Note: this is a short one-off story, intended to be one chapter only. Just a fun little fantasy without a lot of build-up. Hope you enjoy.
***
"I guess that's it," Nina said, looking out the frost-rimed window at the snow falling heavily outside. "I'm not getting out of here tonight."
She perched on the wide windowsill, gently steaming cup of tea in hand. Nina was a woman of twenty-five, with short dark red hair and a slender build. A wide-necked green cotton sweater fell off one shoulder, revealing a bare shoulder sculpted to perfection by thrice-weekly fitness classes.
Tom grunted from where he stood by the cabin's meager kitchen, pouring himself some tea. The kitchen could barely be called that; it was really more of an alcove off to one side of the main room, which served as bedroom, living room, and common area. The only other room in the cabin was the tiny bathroom, with its short bathtub and cramped sink.
"Yeah, looks that way, doesn't it?" Tom said, taking a cautious sip of his tea as he gazed out one of the cabin's three broad windows. There was little to see but white in every direction, with only the occasional swatch of dark evergreen to indicate there were trees out there at all. Nina's car was already half-buried beneath rising mounds of fluffy white.
Nina suppressed a sigh as she looked around the cabin. Cozy was how she'd described it when she and her father had first arrived; tiny was how she found herself thinking of it now. The majority of the cabin was all one room: to the right of the front door, a large fireplace, with two overstuffed chairs positioned in front of it. Behind the chairs, the cabin's one and only queen-sized bed. Across from the foot of the bed, a table and chairs, both stacked with her father's paperbacks. Opposite the fireplace lay the aforementioned kitchen alcove and the bathroom.
It was a great space, she reflected, for one person, especially a man like her father, who lived simply and enjoyed his solitude. But it was close quarters for two people, especially father and daughter.
Nina hadn't expected to be spending the night. But the weather, which had moved in rapidly as she'd made her way up here, apparently had other plans.
"Well," she said, resigned. "I did want to get to know you better. I guess we'll have plenty of time to do that."
She hoped it didn't come off like a jab. For much of her life, Nina hadn't known her father. Her parents had divorced when she was very young, and Tom simply hadn't been in the picture. They'd recently reconnected after finding each other on social media, and after a few long talks with her therapist, Nina had decided to reach out to him and schedule some time together.
"I know this isn't what you wanted," Tom said, moving over to stand beside her as they gazed out at the slowly accumulating blanket of snow. "I should have warned you something like this might happen. The weather's kind of unpredictable up here."
"Do you get snowed in a lot?" she asked, looking up at him. Her father was fifty, still in good shape, broad-shouldered and solidly built, with a head of longish graying hair, a square jaw, and a finely trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. He cut a very comforting, masculine figure. She liked being near him.
"I wouldn't say a lot," he said. "But this happens once or twice a year. It tends not to stick around that long. This is actually the worst I've seen it in a while."
She chuckled, setting her teacup down on the table, careful not to knock over any books. "Just my luck, I guess."
"I'm sorry I don't have more room," he said, gesturing broadly at the close space around them. "This place wasn't really built for... family."
"It's okay," Nina said, offering him a bright smile. "We'll figure something out."
Tom took another sip of his tea, then laid his cup down next to hers.
"Look," he said. "I'd better get some wood in here for the fire before things get too chilly out there. You'll be ok on your own for a bit?"
"I think I'll manage," she said wryly.
As he passed, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He touched bare skin where the neck her sweater fell loosely down one arm, his fingertips brushing her neck and collarbone. His hands were rough but warm, the contact gentle and assured.
As he put on his coat and headed out into the snow and wind, Nina had a little time to contemplate the thrill his touch sent through her.
* * *
She finished off her tea and watched from her vantage point by the window as he gathered wood to bring inside. She felt a little guilty not helping, but not quite guilty enough to act on it. She imagined he just would have refused the offer of help anyway.
Tom cut a handsome figure, she had to admit. To hear her mother describe him, Nina had imagined someone very different. Her mother seemed to remember him as a dissolute and drunk, haggard and ill-kempt. That was far from the disciplined, stoic man she saw before her.
Maybe he'd changed. Or maybe divorce had made her mother bitter. She would probably never know for sure.
As she waited for him to return from outside, she glanced at the bed. It was spacious enough and certainly looked comfortable. But there was literally nowhere else to sleep in the cabin, aside from perhaps for one of the chairs, which were in no way suited to it. She was stuck here for the night, and she and her father would have to share the bed. There was no getting around it.
