2019-12-25 - Tis the Season (Collection)

Christmas Eve was intimate and lovely. Some prime rib for dinner. Christmas music turned to piano-bass-drums jazz. Harper convinced Geoff to dance with her. There were drinks. A chocolate ganache yule log from the French bakery where Geoff once purchased chocolate croissants. Coffee. The snow only added to the cozy warmth of the evening. Harper, however, experienced some strange state, on and off, between anticipation and trepidation as the evening progressed. They didn't need to wait until the morning for gifts, she would begin. They could start their own special tradition of opening gifts on Christmas Eve, couldn't they? She wasn't persuasive enough. And each time Geoff cuts her attempts to end the terrible wondering, she relents with a smile and easily distracts herself with his company. It really was a special evening.

Under the small-ish four-foot tree, that she set up and decorated for the holiday for the first time in forever, are several gifts with Geoff's name on them. There's one that is undeniably book-sized. Another that is two boxes tied together with satin ribbon, a bottle of tequila (?!) with an intricate, hand-tied satin bow around it, and finally a toaster-sized box. All of her wrapping is with high-end paper and hand-tied satin bows. The gifts for Geoff boldly list his name and simply say they are 'from Santa'.

For bed on Christmas Eve, Harper donned a godawful set of pajamas with red and white striped pants and a red top that reads 'I (heart) Santa'. She got Geoff an equally godawful tee shirt and some striped boxers, but she definitely tried to persuade him that he might get too hot if he slept in the shirt. The hypocrite. Or maybe she doesn't quite believe that Geoff hearts Santa. Whether she's covetous of his bare skin or she thinks the pajamas don't suit him isn't readily apparent. She catches at his hand after cleaning up the last of the dessert and tugs him down the hall past the other two rooms to the master suite he's come to know and tucks him in -- full-body-check style -- to her king-sized platform bed with the cotton-covered feather duvet and the perfect set of pillows. The bedroom is full of Harper's touches, though it's not at all over-decorated. There is a large master closet and an attached en suite with a steam shower and that large tub Geoff's received texts from. Harper is, perhaps surprisingly, absolutely chaste about Christmas-Eve-bedtime, however she does tangle herself comfortably and happily with Geoff, only once murmuring one last time beside his ear that he would like to tell her what her gifts are; this, when they both are more than halfway asleep.

Christmas morning dawns, and for all Harper's demands for the past month to be told what gift she's receiving, she sleeps in in that way she does when she has a Geoff in close proximity. Of course, he may think she always sleeps thusly, given he's not around to see her toss and turn and get up a couple times each night when she sleeps alone. Warm, wake-up play is inevitable until Harper pushes at Geoff and tells him she has breakfast to make. She takes a quick shower and then dresses in a casual but festive red dress and a ultra-soft, white, angora cardigan sweater. Breakfast consists of cinnamon rolls, eggs prepared in Geoff's preferred style and -- his favorite! -- hash browns along with plenty of bacon. She squeezes them some fresh orange juice; they enjoy coffee.

Harper is in an effervescent mood. It's Christmas. The first Christmas since her father was still alive ;(over ten years ago) that she's had someone to wake up with on Christmas morning. It’s precedent-setting.

At some point after she's dressed and heads out toward the Great Room that attaches the large family room to the dining area and the kitchen, with vaulted beam-crossed ceiling, she can be heard to state quite clearly, "Good god. What is this?!" She'll circle around the 8’ fabric-covered monstrosity that was snuck in overnight while she was asleep a time or three but she's being good. She's not lifting edges of the draping cloth. Her brown eyes sparkle and she laughs now and again before setting about preparing the breakfast. As they eat, her gaze returns again and again to the behemoth taking up a large portion of the Great Room's floor space. But this doesn't stop her from reveling in the Christmas morning tradition of eating breakfast and feeling the warmth of having Geoff there with her for the occasion. Breakfast is cleared away, the dishwasher is started and Harper, strangely, seems to be putting off moving to the living room. After all that she's put Geoff through since Thanksgiving? Now she's avoidant? Poor Geoff.

