My plan to sleep in until noon is successful. The rest of the house seems to have the same plan, as it is quiet and still nearing one o’clock in the afternoon. I sit up groggily and check my phone. A text from Brian… and Christian. I open Brian’s first.

Good morning, beautiful. Hope you have a great day today.

I text him back good morning and open Christian’s message.

Hey, London. Merry Christmas! Hope you’re having a great one.

In spite of myself, I smile and text him back. Merry Christmas, Christian! How thoughtful of him.

A new message pops up right after I hit send. It’s from Brian. Boy, he’s quick. How was last night?

I’m careful with my reply again. Crazy! Filled with drunken uncles and excited kids. How was your Christmas?

I lie back down and stare up at the ceiling. Just last night I was crying over this man. I sigh, at a loss of what to do. Though right now, I want it to be the least of my worries and instead focus on having a good Christmas holiday with my family. My phone buzzes in my hand and I check the message.

My Christmas was filled with everyone being concerned about me and telling me to come home…

I sit up and stare at the message for a moment before replying. Why don’t you?

I’m not ready. It’s complicated.

I sigh, again. It’s always complicated with you, Brian. I’m diverted by the smell of eggs and bacon wafting from the kitchen downstairs and, a few seconds later, Kaila comes running into my room, holding onto Simon’s hand. “Auntie London! Wakey wakey!” she squeals and I smile at the both of them, welcoming the distraction.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. After a late breakfast, my brothers and I squeeze into Dad’s truck and visit more family and friends around the city. I leave my cellphone at home and manage to keep Brian off my mind - for the most part. When we get home, it’s late and I have a few messages from him and a missed call from Abbey. I give her a call back and she informs me that we have a dinner date tomorrow with some of our old friends. We chat for a bit before I hang up and get ready for bed.

After I’ve changed into pajamas, I wander into the living room and find Grandma, Jovan, and Myles sitting by the fireplace with our family photo album open in front of them. I smile at the sight; this is one of my favourite parts of Christmas Day. Every year, we sit and look at pictures of my Mom, sharing memories of her and just remembering her. I take a seat beside Myles and he smiles at me, tears in his young eyes. Dad joins us a moment later and soon, we’re laughing at random stories of my mother; fond memories of growing up with her and stories of when her and Dad were younger. As I sit with my family, I can’t help but be filled with an overwhelming sense of peace and happiness. They are the perfect getaway – just what I needed to clear my head and rid me of my worries.

The next few days are busy catching up with friends and Abbey. I visit my favourite places in Vancouver, including a small restaurant called Japadog that sells the best Japanese hot dogs ever, take a drive down Stanley Park, and sit at a Starbucks overlooking the ocean. New Years Day, the day before I head back to Banff, is spent with more family and more food. I think I’ve gained about ten pounds over the holidays. I feel relaxed, refreshed, and ready to get back to the daily routine of hitting the slopes. Though I love being home, I actually start to miss work. And yes, I even start to miss Linda. I haven’t spoken to her since she called me about her engagement; actually, I haven’t spoken to anybody since Christmas day. I had purposely left my phone in my room, haven’t charged it or looked at it. I needed to get away from everything and everyone besides my family at the moment. I figured the more distance I put between Brian and I, the easier I can convince myself to get over my feelings for him. It seems to be working – I think.

On my last day in Vancouver, I’m occupied with packing up my luggage when I get a phone call. Jovan walks into my room in his usual calm demeanor and hands me the phone. “You have a call.” I take the phone from him and he walks out of my room, looking over his shoulder and raising a speculating eyebrow at me. I frown. I wonder who it could be.

“Hello?” I say, a little breathless from trying to force my suitcase closed.

“Hey.”

My heart skips a beat, drops to my stomach and then up to my throat in one second. There’s no mistaking that Southern drawl. “Hi…” I reply slowly and take a deep breath. Then a thought occurs. “How did you get my house number?”

“I have my ways,” he mutters, his tone clipped. Oh shit, he doesn’t seem too happy. “Did you fall off the face of the Earth or something?”

I try for the ignorant bit. “What do you mean?” I’m chewing on my lower lip and I’m gripping the phone to my ear. Chill out, London.

“I haven’t heard from you in four days, London. No message, no call, no nothing. What’s up with that?”

