Chipping at the Ice

By Tamara Clarke

It's Christmas Eve and Claire Morris is single again. Her family is far away, not that she's keen to spend the holidays with them. Instead, she's alone at the bar in her building and she's spilling her guts to the guy on the stool next to her. She tells him everything, oversharing as usual. She even tells him about that embarrassing episode from last Valentine's Day. And then, she finds herself in his car, on the way to his place, where both of them confess that they don't want to be alone at Christmas.

Luke Beaufort, seasoned hockey goalie, hasn't spent Christmas with anyone since his divorce. He's even forgotten what it's like to have friends, aside from the guys on the team. Until he meets Claire, and from the first stream of conversation, he's hooked, and he knows how he wants to spend the holidays. All of a sudden, they're spending more than Christmas together, and neither wants to stop. But his secrets and her insecurities might be too much for them to handle. They don't want to be alone, but can they make it together?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tamara Clarke
• Release date: Jun 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9780991876495

Tamara Clarke

Tamara lives in the foothills of Alberta but dreams of traveling as often as she can. Her greatest passions are reading and writing, but she loves many other things, including hockey, chocolate and coffee - in no particular order. Visit Tamara's blog: www.tamaraclarke.wordpress.com. Tamara posts regularly with updates on new releases and other topics of discussion. Also find links to all her ebooks for sale and her free story postings.

Book preview

Chipping at the Ice

Tamara Clarke

Chipping at the Ice

Tamara Clarke

Published by M. Blyth and Distributed by Smashwords

All rights reserved.

Copyright 2020 M. Blyth

No part of this e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including emailing, printing, photocopying, or faxing without prior written permission from M. Blyth.

ISBN: 978-0-9918764-9-5

Cover Design: M. Blyth

Cover Photograph: Oksana Churakova – Dreamstime

For all those who take risks, in life and in love

Cover Page

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Other Titles by Tamara Clarke

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

This is a bad idea.

I thought you said you needed the money?

Claire glanced over at her friend, Eloise, and nodded. She had said that, and meant it, but now, with Christmas two days away, she wasn't sure she could manage it along with all the distractions in her head. I'm a terrible waitress.

Eloise snorted. You don't have to tell me that. I'm still trying to get the stains out of my other white shirt from the last time you worked a shift.

They turned their gazes back to the wall of mirrors before them in the ladies room. In another minute, they'd have to get to work, circulating and handing out drinks at the fancy party in the big ballroom of the nicest hotel in Boston. It was the fourth time Claire had agreed to waitress for the catering company Eloise worked for, and the extra money was going to come in handy.

Did I thank you for getting me the job? Claire tucked her white shirt into her snug black pants and twisted one way, then the other, checking all sides. She sometimes wished it was a full-time gig, but she'd take any earnings any way she could, at this point.

Not yet. Eloise patted her hair, tucking a blond strand behind her ear. You're welcome.

Claire smiled at her in the mirror. Thank you.

Eloise turned to her, their outfits a mirror image of each other. Black pants, white button-down shirt, snug black vest, and black high-heeled shoes that Claire knew she would hate in another two hours. The only contrast between them was their hair. Eloise was blond, her hair braided up in a knot at the back of her head, while Claire's hair was light brown.

My invitation for Christmas dinner stands. My mother would hardly notice another mouth to feed.

Claire sighed and shook her head. Thanks, but I've got plans of my own.

Oh yeah? Do these plans include wallowing over Paul with a bottle of vodka in your arms?

I plead the fifth. Claire tightened her pony tail and tugged down on her vest. All right. I'm ready.

Let's go.

The two women walked out of the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. There, it was a hubbub of activity as servers loaded up trays with champagne and others with hors d'oeuvres.

Claire grabbed a tray of drinks and headed out behind Eloise to the enormous event room. The place was dressed up for the holiday season, complete with a nine-foot tall Christmas tree in one corner. Women in long, fancy dresses and impossible stilettos mingled with men in black suits and tuxedos.

As usual, Claire was so out of place it hurt, but she pasted on a bland smile and started to circulate. Before she knew it, she was rushing back to the kitchens for another tray of drinks. And on and on the night went, until she was hiding near the tree, cursing her shoes and the fact that she'd agreed to work on December 23rd when she could have accepted her mother's condescending offer to fly her home for the holidays.

