Title: Frozen

Author: lauraloo

Genre: Romance H/M

Summary: A New Years Eve story, set one week after The Four Percent Solution.

Notes: I got this idea during a trip to the grocery store and it sprouted into Four Percent Solution reaction piece. Why do so many of my stories seem to revolve around food? If I say any more, it’s going to spoil the story, but let’s just say that the research for this one was especially torturous. Enjoy!

Frozen

The ingredients are simple, really. Heavy cream, sugar, milk, maybe some cocoa powder or nuts, maybe something to make it taste fruity or buttery. Regardless, it all gets dumped into a machine where its spun around and around and chilled. That’s where the magic happens.

I heard somewhere that ice cream has been around since 200 B.C. I think I also heard that Marco Polo was one of the first to introduce a version of it to the western world. And who knew that after one night in particular, years ago, it would become an indispensable staple of my world? Australia. Sydney. Faraway land of brazen requests and ill-played moments. But that fateful night, when I’d picked up the phone in my room at 2200 hours and ordered two bowls of the wondrous substance, I wasn’t thinking about Marco Polo or ancient China or magic machines or the fact that I was creeping precariously close to becoming the poster child for emotional eating.

Two bowls, one spoon. That’s what I’d been thinking about.

I know I must’ve made an intriguing picture when the room service waiter had stood in my doorway – the pretty green outfit with an off-the-shoulder top, my hair slicked back with a flip at my neck, a winding trail of mascara running down my cheek. With one hand, I’d clutched the pair of silvery, strappy sandals, the other holding out a desperate wad of crumpled bills.

Sure, the night had started off well enough. It had been warm and clear, all full of flickering stars and one skinny slice of moon. And I’d been alone with him, chatting, laughing, even flirting a little bit as we walked along the wooden deck, the water rustling beneath our feet. Then we saw the bridge and everything went to hell.

The bridge. That upside down smile lit with glittery yellow globes. Eternity, he’d said. No more waiting, I’d said, essentially. And, well, you know what they say about the rest of it.

Six years later, I’m struck by both how different and how hauntingly familiar my life looks. Really, I shouldn’t be brooding like this, especially on New Years Eve. I know I should be thankful – the get down on your knees, lift your hands to the Heavens kind of thankful. The doctor said I almost died last week after becoming more acquainted with an oak tree than one should ever get. But, I’m alive. I survived with only a bruised face and a few sore spots. Oh, and there’s that limp. Kinda makes me feel like a pirate. Yep, that’s me. A pirate-limping, time-telling, ice cream addict marine.

The ice cream addiction is one addiction that’s happily here to stay. No one knows about it – not even Harriet. Surely not Harm. I’ve got them all fooled, thinking that I do all that running just to stay up on my fit-rep. But even though it will still be a few more weeks before I can hit the pavement again, nothing is going to keep me from attacking that freezer full of wonderful tonight. No, it’s not because I’m sad. At least I think I’m not. Harm’s out with the other lady in his life and that’s a good thing. He has been over here a lot the past week, helping me with all the things I swore up and down and every which way that I could do myself. I’ll admit I’ve enjoyed it. Him. Every minute of it. Last week at the hospital, it felt like we were really getting somewhere with whatever it is that’s always been between us. But nothing’s really happened since then. And isn’t that the way it always seems to go? For years now? A little something happens then it fizzles away into nothing. Every time. Okay, maybe that’s why I’m sad. Maybe just a little.

A knock at the door stops me in between the living room and the kitchen. This better be good because there’s a pint and a big spoon waiting for me in there. “Harm?” I say, truly surprised to see the man standing in the hall wearing a leather jacket and jeans. Really good jeans.

“Hey, Crash,” he says, a cheeky grin splattered all over his face. Crash. He’s been calling me that lately. Before I was discharged from the hospital, we spent some time drudging ourselves through the whole serious business about how close it really was and all the ramifications of that. But after a few days, we were done with serious and I think he’s just wanted to give me a little laugh therapy. That’s great, except that it kind of hurts to laugh.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I sputter out, then instantly wince at how that sounded. By the way, wincing hurts like the devil, too. “What I mean is, what happened to the whole night you and Mattie had planned? Dinner, ice skating, homemade Sm’ores…” I stand aside to let him in. “You’ve been talking about it for weeks.”

