WINTER WONDERLAND (34 page)

‘No,’ I admit, so glad to be postponing my exit even by a day, even if it’s going to make it harder. ‘When do you leave?’ I ask him.

‘Couple of hours.’

‘Back to Montreal?’

‘Actually I’m going up to the mountains for a few days – I want to work on my action shots, so I thought I’d go to one of the local ski resorts and experiment.’

‘That’s a great idea.’

‘Plus I need to practise taking pictures of people without kissing them.’

‘I don’t know … every photographer needs their signature style … ’

He smiles and then slides an envelope across the table.

‘I wanted to give you this.’

It’s a picture of Jacques hugging me at the finishing line. Obviously I knew how smitten my face looked, but seeing his expression sends my heart swirling skyward.

‘You said before that you don’t much believe in love, but I think you should believe in him.’

I look back at this twenty-three-year-old man, sounding so prophetic.

‘Why are you being so nice?’ I ask.

‘To show my gratitude.’

‘For what?’

‘For the way that you showed me just how dull perfection can be.’

My brow furrows. ‘I don’t quite know how to take that.’

‘I mean perfection in fashion, the kind of pictures I was creating before. There was no room for real emotion. I want to feel more now. And that’s because of you.’

I purse my lips. ‘I really want to hug you now but I can’t.’

‘We’ve had our hug,’ he winks as he gets to his feet. ‘It was a pleasure working with you Krista. Perhaps our paths will cross again?’

‘I want to visit the polar bears in Manitoba, if you’re game?’

‘White animals on a white backdrop?’ He groans. ‘Of course.’

I sit there for a few moments after he’s gone. Again I feel a pang of sentimentality. One by one, everyone is moving on. The adventure is drawing to a close. And try as I might to cling on to it, it’s just the natural progression of life. Nothing ever stays the same …

I’m even sentimental about my darling patchwork-quilted room when I go up to shower and pack. But as I zip my case closed, a smile begins a-creeping. I am not going to the airport. I’m going home with Jacques.

Now that sounds right. And feels right, deep inside me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

It’s a good couple of hours before we are alone.

We travel back with Sebastien and Mr Dufour, who is pleased as punch on account of having dinner plans with Annique and Coco – he’s just coming back to the ranch to shower and change and then he’s off out again. Which means Sebastien will now head back to Montreal on his own. Along with all his worldly goods. Or at least the things he brought with him when he came to stay.

‘You don’t have to take everything,’ Jacques tells him, perhaps a little sorry to be seeing him go after all.

‘I feel like there are pieces of me scattered all over the province,’ Sebastien explains. ‘It’s time to consolidate.’

‘Just know you are welcome back any time. Just not for such a long period.’

Sebastien laughs and pulls his brother into a hug. I turn away to give them some privacy but then feel his arms around me.

‘You did good today, Krista.’

‘Th-thank you!’ I breathe into his shoulder, feeling a rush of emotion.

But then he pulls away, hoiks his bag onto his shoulder and raises his hand as he heads to the car. ‘You take good care of each other.’

‘One last thing,’ I call after him. ‘Do I have your permission to save him now?’

Sebastien stalls and looks back at me. ‘You already did.’

And then everything goes to the dogs.

All our attention and several tonnes of raw meat. I’m happy to get stuck in alongside Jacques. Making so many furry tummies happy is a kick. They’ve certainly earned it. And even if I’m getting a bit peckish now myself, my heart is full – it’s hard to look into all these grinning, lip-smacking faces and not feel brimming over with love.

‘Is there something wrong with your foot?’ I ask one dog who doesn’t even look up from cleaning his paw when I come by. ‘Let me take a peek … ’

I find a spiky burr hooked between his toes and take off my glove to remove it.

‘All better now!’ I say as I tuck the prickles into my pocket, out of harm’s way.

‘Good instinct,’ Jacques commends me.