Harper leans back into the counter and the dishwasher as Geoff steps in close and she happily lifts her hands to slide up over that (bare?) chest. "Stop here, just for a minute," she requests more than demands. "You are in my house. On Christmas." She says the words slowly, places weight on a select few, looks into his green eyes with a look of astonishment, maybe some disbelief that he hasn't seen since the woke up the first time on his sofa. There's not so much denial to it as there is a metaphorical held breath. As if something could come along and pop the bubble of this morning. Is it possible that the gifts are the 'pin' that does the popping in her psyche? He steals the kiss but is unsuccessful in the sense that she wants to give him one at least as much as he wants to take it. Her hands float up from his chest to lightly touch either side of his jaw. There is the sense that she's savoring every breath, taste, sensation. And that sense is tinged with a shadow of something dark looming for Harper. Some guillotine about to fall.

"Any more anticipation might actually kill me." Or him. It's him she's worried about dying. "I don't know what Santa put in the middle of my family room, but I'm not sure his gifts for you will measure up." She slides that smile into place, shoves the fears out of sight and stretches up to kiss Geoff again, whispering, "Merry Christmas, Geoffrey." Now, if he leads, she'll tread out into the great room again, her eyes on the giant, covered beast of a mysterious present. At some point before making breakfast, she put on some pandora station playing unusual covers of Christmas favorites. 'Oi to the World' plays at the moment.

Shirtless Geoff means Harper's favorite present is half unwrapped already. But his nuzzling, his reassuring presence, and his precious, precious words soothe her like nothing else can. It all started to snowball when Thanksgiving arrived. And from that point forward it felt like a looming tragedy held back by a thin, frayed string. She savors the taste of his breaths, lets the words surround her like a comforting blanket, though her eyes to sharpen on his when he speaks of the future, the great unknown, having become a shared journey. He's intimated long term in his talk of commitment before, but this feels far more specific to Harper. "Our future," she echoes finally, trying the possessive pronoun on for size. "Ours." He draws back and she stirs from the reverie with a couple of blinks, "Yes. Of course. Let's do this. You know, I can remember being here on Christmases," -- here in this house -- "thinking about you in prison every year you were gone. I'm so glad you're here now. With me." Like this. They move out of the kitchen, past the dining table and approach the monstrosity.

Her hand in Geoff's, Harper's brown-eyed gaze skates over the lines of the shape. "Don't say that!" She squeezes his hand as if that were part of the rebuke. "You could give me a ..." She thinks about this. "... slinky and I'd be happy." And this is definitely not a slinky.

She pulls away from his hold and grabs the cloth with both hands and a glance to Geoff before she slides it off and it falls the floor in a rush. Harper takes a step back and looks the whole thing over with a startled expression. She had no idea what Geoff intended to give her, but she didn't expect something of this magnitude. Her gaze hones in on the carved scenes and images and she steps back in to trace fingertips over the walnut wood.

"This is ... Geoff. This is incredible." She crouches down in that red dress and her socks-clad feet and examines the scenes on each shelf and the darkening progression of their tales. "How did you... where?" She hasn't seen the back side yet. The smaller wrapped presents? She ignores those for now. She finally rises back to her feet and turns to Geoff with a brimming smile that suggests some emotion. Harper doesn't cry tears of sadness. Ever. Not since she was a very young child. But tears of joy? Of delight? There's genuine sentiment to his librarian now. The man who can read her better than anyone not only knew the perfect thing to get for her, he can tell just exactly how much it means. With an abrupt laugh that is quiet but full of delight she flings her arms around his neck and pushes up to her toes in her red-sock clad feet to murmur toward his lips, "It's perfect. It's so perfect. You're perfect. Thank you. Tell me the story of it. I have to hear."

Shirtless. Bearing perfect gifts. And grinning?! Harper never had a chance. He lifts her against him; she settles against him and listens to every word. "I wouldn't say it's not exciting," she argues, then quiets to listen more. She nods slowly when he mentions 'things' not being a Thing between them. Of course he gets that. "I'll use it!" she replies unnecessarily. "I love it. I don't know if I'll be able to put it anywhere but my bedroom." She could spend the rest of the day gazing over the carved tableaus and be happy. If Geoff was there.

She nods about the guy he helped out in prison. "Can I meet him sometime and tell him how much I love it?" The fact that Geoff would have been the one between violence and someone undeserving of it doesn't surprise Harper in the least. "He's really good at carpentry," she finally states. He mentions the sneaking that took place and curves a smile. "I don't want to know, do I?" Then she frowns. "How will we move it down the hall?" Because as much as she wants to help, she won't be enough to help Geoff do the work of two men who can move furniture. As she slides slowly back down his body, she gives up on trying to stretch up to Geoff's lips and simply drops a rain of kisses on his throat.

