morning before coffee yet," he quipped and I felt myself smile.

  Alright.

  I would be stuck in his house until after Christmas and not alone in my perfect little cabin like I had planned. That sucked. Especially after so much planning.

  On the bright side, Jack's house was like an upscale private ski lodge. It belonged on a Christmas card. But, Jack wasn't exactly filled with Christmas cheer.

  "What's with the look?" he asked suddenly, making me jump.