The Winter House

"Like what?"

"Oh, I'd rather not go into those details."

By now he had rolled out the dough. Casey watched, interested, as he created the lattice crust. He actually got out a ruler to measure the strips. He laid them on top, at precise intervals, and then began the process of folding them under and over, at exact right angles to each other. She couldn't help smiling.

"Alright, that's ok. Well, did you try to change?"

Max thought for a minute. "Not really, no."

"Why not?"

"She knew who I was when she married me, for one thing. And for another—it was, uh—"

He stumbled, looking for the right words.

"Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have known how. She was asking something I couldn't do. Honestly, I didn't understand what the hell she wanted from me."

Casey saw him getting angry and frustrated, which she didn't want.

"Ok, my second question: how are you really doing?"

Max stood back, looking at his perfect pie, from every direction. He tweaked it, then decided to add some decorations from the extra dough, rolling out leaves and making tiny indentations with a fork. When it was all done, he stood, one hand on his hip, looking at the ground. He made a deep sigh.

"It's affected me," he said. "Much more than I expected. More than I like. Affected my work, and—other things."

"What bothers you the most?"

"It's a failure. I failed. I wanted it to work."

"I'm sorry," Casey said.

"Oh, Jesus. Now, see, this is exactly what I didn't want. I'm standing here feeling sorry for myself while you just broke up with your boyfriend."

"But I wanted to know. I'm glad you told me all this. And you're not feeling sorry for yourself."

She came over and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Thank you. I know it sounds weird, but it helps me."

"Oh yeah? Why is that?"

Max put his finger under her chin and lifted her face.

"Because it's easier to focus on someone else's problems, rather than your own?"

Casey gave him a guilty look.

"That's fine. I'm not judging. Just answer one question."

"What?" she said, with a smirk.

"How's my girl really doing?" Max said, as he wrapped his arms tighter around her waist.

Casey shrugged. "I'm upset. I'm very . . . bothered. But I'm not heartbroken. It's like you said—it's more that I failed. Again. That upsets me more than losing Doug, if I have to be honest."

"So, maybe you didn't love him as much as you thought?"

"Did you love Janet?"

"Well, I—"

Max's voice trailed off, as he looked into her eyes. They were such a soft, cornflower blue, so open and innocent . . .

Just then the oven ding'ed.

"Oh, thank god. Saved by the bell."

He put the pie in, then wagged a big oven mitt at her.

"You. Are a deadly combination."

"I just want to know."

"I just want to know. I just want to know. You've been saying that since you were two."

"My point, Catherine," he said, using her full name, "Is that you look like an angel, but you have the mind of a fucking steel trap. Did you see what you did there? Evaded my question and turned it right around on me. I can just see you, in Washington, cornering some poor senator in a bar, flashing him that smile. He wouldn't have a chance."

"I wish," said Casey, happy to change the subject. "But that seems so far away."

"You're 25. You're just starting out."

"I know . . . but I just can't wait for my career to really start."

"It'll happen. I don't doubt it."

Casey stretched, and yawned.

"Getting tired?"

"Yes . . . I was up so early. Do you mind if I turn in? Do you need any help?"

"No, thanks. Everything's set, really. Now all we have to do is cook it."

"Alright."

She came over and gave him a hug, and a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks for everything. I love you."

"Love you, too. Good night."

Max stood in the warm kitchen, watching her go, not even realizing he was following the sway of her hips and ass through her sweats. He tilted his head, looking, and getting angry at the thought of all the old men who would someday be watching that ass on TV. There was no doubt about that. Casey had the whole package. She'd get picked up by the national networks very soon, and then there'd be an entire country of pervs checking her out. He pictured her in those tight as fuck dresses those women wore, tits on display, and it made him suddenly, violently jealous.

"Jesus Christ, get a grip."

He shook himself out of his reverie and got back to cleaning up the kitchen. But all he could think about was her, and it worried him.

"Just what she needs—another old perv," he muttered.

+++

Casey woke up to the tantalizing smell apple pie wafting upstairs. She rolled over and scrunched up in her blankets, enjoying the warmth. She didn't want to get out of bed. She'd had such a wonderful dream. Something about a bear in the forest, right outside the house. She couldn't remember much, except that she'd gone outside to play with it in the snow and that it had been very pleasant.

She curled up, looking at the thick frost on the windows, so happy to be home and to have absolutely nothing to do but spend the day with Max. They both adored winter, and loved skiing. It was a Christmas tradition for just the two of them.

