Summary: When Bella's parents decide to go on a cruise for Christmas, her best friend Rose offers for her to stay at their cabin in Idaho for the holiday. It's a beautiful plan until her colleague shows up. Short story. AH, BPOV, olderward, lemon(s)

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Hiding (the Christmas Criminal)
by Anton M.

4: Cozy Routine

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"Bella."

I stretched in the warmth of my blanket, pulling my hand under the covers even though the weight squeezing my palm made the movement difficult.

"Bella," the whisper repeated. "I'm sorry for waking you, but I need your help."

Recognizing Edward's voice, I blinked in the near-darkness and realized I was holding my lips against the back of his hand. Jolting awake, I let go of his palm. I was in the cabin, of course, and it must've been early morning judging by the dark blue hue outside.

"Sorry, sorry," I replied hoarsely, clearing my throat and trying to focus on his face. "What happened?"

"I made a fire in the fireplace but I can't seem to get the smoke to leave," Edward answered with an edge of alarm in his voice.

"Ah. I thought something serious happened." I sniffed the slight smokiness in the air. Sitting up, I turned on the bedside light and made sure he'd closed the door. "Rookie mistake. You didn't open the chimney damper."

Edward was crouching beside me in his boxer-briefs and a white T-shirt. His hair was in an adorable, sexy disarray. "There's a chimney damper? Why was it not open?"

"That's my fault," I replied sheepishly. "I closed it when I went to the bathroom in the night. The rooms stay warm for longer if you close it after the embers have died."

"Okay. Stupid question, but—how do I open it?"

"There's a small wire hook on the right side of the fireplace opening, a rusty ring made of wire. Just pull it down." I wiped my face, yawning, too sleepy to think about what an unpleasant sight I must've made. "Do you want me to do it?"

Refusing, Edward was already on the way to the door, and a puff of smoke entered from the top of the doorway before he shut the door. Not even two seconds had passed before I heard the little clank of the chimney damper. A moment later, Edward reappeared in my bedroom.

"Thank you." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry for waking you for something so stupid."

"Just make sure to crack the windows for half an hour or so, and please stay here until the smoke clears."

Edward left to open the windows. I slid myself back under the covers, keeping the light on to wait and see if he needed any help, but I must've fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes again, the blueish snowy hue outside had lightened and Edward was sitting with his feet on top of the old table beside me, reading. He'd scooted the table lamp to face his book and the wall, and I admired him in sweatpants and hoodie before I realized that he was wearing reading glasses: a round pair in tortoise shell pattern with a beaded chain. Unfairly, instead of looking hilarious, his glasses made him look stylish.

He licked his finger to turn the page as I waited to see the cover of the heavy book, and I was not disappointed: a golden title on the red-and-black cover read Les Trois Mousquetaires by Alexandre Dumas, and I might've known diddly squat about French but this one wasn't tough to figure out.

Edward's parents had ensured that all four kids were fluent in the language in case British international schools were unavailable in their designated countries. (Most places, apparently, had French international schools.) The first my colleagues and I heard of him denying that he spoke French was during lunch prior to a big sales call with a French company, and I'd believed Edward's casual, "Oh, you know, just school French, rusty and old," until the man, of course, opened the meeting in French and spoke ten sexy, perfectly incomprehensible minutes with the beautiful woman on the other side in fluent French.

I wasn't jealous at all, of course.

Okay, maybe a little.

So of course Edward had to bring a copy of The Three Musketeers in the original language to Idaho and read it in my bedroom like the sight of him in a gray hoodie and bead-chained reading glasses didn't make my heart snuggle into a hammock with unrealistic dreams of a hot man. As if I didn't feel bad enough that he was staying with a decidedly unworldly, never-owned-a-passport Idahoan.

Then, my heart skipped a beat as I realized that his girlfriend must've been just as well-travelled as him. She probably spoke seventeen languages or something equally unfair. How was a girl to compete?

I'd observed him for a few minutes when he caught my gaze, put down his book and smiled with those ridiculous, adorable reading glasses on. His eyes lingered on the sleeve of his sweater because of course I wore it to bed.

"Good morning," he said a bit roughly, his eyes kind. "Again. I'm sorry to intrude on your space. I'm waiting for the living room to warm back up again."

"Not at all." I wiped hair from my face. "I'm sorry I ruined your morning."

"Eh, can't hope to look like I know what I'm doing sharing a cabin with a beautiful woman."

Warmth spread through me.

Take that, gorgeous smart worldly CEO girlfriend who speaks seventeen languages! He thinks I'm pretty, too.

"How far are you?" I asked him, pointing at his book, unable to acknowledge the sweetness of his compliment, and we discussed the book until my stomach started grumbling. We got up. Edward served me a proposal-worthy plate of French toast, one topped with bacon and eggs, the other with raspberries, and I just knew I was going to be spoiled rotten for the next two weeks.