Harper makes no move to extricate herself from Geoff's warm embrace. "Okay." Tomorrow someone will help him move it. "I'd love to do both. Facetime him today. And meet him and take him out to dinner sometime." His response to her kisses just encourages her to linger with more. But then he speaks again. "It's my best Christmas, too, Geoff. Hands down. I can't even remember what I was doing this time last year." Delivering Christmas cookies to friends around town. Going to a movie. Maybe an evening with Jessica. All the years blend together in a haze of filling in space for the people she's lost. Not being alone in her house surrounded by haunting memories. But Geoff's proclamation of 'best' means something different. Harper looks up into his eyes. "Part of me thinks that will be a hard marker to live up to. But part of me is certain that if I'm with you, it will always be the best. So I'm going with that." She smiles, clearly recognizing how Geoff's philosophy has rubbed off on her. The alternatives are too bleak, too dark, too nightmarish. She's past the point of no return when it comes to protecting either one of them from themselves. "It's your turn. But I only have three gifts for you because I've decided that your last gift is going to wait until New Year's Eve." She smiles and points to the one that looks suspiciously the size and shape of a book.

When he opens it -- of course it's a book! -- he'll see it's autobiographical about the author Gary Paulsen. 'Winterdance: The Fine Madness of Running the Iditarod' Inside Harper has written: Christmas 2019 -- To my favorite -- You want to experience danger and extremes, you love nature, and you adopt every animal we come across. You're going to love this story. But we're not getting a husky when you've finished. This story is incredible, just like you. (It is signed with a heart around the letter 'H'.

If Harper has anything approaching a poker face -- which she does not -- she uses it now in response to Geoff's wicked grin. "Oh, I'll give you hints," she states magnanimously, as though she is far more benevolent than he was! But still, she'll look forward to the bitch called 'payback'. He can't promise, but he'll try not to buy one. Harper's laughter is immediate. "Mmhm. I think after reading the book, you'll understand that a dog that needs many dozens of miles of exercise every day might not be the best choice for a man who ... I don't know ... has a job?" Laughter lingers behind her brown eyes, affection, warmth.

She takes the second box, positively thrashes the wrapping paper and opens it. "No-you-didn't!" Oh, how her eyes dance. "You did promise. I think I said I'd buy the bikini, too. What a slacker I am!" She chooses right there to sit on the floor beside her already beloved bookcase and pulls first one boot on and then the other. They look as ridiculous as moon boots ever did, but even more comical with her red dress." She pushes to her feet and grabs the cape which she fastens around her neck, then puts her fists on her hips and simply says, "Fear me, bare-chested man. The next time I have you in a headlock, you're going to take a long nap." She can't help herself, she twirls around to see how the silvery cloak swirls in the air. "Oh, hell yes. We are watching wrestling soon, Son of Ares. You and me." Fingers pointing to her eyes, then to Geoff.

She points to the double boxed gift all tied together with a huge satin ribbon. "That's next."

When Geoff gets through the ribbon and into the first box, he'll find there are several items in it. First is a black ball cap. On the front of the cap there is silver lettering across a shiny black silhouette of a war hammer that reads 'Son of Ares'. Beneath that is a tee-shirt in his size that has the same design and much more bold wording. 'Son of Ares' again. Harper's laughing by the time he gets to the silver-gray men's shorts he pulls out. But that's not all. There's a whole second box. The second box, provides some silvery fabric that is hard to figure out, at first. Harper helps him see it is a very scanty silver top. Very scanty. Beneath it is a micro skirt that would make a stripper blush. Add silver panties and there'll be less blushing. And beneath that... what do you know. Dolce and Gabana silver boots. They're not moonboots, but the moonboots were his job. She wasn't sure if he'd remember that conversation (silly Harper) so she got her own, high end boots that will do in a pinch, or anytime they might want to go to a rave. By the time he's unpacked it all, her brown eyes are glittering with laughter. They both thought of the same gift. It's kismet. She throws herself at him, now that he's down on the floor, and settles in his lap to kiss all over the side of his face, his neck, his ear, his shoulder. "So it looks like we both pay attention, even when we're plastered," she murmurs softly.