"Hmmmm . . . "

She snuggled tighter into bed, thinking about Max, and replaying the scene she'd glimpsed at the top of the stairs. Her thoughts strayed deeper inside that warm, dimly-lit room, imagining there was a woman waiting for Max in bed and watching him undress for her. A woman who could be looking at him as a lover . . . how nice that would be, to be intimate with him, and only him.

Her nipples stiffened and a sharp ache settled in her belly as she pictured "her"— the woman, Max's lover—getting on her hands and knees, spreading her thighs, waiting. And Max, readying himself, stroking his cock . . .

Suddenly, she was brought back to reality by the insistent buzzing of her phone in her bag.

"Oh, crap." It was work.

Casey scrolled through a bunch of texts, all from KABC. Thankfully, they were just news updates, not urgent messages calling her back to LA. There were no messages from Doug.

"Ok, time to get up."

She threw on a bathrobe and went downstairs. It had stopped snowing, and the sun was shining brightly through the windows, glinting off huge drifts and icy tree branches. It was gorgeous, and perfect skiing conditions.

"Hi," she said sleepily, when she found Max in the kitchen. He gave her a big smile, and she went to him, and held him, inhaling his wonderful scents. He hugged her back, and they stayed like that for a long time.

"Merry Christmas," Casey said, against his chest.

"Merry Christmas, baby," he whispered back.

"Mmmm," she murmured. "I've missed this so much."

Max pulled back and looked at her.

"It's so nice having you here. I mean it."

Casey smiled, and squeezed him tighter.

"I love it, too. I feel like I'm playing hooky."

"So! You still up for it?"

"I am! Dug my suit out last night. I need my coffee first, though."

"No rush. Here, sit," he said, offering her a plate. "I've got eggs, bacon, toast."

"Yummy. You're spoiling me."

"That's my job."

"Yes, but . . . mmmm these scrambled eggs are so good. . . the camera adds ten pounds. Not kidding."

"It's the herbs. Just a touch. And use cream rather than milk. Stir them in the pan . . . "

"I won't stop eating all day!"

"Good. I haven't had anyone to cook for in a while. And it's no fun by myself."

"I wish you could move in and cook for me. I hate it."

"Ah, well as tempting as that sounds, California?" Max said, making a face. "I don't know how you do it. All that sun."

"There's always the beach. And Big Bear."

"What's that?"

"Big Bear. Ski resort. Doug and I used to go there all the time--one of the few times we actually got along," Casey said, with an eye roll.

"Hmm. Speaking of Doug, I think you owe me."

"What?"

"You didn't really tell me what happened. You were very upset on the phone, you know."

"Well you hardly told me anything about you and Janet."

"This isn't about me."

"I'm doing fine, really."

"Are you, my little snow bunny?" he said, using his old nickname for her, which made Casey break into a smile. Max couldn't resist reaching across the table to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Jesus, what is going on with the men in California. Are they all blind?"

"Well you're not bad, either. For an old guy. Happy birthday, by the way."

"Yeah! Should be getting my AARP notice any day now."

"That's ridiculous." Casey moved closer to him. "I mean it. If I wanted to date someone older, I'd want someone just like you."

"Yeah?"

"Mmmm hmmm. Older and wiser . . ."

"And twice divorced."

"Hmmm . . . I'd say, 'experienced.' And being a world famous architect doesn't hurt."

"Who needs it?" Max said, only half-joking, "When I've got you."

"You always will," she whispered.

"Ah. Then I'm a very lucky man."

+++

"Aw, aren't you cute."

Max tweaked the fur pompoms on her Casey's pink ski suit.

"How do I look?" she said, exaggerating a pose.

"Fantastic. Hang on a sec, I want to take a picture."

"Jesus, you look like a toothpaste ad or something. Gorgeous."

"Let me take you, hang on."

They switched positions, and Casey laughed as Max mugged for the camera.

"You look like a Viking!" she shouted.

"Just what I wanted," he said, making a fake roar.

"Hold on, now I want one of us together."

Max steadied her with one around on her waist as she held up the camera with one hand. She snapped a couple of them smiling broadly, and impulsively kissed him on the cheek for the last one. Then they flipped down their mirrored sunglasses, and were off.

