Page 38 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas
THIRTY-FIVE
MEG
Meg spent the next few hours recording and documenting the dizzying race with Matt at her side.
It was like old times. So many happy memories rushed to the front of her brain—hiking through densely forested trails, Matt with his backpack stuffed with fun snacks and every tool and piece of gear imaginable.
He would intentionally fake a cramp or stop for water breaks so Meg could catch her breath.
Winter weekends like this on Mount Hood, where snow fell in heaping buckets, shrouding out any hint of the sun and giving them the perfect excuse to cozy up in front of the massive stone fireplace and drink copious amounts of hot cocoa with extra whipped cream and sprinkles.
Summers in Hood River, soaking up the endless sun and watching windsurfers perform death-defying feats.
Everything had felt possible and endless in those days.
Not any longer.
Too much had changed.
She had changed.
Matt had changed.
And really, if she thought about it hard enough, she was also glossing over so many other issues of her youth—the crippling anxiety, fear that her boss and colleagues would find out her secret, insecurities about her body, her worth, her value.
No, there was no going back, as Gam would say—there was only looking ahead.
Ahead didn’t involve Matt.
“This is freaking amazing, Megs!” Matt shouted over the rumble of the engines, shielding his face from the torrent of snow rained down. The track pulsed with electric energy—where the machines danced, crashed, and defied gravity. “What a rush.”
Meg tracked a racer through her lens as he launched off a jump. His sled caught just enough height to float in midair for a minute before gravity yanked it back down to earth.
She smiled, snapping a photo. The scent of gasoline and frayed nerves mixed with the thunder of engines and the gasps from the crowd.
“It’s not a bad gig most days.” That was true, but she needed more.
ESPN had been good to her. She was grateful for the travel and friendships, but her heart was calling her to write something new, something deeper.
Did she have another story in her?
A full-length novel, maybe?
Her mind flashed to the unfinished manuscript hiding in her bedroom closet. She’d tinkered with the story on and off for years, letting it collect dust and convincing herself that taking the leap into creative writing was too risky.
The odds were not on her side.
She’d done the math and knew that publishing a novel wasn’t for the faint of heart.
First, there were the months of blood, sweat, and tears to pour into the story, then the querying trenches trying to entice an agent with a shiny, polished manuscript, finding an editor and publishing house, marketing, and then repeating the process over and over again without any guarantee of a return of investment of her time and energy.
A job like ESPN wasn’t sexy, but it was stable and paid the rent. Striking out on her own made her hands clammy even in the bitter cold.
“Not bad?” Matt scrunched his wind-burned cheeks as sleek black sleds decked out in Christmas colors streaked through the blinding white snow. “Are you freaking kidding me? You’re living the dream. You get paid to do this.”
“I do, that’s true.” Her fingertips were numb from the cold. She fumbled with the camera lens, zooming in on riders dressed in neon Grinch onesies and Santa suits, flinging powder into the crowd at every turn.
“I still can’t believe you’ve done this, Meg.
I know I already said it, but it’s seriously so cool that you’re a legit journalist,” Matt yelled over the howl of an engine as another shot off a jump like a missile.
The rider gripped tight as they sailed overhead before slamming back to the ground with bone-chilling force.
“I don’t know about legit, but yeah, I guess technically speaking, I have my press credentials.
” She winked and focused her gaze on the finish line.
She didn’t want to miss the final moment.
The energy had grown as the race entered the final lap.
Everyone was on their feet, chanting and waving colorful red and green flags in the air in anticipation of the finish.
The race was a blur of motion and chaos. Snarling engines growling like a pack of ravenous wolves and fearless adrenaline junkies leaning into impossible turns with effortless grace.
She could work with this. There was an angle there, somewhere.
She could feel the threads of a story starting to take shape—something along the lines of the recklessness and grit mixed with the whimsy and awe-inspiring feats.
The cozy element still needed work, but she would find it. She always did.
