“What if he doesn’t want a second chance?”

“He does. I know he does. He wouldn’t have kept the card and those pictures if he didn’t.”

“And when she asks why you’re the one calling, and not her father?”

“I’ll tell her the truth. That I think he’s scared.”

Jonah seems to consider that as he yanks off his wool socks and tosses them into the hamper in the corner. “You’re doing something good for him, even if he won’t see it like that.”

“You know what? Even if he hates me for a while, if it means he could have a relationship with his daughter, it’ll be worth it.” I wonder if Agnes felt this same nervousness when she went behind my father’s back to call me.

With a sigh that rings of exhaustion, Jonah peels off his watch and sets it onto the nightstand before lifting the duvet to slide in.

He freezes, his eyebrows popping, and it’s then I remember the scandalous red lace and white faux-fur-trimmed baby doll dress I slipped on tonight, partially hidden beneath my pajama top while I waited. I bought it two weeks ago while shopping in Anchorage. An impulse purchase, sparked when I walked past a department store’s Christmas lingerie section and decided maybe Jonah would like me in something other than oversized flannel.

“Merry early Christmas,” I say coyly. I was eager to show him this an hour ago. Now, my limbs have been lulled by a soft mattress, my skin accustomed to the warmth. I reach for the covers to tug them closer.

He’s too fast, though, yanking them down and making me shudder. “I need you to get up and walk around for me a bit.”

“It’s cold!” I whine, though watching the heat ignite in his stare stirs desire in my lower belly.

“Speaking of cold, do you want to hear about how I froze my balls off, sitting in a ditch for an hour during a blizzard on Christmas Eve because my soon-to-be wife has a lead foot?”

My heart leaps with that title, even as he criticizes my driving. “Fine.” I slip from the comfort of our bed, smoothing my hands over my hips as my bare feet touch the cool wood floor. I let the unbuttoned flannel top slide off my arms and tumble off, earning his curse.

The bed creaks under Jonah’s hefty weight as he settles in, shucking the shirt he just pulled on to reveal that ribbed torso and muscular chest I’ve spent countless hours splayed across.

“Any special requests?”

Linking his fingers together behind his head, he lies back against his pillow and bites his lip in thought. “What’s underneath that?”

“Not much,” I tease, my pulse racing. Even now, I still catch hints of that same nervousness I felt the night we were stranded in the safety cabin and stripping off our rain-soaked clothes in front of each other.

“Turn around.” His voice has taken on that gravelly sound I love.

I oblige, making a slow circle to the sound of Jonah’s sharp inhale.

“Show me.”

My fingertips are grazing the faux fur-trimmed hem when the power cuts, throwing us into pitch-black darkness.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Jonah’s roar of frustration carries into the night.

Chapter Ten

I wake to Jonah’s soft lips on mine and his beard tickling my skin. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers, his voice husky with sleep.

“Merry Christmas.” I revel in his warmth for a long moment, lingering in that comfortable space where I could close my eyes and drift away. But a murky predawn sky pokes in from the gap in the poorly drawn curtain, suggesting we’ve slept much later than usual. “What time is it?”

“After nine. The power’s still out.”

I groan. I can’t say when we actually fell asleep, but it was late, after what felt like hours of slow, torturous play in the dark, the challenge of keeping silent in the still night while making the other break a game we were both eager to win.

“I need to get moving, but I didn’t want you to wake up without me.”

I smile. “That’s sweet.”

He kisses me again. “Yeah. That’s me. Sweet.”

“Is that what you called what you did to me last night?” I wouldn’t be surprised if I have a map of fingerprint bruises marring my flesh.

His chuckle vibrates deep in my chest as he slips out of the bed, stark naked and unbothered by the chill in the air. He peels back the curtain to peek outside, revealing a thick frame of snow along the sill.

“Is there a lot?” I murmur, distracted by his sculpted muscles and his morning erection as I burrow deeper into the covers.

“I’d say almost two feet fell overnight.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Might be even worse than last year’s storm.” He squints as he peers up at the sky. “At least it’s slowed down a bit. It’ll make plowing the driveway easier.”

“Seriously? On Christmas? You’re a workhorse.” Though sometimes I think that tractor is more a toy to Jonah than anything labor-related.

“Well, yeah. Muriel and them will want to drive up for dinner.”

“Yeah. I guess.” I add, “And Roy.”

He snorts. “Babe, Roy’s not comin’ to Christmas dinner.”

“We’ll see.” He’s likely right, but I refuse to give up on the curmudgeon just yet.

I admire Jonah’s body as he tugs on his thermal clothes, followed by his outer clothes. “I’ll be down in a bit,” I promise.

He’s at the door when he stoops to retrieve my slinky outfit from its heap in the corner. He holds it up by his pinkie. “I’m getting a repeat performance tonight, right?”

I plaster mock sympathy across my face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, but Mrs. Claus only comes out on Christmas Eve.”

His responding smile is wicked. “We’ll see about that.”

I emerge twenty minutes later to Michael Bublé’s “White Christmas” playing over a portable speaker, competing with the hum of the generator outside. Björn is stuffing a log into an already blazing fire in the hearth while Astrid sits on the couch, studying the designs for the log house we’re breaking ground on in the spring. Balsam fir–scented candles burn in place of table lamps.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Simon is wrist-deep in the raw turkey, the aroma of onions and sausage lingering in the air. My mother watches, her customary mimosa perched artfully in her grasp.

“Merry Christmas!” I raise my eyebrows at Simon. “You aren’t wasting time.”

“It’s a twenty-five-pound bird! It’s going to take a few hours.” Simon nods to our oven. “It’s a good thing you went with propane, or we might be eating cold leftovers.”

“Pretty sure we could survive all winter out here, if we had to.” Between the Toyostove and a winter’s worth of wood for the fireplace, we’ll always have heat. For our electrical needs, we have a heavy-duty generator, as well as a backup generator and enough fuel sitting in the workshop to keep them running for months. “But I need to put the breakfast casserole in there for an hour before you put the turkey in.”

“Already in and baking. The note said 350°?” Mom rounds the counter and ropes her arms around me, pulling me into a fierce hug. “Merry Christmas, honey. We’re so happy to be spending it with you guys. Here, I poured you one.” She holds up the second champagne flute for me, but then pulls her hand back. “That is assuming you can drink alcohol.” She levels me with an examining stare.