He shrugs out of his jacket and shuts the door behind him. “Josh Henderson happened.”

“Ahhh, you mean the Josh Henderson she’s had a little thing for since last year?”

“That’s the one. He called this morning and invited her over for this big movie party at his house. She was thrilled but didn’t want to break our date.”

“But you told her that she should go anyway. ”

He nods, his lips flattening out into a long, thin line. “Yeah. I just dropped her off not too far from here and hoped I could hang for a while. Sorry for not calling. I knew you’d be around.”

“That’s okay…wait a minute? You just knew I’d be around?” I give him a slanted look. “What if I have a date or something?” Not a half-second after the word “date” leaves my mouth he flashes a brief expression of what looks suspiciously like hurt. Wow. But just as quickly, he begins surveying my appearance with amused disbelief. Black velour tracksuit, socks, hair done up in a crooked ponytail. No makeup except for a few swipes of mascara and some lip balm.

“A date. Really?” he smirks.

I cross my arms at my chest. “Hey, it’s possible.”

He says nothing, just gives me one of those sickeningly infuriating smiles of his.

Now I’m going to have a little fun. “Well, it just so happens that I was just on my way to prepare for my big soiree’.”

“You were.” It’s not really a question.

“Yep. In fact, I have not one, but two gentlemen to entertain me with their charms this evening.”

This gets him going. “Two?”

“Uh-huh. In fact, you may know them. Two successful businessmen, originally from New York, that now reside in Vermont.”

He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Vermont? What?”

I let out a big huff of air. “Oh c’mon, Harm. Environmentally savvy millionaires?” I lift my brows, suddenly feeling like a quiz show host. “With a penchant for sugary dairy products?”

Well, that did it. Whatever worry was dancing around his mind at the thought of me with not one, but two other men, is officially history. But he chuckles just a bit. “Ben and Jerry. That’s real cute, Mac.”

I bat my lashes. “I thought so. Anyway, I’m sorry about Mattie but I’m glad you came by.”

He rocks back onto his heels. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. How about some coffee?”

“Sounds good, but let me make it. You should be relaxing.” On his way to the kitchen, he points to the couch and I oblige him with no argument. What’s gotten into me?

I pick up the remote and turn the channel to the Times Square coverage. Seconds later, my eyes cut to the side when I hear my cabinet doors opening and closing like some kind of percussion chorus. He pokes his head around the corner. “Decaf?”

“Sorry. I just moved it into the freezer.”

“Gotcha,” he says with a thumbs-up and then I just realize what I’ve done. Freezer. Oh, no.

“Mac…holy…what on earth?” he shouts, his head buried halfway into Whirlpool. Yeah, he’s just seen it. How could he not? It suddenly occurs to me that in all the years we’ve known each other, I don’t think Harm’s ever had any reason to rummage through my freezer. And to make matters worse, I just went grocery shopping a few hours ago and went a little, well, nuts. I think it’s worse than ever in there.

Oww. I’m wincing again and just as I scoot to the edge of the couch, he appears in the doorway, Starbucks bag in one hand, Ben and Jerry’s in the other, which he jiggles back and forth like a dinner bell. “Mac, as you know, this is only one of many. You planning on serving dessert to the entire neighborhood or something?”

I cross my arms at my chest. “No. I just happen to be really fond of ice cream.”

He smiles. He just can’t help it. “That, I knew. This,” he stresses, pointing backwards, “is lunacy.” He sets down the coffee and studies the label with a laugh. “Chunky Monkey?”

I gingerly lift myself off the couch and move into the doorway for some damage control. “Yes, they have some really good names. That one’s banana ice cream with some fudge chunks and walnuts.” He looks impressed at my ability to rattle off the ingredient list on command. I lean my good shoulder against the doorframe. “That’s my super-secret courtroom brew.”

He gives me a blank stare. “You mean, you stock different varieties for different occasions?”

