My heart is aching by the time we reach the cabin door. I don't want to meet Damien's father.

I mean, I desperately do, which is exactly why I shouldn't. This isn't real life. He's going back to his work and his house and his city party life and I'm going back down the hill to enjoy Christmas alone.

Which is why I'm standing here, staring at a door instead of knocking like Damien asked me to, probably several minutes ago by now.

If I knock — if I go in there — I'll meet his old man who, by all accounts, I already like.

I don't want to be any more attached than I already am. So maybe it's a good thing we didn't have the opportunity for sex. Bee always said I was the worst at separating that from love.

She isn't wrong.

I sigh, hoping to release some of the tension building in my back and neck and pulling at my injured shoulder.

It doesn't work.

Damien reaches around me and lifts the ornate brass knocker, picking it up and letting it go so it drops down with a crack that echoes through the forest. A small group of birds still here for the winter flutter away at the sound.

He takes a step back to wait for the door to be answered, but there's no sound from inside.

"Maybe he's out?" I offer.

"No. Where would he go without one of us or someone from your company?" He asks. "Did anyone come up here with him?"

"Yeah, but they'll have gone back now for break and to grab any additional supplies that are needed. I have to radio back once we get in here..."

"He's probably just not listening," he says, reaching around me to lift the knocker again.

He doesn't even get his fingers around the knocker when the door swings open to reveal a short, muscular man with sparkling eyes and short-cut salt and pepper hair. He's clean shaven except for a moustache and his blue sweater rolled up his arms reminds me so much of Damien I immediately know it must be his dad.

"What's this?" his dad asks, eye twinkling.

"This?" Damien sputters out. "Oh, this is, uh—"

"I'm the guide from Cliffside Lodge, Sir. Name's Amelia and I made sure your son here got up the mountain safely."

"Ah, he's told you, then, has he?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," I say, because I don't. He's told me a lot of things, any number of which his father could be fishing for. And I'm not losing my bonus for spilling the beans to his dad. He's not vindictive enough to take it away because I don't want to stay, but he might be if I give away his secrets.

"I mean that I'm his dad," the man says. "And I'm sorry I raised such a fool who can't properly introduce his father to a lovely young woman. It's nice to meet you, Amelia, I'm Atlas."

"And I'm sorry my dad doesn't know how to invite people into his warm cabin instead of keeping them standing in the frozen snow."

"Did you want to invite her in?" he asks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Of course, Dad. I'm not a heathen. Now..." I'm pretty sure he is gesturing in some way, but I'm not turning around. He is too close to me, the warmth palpable through my many layers of outerwear. But his father is in front of me. I'm like a Damien sandwich right now and it's extremely uncomfortable.

"Would you like to come in?" Atlas offers, stepping back and sweeping his arm across the room.

"Thank you, I'd love that." Which I would. I think my whole being is frozen to the core, and it's so much more pleasant to wait indoors than outdoors when I don't even know how far out my team is.

I step across the threshold and into the warm cabin I've only ever seen once. "Wow," I breathe. "It's beautiful. Did we do this?"

"Most of it," Atlas says. "I brought the tree decorations up."

"I didn't know we did this."

"I don't think you do," Atlas says. "At least that's what your colleague told me. Apparently my son has ideas."

"You did all this?" I turn to face him, pulling off my mitts, scarf, and toque. "You really weren't kidding about loving Christmas."

"You thought I was joking? Why would I joke about something like that?"

"Well, you just—"

"Don't seem like the type, does he?" his father cuts in. "I know he doesn't look it now, but when he was young, this boy lived for Christmas. He used to ask me to put up the Christmas tree in July."

"Now this I have to hear," I hear myself saying. It comes out before I can stop it, a smile pulling at my cheeks. Shit. I'm in too deep.

We finally manage to take off all our gear, and I set mine carefully near the door, reminding me I need to leave as soon as I can. I probably should radio back about necessities, but hearing a story first won't hurt.

"Would you like some tea or cocoa?" Atlas asks, offering me a seat on the couch.

"I'd love some, yes. Whichever is easiest."

"You're our guest," Damien says. "Choose what you'd like and we will make it happen."

"Bold words from the man who doesn't have to prepare it," his dad pokes his side and pulls him into a hug. "Damien will make you whatever you'd like."