It relieved and delighted me how easy he was to get along with. I felt no burden of entertaining him or having to fill his time. In fact, when we discussed the TV shows I intended to watch, his book, or anything else either of us wanted to do in the cabin, time frequently ran away from us. I loved it.

The day also solved the mystery of why a man of Edward's means had chosen a cozy but shit old cabin (sorry, Rose!) to stay at. He was not necessarily trying to save money by staying here (although it helped), neither was he afraid of the hassle of booking another cabin in the wilderness (like I'd thought). No, no.

Edward was a man who enjoyed keeping himself busy with chores and home improvements, so much so that he'd asked Emmett for a list of things to do in the cabin: sorting out the shed to create more room, splitting firewood (and stacking them into rows), fixing the unstable step on the porch, spraying polyurethane spray foam in multiple cracks between logs where a draft could be felt near the walls… the list felt endless. He took breaks to cook and to read by the fireplace next to me, but unfortunately, his active days had the side effect of making me feel insanely guilty for not being equally occupied with home improvement tasks.

Other than miscellaneous little chores like doing the laundry, dishes and chopping veggies (if Edward allowed me), I spent my time texting friends, binging Netflix and skating on a nearby lake in the forest. On the first day, I cleared the ice from snow by skating with a snow shovel in front of me, dumping the snow near the shore of the lake, and my efforts paid off because it didn't snow for multiple days afterwards and I got to spend all my mornings and evenings skating. I wore black woolen tights, a floaty blue skirt, and my black pea coat (which I almost always folded on a boulder when I got hot). If I was a rational creature, I would've worn one of the old puffer jackets from the cabin, but a part of me wanted to look cute for Edward.

Listening to Kygo's Piano Jam #1, was lost in my little world of amateur jumps and spins when I noticed Edward leaning against a pine tree across the lake, no doubt here to tell me lunch was ready. Beaming, I glided toward him as fast as I could before I did a full hockey stop.

"How long have you been here?"

"Only a bit." He pushed himself off the tree and followed the narrow trail down to the lake. "Please tell me you were showing off and this is not how well you usually skate."

I grinned. "Bet you'd also show off if you spent two winters learning how to do the hockey stop."

"We'll pretend I know what that means lest I lose all my man-points around you," Edward replied, eyes full of warmth.

"I think you can afford to lose a few. I'm not fixing up an entire house in my spare time."

He waited patiently as I changed into the women's winter boots I'd bought for the cabin a few winters ago. I hung my coat over my forearm and was ready to carry Rose's skates had he not kindly taken them from me. He wore his black sports jacket, fleece hat, and an unnerving expression of awe that made my chest feel like bursting.

"Are you okay?" I asked, no doubt red-cheeked from exercise.

Edward slid the frost-covered end of my braid through his fingers, removing the ice crystals. Gazing into my eyes with an intensity that charged the air between us, he brushed his leather-clad knuckles over my cheek and made my heart beat twice as fast.

"Never better," he said softly.

I was practically buzzing as we walked back to the cabin. I wondered if I was the only one who felt the charge between us or if he just politely ignored it given his beautiful genius CEO girlfriend. I tried to keep myself away from situations that would make me want to pull him on top of me and press my lips against his, but it was getting harder, and I was probably crazy to even consider the thought, but sometimes… sometimes I felt like Edward teased me on purpose.

The man had made a Spanish potato dish, patatas bravas, a guaranteed hit with any breathing Idahoan, and I sat across from Edward, stuffing my face as fast as I could while also pretending to be a lady. I knew I'd failed miserably when his eyes lit up with a stifled smile.

"I'm sorry," I said, covering my mouth with my hand but my muffled voice revealed my chewing. "S'too good."

He grinned.

I swallowed (that's what she said) and searched his eyes. With a spontaneous heart in my throat, I said, "Promise you won't forget about me if things don't work out between you and your lady-love. She might be drop-dead gorgeous, but does she eat seconds when you cook? 'cause you should consider a girl who can't talk to you while eating 'cause she's too busy stuffing her face with your food."

Edward's gaze brightened with a secret as my words rang in my ears. "Pretend I didn't say that," I backtracked, mortified. "I will not be held accountable for what leaves my mouth when I'm eating your food, okay? I'm a 100% supportive of you and your lady-love. Don't kick me out. At least not before I've finished your potatoes."

Edward laughed, and I couldn't shake off the buzzing anticipation I felt when he assessed my face.

"I thought a way to a man's heart was through the stomach," he said in his attractive, low voice.

"Clearly, they've never tasted your cooking. A goat would fall in love with you if given some."

Edward choked on his water before he rushed to the sink, spat it out and burst out laughing. "Bella," he gasped with tears in his eyes, facepalming.