Oh, no. Her intact pride was far better.

With a sigh, she switched her weight to her left foot and picked up the last champagne flute from her tray. She was just putting the glass to her lips when she heard a deep chuckle.

Damn. I was hoping that one was for me.

She turned and tried to ignore the heat in her face as she faced the speaker. He was a tall man, and filled out his dinner jacket nicely, but his dark hair was a little mussed and his dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

Um... Claire glanced at the glass in her hand and cleared her throat. Here you go. She held it out, hoping he wouldn't notice the slight smear from her lip gloss on the rim of the glass.

Thanks but I'll wait for the next round, I think. His voice had the slightest accent, revealing that he was not a native of Boston.

Claire nodded, dropping her eyes to the glass in her hand, and figured she had nothing to lose now. Then you won't mind if I—?

He shrugged and smirked as she threw back the dry bubbly in one go. Rough night?

You could say that. She righted the tray in her hand and planted the empty in the middle. I should get back to work.

She was about to sweep past him, with what remained of her dignity, when another man stepped close.

Luke, there you are. He stopped next to the dark man, not even acknowledging Claire, even as he blocked her getaway. Why are you hiding over here? Those ladies were very into your conversation. The newcomer was almost the same height and build of the man he called Luke, though he was fair and blue-eyed next to Luke's dark brown hair and brown eyes, and spoke with an accent that Claire couldn't place.

The dark-haired man, Luke apparently, rolled his eyes and tucked his hands in his pants pockets. And I told you I was bored, Tark.

Bored? With all this eye candy on display?

Claire couldn't hold back her scoff at that. Eye candy, sure. If you liked the sugar-free, flavorless variety. Both men glanced at her, the dark-haired man smiling again. Her cheeks burned and she looked away, trying to look like she wasn't still eavesdropping.

Go back to your eye candy, Tark.

And what are you going to do? Hide here by the tree and sneak out as soon as I look away?

It was clear that Luke didn't appreciate the man's tone. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jacket pulling taut across broad shoulders as he fixed his companion with a narrow look. I won't be sneaking. Now, go on, go entertain your 'eye candy', hopefully without your wife noticing, and let me be.

Claire noticed his accent grew broader with the anger in his voice. She tried to remain silent and shifted on her feet, the blister on her left heel making itself known.

Tark muttered under his breath as he turned and stormed away, shaking his head. Luke let out his breath and lifted his hand to scrub over his clean-shaven face.

I could really use a drink now.

Claire blinked as he met her eyes and jumped when his words sank in. She could do that. I'll be right back.

His smile dimmed and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but she darted off before he could get a word out.

Claire rushed to the kitchens and all but slammed the empty tray on one of the tables. Eloise was there, shoving one of the salmon appetizers in her mouth, and started at Claire's arrival.

Are you okay? Eloise's words came out a bit garbled, and along with crumbs, but Claire understood nonetheless.

I'm fine. It's just busy out there.

Claire wasn't about to leave the sexy man in a black suit hanging while she stopped for a chat with Eloise. She scooped up a fresh tray of champagne and headed back into the crowd. She didn't run. A full tray of drinks was not a easy to carry. She was however, forced to pause a few times before she got close to the Christmas tree again, as party guests moved around her and a few took glasses of champagne from her tray.

At the tree, she stopped and looked around. Tall, dark, and handsome was gone. She let out a breath and her shoulders drooped. Well, it had been a wild hope to think that she'd actually meet a good-looking, available man at a work function.

Shuffling a few more steps to hide behind the tree again, she lifted one of the remaining three glasses from the tray and sipped. Of course, that's when Luke reappeared.

It took everything she had not to spray her mouthful of champagne in his face. She swallowed, her entire being on fire with embarrassment, before lifting the tray towards him.

Good thing I found you when I did. Luke moved closer and picked up one of the remaining glasses. If I'd been another minute, you'd have finished all three.

Claire smiled and shook her head. If the drinks were something else, maybe. I can barely manage to get any of this stuff down.

Not a fan? Luke took a long drink of the one he held, his eyes on her face.

I'm more of a fruity drink lover myself. Umbrellas and all. She set the half-finished glass on her tray. I absolutely fell in love with daiquiris when we were in Havana. I don't know what they do to them there, but they're out of this world. I couldn't get enough so it was a good thing they were only a few bucks each. I mean, any bar in this town charges at least seven dollars, right? I'd need three jobs just to keep drinking them. She stopped when she saw the look on his face. She was familiar with it, the look of someone who can't believe she's still talking. She bit her lower lip and looked down.