“I’ve been busy,” I murmur. It’s true, I have.

“Okay, so…” he starts slowly. “That time I went to Calgary, like two hours away from your home, and didn’t text you for a day because I actually forgot my phone, you flip out on me. But you can do the same to me and expect me not to react to that? When you have your phone with you, and I know you see your messages.”

“I haven’t seen them actually. I’ve left my phone at home and it’s now dead,” I say matter-of-factly, and quite stubbornly, I realize.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh. “What’s wrong, London?”

“I can’t do this,” I blurt out and he goes silent.

“What?”

“This,” I say and I feel that lump in my throat again. “This is just physical, right? So why do we both feel the need to constantly check up on each other like it means something?”

He’s silent again and I know he’s thinking it over in his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before,” he replies quietly.

Oh. So I was wrong. This is his first “physical” relationship, too. “It’s different,” he continues. “I don’t know where my boundaries lie, but I know that I worry about you like… like, I don’t know. Like a girlfriend.”

I close my eyes. There’s the word. “But, I’m not,” I whisper.

“What are you trying to get at?”

“I’m not your girlfriend, Brian. And you’re not my boyfriend. So this… this confuses me. You were right, people catch feelings.”

“Did you?”

I pause and I hear him take a sharp intake of breath. “So what I’m trying to get at is, that I can’t give you what you want, Brian. And as for me, I-I don’t know what I want.” My head is in a jumble of thoughts and at the moment, it’s impossible to sort through. I hadn’t expected this conversation.

“Why are you doing this to me over the phone?” His voice is a low hiss and I can tell he’s upset. “I’ll pick you up from the airport tomorrow.”

“Brian, I-“

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” he says again, and I know there’s no arguing when I hear the line go dead.

I shut the phone off and stare at it. What just happened? I slowly let out the breath I’d been holding and sit on the edge of my bed. Despite the heavy conversation I just had with Brian, I can’t help the fizzle of excitement growing in my belly knowing that I get to see him tomorrow. Though at the same time, I feel anxious and nervous. Why must he have this effect on me? I don’t talk to him for a few days and the minute I do, the feelings are back. I replay our conversation in my head and lie back on the bed. I’m not your girlfriend, Brian… This may be true, but physically and emotionally – I’m his.

-

I’m startled awake by a loud ring and sit up in my seat. “Ladies and gentleman, that bell indicates that the seatbelt light has turned on,” a woman’s voice announces on the intercom. “At this time, we ask that you stay seated and refrain from walking around the airplane cabin or going to the bathroom. We are now approaching Calgary International Airport for landing where the current time is 7:32pm and the weather is a cool -12 degrees celcius. If this is home, welcome back and if not, we hope that you enjoy your stay. Thank you for flying WestJet.”

As Calgary’s twinkling skyline comes into view, I begin to take deep breaths in and out. I have been nervous about seeing Brian since our conversation last night. Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep and my last day with my family consisted of them constantly asking me what was wrong. I gave them the excuse that I hadn’t slept much – which is true. I think the only person who didn’t buy this excuse was my Dad, who had given me another lecture about making sure I only settle for what I deserve when he dropped me off at the airport.

The walk to the main gates is a long one; usually, I get impatient about this but today, I’m actually thankful for it. It gives me a chance to calm my thoughts and my nerves and prepare myself for the whirlwind that is Brian Littrell. The escalators leading to the double sliding doors come into view and I’m lost in the crowd of people who are eagerly walking faster to see their loved ones. I can now feel my heart pumping faster against my chest, echoing to my ears.

Chill out, London.

I’m at the bottom of the escalators now and the double doors open and close as people filter through. I see him - right up front and center staring back at me and my heart jumps to my throat. He looks good; dark jeans, dark brown Timberland boots, and a light trench coat. The doors close again and my eyes fall to the floor as I approach them. They open once more and I walk through. I’m standing in front of him, looking up at those impossible blue eyes. His auburn curls are slightly shorter, his sideburns clean lines, making his jaw look that much more chiseled. His lips are slightly parted as he gazes down at me. That familiar smell of body wash and musky cologne.

Oh, I’ve missed him.

“Hi,” I whisper and, just like that, his hand is tilting my chin up and his lips are on mine.