"Sorry?" I replied, too pleased by having made him laugh to feel too apologetic.

Clearing his throat, Edward returned to the table, and we finished eating. I began to do the dishes when I saw the contemplative look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said, catching his eye. "I was just joking around. I meant no harm. I'm glad you've met someone special, and I can only hope to meet a man who talks about me the way you talk about her. I'm also sorry for not helping you enough—"

"Bella, you offered me help no fewer than a dozen times yesterday," Edward replied, cutting me off. "I'm here because I love that stuff. You're here to rest. Why do you feel so bad about it?"

It should've been a simple question, but I realized that my answer was anything but.

With Seth, I was used to feeling responsible for the way he spent his time. He didn't have any hobbies, and I'd had the constant burden of entertaining him at home. When I didn't choose to do what he wanted, he sulked, and it was exhausting. I realized that the first day I'd freaked out over Edward sharing the cabin with me, I'd also (at least partially) been scared of the burden of having to entertain him, the way I'd had to entertain Seth, which would've ruined my vacation.

Drying my hands, I turned around. "You'll have to play my therapist if I tell you."

Eyes bright with interest, Edward motioned at the couch before he threw a few logs on top of the embers in the fireplace and sat down. I made us both a cup of coffee, put Kygo's Piano Jam #2 on repeat on my laptop, and joined him. Shadows of pine trees moved on the floor, and the sunny blue and white world outside contrasted beautifully against the cozy, fairy-light-covered interior of the cabin. The crackling, smoking logs caught fire as they heated up. Attempting to ignore Edward's beautiful gaze on me, I curled my legs underneath myself.

Spending four days in the cabin had allowed Edward and me to settle into a cozy routine, but sadly, we hadn't had a chance to repeat our first night of discussion on the couch. Calls with family or friends, little house tasks, watching TV shows together and just generally being exhausted from the year—neither of us had been up for it (and Edward refused to half-ass my cross-examination).

"Do you feel judged when I do chores while you rest?"

"Excellent therapy question," I replied, amused. "Don't charge me, though—I don't think I can afford you."

Edward laughed.

"A little bit, I think, but I don't think that's my main problem." I played with the edges of my skirt. "I think—the thing is, my ex didn't have hobbies. Like, none. It wasn't a problem—not everyone has to have cool, exciting hobbies—but… he couldn't entertain himself. Not even, just, watching TV or gaming. Which means that I spent almost a decade choosing TV shows and activities based on what he wanted, not because he was abusive but because his sulking was worse than just figuring out what we could do together. And, while he did do chores, he only ever wanted to do them together, which might be cutesy and fun during your first month together but… got supremely annoying at the speed of light."

Edward lifted his ankle on his knee and leaned forward, shaking his head.

"And I think I have, like, a lingering trauma or something. I'm just so used to having to be there when useful stuff is done that… I feel enormously guilty when I let you do tasks on your own."

"Bella." Scoffing, Edward set his coffee mug on the side table and leaned toward me. "I'm sorry you lived with a toddler, but you are not letting me do stuff on my own. I can't change how you feel about how I spend my time, but know that the routine we've developed is pretty close to ideal for me." He touched my hair and tilted my chin up. His eyes glimmered with warmth. "I love being here with you."

"Pretty close to ideal?" I repeated in a near-whisper, not intending for him to hear me, but when he did, I gave him a sheepish smile. "What would make it ideal, then?"

Edward's eyes scanned over me with such a thorough intensity I stopped breathing, but before I could interpret the look, he turned to take his coffee. Exhaling, I willed my heart to slow down when I realized that he might've been attracted to me, but he probably still wished I was replaced by his girlfriend.

Oh, who was I kidding? There was no probably about it, but he proved that he was too polite to tell me so when he shrugged and asked, "What about you?"

Me? I, apparently, had no morals, because my ideal routine would've involved 100% fewer clothes 90% of the time, preferably pressed between him and the carpet, my bed, the wall—I wasn't picky. I shut my eyes, taking a prolonged gulp from my mug, grateful he couldn't tell what I was thinking. Why did I have to be so damn attracted to the man?

"You okay?"

I spilled a bit of coffee on my tights when I found him sitting much closer to me than before.

"I'm great," I whispered with a smile, getting up before I did something reckless like straddling his lap, gripping his neck and pressing my lips against his until I had to come back for air.

…

Edward and I returned inside when it got dark. We got changed, ate, and dragged one of the side-tables in front of the couch before returning to The Night Agent. Edward had patiently watched the trailer for The Diplomat with me and even laughed out loud at Rufus Sewell's line about being the ambassador's wife, but he was too worried about being distracted (by everything the show might've gotten wrong) to watch it. He was ready to give The Night Agent a shot, though, and with all its flaws, the show had proven to be entertaining as hell.