I've never been to Cuba.

She glanced up at his comment. His smile was friendly and open.

How did you like it?

I loved it. Claire grinned as she recalled her time in the capital of the island nation. There is so much history there.

His eyebrows arched. Not like here?

Claire laughed before she could stop herself. The same amount as Boston, I suppose. Just a different kind.

Spanish history instead of English, right?

She nodded and launched into a description of the day she'd spent walking around Old Havana, stopping only when she noticed the strange look on his face.

You were there with your boyfriend?

Her heart lurched and she let out a breath. Had she mentioned Paul? She supposed she must have seeing as how he'd been the reason she'd gone to Cuba.

Yeah. Well, he thinks he's a cigar aficionado and there's this big event there every year, that one of the big manufacturers puts on, and he took me as his plus one. It was just a long weekend, really, and I'd never have been able to afford to go myself, so I guess I'm lucky he didn't break up with me until after.

He broke up with you right after the trip?

Claire could feel her skin starting to heat up again and she shifted on her sore feet. Why was she telling this guy everything? Why did she tell anyone everything?

She swallowed hard and shook her head. Not right away. It had been a few days after they'd landed back in Boston.

He studied her, his dark brown eyes narrowed on her face. When he opened his mouth to say something, Claire beat him to it.

Can I get you another drink?

His gaze dropped to the flute of champagne still in the center of her tray and she did blush then.

Idiot. She forced out a laugh and hoped she didn't sound as pathetic as she felt. Okay. Then I should get back to work and let you get back to— uh, your party.

He started to say something else but Claire darted around him and disappeared into the crowd. She was finished with the night's edition of humiliation.

She handed off the last glass of champagne to someone in the crowd as she wound her way back to the kitchens. There, she told Eloise she was taking a break and hid in a back corner. Once again, she'd made a fool of herself. One day, she might learn to curb her habit of babbling her life story to strangers. One day.

Eloise found her a short while later and Claire brushed her embarrassment off and got back to work. She kept an eye out for Luke, but it appeared he'd followed through on his threat to leave. She shrugged it off and told herself it was just as well. He was one of the grand party guests and they probably had nothing in common.

At the end of the night, Claire sat on a chair in a corner of the near empty ballroom and rubbed one foot. Eloise walked over with a glass of what looked like soda water with a lime wedge and handed it over. Claire took a big sip, feeling parched, and broke into a coughing fit when she realized it was vodka and soda.

Eloise giggled and clapped her on the back. Sorry. I should have given you a head's up.

Claire shook her head as she coughed a bit more. She caught her breath and wiped her eyes. It's fine. An appropriate end to my night. She held her glass out and Eloise clinked her own against it.

You held up all right. Eloise glanced over at the hotel employees as they started to clear the room and clean up. I got a few decent tips.

Claire smiled and nodded, her hand going to her pocket where she'd tucked away the few bills she'd been handed over the course of the night. Drunk rich folks were generous at this time of year. She eyed more than a few bills with zeroes on them. Me too. It wasn't enough to change her life, but it was enough to brighten her holidays.

After another few minutes of idle chit-chat, during which Eloise tried to convince Claire again to come over for Christmas dinner, they cleared out of the hotel, and Eloise dropped Claire off at her building.

In her apartment, Claire changed out of her uniform and continued to rub her feet, even as she sat up in her small twin bed and stared at the cracked painted wall across from her.

God, she hated her apartment, but it was all she'd been able to afford after Paul had dumped her. She wasn't even sure how much longer she'd be able to stay there. She'd been laid off from her last low-paying job and hadn't found anything since. Tonight's earnings would keep her in the apartment for another month but if she didn't find something permanent soon, she didn't know what she'd do.

She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. I suppose I could go back home to San Francisco, move in with Mom and Dad until I get my shit together.

Except she'd rather pull out her fingernails than go back there, homeless or not.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

Chapter Two

The morning dawned grey and cloudy. Claire dragged herself to the bathroom and then out to her kitchen, where she poured a half a bowl of cereal. Then she stood by her one window and stared at the low-hanging sky. A few minutes passed as she munched on her dry cereal and watched the first few flakes as they started to fall.

