Same Time, Next Christmas

He said, “My mom used to love the snow. It doesn’t snow that often in Valentine Bay, but when it did she would get us all out into the yard to make snowmen. There was never that much of it, so our snowmen were wimpy ones. They melted fast.”

“You’re from Valentine Bay, then?” Valentine Bay was on the coast, a little south of Warrenton, which was at the mouth of the Columbia River.

He turned to look at her, brow furrowing. “Didn’t I tell you I’m from Valentine Bay?”

“You’ve told me now—and you said your mom used to love the snow?”

“That’s right. She died eleven years ago. My dad, too. In a tsunami in Thailand, of all the crazy ways to go.”

“You’ve lost both of them? That had to be hard.” She wanted to reach out and hug him. But that would be weird, wouldn’t it? She felt like she knew him. But she didn’t, not really. She needed to try to remember to respect the guy’s space.

“It was a long time ago. My oldest brother Daniel took over and raised us the rest of the way. He and his wife Lillie just continued right on, everything essentially the way it used be, including the usual Christmas traditions. Even now, they all spend Christmas day at the house where we grew up. They open their presents together, share breakfast and cook a big Christmas dinner.”

“But you want to spend your Christmas alone.”

“That’s right.”

A minute ago, she’d been warning herself to respect the man’s space. Too bad. Right now, she couldn’t resist trying to find out more. “Last night, you were talking in your sleep.”

He gave her a long look. It wasn’t an encouraging one. “Notice the way I’m not asking what I said?”

“Don’t want to talk about Mark and Nelson and Finn?”

He didn’t. And he made that perfectly clear—by changing the subject. “You said you grew up on a farm?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Near here, you said?”

“Yeah. Near Svensen.”

“That’s in Astoria.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“But you were headed for Portland when you suddenly decided on a hike to the falls?”

“I live in Portland now. I manage the front of the house at a restaurant in the Pearl.” The Pearl District was the right place to open an upscale, farm-to-table restaurant. Delia Mae’s was one of those.

“Got tired of farming?” His breath came out as fog.

She gathered his giant coat a little closer around her against the cold. “Not really. I’m a farmer by birth, vocation and education. I’ve got a bachelor’s degree in environmental studies with an emphasis in agroecology.”

“From UC Santa Cruz, am I right?”

“The Slugs hat and sweatshirt?”

“Dead giveaway.” He smiled, slow and sexy, his white, even teeth gleaming in the porch light’s glow. She stared at him, thinking that he really was a hot-looking guy, with those killer blue eyes, a shadow of beard scruff on his sculpted jaw and that thick, unruly dark blond hair.

And what were they talking about?

Farming. Right. “Our farm has been in the Bond family for generations. My dad and mom were a true love match, mutually dedicated to each other, the farm and to me, their only child. All my growing-up years, the plan was for me to work right along with them, and to take the reins when the time came. But then, when I was nineteen and in my first year at Santa Cruz, my mom died while driving home from a quick shopping trip into downtown Astoria on a gray day in February. Her pickup lost traction on the icy road. The truck spun out and crashed into the guardrail.”

Matthias didn’t even hesitate. He reached out between their two chairs, clasped her shoulder with his large, strong hand and gave a nice, firm squeeze. They shared a glance, a long one that made her feel completely understood.

His reassuring touch made it all the easier to confess, “I have a hard time now, at the farm. It’s been six years since my mom died, but my dad has never really recovered from the loss. I guess, to be honest, neither have I. After college, I just wanted something completely different.”

“And now you run a restaurant.”

“The chef would disagree. But yeah. I manage the waitstaff, the hiring, supervising and scheduling, all that.”

He shifted in the hard chair, wincing a little.

“Your leg is bothering you,” she said. “We should go in.”

“I like it out here.” He seemed to be studying her face.

“What?”

“I like you, Sabra.” From the snow-covered trees, an owl hooted. “I like you very much, as a matter of fact.”

A little thrill shivered through her. She relished it. And then she thought about James. She’d almost married him less than a week ago. It was turning out to be much too easy to forget him.

“What’d I say?” Matthias looked worried.

“Something nice. Too bad I’m not looking for anything remotely resembling romance.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said in that matter-of-fact way of his. “Neither am I.”

She felt a flash of disappointment, and quickly banished it. “Excellent. No romance. No...fooling around. None of that. We have a deal.”

He nodded. “Agreed. And I sense a story here. You should tell it to me.”

“Though you won’t tell me yours?”

“I’m sure yours is more interesting than mine.” Again, he shifted. His leg hurt. He just refused to admit it.

“I’m braver than you, Matthias.”

He didn’t even try to argue the point. “I have no doubt that you are.”

“I’ll put it right out there, tell you all about my failures in love.”

He looked at her sideways. “You’re after something. What?”

She laughed. “I’m not telling you anything until you come back inside.”

In the cabin, they hung their coats by the door. Matt took off his boots and settled on the sofa with his bad leg stretched out.