I attached a charger to my laptop as Edward poured us both a (juice) glass of semi-sweet white wine, and I pretended not to be painfully conscious of Edward's body brushing against mine as we settled in.

"Be ready to see me cry if they don't put Peter and Rose together," I said, smiling as I typed.

"Oh come on," Edward complained. "Really?"

"Really."

"It's too obvious. They'd never do something so obvious."

"They'd better." I scrolled down and selected the show. My knees brushed his thighs when I settled back on the couch. Feeling defensive, I paused the seventh episode and took my wine from Edward. "Life is shit enough. Sometimes you want predictable. There's comfort in the predictable. Especially…"

My skin broke out in goosebumps when I noticed that his left arm was resting on the back of the couch behind me. I drank wine not to show how much his proximity exhilarated and unnerved me.

"Especially…?" Edward repeated in a low, husky voice.

I considered and reconsidered elaborating because getting into the specifics of my past might've ruined our Netflix and chill, but in the end, he was too easy to get along with not to hear his thoughts on mine.

"Especially when you're in a point in your life that's suddenly anything but predictable. Because… I let go of that. I chose different. The kind of predictable I was heading down would've been miserable. But that means I also shut the door to things I thought I'd have at my age, and that's, it's a bit unsettling." I gave him a bittersweet smile. "It's probably stupid—"

"It's not stupid." Edward swirled the wine in his glass, and I felt his fingertips graze my shoulder.

Staring at his wine glass, Edward's eyes were far away when he spoke. "You get divorced, it doesn't just uproot your life, it's… a crisis you have with yourself outside of the actual divorce. It's how much you want to reject how others see you, reject this new title, divorcé, reject the idea that you failed at the one thing you never thought you'd fail at. 'cause who dreams about their life, thinking, fuck that first marriage, second time's the charm? And yet there you are, all by yourself, irrefutably… damaged goods."

"Is that how you see yourself?" I asked, refusing to believe him. "Damaged goods?"

"Nobody comes out of the shitstorm of a divorce, unscathed." Edward shrugged, locking eyes with me, his fingers still drawing maddening little lines on my arm. "There's too much upheaval. There's just so much you see after, with the benefit of hindsight. I hope I learned from it—what doesn't kill you and all that, but… what I wanted to get at is that… I understand. Never thought I'd be where I am now, at forty-five."

"In the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere in Idaho spending your Christmas with a colleague?"

Laughing, Edward clinked his glass with mine, eyes twinkling. "Wouldn't change it for the world."

My heart squeezed in delight, and I prepared to question him about where he thought he'd be in his life at this point in time when he asked, "How did we get to this discussion, anyway?"

Beautifully aware of his palm and fingertips tracing patterns on my shoulder, I held my lips against the edge of my glass. "Enjoying predictability for the comfort it gives you."

"If predictability is what gives you comfort, how about a proper Christmas classic—" He paused for effect. My heart was in danger of giving out when he leaned closer and tucked hair behind my ear. "Die Hard."

"I haven't seen that in years," I replied, a bit breathless. "Let's do it."

And so, our plan for the night was adjusted. I couldn't find the movie on Netflix but Edward logged into the Disney+ account he shared with his younger sisters, and if I did curl up slightly closer to him than usual, it was definitely because I was cold and not because his fingers on my shoulder made me practically buoyant with nerves.

…

Wind howled when I woke up. Confused, I blinked at orange embers in the dimness of the Christmas lights. Feeling deliciously, impossibly warm, I attempted to sit up, but a strong arm squeezed around me.

Edward's steady breaths blew against my hair, and my heart nearly burst from being squished against his chest in a burrito of blankets. Edward's one arm lay straight, under my pillow, while his left arm curled tightly around me and my own folded arms.

We must've fallen asleep.

In awe of waking up in his arms but knowing I had to be the bigger person and get up, I made another attempt to move. This time, Edward's arms loosened. Carefully, I turned, fully intending to prop myself up on my elbow and whisper his name, but the moment I'd turned around, Edward's arm and leg curled around me, pressing my face against his chest. With his nose buried in my hair, he stirred ever-so-slightly before his lips pressed against my head.

Holy shit, did he just kiss my hair in his sleep? Buzzing with giddiness, I closed my eyes, taking a few deep, painful breaths when I realized… my cheek was smushed against Edward's muscled, bare chest. His chest hair tickled my nose, and I turned my face to prevent myself from sneezing.

When had he taken his shirt off? Maybe he was one of those people who did stuff during sleep that they never remembered later. Regardless, the intimacy of our proximity cracked my resolve to get up, and I fought with myself for multiple delicious minutes. Determined to squiggle out from his protective arms, I decided to close my eyes for just a moment, but, surrounded by his warmth and scent, I fell asleep.

...