There was about two inches of snow on the faux balcony railing outside the window when her phone rang.

Claire turned and put her empty bowl down, scooping up her phone with her other hand. Eyes rolling, she braced herself and tapped 'accept'.

Hi, Mom. Calling kind of early, aren't you?

Hello, Claire. Are you on your way to the airport? Her mother ignored her question altogether.

Uh, not quite. Claire forgot that she hadn't actually told her mother she wasn't accepting her offer to fly home. Of course, that would have involved explaining why, including how she didn't even have a credit card left to charge it on until her parents could pay her back.

Marion Morris let out a heavy, put-upon sigh, and Claire could picture her rubbing her one eyebrow, like she always did when Claire had done something particularly trying. Claire, it's Christmas Eve. The airport is going to be a zoo. If you don't leave now, you're going to miss your flight. God knows how the roads will be. The weather report says it's snowing there.

Well, it's a good thing I'm not coming then.

There was a beat of silence.

Excuse me?

I'm not coming out, Mom. Thank you for the offer of paying for the ticket, but I can't get away from work long enough to visit. A bald-faced lie but that was the least of Claire's worries right now.

Well. I suppose I woke up early for nothing then.

You wouldn't have had to anyway, Mom. I'm perfectly capable of setting an alarm.

Marion made a noise that might have been agreement or derision. Claire had given up a long time ago on trying to figure out her mother's sounds.

Who will you be spending Christmas with? Does Paul have plans?

Claire closed her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. I am not spending Christmas with Paul, Mom. Did you forget that he broke up with me last month?

He's such a nice young man. Couldn't you make it work?

He doesn't want to make it work. That's the point.

Another heavy sigh. If you say so.

Claire rubbed her forehead and leaned a shoulder against the cold window. I should go. I've got to get ready for work.

All right, dear. I'll call you tomorrow.

Sure. Bye, Mom.

Bye.

Claire couldn't end the call fast enough. She fought the urge to chuck the phone across her small apartment. Except she wouldn't be able to afford another so she tossed it onto the bed and turned back to the window.

It was snowing in earnest now. Even if Claire had work, she'd probably be late. Snow this thick and heavy would put a kink in even the heartiest of transit systems. Sometimes, she really did miss the California winters. Then she reminded herself that California also contained her entire family, winners at everything they do.

Claire, on the other hand, had yet to succeed at anything she did. The most she'd managed was moving across the country with her boyfriend, Paul.

And look how well that turned out.

With a sigh, she walked over to her closet, dug out some clean clothes and headed into her tiny bathroom. She might not have work but she could walk to the nearest coffee shop and give herself something to do, besides wallowing in her empty apartment, as Eloise had suggested.

I don't even have a vodka bottle to complete the picture.

With a sigh, not unlike her mother's, Claire turned on the shower and got ready to go out anyway.

Later, Claire took her time walking through the neighborhood back towards her apartment. The snow had stopped falling and she could hear the sounds of traffic increasing at nearby intersections.

Back inside her tiny apartment, she didn't feel any better. The nearest coffee shop in her neighborhood had closed for the week and she'd gone a bit further to the next one she knew. She'd snagged an interview following the holidays at that place, so that was something. Back in San Francisco, she'd been the manager of a coffee shop and artisan bakery, not exactly a dream job, but she'd been good at it, and it had paid the bills. Then she'd given it up to move to Boston with Paul.

She lasted maybe an hour before she picked up her phone and called Eloise. The phone rang through to her friend's voicemail and Claire opened her mouth to leave a message. Then she shook her head and ended the call. She wasn't sure she could handle more time with her well-meaning friend and she definitely didn't feel up to Christmas dinner surrounded by strangers.

When the apartment grew dark, and Claire couldn't take another minute of stewing alone, she dressed up in her warm layers again and walked down to the street. It was quieter now, the traffic having died down after the dinner hour. Everyone was at home, hanging stockings and drinking eggnog. Not like Claire, who strolled a few doors down to stare at the flickering neon sign over a dive bar she was more familiar with than she liked: Low Places.

