Lia Davis: Winter Eve

It was a perfect pace when he really just wanted to hide away and relax. Though, in reality, he never got the chance to do just that.

He ran a hand through his too-long hair and groaned. He needed to get a freaking haircut because, according to Jordan, he was starting to look like some punk kid. And, God forbid, he didn't fit the part of a proper and professional school principal. As it was, he looked like the aging bad boy of a small town.

He was a thirty-four-year-old man who spent his life either at work or tinkering around the house.

Fuck, he sounded like a whiny bastard. At least he enjoyed his job and had a roof over his head.

He worked for another hour or so on the school budget for the upcoming year and called it a day.

He closed down his computer, locked up his desk, and walked out to his car, the tension never quite leaving his shoulders as he looked forward to the long weekend.

The snow had just started to fall again, leaving a light dusting on the sidewalks and cars.

Everything looked like the beginning of a white wonderland, complete with Thanksgiving and harvest decorations in store windows. The one-road town appeared to be a scene sliced from an old western movie. The storefronts had been updated over the years, the road had been paved, but the town still looked old-timey. The road branched off in other directions as people built out, but Main Street remained the center of town. The snow was light, but he knew it wouldn’t take long for the sidewalks and roads to become slick. He stopped beside his car and called town maintenance, which consisted of George, his plow truck, and a few other key tools.

“Hey, I know the school’s closed, but I'd still like you to salt the sidewalks, just in case. You never know what kids will want to do once they get a break.” The last thing he needed was a kid to break an arm or worse. Not to mention the irate parents that would blame him. As much as he loved the kids, sometimes dealing with parents made him feel as if his job was sucking the life out of him.

George grunted, but agreed to prep the sidewalks.

Justin hung up, shivered in his coat, and got in his SUV. It dawned on him that it would have been smarter to get in the car and then make the phone call. Why he hadn't done that was beyond him.

Maybe it was old age. Okay, he wasn’t that old, but damn, he sure felt it. He slammed the door shut, shivered again, and started his car. He let it idle for a few moments while it warmed and cupped his hands over his mouth. Dear God, when did it get this cold? It hadn’t been this cold that morning.

When the car was finally heated up enough that he wasn’t afraid he’d kill the engine, he shifted into drive and headed home. It wasn’t even that late; he just wanted to go to bed. His body felt heavy, heated, and edgy. Maybe he just needed a beer. All the more reason to head home.

Justin carefully navigated the roads, not surprised at the lack of cars. People who lived in Montana were accustomed to snow, but that didn’t mean people necessarily loved to drive in it, nor did they drive anywhere, if they didn’t have to. The ice was already starting to build up, and Justin knew, in a few more minutes, it would get dangerous. Luckily, he lived close enough to the school that on a warm day he could jog to work; not that he wanted to do that anymore. The leering looks from some of the single and not-so-single moms when he had done so had quickly squashed that idea.

He pulled into his driveway, parked, and then shuffled as quickly as he could into his home.

Thankfully, he’d turned the heater on with a timer before he’d left, so stepping into the house wasn’t like stepping into an icebox. He shook off the snow and stepped out of his shoes. He hated cleaning, so he did his best not to be a slob. He wasn’t a neat freak like his brother Jackson, but he kept a clean house.

He knew his home wasn’t perfect, far from it. It would always be a work in progress, at least until he had someone to share it with; another heartbeat in the house. He’d filled the rooms with heavy furniture suitable for him and his brothers. There was no feminine energy whatsoever in the home. He hadn’t painted the walls yet, beyond a quick white coat, because he didn’t know what he wanted. He also hadn’t yet put anything up on the walls. It was as if he were waiting for something—or someone —to help him fill it. What, or who, he didn’t know.

With a sigh, he strode to the kitchen and took out the ingredients for dinner. He’d been craving Christmas cookies for the past month—and given in to those cravings more often than not—so he decided on fresh salmon, rice, and yellow squash for dinner. He needed to eat healthy so he could indulge in some sugar cookies later. He didn’t know what it was, but he needed sugar cookies, daily.

He loved them best when they were soft and had a thick icing layer on them. Just thinking about them made his stomach growl and his teeth ache. He knew his brother, Jackson, a dentist, would absolutely kill him if he knew how many cookies he had ingested over the past month. But, he couldn’t help it.

He craved the suckers.

He quickly got the rice going, sliced the squash so it could steam, and heated some olive oil in a pan for the salmon. He seasoned the filet then put it on the heat, but, even as he did, visions of cookies danced in his head. Yep, he was officially going crazy. The salmon crackled and popped as the fatty tissue hit the hot oil in the skillet. The aroma of lemon and dill filled the air, and he groaned. Nope, didn’t smell good enough to him. He wanted those damn cookies.

“I’m a fucking adult. I can eat a cookie before dinner if I want to.” Sure, keep telling yourself that .

Knowing if his mother had been alive, she would have scolded him, he tiptoed to the airtight container and took out one cookie. Come on, one little frosted cookie wouldn’t hurt. He hesitated, and then he grabbed a second cookie in case the first didn’t take the edge off. He bit down into the sugary goodness and groaned.

Hell, yeah, this is better than sex .

He choked on the last bit of cookie and grabbed his beer to wash it down. Fuck, he needed to get laid if a cookie was better than sex. How long had it been? He tried to think about it and sighed. Damn, he was turning into the cat lady. The one that resembled the little old lady who stayed indoors all day with a shawl around her shoulders and a cat on her lap. He just needed the fucking cat.

The salmon popped again, and he rushed to the stove. Thankfully, he hadn’t burned his dinner.

Though, if he did, he could just eat more cookies.

No. No, that wouldn’t work.

He turned off the heat and plated his dinner, and then he moved to the bar at the end of his kitchen isle and ate. With each bite, he turned the same question over in his mind: what the hell he was doing with his life? He was thirty-four years old and bored. He used to be the life of the party and celebrate the holidays like no other. Now he just did it for others. He didn’t enjoy Christmas as much, either.

Not since that night and that weird dream.

The doorbell rang, and he shook off his thoughts. Justin shuffled to the door and opened the it. He raised a brow when he saw who was on the other side.

“What are you two doing here?” he asked as his brothers, Tyler and Brayden, walked through the door, inviting themselves in.

Tyler took off his hat and raised his brow. He still wore his sheriff’s uniform, even after a too-long day at work. His short black hair looked like it needed a cut, and his blue eyes were exhausted.

“Is that any way to greet your brothers?”

Justin let out a sigh and took the six-pack of beer from Brayden. “At least you brought me something. But, really, I have enough beer as it is.”