The announcers added to the tension, calling the play-by-play farther out on the course.
Meg bounced from one foot to the other to keep warm.
Why couldn’t she think of anything clever to say when Matt was around? Was he picking up on the weirdness between them, too?
He used to be the person she could say anything to, but now she was struggling to come up with anything that didn’t sound like forced small talk.
“Here they come, folks!” The announcer saved her. “It’s neck and neck.”
She held up a finger. “This is it. Get ready.”
“Oh, I’m ready.” Matt circled his flag, whipping it in the air with the rest of the crowd.
Meg angled the camera on the finish line as two snowmobiles came into view, squealing at full throttle as they hurtled toward them. She hit record and planted her feet firmly.
The all-terrain vehicles sailed across the line at such a breakneck speed that Meg couldn’t tell which one had edged out the other.
“And our winner is—Santa’s Sleigh,” the announcer boomed into the microphone as cheers erupted from the crowd.
“I would have said it was Rudolph.” Matt pointed to the snowmobile in second place, decked out with a bulbous red nose and deer antlers. “That was a photo finish. Did you get it?”
“Did I get it?” Meg tapped her press badge. “Remember, I’m a legit journalist with seven years of experience. Please. Of course I got it. You’re dealing with a pro here.”
“Sorry. How could I forget?” Matt’s blue eyes twinkled, making Meg lose her footing and nearly slip on the snowy walkway. He caught her arm, letting his hand linger for a moment. “The best pro in the biz, if you ask me.”
Meg felt heat creep into her cheeks.
“What now?” Matt asked, his hand still curled around her arm.
She froze in place. She hadn’t realized quite how tightly he was holding her until his familiar touch sent a jolt of warmth spiraling up toward her shoulder.
He must have felt it, too, because he let go quickly and took a step back.
Meg’s heart sank. The brief contact made her hungry for more. She wanted to pour her heart out to him, to apologize for ghosting him and blaming him. It wasn’t his fault, but she’d been too raw to see it, and now it was too late.
“Uh, you probably have a lot to do to prep for your big bash tonight.” She wondered if he could see how red she was.
She scanned the crowd for Johanna. They needed a buffer. This much time alone with Matt was making her fluttery.
“Nah, Lucinda is all over it. It’s her thing, really.”
“But it’s your birthday.”
“Sure, technically, but the party isn’t only for my birthday. It’s for the company.”
“I don’t understand. The invite was clear—Matt’s thirtieth birthday bash, right?”
“Yeah, I mean, yes, the party is in honor of my birthday, but it’s just an excuse to throw a big corporate shindig. Her dad wants to make a big announcement tonight.”
Meg’s heart dropped to her stomach.
A big announcement, like their engagement.
“Were you thinking about coming to beer tasting this afternoon?” He looked at her hopefully.
Meg gulped. She wanted nothing more than to hang out with Matt, but she was here on assignment.
A deadline was a deadline.
She couldn’t let Johanna down.
She tapped her camera. “Sorry. I can’t. Deadlines and all.
My story is due ASAP. In fact, I’ll probably hang out in the press tent and send it off from here.
That is if I can figure out how to lean hard into Christmas.
” She winced, dragging her teeth along her bottom lip. “Cozy and snocross are a conundrum.”
“I have faith. You have a way of making everything pretty cozy.” Matt’s tone held a touch of what sounded a lot like longing. “It’s cool. I think it might just be me and Lucinda anyway which is fine because we have a bunch of work stuff to go over.”
Meg was suddenly acutely aware of her body.
It was like Matt was a human magnet pulling her straight toward him.
She fumbled with her gear, packing it away and trying to recenter. “You mentioned earlier that you’re not sure if Blazen is your future. What else would you want to do?”
His cheeks turned even redder, splotching with color as he gave her a sheepish shrug. “You’ll laugh.”
“I’d never laugh,” she said seriously. “Tell me.”