After moving into her sad little apartment, she'd found this place and whenever she had an extra ten dollars, she'd stop in. She had a few friends inside, if one could call them friends. There was the old man at the end of the bar. Always at the end of the bar, always munching on peanuts and nursing a dark ale. There was Hugo, the chatty one who often chatted at no one in particular. And the bartender, Hazel, who didn't chat much, and barely offered acknowledgment every time Claire sat at the bar.

Claire slid onto a stool with a cracked cushion, and unbuttoned her coat. Hi, Hazel. Can I get a daiquiri, please?

The woman scoffed but moved around behind the bar to mix Claire's drink. Claire was the only one who asked for the 'fancy' drinks, as Hazel called them. Most everyone else ordered beer or liquor, like whiskey or scotch.

For once, Hugo wasn't around. The old man at the end of the bar was, peanuts and dark ale in place. Claire nodded at him and glanced around the rest of the narrow space, at the line of tables along the wall behind her, and the dirty, filmed-over windows across the front, a couple more tables in front of them. And the bar, long, old, pockmarked, and stained, along nearly the entire length of the space.

Claire looked up as Hazel set her drink down with a clink. Thanks, Hazel. Merry Christmas. She saluted the bartender and took a long sip of the cold, lime-flavored drink. Traditional, just like the one time she'd traveled out of the country, and had three-dollar daiquiris under a tropical sun. She could write a book about how much she'd enjoyed her journey to a foreign country, ninety miles off-shore as it was. In her daydreams, she imagined trying drinks under suns in as many different countries as she could. Dreams, though. That's all they were.

Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Hazel actually smiled at her. Why aren't you at home with your family, hanging your stocking, and wearing one of those ugly Christmas sweaters?

Claire snorted. Home is a long way away and I can barely keep a job, let alone fly to San Francisco for Christmas.

California? Hazel tsked. How on earth did you end up in Boston?

A guy. It hurt to admit it. Not because she was still in love with him, but because she was embarrassed to admit she'd left a good job behind—dream career or not— and a nice apartment, all for the semi-romantic thought that she was meant to be with him. Ridiculous, right? I mean, I'm smart, modern. I know I shouldn't have to give up anything to be with a man. And yet, here I am. Alone, broke, far from home on Christmas. Pathetic.

Well, you're not entirely alone. Hazel leaned on the bar and gave her a kind smile. You got me and Harold over there.

Claire shot a look at the old man at the end of the bar, who stared back, munching on those peanuts.

Hazel, I like you, but I don't even think you want me here on Christmas Eve.

Only because it means I can't close early. She reached over and patted Claire's hand. But you sit there, sweetheart, stay warm, and I'll bring you as many of your special daiquiris as you want. On the house.

Claire's eyes prickled with tears that she hid by sipping on the drink she already had. Thanks, Hazel.

It might have been minutes, or hours later, when the stool next to her creaked. She glanced up, had a brief image of dark hair and dark eyes, scruff on a square chin, and a subdued smile.

Can I get a beer, please?

Hazel nodded and set a foaming mug in front of the new arrival. Here you are.

Thank you. He took a sip and nodded. Merry Christmas.

Same. Hazel moved away, taking up a spot down near the old man at the end of the bar.

Claire was left alone with the new arrival. She glanced at him again, turning the glass in her hand around in a circle on the bar. Hold on. Her head swiveled back towards the man. She knew him. He was Luke from the fancy party the night before.

Merry Christmas, she heard herself saying before she could overthink it.

He nodded but didn't respond or even look in her direction as he sipped his beer.

Right. I bet you didn't expect to be spending your Christmas Eve in Low Places either. Claire sighed and scratched her eyebrow. I didn't think I'd be here. This time last year I was with my family in California. We used to spend all the holidays at my parents' cabin in Lake Tahoe, but the last couple years, they preferred staying home. So we did.

Still no response, but when she looked his way, he was watching her, the slightest curl to his lips. Great. At least she amused him.

Hey, I know you. His smile grew, became something more genuine. Champagne girl.

Claire's smile dimmed and she gave an embarrassed laugh. Oh, is that my nickname? How classy. Better than vodka girl, I guess.

He chuckled. If you hadn't run off so fast, I might have learned your real name. He held a hand towards her. Luke.

Claire took his hand and shook it once. Claire.

Nice to meet you, Claire. Properly.

She nodded and drew her hand away, disconcerted by the warm touch of his palm on hers.

So, California is a long way away. You must miss the warmer weather.

Claire glanced out the grimy window