It was a glorious day with the sun shining but the air crisp and cold. The glittering landscape around them had the eerie quiet and stillness after a storm, the only sounds at all their breath and the swish of their skis.

They stuck to the flat trail which wound around the peak through forest that grew denser with each gentle turn. It was hard work. The snowfall had been so heavy they had to break fresh ground on the trail, and before long their thighs and butts were aching. But it was exhilarating, and they plowed on, working up a steady rhythm, spurred on by the rush of endorphins.

"Whooo! You ok back there?" Max shouted to Casey, occasionally, since he had insisted on going first.

She gave him the thumbs up, and a smile, and kept going.

"God, this feels great!" Max shouted, as loud as he could, into the empty woods. "Helloooo!!"

After an hour and a half, they had reached the edge of a hill which they had planned on taking down before they circled back.

"You ready?" Max yelled. "Careful! It's steeper than I thought."

"Yes! Keep going!"

"Watch me, ok? Follow my path."

"I will."

Casey laughed at Max whooping and hollering as he lifted off, and then bent over into a crouch and picked up speed. It was a straight shot, and icy, so he was going very fast by the end. When he came to a stop, he immediately turned around to keep track of her.

"Here I commmmme!" she yelled. "Oh my god!"

And then she was flying. It was such a rush, with the trees whizzing past, her skis crunching on ice, and the sun so bright sun in the beautiful blue sky. She wanted to go faster and faster! She yelped and screamed the whole way down. Her heart was pounding with adrenaline, her cheeks red and glowing, by the time she reached the bottom.

"That was amazing!"

"Watch it, watch it!" Max yelled, but Casey couldn't stop in time and plowed right into him.

They ended up in a tangled heap, legs and skis entwined. Max was flat on his back, Casey right on top of him.

"Oops . . ."

Max blew a pomp pom out of his face.

"You trying to kill me?"

"No," Casey laughed. "Sorry—let me just—catch my breath."

Her arms were planted over his shoulders, her face inches from his. Casey could feel his heart, thumping and racing, directly beneath hers.

"We can't stay long, it'll get cold," he said, much too aware of the pressure of her breasts against his chest.

"Yes, I know . . ."

Her voice trailed off as she gazed into his eyes, surprised she'd never noticed that they were actually more gray than blue.

"Hang on, you've got . . . "

Max inwardly groaned as she wriggled on top of him and leaned closer to his face.

". . . an eyelash. See?"

"Yes, I see, how observant of you."

"Your beard is so prickly."

"I'm sorry."

"And your teeth are so white."

"Are they?" he said, biting at her fingers.

Casey giggled.

"I dare you."

"Oh yeah?" Max said, unable to resist. He snapped as she teased him, trying to get him to bite her. He finally got ahold of a mitten and shook it while growling like a bear as Casey squealed with laughter.

And then suddenly it was intensely, uncomfortably quiet. They held each other's gaze, aware of the sudden change. Her lips were an inch from his, and for a moment, Max let his eyes caress their beautiful, sensuous curves. She saw him do it, and unconsciously leaned imperceptibly closer.

"Come on, let's go," Max said, breaking the spell. "Daddy has to get back behind the hot stove."

"Alll riiight . . ."

It took Casey a few minutes to untangle their skis and poles, then she pulled Max's arm, helping him up. They stood for a minute, looking around at the incredible white wonderland as if it seeing it for the first time.

"I love it here so much," Casey said.

"It's your Northern ancestors, calling you," said Max.

"Can we come back, tomorrow? I want to take a walk through these woods."

"Of course."

The journey back to the house passed quickly. Casey led, this time, striking ahead, invigorated, eager to get back. She was spurred on by a rising, heedless happiness, and laughed at him, lagging behind. Max followed, enchanted by the flash of smiles and fur and golden blond hair ahead of him. He felt light and free and more alive than he had in as long as he could remember.

An over-excited fluffball came bounding up to meet them, barking and jumping and wagging her tail. Casey undid her skis and started playing fetch with Freja in the snow.

The house was in its glory, as Max approached. It was made for days like this, with the pure white structure singing out against the blue sky, and the bright winter sun glinting silver and pink off the windows. It warmed his soul to see it. For too long, he'd missed out on its beauty, and he didn't overlook the fact that it was Casey who had truly brought it to life, just as she had the day she was born.

He undid his boots from the skis and went out to join them. They played for a while with Freja, then he tackled her and they had a fake snowball fight, laughing hysterically. When they finally went in, the sun was just starting to go down in a blaze of orange light.