He patted his face and shook his head. “It’s so cliché.”
“Matt, come on. What?”
“I want to start a podcast.”
“A podcast!” Meg scrunched her face.
Why would she laugh at that?
“What’s the big deal? You would be great at podcasting.”
Matt chuckled. Some of the redness retreated. “It’s not that easy. You know, the golden handcuffs and all, but I think I’ve saved enough to be able to get by for at least a year, maybe more.”
Meg was intrigued now.
“Give me your elevator pitch. What’s the pod about?”
Matt took in a small sip of air and nodded like he had already rehearsed it in his head. “I’ve never told anyone this, okay?”
“Okay. I’m not going to laugh. I promise.” She made an X over her heart and raised a hand in an oath. “I’m seriously addicted to podcasts. I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet,” he retorted with a playful scowl.
“But it’s you, so it has to be great.” Her fingers were starting to go numb, but she didn’t care.
Matt hadn’t shared this with anyone yet?
Not even Lucinda?
A familiar stutter returned to her heartbeat.
Did that mean something?
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” His grin made his face light up.
“I want to get back to my tech roots. There’s so much misinformation these days, especially around media and AI and how we consume technology.
It’s not all doom and gloom.” His eyes grew even brighter as he leaned in.
“The podcast would focus on the good. How to use tech as a tool—not to fear it. Each episode would dive into a specific topic, like how AI can help an artist push through creative blocks or how to identify and spot a deepfake. I want to include interviews with experts and give listeners real tools they can use in their everyday lives.”
“That sounds amazing. Perfect for you.”
“Yeah, you know me.” He laughed. “I probably have ten thousand bookmarks saved for articles I want to explore. The podcast would give me a place to share everything I learn when I’m deep down a rabbit hole.”
“Do it!” Meg punched him in the shoulder. “Seriously, what are you waiting for?”
He sighed, blowing a puff of cold air from his lips. “I don’t know—it’s a risk.”
“But doing nothing is also a risk, yeah?”
Something shifted.
She could see his face fall slightly.
“True.” He pointed to the riders who were gathering near the press tent. “I should let you go. I’ll see you tonight, though.”
Meg plastered on a bright smile. “Okay. Can’t wait to see your forest formal.”
“Oh, it will be forest and formal.” He started to move away but stopped and held up a finger. “And, if you use ‘snow-crossed lovers’ in your feature, I want credit.”
“Deal.” Meg’s mouth curled into a smile.
“Hey, one more thing.” He reached into his parka and removed a letter and a small box wrapped in craft paper and tied with a gingham ribbon. “The box is from me. It’s something I saw and knew was meant for you. Open it later.”
“Okay, thanks.” Meg took the package, feeling another swell of jitters. “You didn’t need to get me a gift.”
“I know.” He shrugged, giving her a coy smile.
“I was at a Christmas market, and the minute I spotted it, I just knew it was intended for you.” He held out the letter gently, like it might explode.
“I wasn’t sure how much time we’d have, so I thought maybe it would be easier if you just read this.
I’ve been wanting to write to you for a while, but haven’t been able to work up the courage to,” he said carefully, bending slightly to watch her reaction. “You don’t have to take it.”
She stared at it, momentarily paralyzed. The warm and fuzzy feeling evaporated.
“You really don’t have to take it,” he repeated, sounding like he wished he had never mentioned it.
“No, it’s okay.” She snatched it from him and tucked it in her pack. She had a good guess what the letter contained—his reason for proposing to Lucinda. It would be just like Matt to need to explain why and how he’d moved on.
“Do you want to talk?”
She shook her head.
“Okay, well, maybe later, yeah?” He studied her like she might explode, too. “And, no judgment, Megs. You can read it or burn it. It’s totally your call. I’ll see you tonight.” He tossed his hand in a casual wave and walked away.
For a split second, she had to fight the urge to run after him.