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Instead, for the first time in a long time, I just lived, taking in the world around me and actually enjoying it, draped though it was in red, and green, and candy-cane striped everything. The little girls' ballet rehearsal was an adorably chaotic event with music fromThe Nutcrackerrunning through the background, and the "ice castle" was a tent filled with tables draped with white tablecloths and small ice sculptures on display.
"It's not quite a castle," I whispered at one point to Callan, who held my hand almost through the whole weekend, sending intermittent chills through my body as my traitorous mind chanted, "dick wizard, dick wizard."
"No," he said, and was about to offer more of his thoughts on the distinctly un-palacelike tent full of ice, when Taylor said in a low and reverent voice, "It's magical."
"Elwww-saaa," Maddie added, her eyes rounding at the cardboard cutout of Elsa fromFrozenthat stood in one corner.
The little girls were awed by the sculptures, so whoever planned the ice castle for the town clearly understood their target market well. I could appreciate that. Cormac, for his part, tried to be enthusiastic, but I could see the exhaustion in his eyes and I sensed that the kind of tiredness he suffered wasn't related to sleeplessness, though I was sure that was part of it. I wished I could help him more, but I wasn't sure exactly how to do it. I did my best to offer him smiles and understanding, knowing it wasn’t enough.
Once the girls and their father had gone home, we went back to Callan's house again, and my week off stretched out before us, each day an unscheduled opportunity to spend time together. And that's what we did. I slowly brought things from the hotel to Callan's, without really realizing what was happening. But by Friday, I sat next to him at the breakfast table drinking coffee and checking email, and realized I hadn't spent a single night at the hotel since the week before.
A tiny finger of panic had threatened to rise in my throat now and then during the long peaceful week, but I ignored it. There was nothing to worry about, I told myself. I was living in the moment. And the moment was good.
"This is nice," Callan had said at multiple points. He'd said it at dinner as we sat on the couch with takeout and watched a Christmas movie marathon. He'd said it as we helped Annabelle unload the truck that brought the excess decorations from the inn to the outbuilding Callan had offered for storage. He'd said it as we walked the riverside, hand in hand, while the cold December wind whipped the surface of the water and my hair.
Itwasnice. It might have been the nicest week I had ever had—filled with companionship, warmth and a strange coziness that seemed to emanate from the twinkling tree and jolly stockings hanging at Callan's hearth. Seeing my name on one of the stockings had been a bit of a shock, but Callan explained that Maddie and Taylor had insisted upon it. And that was nice too.
It was more than nice, if I was honest. It was glorious. Callan's dark expressive eyes were almost always on my face, and he found reasons to touch me constantly. He whispered sweet things to me in intimate moments—things about my body, my hair, the way I smelled, my smile.
My heart was swelling with unfamiliar feelings related to Callan, and each day—each moment—that passed, grew the feelings. But the words that threatened to escape my lips seemed too big, too much for a man I’d known a short time, one whom I’d be leaving in another week.
As Callan buried himself inside me one night in his bedroom, the excitement of the sex ratcheted up several notches by the incredible day we’d spent shopping and seeing a movie, my ecstasy-soaked mind scrabbled for some coherent words. But when "dick wizard" escaped my lips and Callan stopped moving suddenly, I was pretty sure I had not found them.
"Did you just call me a dick wizard?" He moved his head away from my neck, still holding me pinned to the mattress, his mouth slightly open in surprise.
"No."
"You did. That's what you just said."
I thrust against him, hoping to distract him back into finishing what he'd started.
"Am I a dick wizard?" he asked, grinning now. "I like it."
"No, that's not what I said."
Callan chuckled and began moving again, much to my relief. But when we finished, he started laughing again.
"You gave me a nickname," he said. "And I like it."
"I did not," I insisted, hating that my stupid brain was still chanting the ridiculous phrase. "I said, 'sick lizard.'"
"You called me a sick lizard?" Callan sat up and crossed his arms in front of him.
"No. Not you, I was… I was thinking about a lizard my friend has. It's very sick."
"Really?" Callan's tone made it clear he was not buying this.
"Yes?" I tried.
He grinned at me then and shook his head. "Okay. Fine." But as we snuggled together and drifted toward sleep, I was pretty sure I heard him whisper, "dick wizard."
18
Park Your Sleigh at My Place
Callan
The week April spent at my new house was potentially the happiest I could remember. My ankle had still hurt, of course, but something about having April nearby made the pain less poignant somehow. Or maybe it was that the magnitude of other feelings growing inside me made my perception of the pain less, somehow. When pain had been the only feeling I’d had, I focused on it. Now I had other feelings to consider—some of which I was frankly afraid of.
