Cathy Yardley - Baby, It's Cold Outside

They’d made love twice in the bed, once in front of the fireplace, once in the shower and once on the countertop of her bathroom. He hadn’t had sex like that for years. His body felt well used, just this side of sore. His mind, on the other hand, kept replaying the more vivid highlights of the previous night—and suggesting new and exciting variations that they might try in a second round.

Pity there isn’t going to be a second round.

That was why they called them one-night stands, he reminded himself. One night. He wasn’t quite sure where the “stand” part fit in. Although now that he thought about it, the shower…

“You all right, mister?”

Colin refocused on the cab driver. “What?”

“You look sorta out of it,” the guy said, peering at Colin from his rearview mirror. “Don’t tell me. You had yourself a merry little Christmas, huh? Really tied one on?”

“You could say that,” Colin said ruefully, obviously not willing to divulge secrets.

“Hard to believe you could party that hard in a town like this. Tiny little mom-and-pop stores, all those wrought-iron lampposts with holly around ’em. It looks like an old movie or something.”

Colin looked out the window as if seeing the place with a stranger’s eyes. It was picturesque, he had to admit. The windows were decorated with paint and candles, and the streets were clear of the litter and debris that he was so used to in the sprawling cities he normally worked in. Most of the stores were brick or stone, not concrete. The houses had nice landscaping and everywhere were Christmas decorations, tasteful and old-fashioned.

“I’ll have to tell my wife about it,” the cabbie continued cheerfully. “She loves this kind of crap. You live here?”

“No,” Colin said.

“Just passin’ through, then?”

“Yup. Just passing through.” The thought brought a pang.

How long is this sensation going to last?

He’d known that sleeping with Emily was going to be trouble even before he’d set foot into her bedroom. Apparently it was going to be more trouble than he’d bargained for…and he hadn’t even been away from her for an hour.

“Well, it’s cute and all, but it’s a pure pain in the ass to get to,” the cabbie stated. “Especially with the blizzard.”

“Wait a minute,” Colin interrupted. “Especially with the what?”

“Blizzard. Man, it’s been on the news all over the place,” the cabbie said. “They’ve had travel advisories. It’s been on the radio and the television and the newspapers. Where have you been?” He shook his head. “That must’ve been one hell of a party.”

“It was,” Colin said. “I’ve got a flight to New York, then a connection to Paris. Any word on airports shutting down?”

“I think there are delays but nothing too bad,” the driver reassured him.

“Oh,” Colin said. “That’s…good.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” the cabbie joked. “Paris, huh? Ooh la la. Vacation or something?”

“No, I’m moving there.”

Without warning, his body suddenly felt exhausted. He wished the cab driver weren’t quite so chatty. Maybe it was the thought of a transatlantic flight or maybe it was the thought of leaving, he wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, his body abruptly decided to remind him that he hadn’t gotten a premium on sleep last night and he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Suddenly he was having a hard enough time staying conscious, much less carrying on a conversation.

He wondered absently whether Emily was sleeping. She’d been naked and bundled up in her bedding when he’d said goodbye. She’d smiled, kissed him and turned over so she didn’t have to see him leave.

It had been harder than he’d ever imagined to walk out that door.

“Moving to Paris? Wow. The wife would love it, but me, I can’t see leaving the States,” the cabdriver continued relentlessly.

Colin listened halfheartedly to the cabdriver’s cheerful patter. He watched as the town’s landmarks moved slowly past them, enveloped in fluffy flakes that almost turned the air white with their abundant barrage. The gazebo in the town square looked like an igloo, piled high with a dome of snow. The statue of the town’s founder waded waist deep in a drift, while the Otter Lodge sign was almost completely covered up, revealing only the “Otter.”

The cab skidded abruptly, and Colin realized he’d been drifting off. “Whoa!”

“Sorry about that,” the cabdriver said. “I’ve got chains on, but this is nuts. I haven’t seen a storm this bad in years.”

Colin wondered if Emily was going to be okay. She was up in the attic, after all, and as luxurious as the small apartment suite was, it was awfully close to the roof, which was probably piled up with tons of snow.

He suddenly had a horrible vision of the roof caving in and fought the absolutely irrational desire to have the cab turn around and return him to the inn.

Even if the roof’s not strong enough, what were you planning on doing to stop it? Hold the thing up with your arms?

He wasn’t sure what he would do. He just knew that he hated the idea of Emily in any kind of trouble. And, if he were being completely honest with himself, some part of him was searching desperately for an excuse to get back to the inn. To her.

He knew that it was stupid, but there it was.

Chalk it up to lack of sleep.

“So what kind of business are you in?” the cabdriver asked.

“I’m an architect,” Colin said.

“Houses and stuff?”

“Not exactly. My next project is a hotel on the Left Bank, about a stone’s throw from the Eiffel Tower.”

“Must be nice,” the cabdriver said with a low, appreciative whistle. “So, what, they aren’t building any hotels on this side of the ocean?”

“Now you sound like my mother,” Colin said, and the cabdriver snorted.

“Well, to each his own,” he said affably. “You like what you do?”

“Love it,” Colin told him, feeling better. “Love the challenges, the new places, the clients. All of it.”

“Now you’re sounding better,” the cabbie pointed out. “That hangover wearing off?”

Colin smiled tightly. “Seems like it.”

“I hate hangovers,” the cabdriver continued. “Still, every now and then you’ve got to indulge, you know?”

Colin thought about it. Indulgence. That seemed like an inadequate word to cover what had taken place last night. But still, wasn’t that basically how Emily was looking at it?

Ten bucks says she isn’t mooning about you this morning, pal. She’s probably sleeping it off, or getting back to work. The way she’d talked about it, it was the experience she wanted, and the fact that it was with him was incidental. As though he was a stamp in her passport or something.

He didn’t believe it at the time, but now, after seeing her in action—honestly, he wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

“So your wife and family going with you or what?”

“What’s with the twenty questions?” Colin snapped.

The cabdriver paused. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to bug you. Some people like to talk, you know?”

Colin sighed. “I’m sorry, too,” he said. “I guess that hangover’s stronger than I thought. I didn’t mean to bite your head off.” He paused. “And no. No wife, no kids.”

“Huh. Not surprised, actually. You don’t really seem like a family man.”

Colin sat up straighter, as if someone had smacked him on the back of the head. “Why do you say that?”

“Sharp dresser, goin’ off to Paris the day after Christmas, hungover.” The cabdriver barked out a laugh. “But, hey, I’ve seen weirder from married guys, so I wasn’t absolutely sure. I remember driving this guy to two of his mistresses’ apartments on Thanksgiving, if you can believe it….”