‘Oh well,’ I shrug. ‘I remember when that used to happen with my own dog. They can’t always ask for help – you just notice a change in their demeanour.’

He nods and smiles.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ He grins. ‘It’s just nice having you here.’

Chores complete, we head inside to get cleaned up. For me it’s just a question of giving my hands a good scrub, but Jacques heads off for a shower, leaving me with a large glass of wine and a comfy chair. But I can’t settle, knowing his nakedness is but a few feet away …

I move around the kitchen trying to guess what might be on the menu tonight. Eggs, some kind of pâté, a bar of white chocolate … I don’t see any cheese curds …

‘You look hungry enough to eat the chopping board,’ Jacques observes when he returns to me, all relaxed, damp of hair and mis-buttoned of shirt. ‘I think I must cook something
plus vite …
’

‘Whatever you make, I love it already!’ I cheer, and then accept his invitation to hop up onto a stool beside the breakfast bar.

What a nice collarbone he has, I think, as he leans down to the bottom cupboard to pull out a flat pan. What nice forearms I see when he rolls back his shirt-sleeves. And a very alluring hip bone as he reaches up to the tippety-top shelf to grab a pie tin.

‘For dessert,’ he explains.

And then he starts to dice and slice and simmer and stir. All the while chatting to me and smiling and occasionally coming over to lean close and tantalise me all the more.

I don’t know of a better feeling than being with someone you like and it becoming more and more apparent just how much they like you. Deep down you know there is a kiss coming but there’s no need to rush it because, in this state, you have all the time in the world. Of course we don’t at all. But it feels that way. Tucked in this candlelit nook we can exhale and meander in our conversation and not worry about future logistics. For now anything seems possible. Maybe because we’ve just shared a glass of Caribou …

‘I wonder, if you really have to go back tomorrow … ’ He squints mischievously at me.

‘Well, I would love to stay, indefinitely actually, but my friend Laurie is moving to New York and I only have a few days to be with her before she leaves.’

‘You know New York is only an hour and a half flight from here.’

‘Really?’ Now that is interesting.

‘Mmm-hmm. You can drive to Boston in under seven. Have you been there for your website?’

‘Not yet.’

‘I think your readers would like it. Not that I can pretend to know what women want.’

You are what women want
,
I think to myself as he invites me to take a seat at the table. Aside from the fact that you cook, you’re kind and honourable and tousled-sexy, with just the right amount of wolf-whispering to maintain the intrigue.

I think about what his dad said, that he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. I love that. I love the idea that I don’t have to be wary of him. That he wouldn’t turn on me or shake me up with his temper like Andrew used to. And he already knows the worst of me – that I can’t have children. Only with him it’s not a defect, it’s just something we have in common.

‘Jacques, this is delicious!’ I exclaim as I take my first bite of crêpe.

Up until now I was convinced that the only place that could do a crêpe right was the van parked outside the King William IV pub on Hampstead High Street, but Jacques has matched their bronzed exterior and warm, gooey interior. Cheese, ham and soft asparagus merge with a piquant herb. It’s a simple dish but couldn’t be going to a happier home.

‘You want another one?’

I’m torn. I can smell the freshly baked dessert pie …

‘We could share one?’

‘Perfect!’ I jump up, this time joining him by the counter. ‘What can I do to help?’

He hands me the cheese grater while continuing to chat about his diet on the last Yukon Quest, and as he does so his hand reaches to the back of my neck and he’s entwining his fingers in my hair as if he’s done it a thousand times before. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes from flickering closed in bliss.

Then he stops talking. And moves closer. I can feel his breath on my cheek. Oh-so-slowly I set down the grater and turn my body towards him. He looks at me. Into me.

And then a siren-alarm starts wailing.

‘What is it?’ I panic as he rushes to his computer.

‘We have to go!’

‘What?!’ Talk about caribou interruptus!