Harper is not at all averse to the promise of a wrestling date, followed directly by an actual wrestling date. She's profoundly struck by the gift they both thought to get, the complementary way they fit together, what it says about the two of them in relation to one another. "I can promise you," she says in response to who will look better, "-- that you'll look mighty fine in just about anything that's on that body of yours.” As if to make her point, she trails fingertips in a slow, wandering trail over Geoff's chest and stomach, his side, down over his hip atop the drunk-reindeer pajamas all the way down to his knee. "It's a wonder I keep my hands off of you as much as I do." She hums a soft sound as his nose brushes against hers and she kisses the corner of his mouth as he speaks. "The fact that we both remember that night..." before she'd even broken up with her ex and they’d been absolutely platonic. How the warmth and the longevity of their relationship had grown over the years. How meaningful the night was in the germination of what now grows between them. "-- speaks volumes about how much has always been between us, no matter what we called it."

Instead of leaving Geoff's lap, Harper streeetches one moonboot clad foot out and by the tip of her silver toes she drags the last box toward them, toward him. When he unwraps it he finds multiple items wrapped in tissue paper inside. The first one turns out to be a framed photo of them smiling happily at the trailhead at the start of their first hike to go camping up in the mountains. Back into the box, another, differently styled frame reveals a selfie of Harper leaning back against Geoff's chest as he leans against their tree in the orchard; they look relaxed and close and almost too intimate to be seen by other people, despite the frame. The third and final tissue-wrapped frame reveals a photograph taken by the ride attendant Harper tipped to watch Sasha while they rode (and to give them a front row seat) sitting in the front of the rollercoaster. They both look windswept and exhilarated. "You don't have to put them up anywhere," Harper murmurs as he looks at them. "And I'll text them to your phone. I just wanted to keep them for you to see for the first time today."

The incredibly soft angora of her white sweater slides against his chest as Harper slides over to rest her back against his chest while he considers the photos. She breathes in a deep breath and sighs as potential nightmares turn to peace and happiness as the last presents she had for him (except for some naughty Agent Provocateur pieces that he won't see until New Year's) have been opened. "I've never had a Christmas like this." Her fingertips idly trace up and down his pajama-clad thigh as she looks from the photos to the bookshelves and eventually back again. "Merry Christmas, Geoff."

Harper knows Geoff. She knows him well enough to hear the emotion, to recognize it. She doesn't turn to look him in the eyes. She remains with her cape-and-sweater-clad back pressed up close against the front of his body, her fingertips and palm skimming slowly up and then back down his thigh, her head tipped back to his shoulder, present with him and just plain soaking in the intimacy of what they've shared and the inherent promise of what is still to come. They have no limits: that's the implied message. They'll do it all. Together. And they'll be just as exhilarated, intimate, and full of anticipation every single time. What's passed, Harper is stating with the gift, is only a glimpse of what's to come. And she's ready to provide evidence of her faith in Geoff.

How did she not see that box? That kind of box? Perhaps it was the intricacy of the carved reliefs distracting her on the bookcase. However, Geoff leans them both forward when he reaches up to grab the box and Harper holds her breath. The fingers on his thigh press in against his skin through the material of his pajamas. She wants to close her eyes. Wants to hide -- but she just promised with those photographs. She promised and meant it. So she keeps her eyes open. She forces herself to exhale, to feel the safety of Geoff behind her, his arms around her as he opens the box. He lifts the ring on its chain and she touches fingertips behind his hand holding it as she gazes at the hand-etched symbol. A quiet murmur sounds in her throat. It's her turn to swallow a few times. She turns in his arms to find his green eyes with her own. No labels.

"I do too," she whispers. She wants everybody to know. Another promise. He's with her. Always by her side. Harper draws in a slow breath, lips parted, the weight of the moment mingled with the beautiful transcendence of it reflected in her eyes. "Yes." There's no doubt this time. No fear that bogs her down, though she'll always live with fear in some form or another. Geoff's had such an impact on that aspect of her life. She smiles and then he's brushing a soft, electric kiss to her lips that she returns just as softly. Breaths and brushing lips and promises. He put it on a chain for a reason. So Harper draws back and silently explores his expression, the face that accompanies all that. Then she lifts a hand and pulls her hair up and away from her neck. "Put it on me?" Finally, a mark. His mark.

Once the necklace is fastened around her neck, Harper looks down at the delicate ring hanging against the red fabric of her dress. Then she pushes up from where she's sitting to turn her body to kneel -- still wearing silver moon boots, let it be known -- between Geoff's thighs, facing him as she settles her behind down atop her (silver) feet. "Melinda helped you? She must like you quite a ..." Harper smiles. She may have effused a bit more than she meant to about Geoff to Melinda. "She didn't even give off a breath of a hint. When we talked about rings, she made it sound like..." Harper remembers, shakes her head slowly with a rueful little smile as she refocuses on Geoff. "You are conniving bastard, Geoffrey Arthur Turner." More kisses. Talk of chocolate. "Definitely one of Melinda's few weaknesses. Chocolate and flowers."

