Christmas Tales - Brandon Witt Page 0,3
stars as it smacked into my eyes, making it hard to see. I had to keep wiping at them with the back of my mitten in order to tell where we were headed.
Logan didn’t seem to have that problem. “You know, you were giving me a hard time back there about not being prepared, but in this huge backpack of yours, you didn’t bring goggles?”
“I wasn’t exactly moving at high speeds.”
“Hmmm.” He clucked his tongue. “I guess you’re not quite as much of a Boy Scout as I thought.”
I did growl that time.
Logan didn’t notice. “I bet we’ve gone about half a mile. Mind if we stop for one of those food rations you mentioned?”
Fifth learning about Logan. The teasing in his voice was as annoying as my little brother when we were kids. “We’ve only gone half a mile?”
He shrugged again. “Don’t know. You’re the one who’s prepared. Don’t you have a pedometer in there or something?”
I did. But I wasn’t about to admit it. Instead, I slipped the pack off my shoulders and began rummaging through it. Finally I pulled out two granola bars and passed him one.
“Thanks.” Logan tore off the corner of the wrapping with his teeth. “So what else you got in there? Looks like you have half of REI in that thing.”
I finished chewing a bit of my own granola bar before replying. “Just the basics. Water, matches, first aid kit, tent, pepper spray for bears, compass—”
“You’ve got a tent in that thing? How the hell?” He twisted to see it better. “Does it work like Mary Poppins’s carpet bag or something?”
I barely caught myself from blanching at his comment. How many straight men referenced Mary Poppins? Or anything with Julie Andrews, for that matter. “Yeah. It’s small.”
An expression crossed his face. One that on someone else I would have recognized, but not on him. No way. “If you’ve got a tent, why are we trudging through the snow late at night?”
I didn’t answer, wondering if I had read the expression correctly.
“I mean, this would be easier in daylight. And I think the snow is supposed to stop by morning. So, we’d be able to see.”
He was right. I’d checked the forecast, of course. “Well, we could. But, like I said, it’s small. It’s a one-man model.”
That look surfaced again over his face. “Works for me.”
For a split second I saw the lists for Christmas morning waiting for me on the kitchen counter back home. “We could go pretty quick in the morning, right, if we left at sunrise?”
“Does that matter?” Logan might have quit smoking years ago, but the look he gave me was smoldering. And, shut up, I know how trashy romance novel that sounds. But it was. The look in his eyes was smoldering. I promise.
So much so that I apparently forgot that speaking when asked a question was an appropriate response. In my defense, the part of me that was responding was covered in three layers of undergarments.
“Does that matter to you?”
Always the wordsmith, I managed to nod as I uttered a suave, “Nuh uh.”
* * *
Several years ago, before my first Christmas Eve snowshoe ritual, I nearly bought a large tent. Big enough for four people. It had a nifty little flap that could be lifted to make a porch-like structure. It was sleek and outdoorsy. And about five times more expensive than the one-man option.
Not only am I always prepared, I’m also somewhat of a miser with my money. Although, that’s more necessity than anything else.
If I had splurged, the events after the ill-fated snowmobile disaster might have gone differently.
They might have gone like this:
I would have offered Logan my sleeping bag, as I am a gentleman and had enough layers of clothes to not really need it. Now that we were out of the snow, it wasn’t really that cold. And with the heat Logan’s body seemed to be generating, the four-person tent was sufficiently warm. We would have exchanged pleasantries before crawling to our sides of the tent. I would have lain on my lonely portion of tent, doing my best to not think of the fucking hot lumberjack of a man a few feet from me. Unsuccessfully trying to keep the thoughts from affecting my body, and I would probably have to turn on my side, facing away from him to keep from being noticed. There are certain things even three layers of clothes can’t hide. At some point, I would offer him another granola