‘Grab an extra coat and blanket!’ He instructs while he gathers his things – great, bulky, unidentified objects.

‘Where are we going?’

‘You’ll see when we get there!’

‘Are we on some kind of rescue mission? Is someone in trouble?’ I ask as he reaches for the brandy and then calls for Sibérie to join us.

‘No, but time is of the essence.’

Within minutes we’re in the truck. Heading deeper and deeper, darker and darker, into the Middle of Nowhere.

‘Is this the point at which I find out you’re a serial killer?’

‘Serial? Don’t be silly,’ he laughs. ‘You’ll be my first.’

Great.

I drum my fingers. ‘Is there any way we can get the dismembering over and done with now? The suspense is killing me!’

‘You need to relax,’ he soothes. ‘Like Sibérie.’

I look back and find him flat as a rug on the back seat, lip splayed, emitting a light snore. That is relaxed.

‘Not long now,’ Jacques assures me, though the opposite is true.

So much so that I’m starting to worry about missing tomorrow’s flight.

When we do arrive, I’m none the wiser – we appear to have driven for hours to reach a snowy plain and a cluster of trees, and there were plenty of snowy plains and clustery trees beside the ranch.

‘Stay in the warm,’ he instructs as he jumps out of the truck. ‘I’ll come and get you when we’re ready.’

‘Ready for what?’

‘You to join us,’ he replies, rather confoundingly.

Whistling for Sibérie, he treks off, carrying the bulky bags rucksack style, one over each arm.

I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable, trying not to fixate on the caramelised apple pie Jacques had promised me for dessert. If I’d known this was going to be such a long-winded emergency dash, I would have packed a couple of slices.

Tiredness creeps up on me and I give my jaw full rein to yawn. Perhaps I should grab forty winks? I pull my fleecy hat down low and close my eyes. Only to be frightened out of my skin when Jacques comes rapping on the window.

‘We’re ready for you now … ’

‘Here we go!’ I try to psyche myself up as I wade through the snow, following him to a clearing.

But when I see what he has been working on I find myself muttering: ‘And I thought being hacked to pieces would be a bad way to end the night.’

A tent. He’s erected a tent!

I suppose in a way it’s appropriate – I spent my first night freezing my face off at the ice hotel, now we’ve come full circle. Full artic-flipping-circle, I think, as the wind slices through me.

‘So we’re camping?’ I ask, shoulders up by my ears.

‘Not exactly,’ he smiles. ‘It’s just to keep us warm.’

But we were warm! I want to protest. I for one was feeling extremely toasty back at the farmhouse with your hand on the back on my neck …

‘Come on, let’s get cosy.’

Okay. Well. Maybe this isn’t so bad. The tent is really small, just one of those little domes, so we have to get really close, into the same two-person sleeping bag, in fact. There are plenty of extra blankets nesting around us, and when he puts his arm around me and I snug into his shoulder, I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. For a second I even forget to wonder why the hell we’re here.

And then Sibérie gives a little bark, prompting Jacques to reach up and unzip a large panel in the top of the tent.

‘We have a skylight!’ I marvel.

‘The stars are so bright out here – no electricity for miles.’

So this is why – we’ve come to lie beneath the stars. That’s nice. Not quite sure we needed a siren alert but still …

And then the light show begins. Just a vapour at first. A mere mist of luminescent green, a wand-like streak across the sky.

My heart starts to tremble. Is this … ? Could this be … ?

I watch as the green infuses with a ghostly white, shape-shifting and moving like sands blowing across the blackness.

‘Jacques,’ I grope for his arm as the vista glows ultraviolet. ‘Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?’

He nods.

‘
Say it!’

‘Krista, for your viewing pleasure, allow me to present, the aurora borealis … ’

I flash back to the imitation light show I saw with Mal from the hotel window. But this is so much better. This is
real …

And Jacques is real. And I’m really here with him right now watching nature’s ethereal fireworks flare across the sky!