With a little time to speculate, she imagined how that scenario might play out. Would they sleep back-to-back, knees curled up, careful not to touch? Would one of them stir during the night, putting an arm around the other in search of warmth?
There was something else, too. Nina realized with a sinking feeling that she hadn't packed with the intention of staying the night. She had no sleepwear to speak of. She had the sweater and jeans she was wearing, a thin tank top beneath, and her underwear. And her dad didn't exactly seem like the type to have comfy pajamas laying around for her to borrow.
An image sprang to her mind, unasked-for and unexpected: the two of them naked in bed, separately at first, trying to retain decorum. But as the imaginary night grew colder, they would scoot closer together, either consciously or in the throes of sleep, until flesh touched flesh...
Nina's vision ended with the though of her father's erection touching the small of her back in the night. She was startled from her reverie by the bang of the front door as Tom hauled in an armful of wood.
She found herself blushing furiously, as if she'd been caught doing something terrible. To cover her embarrassment, she rose. "Can I help?"
"Nope," he said, offering her a rugged smile as he began stacking wood by the fireplace. "You can help by staying put and staying warm."
She sat down again, content to watch him, relieved to have his attention off her for the moment.
The thought of them naked together haunted her for awhile afterward. With mixed shame and excitement, Nina found she didn't dislike the idea at all.
* * *
"So can I ask you a question?"
Her father looked up from his drink. The two of them occupied the chairs in front of the fireplace, which now roared with comforting orange light. He'd made them a modest dinner of canned stew with bread on the side, which, prepared in a metal pot over the fire, somehow tasted amazing. Now they sat opposite each other, short glasses of whiskey in hand, as the sky rapidly darkened outside.
"Sure," he answered.
Nina swirled her drink. She wasn't much of a whiskey drinker, as a general rule, but it was what he had on hand, and she found she wanted a little something to loosen her up.
"Why weren't you around more when I was a kid?"
She saw a flicker of pain cross his face, as if the question were a needle she'd pricked him with. But then it passed, and he took a deep breath as he gazed into the fire.
"My marriage to your mother was hard, Nina," he said. "I had a sales job that took me all over the country. I was traveling all the time. I wasn't around because... well, I wasn't around. I was trying to provide for you and your mother, but my job took a lot of my time."
Nina leaned forward, wanting to show him she was listening. He glanced in her direction with the ghost of a smile and continued.
"Your mother didn't like it. She wanted me to do something else. But that was the only thing I really knew how to do. I didn't see how much it wore on her until it was too late. I thought I was doing the right thing by just sticking with it, bringing in money. I thought that would be enough. But it wasn't." He shrugged.
"Okay," Nina said cautiously, not wanting to come across as accusing, but still wanting answers. "What about afterward? After the divorce? What then?"
He nodded slowly, accepting her words as if they were a rebuke. Nina tried to keep her mind on the conversation, even as the firelight drew deep shadows across his face, making him seem more handsome to her than ever.
That's your dad, she thought to herself. You're not supposed to be attracted to him. Knock it off.
"The divorce was difficult," he said. "That's not an excuse. But your mother didn't want me around much afterward. She was angry with me for not fighting harder to make it work. And she was right to be. I should have done more to be there, for you especially. I have my regrets. There are a lot of things I would have done differently..."
He trailed off, gazing into the fire. After a moment's hesitation, Nina reached across and put a hand on his knee. When his eyes met hers again, she saw him for the first time with his guard down, his expression stalwart but vulnerable.
"I suppose you have every right to be angry with me," he said.
"I suppose," she answered. "But I'm not. I turned out okay. I know you did your best. I'm just glad we can spend time together now..." Nina paused, considering her next words, then blurting them out anyway. "That we can define for ourselves what our relationship means."
What the fuck does that mean, Nina? she thought to herself. But she knew herself well enough to know exactly what she was saying. She was trying to talk herself into something taboo, to convince herself it was okay, or at least okay in her mind. She was thinking of the snow outside, and the bed, and the two of them here together. Father and daughter. Alone. Far from prying eyes.
Tom turned away from the fire to look at her, and for one terrifying moment she saw that he knew what she meant, too. For that span of seconds, he seemed to look at her not as a parent looks at a child, but as a man looks at a woman. She saw his gaze flicker to her lips, the exposed line of her neck and chest, the shape of her breasts beneath her sweater.
Her hand was still on her father's leg. He placed his hand on top of hers, the touch warm and comforting, feeling right in ways she couldn't quite describe.