"Oh, it's fine," I backtrack, heat rising into my cheeks at an uncomfortable pace.

"Which one?" Damien asks. "I need an answer so my father doesn't kill me. You don't want to be responsible for my death, do you?"

"Cocoa," I answer. "If you have it."

"We have it," Atlas says, patting the couch again and sitting down beside me. At least that means Damien will need to sit somewhere else. I breathe a little easier.

He tells me story after story of a little Damien running around after his cousins, sitting with his family, learning how to figure skate to help a girl in his grade seven class film a competition video.

"You misrepresented yourself," I say to Damien once his father is done the story about helping children at a local school receive Christmas presents last year. "You aren't a cold ruthless man at all."

"I told you that so many times," he says, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "You're the one who didn't believe me."

"You can't tell someone something like that," his dad says before I can answer. "You've got to show them."

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

Atlas picks up a plate of hand-decorated cookies and holds it out. "Cookie?"

"I think I should be getting back, unfortunately. I'll just take stock and send word back to Cliffside Lodge to make sure you have everything you need. And don't worry, someone will be back at the store all week to make sure you're safe. If you need any help just give us a call, okay?"

"Would you like to take a shower first?" Damien asks. "I happen to know we have one in every bedroom and far too many bedrooms we aren't using, so I'm sure you can find one to your liking."

I do have an extra set of clothes in my pack. And I am gross and sweaty from the unexpected trip extension.

It would be nice to have hot water run down my shoulder before I have to head out on the back of a snowmobile.

"Sure," I answer with a smile. "I'd love to."

"Excellent," Atlas says. "Damien can show you up to one of the guest rooms while I clean up a little. I have to get supper started soon."

"I'm helping," Damien calls as we walk up the stairs. "If you start the stuffing without me, I will be very sad all week."

"You are such a child," I laugh. "What have you done with Mr. Serrano?"

He stands next to an open door and turns to face me, eyes intense and face relaxed. "I put him away where he belongs. My dad deserves authentic Damien. And so do I."

"You do," I agree. "I like him."

Shit.

I race into the room and slam the door. "Thank you for helping me find the room."

I'm just thankful I can't see his smug face through this thick wooden door. My eyes slip closed and I wait for him to leave, but he doesn't.

"You're welcome," he chuckles. "But that is my room, so you may want to choose another."

I push back from the door with a start, heat rising in my face. How many times can a person embarrass themself in one day?

But a quick look around seems to confirm he isn't messing around with me. There's a navy suit hung in the closet and a suitcase near the ornate king sized bed.

Great. I've trapped myself in Damien's room. The only saving grace is he hasn't slept in the bed yet.

But he will.

I race to the door and swing it open with more force than is necessary. I might owe my boss for some damage to the wall, but I need to get out of here.

My stomping rampage gets me halfway down the hall before I realize I don't know where I'm going. Stopping in my tracks, I cannot bring myself to turn around, freezing and taking a deep breath before asking, "Sorry. Umm, which one can I use?"

"Sure you don't want to use that one?"

I turn and shoot him a death glare. At least we know my brain is still in control sometimes.

"Next door on your right is fine," he points. "See you downstairs when you're done. Holler if you need anything."

"Thanks, I won't," I mutter, wandering into the next room and closing the door, his laughter wafting through the air along with the smell of freshly baked Christmas cookies.

Goodness, I need to get more space between us.

Atlas is probably the only thing stopping me from doing something very foolish.

How am I going to survive the next hour here when I have no idea how I'm going to get through the next few minutes?

I push my back into the door and sink to the floor, pushing the heels of my hands into my eyes and taking deep breaths. Finally, I take another deep breath to steady myself and open my eyes.

The room is covered in gingerbread. Like, entire sheets of gingerbread littering the entire bedroom.

Why are there sheets of gingerbread in a bedroom? And why was I sent here to shower?

I can't waste time thinking about it. The faster I get in the shower, the sooner I'm done. And the sooner I can let this whole experience become a distant memory.

I hope.

~ * ~ Author's Note ~ * ~ 

Hey everyone! I'm about two to three chapters from done this story and, since it passed through to round three of ONC, you can expect them over the next couple days! I'm so excited! 

Thanks for reading and I'll see you soon for the next one. 

~ Eliza