+++

While Casey took a quick nap, Max set about getting a decent meal together. The truth was he preferred to work alone in the kitchen. Cooking was usually as enjoyable to him as his architectural work, though he hadn't enjoyed it in quite some time. They weren't all that dissimilar. Cooking involved precision, balance, proportion, refinement, technique. Anyone could slap together a meal, or a house; but to create something great, something unique and expressive and memorable, something that was an experience rather just the satisfaction of needs—that was an art.

He could feel the familiar passion, warming up and returning, like the grinding of gears kicking back to life, as he set pots simmering on the stove, chopped and whipped and tasted. His mind and senses, body and soul, began to work in unison, just like when he conceived drawings. It was a particular, specific joy that had no equal, except perhaps sex. But it all came from the same source, and he felt it, streaming back in, with immense relief.

+++

Upstairs, Casey awoke, yawning and stretching luxuriously. She knew she'd be very sore tomorrow, but now she just felt deeply relaxed from all the exercise. She lay in bed for a minute, then got up and went to the window, which had an incredible view onto the city. When she was a child, she used to look at the same view and pretend that she lived in a castle—a special, magical castle where it was always cold and white, and she was a princess, waiting to be rescued by a prince. She would picture him in the forest, fighting dragons and witches in the snow. He would have a special sword that could cut through ice, and he was always blond and bearded, a true Viking, clad in a coat of black fur.

She stood at the window for a long time, thinking. At one point, she got out her camera and flicked through the pictures she'd taken of Max earlier, lingering on the last one. Then her phone buzzed, several times in a row.

They were all messages from work, except the last one, a text from Doug.

I'm sorry. Please come back. I miss you.

She stared at it for a minute, then flicked her phone shut and continued her vigil, deep in thought.

After a long time, she turned to get dressed.

+++

"Hey, there you are! Come here, come here," Max said from the kitchen.

In a second she was cornered by the stove.

"Tell me what you think," he said, holding a spoon to her lips.

"Oh. My. God. What is that?"

"A soufflé I'm trying out."

"Mmmm, it's so good! It's nice and light. Kind of sweet."

"You like?"

"Yes. But. . ."

"What?"

"What about my potato pancakes," she said, as she played with a button on his collar.

"Are you pouting?"

"Yes."

Max laughed, his eyes sparkling as he unconsciously moved closer to her.

"They're right here. Don't worry."

"With the fried pork?"

"Yes."

"And the lingonberries?"

"Of course."

It wasn't until that moment that Max seemed to register how she looked, all glimmering light and softness. She'd done her make-up, in such a subtle yet becoming way. His eyes lingered on glossy pink lips and thick-lashed blue eyes in a halo of golden skin, before traveling downwards, not even hiding it. Her fabulous body, strong and tall and voluptuous, was clad all in white—skin tight jeans on her beautiful hips, and a cropped, fuzzy sweater that bared her flat, tanned tummy. Her large breasts swelled up, high and firm, under the inviting sweater, as if begging to be touched. Max seemed stunned, for a moment.

"Well," he said, finally, gesturing down to his flour-covered clothes. "I guess I better get changed, don't you?"

"I guess."

"Why don't you get the table set I'll be down in a minute."

"Ok."

Casey hummed Christmas music as she busied herself by making a pretty table, with red candles and a spring of holly in the center. She also put some logs in the fireplace and got some kindling in place. The moon and stars had come out, twinkling bright in a deep violet sky, when she heard him coming back down.

"Thank you," Max said, as he came over to her, a bit awkwardly. "It's lovely."

Casey smiled.

"You look nice."

She thought he'd spruced up nicely for ten minutes. He smelled wonderful.

Before long they were chatting as they put out the dishes and Max opened a bottle of wine.

"Not bad for one day, huh?" he said, looking at the gorgeous spread.

"It's wonderful. Thank you."

"By the way, I completely forgot to mention," Max said, as he loaded up her plate. "I'm getting an award."

"Another one?"

Max laughed. "This is a pretty big one. I'll be travelling to Paris for the presentation."

"Really?"

"Yes. Black tie. Pompous assholes. The whole bit."

"Sounds fun."

"Maybe you could join me," he said, casually, without thinking.

Casey smiled at him. "I'd love that. But who knows, with work . . . I'm so tied down there! Basically on call 24/7. I can't believe I got these days off."