The way he says it does make it sound a little too close to crazy. I nod sheepishly. “Something about that combination gets me all geared up. I’ve eaten it every night before court for years.”

“Who knew?” he mutters, adds a playful smile then pops open the freezer and grabs two more pints. He holds one up. “I found two of these in there. Fossil Fuel?”

“Let’s see, it’s sweet cream ice cream with chocolate cookie pieces, some fudge swirl, and of course, the little fudge dinosaurs.”

“Dinosaurs. How appropriate.”

“I know. It’s too cute. I eat that one when I’m in a really good mood.”

He holds up the other pint. “Cherry Garcia?”

“Oh, that’s AJ’s favorite. Jimmy’s recently caught on, too. Cherry ice cream, cherries and fudge flakes. I keep it around for when they come to visit.”

Now, a pint with a brown and tan label. “Coffee Heath Bar Crunch?” he asks.

“Coffee ice cream with crumbled up Heath Bars.”

He ogles the container and looks as if he might even flip open the top. “Sounds like a winner.”

“It’s the best. Strictly PMS food.”

Suddenly disconcerted, he takes a step back, dropping the carton on the counter as if it’s just burst into flames.

This earns him a dramatic eye-roll, which gradually loses its potency as I remember that there’s one last variety in my freezer that I don’t care to elaborate upon. “Okay, that was fun, but game over.” I suddenly straighten up and aim for the cartons all lined up in a row. “Now how about that coffee?” I suggest and damn if I don’t sound like a squeaky, nervous wreck.

“Not so fast,” he says, stepping directly in front of me, blatantly ignoring my glare. “There’s one more in there.”

“Harm,”

But he’s already opened the freezer. He produces a dark brown container with a red and black border. “Hmmm,” he slurs, spinning the pint in his hand. “Chocolate Fudge Brownie. Let’s see, no cute, catchy name, just the basics. Sounds like it would be a favorite of the ice cream purist,” he muses.

I make a move, as swiftly as I can under the current state of my body, but he evades my grasp and lifts the pint out of my reach. He hikes a brow.

“Give it.”

“Nuh-uh. C’mon, ingredient wizard, what’s so special about this one?” he demands. “And remind me never to play poker with you.”

I’m grumbling. Officially grumbling. Then I try my best to pull myself together. “It’s nothing, Harm,” I tell him in my best innocent voice. “Just chocolate brownies smashed up in some chocolate ice cream.”

“And this particular one is used for…”

My eyes dart all around the room. “Oh, just whenever.” I sound like a mouse. A teeny, tiny white mouse. With a freaking pink nose.

“Mac,” he warns.

“You know, they have a contract with this bakery that makes the brownies especially for…”

“Mac,” he slices off the rest of my sentence and takes a step closer. “When, Mac?”

God, don’t do it. Don’t make me say it. “Can’t you figure it out for yourself? It’s one of the biggest clichÈs around.”

He looks at the carton again and then at me. “What do you mean, a clichÈ?

“Oh, c’mon, Harm. Out of all the flavors in there, that’s the only one that’s one hundred percent chocolate.” I point to the label. “That one’s a virtual chocolate wonderland. And you know what they say about chocolate? You know why women eat chocolate…oh, hell.” That’s it. I’m not saying another word. I just wait a few seconds and then it happens. A light bulb flickers on in the middle of his head.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh,” he repeats, eyes wide. “You mean it’s like a substitute for sex?” This, he whispers. Why the hell is he whispering?

And I’m blushing. I just know I am. “No,” I say pointedly. “I mean, I guess it could be. But with me, it’s not that exactly.” I pause and shrug my shoulders. “It’s more of a love thing. Or a lack of it, you know, a lost love kind of thing. It’s a sort of therapy, I guess.”

He nods slowly. Wonder of all wonders, he’s actually trying to understand this. “Ahh, so this is the one you’ve always eaten after things go wrong with the men you’ve dated, or…”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Not ‘men,’ in the plural sense. Just one man,” I say, very small. And it’s the truth. Finally. That’s right, the truth. I guess it’s time. I look up at him again, stare directly into his eyes and know that he knows.

