Christmas at the Cabin | ONC 2023 (Complete)

Eight | Atlas and Gingerbread

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.