Freya
Ricky stands and turns, walking towards the front window and staring out at the light snow that’s beginning to fall. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns back to me, intensity burning out of his eyes.
“I didn’t want to leave you, Freya. I can’t begin to tell you how fucking sorry I am.” He grates out, looking back at the snow. “I was a stupid kid. I loved you but I let my family decide that I was too young.”
“Why couldn’t you answer even one of my calls?” My voice is a thready whisper, I don’t want to cry again. He loved me.
“I told myself it would be easier for both of us if it was a clean break,” Ricky mutters. “Truth is I was scared.”
“Scared of what? That I would cry or yell? I might have.” I’m getting angry and I don’t want to, it’s exhausting and I’m tired. I stand up, ready to walk down the hall and put this stupid dress away.
“Scared that if I heard your voice again my heart would be in pieces,” his voice is hoarse, as if he’s holding back tears of his own. “We were eighteen. It wasn’t supposed to hurt like that, you were supposed to be a memory of this girl I met one summer.”
“What changed?” I whisper, my heart aching.
“Everything. The minute I saw you again.” Ricky crosses the room in two steps, one arm sliding around my waist, he pulls me close. His other hand holds my face for just a second as he looks in my eyes, then winds into my hair and he’s kissing me.
My heart is thundering in my chest as our lips move together, my hands roaming his chest, turned on by the strength of him, the heat. Bunching my hands in his shirt, I pull him even closer, biting his lip gently, delighting in the feel of his whiskers as they scrape along my cheek. He breaks the kiss with a gasp and we’re both breathing fast as his eyes find mine. He smiles and lowers his head to kiss me again. When his lips meet mine and he kisses across my jaw to my ear, my whiskey-fogged brain has a moment of clarity and I push him away.
“Ricky I can’t do this, not right now,” I stare at him, hoping he’ll understand. He runs his hand through his hair and steps back, his eyes on mine. “I just, I’ve had a lot happen today...if I start something with you, I don’t want it to be because I was lonely and sad.” Ricky laughs softly.
“I don’t want your kisses if they’re lonely or sad, Freya. Kiss me when you’re ready. I’ll wait for you.” He reaches for my hand. Lifting it to his lips, he brushes a kiss across my knuckles. “We’re not kids anymore.”
“Will you stay and drink with me?” Ricky’s eyebrows lift in surprise at my question and I continue quickly. “It’s just that...that whiskey is Scott’s favorite. I bought the bottle for our anniversary...which would have been tomorrow.” I lift my chin, determined to stop feeling sorry for myself. “So instead, I’m drinking it. Because fuck him. I’m giving myself one last night to feel crappy and sad. I’m going to be honest...you kind of ruined that because, well, kissing you made me really fucking happy.” Ricky’s laughter fills the room and he walks over and picks up the bottle.
“After you left, I’d been a trainwreck for about a week when my Aunt Amelia had had enough. She told me I was ‘nuttier than a fruitcake’ if I was going to let some boy break my heart,” I giggle into the bottle, taking another drink and passing it to him.
“Nuttier than a fruitcake, huh?” Ricky nods, “that’d be about right...I wasn’t worth it,” he sighs, taking a drink. I bump my shoulder into him, laughing. We’re sitting on the tailgate of his truck in the back of the brewery. The big doors are open so we can watch it snow. I put the wedding dress away and changed back into my sweater and jeans. Ricky wrapped me in a blanket, keeping an arm tucked around me.
“You were too,” I murmur, “although I’d probably have to actually have tried fruitcake once in my life to be sure, maybe it’s not that nutty.” Good gravy, I have completely stopped making sense. Time for bed Freya.
“I’ve never tried it either,” Ricky pauses, thinking, “isn’t that the cake that really wanted to be a granola bar when it grew up?”
“That’s the one.” I laugh.
“So item number one on Freya’s Christmas list is fruitcake,” Ricky laughs with me. “What else do you want from Santa this year?”
“Hmmm,” I tap my lips with one finger so he knows I’m thinking, I’m drunk, I should go to bed before I say or do something irretrievably stupid. “Muchas smoochas.” Oops, too late, why, brain, why?
“Muchas smoochas?” Ricky’s voice is shaking with laughter. “I’d like to help with that one.”
“Yep,” I nod, way too many times, because my mouth has taken the reins at this point. “Lots of kisses. Muchas smoochas is probably not right, how do you say it in Spanish?”
“I have no idea.”
“Um...don’t you speak Spanish?”
“Nope.” He shrugs.
“Your name is Enrique.” I emphasize, as if he’s just not understanding me.
“Yeah, that’s just because my grandma spoke Spanish and my mother was hooked on telenovelas. She thought it sounded romantic.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Your name is Freya, do you speak Viking?” I choke in the middle of taking a drink and splutter for a second and then we’re both laughing.
8
Enrique
We finished the bottle hours ago and stayed up to watch the sun rise. The snow has stopped and a beautiful layer of powder coats everything. Freya snuggles close to my side, and I realize she’s fallen asleep. I yawn so hard my jaw creaks. Reaching for my phone, I shoot a quick text to Jake to leave the third floor alone today. Gathering Freya up in my arms, I carry her upstairs.
As I lay her on the bed, her hair fans out on the pillow and my heart beats faster. Reaching down, I carefully pull off her boots and her socks. She stirs and I glance up at her face. Her eyes open, she looks around blearily until she sees me. She smiles, not really awake, definitely not sober yet.
“Thanks,” she whispers. Sitting up briefly, she shucks her sweater, leaving on a light pink t-shirt and then pops the buttons on her jeans and shoves them off her hips. My mouth goes dry as she shimmies out of her jeans, kicking them off her feet, leaving only a tiny pair of white lace underwear covering her perfect skin. Jesustakethewheel she’s beautiful. Ripping my eyes away from her, I tuck her in as she sighs and snuggles into the blankets.
I stare at her for another minute and then turn to my recliner with a sigh. Kicking off my boots, I grab a blanket off the back of the chair. I start to settle in when I hear her voice again.
“I could really use a big spoon...if you want to...”
“I want to,” I whisper back. Stopping to consider, I pull off my own sweater and jeans, then grab a t-shirt and shorts, putting them on quickly. Lifting up the blankets, I slide in behind her, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her in close. Her hand covers mine and within a minute or so, her breathing evens out and she falls asleep. I lay there for a while, savoring the feel of her body next to mine, the softness of her skin, the smell of her hair. I’ve been given a second chance, I’m not going to let her go again.