“Hey,” he says softly, almost dreamily. Oh, how I love his voice. “Think it’s time to talk about this?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles then turns towards the counter. “Let me just put these back before they melt.”

“’Kay.”

He scoops up the pints and pulls open the freezer door. As he’s stacking them up again, I hear a gasp and know exactly what he’s gasping about. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. This is going to be insane.

At first, he says nothing. He just pushes aside the huge bag of frozen chicken breasts and starts dragging out the numerous cartons of Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream that were hidden, not so well, behind it. I can’t take it. I close my eyes and lean against the doorframe again. I feel like the biggest fool ever.

“Mac,” he says at length. When I finally work up enough gumption to open my eyes, I’m face to face with six pints of that ice cream on my counter. So, this is my heart, I’m thinking. Right there in front of me, in front of him. I’d never thought I’d ever see my true feelings, my hopeless love for this man embodied in ice cream. But here it is. And doesn’t it tell a story? I mean, as many ways as he and I have invented to screw up matters between us, we’re finally faced with it in the form of a few simple ingredients, all mixed together. Like magic.

When I look over at him, he knows I’m more than a little embarrassed. But there’s not a trace of pity in his expression. No, there’s something else entirely there. Something that’s totally new. Those gorgeous eyes are narrowed a bit and darkened. And then there’s his head, cocked ever so slightly to the side. His mouth – it’s long and steady, one corner pulled up. He’s never looked at me like this before.

After a few seconds, he’s still silent but he makes a big show out of opening the cabinet underneath my sink, pulling out my trashcan. With a flourish he picks up one of the cartons and tosses it into the can. Then he reaches for another.

“Wait, Harm…” I hold up my hand like a stop sign.

“Mac,” he says, “over the years you haven’t exactly understood the motive behind some of the things I’ve done. I want that to end right here and now. Is there any question as to why I’m throwing this away?”

Damn, this man is sexy. And it looks like, for once, there’s not going to be any fizzling going on here. “No. I think I’ve pretty much caught on to that part.” After I pick my stomach off of the floor, I manage to give him a little smile.

He returns it then evens out his gaze. “You know, in the hospital, when I said that I’m still here, I wasn’t saying anything about friendship.”

“I wasn’t hearing anything about friendship.”

At this, he grins. Brilliantly. “So, all of this, us…it’s okay?”

I nod. Nope, definitely no fizzling.

“Then why did you stop my object lesson?”

“Harm, it was perfect. Bordering on adorable. But that’s at least thirty dollars worth of ice cream!”

“Oh.” He considers this for a beat, deciding he likes my practical side. “I guess it would be a waste to throw it all away.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then.” He quickly places the remaining pints back in the freezer. Then he’s staring at me again. He hasn’t a clue about how to approach what should probably come next and neither do I. “Hi,” he finally says.

“Hi.”

He holds out one hand. “I told you to come to me when you were ready.”

“I’m ready,” I tell him. Just saying it feels like Heaven and I haven’t even touched him yet. But, instinctively, my hand flies to my hopelessly bruised face.

“What?” He stretches out the word, soft and long.

“I feel like a mess. I look like I took a nose dive into a big vat of blueberries.”

He smiles again, and instead of just one hand, now he’s holding out both arms. It’s this that gets me a little choked up. One hand is for friendship or something a parent offers a child. It’s meant to lead or guide. It’s a lift out or up out of something or somewhere. Two hands, two arms outstretched – well, that means everything. Everything he’s never given me before. Then he says, “C’mere, Mac. You’re beautiful. And I happen to have a thing for blueberries.”

I limp forward until I feel those mile-long arms circle around my waist. His face is inches away now and it makes me wonder why I’ve always been drawn to cold treats. This is all warm and snug. This is the sweet stuff. I clasp my hands behind his neck. “Blueberries? Really?”

He presses his forehead against mine, shakes his head back and forth. “Actually, no,” he admits upon a chuckle. “Can’t stand them. I never have. Just ask my mom.”

“Oh, well…”

He pulls back, lifts my chin with one finger. “But you,” he says quietly, “you, I love. Always have.”

I swear I feel my whole body sigh. “I love you, too, Harm. I think my freezer already told you, though.”

He pulls me closer. “Yeah, it did. But hearing it from you makes this the best day of my life. Hands down.” He runs his thumb around my face, over my lips. “Can I kiss you without hurting you?”

“Thank goodness, my mouth is fully functioning. It’s the not kissing you for years that’s been hurting me.”

“Me too,” he whispers, and just like that, my lips slide right underneath his. At first, he’s the epitome of gentleness. I’m a delicate creature, a porcelain doll in his arms. But it’s not long before things begin to slip out of control. I knew it would be like this. I always knew that if we’d ever finally get things all lined up between us that it would invariably escalate into something wild and fierce. God, I love wild and fierce.

His mouth has moved to my neck as my hands claw at the heated skin underneath his shirt. I can’t seem to get close enough to him, he smells so incredible - feels like something incredible hasn’t a singular clue about. When he tugs at the zipper to my sweatshirt, my shoulder twists slightly the wrong way. Whimpering in pain is the last thing I want to do right now, but I can’t help it.

Immediately, he pulls back, breathless. “I’m sorry, Mac. I should’ve been more careful.” He cradles me close. “You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just not a hundred percent yet.” I look up at him, all bruised lips and tousled hair. And mine. Mine all mine. The noise that comes out of my mouth is the sound of frustration.

“What’s that about?” he whispers, grazing his lips upon my jaw.

I splay my fingers over his shoulders. “This. Us. I’ve been waiting for this for years. I’ve wanted you for so long and when it finally happens, my body’s all jacked up.” Then there’s that noise again.

“Believe me, I know. And you’re not the only one who’s been doing some serious wanting.” He kisses me softly. “Look, it’s okay. We’ll have our moment soon. Really soon. It’s only been a week and look how much better you’re doing.” Then he smiles wickedly. “You see, Mackenzie, what I’ve got planned for the two of us, well, every inch of you will need to be in tip-top shape.”

There goes my stomach again. I dance my fingers over the skin at the back of his neck. “When it happens, it’s going to be good. I mean, really good, isn’t it?”

He makes a low rumble in the back of his throat and leans into my ear. “So good, there’s not even a word that exists to describe it.”

Holy Lord. And this man knows a hell of a lot of words. Suddenly, I get really sentimental on him and nestle myself into his arms. I just love him so much.

He kisses the top of my head. “Hey, how about we find a soft corner on your sofa? We can watch the ball drop and eat some of that ice cream and make out like hormonal teenagers.”

I pull back and purse my lips. “Mmm, sounds perfect. Especially the ice cream,” I tease as he flicks my nose with one finger.

“C’mon, Crash.” He lifts me up into his arms and sets me down at one end of the sofa. Then he pulls over a big chenille blanket and arranges it on top of me. “Leave some room under there for me.” He kneels down and gives me a soft peck. “I have an idea of what we can do with all that Chocolate Brownie whatever ice cream, now that you won’t be needing it anymore for it’s original purpose.”

“Do tell.”

“From now on, it can be the ice cream that you eat only when you’re with me. You know, like some couples have their own special song…”

“Couple,” I muse with a wistful smile. “I like the sound of that.”

He grabs my hand, rubs his thumb back and forth along my palm. “Just so you know, this thing we’ve started, it’s a forever thing. I’m afraid that’s the only option I’m offering.”

And it’s the only option I’ve ever wanted. “You mean, like eternity?” I ask softly. The shift in his face tells me he knows. He remembers. Then he nods.

“Exactly like eternity. I love you.” He seals it with delicious kiss. Then he straightens up. “Now, I owe you some dessert and that coffee we talked about.”

When he returns a few minutes later, he sets a tray on my coffee table then settles himself next to me. “What?” he asks when he notices my enormous grin.

I shake my head quickly. “Nothing. Just you,” I say and pull him close for a kiss.

But it’s not nothing. It’s something amazing. It’s what he put on the tray, right next to the coffee mugs. One bowl, two spoons.

The End