Kisses. He grins while he kisses her and she just pushes herself up against that bare chest. She'll find that present later. "Thank you." The thank-yous go on for a time, each one punctuated with a kiss until they are both laughing, at which point Harper tangles her arms around Geoff's neck and tries to show him exactly how much it's all meant to her. Sure, that starts with a lovely Christmas Eve and winds its way through the day up until now, but then there are months to go back on the gratitude-and-kisses journey. "Are you cold," she asks softly as some kisses stray back along his cheek toward his ear. "I could start dinner..." But there's an ear involved now. She traces her nose around the curve of Geoff's ear, teases a breath against it, whispers his name, then closes her teeth against his earlobe. He can feel her smile. He can also feel the ring against his skin where she is pressed against him.

NEW YEAR'S EVE, 2019

JANUARY 1, 2020

At some point on the afternoon of January 1st, 2020, Harper snuck out of bed despite all Geoff's best efforts to keep her contained there. He dozed off, you see. Lots of calories burned. No more than ten minutes later she returned to bed, having pulled on one of Geoff's shirts, carrying a bulging stocking. She sets it on the bed beside Geoff and props herself on pillows beside him to pull out one of the novels she's currently reading that is at Geoff's place. It's a YA novel. She's halfway through.

He didn't think he'd get past the holidays without a stocking full of silly gifts, did he? There are some traditions Harper has waited over a decade to return to. Since her father was alive. Stockings is one of those traditions. And she has absolutely no expectation of anything of the sort back from Geoff. Fingering the ring on the delicate silver chain around her neck, she falls into the book she's reading while Geoff sleeps, her long, bare legs drawn up a bit atop the blankets so she can rest the book against her knees.

Harper's gaze lifts from her book over to Geoff as he stirs his lazy and contented body. Naked, too. Harper has all the luck in 2020 so far. She watches him pull the bulging stocking close and tries to swallow her laughter. "Happy New Year," she repeats unnecessarily after the previous night. She can't quite tear her gaze away from him as he sits up, sliding her bookmark into her book without looking at it and then placing it – eventually, without looking -- on the nightstand.

It's all delicious until he swears. She frowns. "No no no no. That is not how you react to your stocking. There are some things that maybe just I do. And you're going to be just fine with that." That last bit is definitely in her librarian voice. None of the items in the stocking are wrapped. And they're all silly things. There's silly putty. A slinky. A circular wire contraption that bends into a whole bunch of different spherical shapes. Some squishy stress ball of some sort. A half dozen scratch-off lottery tickets of differing amounts. Some body paint. All sorts of sweets. A small kaleidoscope. Temporary tattoos with a wildlife theme. A metal knot puzzle. A Gray Harbor Public Library keychain. ('Just read it!') A balsa wood plane kit. Two hundred and sixteen magnetic balls that come in a cube but can be rearranged into all sorts of shapes. A peacock feather.

Really? It's a whole bunch of whimsical toys. He didn't have a particularly festive home life when he was a child. And Harper's determined to make up for that. If he dumped it all into the trash the next day, she wouldn't mind a bit. There's something about things to play with to open after all the significant things are said and done. "See?" she tells him as he finishes pulling items out of the stocking. "It's just silliness." A few moments pass as she watches him fiddle with the pile of items. Then she murmurs, "I wanted to get you something like what you gave me." She touches the ring on the delicate, filagree chain around her neck. "But I didn't want to presume what you would find meaningful and ... well, I didn't want you to feel obligated to wear anything." She smiles softly at him.

Harper's smile curves into a demonstrative, warm, almost tangible display of happiness as Geoff makes immediate use of the keychain. "I won't argue with Geoff-traditions," she answers, then immediately shakes her head. "You didn't forget a thing. If you're going to keep score, you won. Hands down. I have some work to do before next year. And it's so on, Turner." A beat. Some thought. "Tell me all about the Geoff tradition." Because Harper and surprises.

Harper lifts her chin ever so slightly as his fingertips brush over her bruised skin and she smiles a smile no one but Geoff should ever see as she remembers what caused it. "You know that I know you're not a 'stuff' guy. You don't have to keep any of it." She's mildly aghast to think he'd feel obligated to decorate his work area with the silly items. But hearing that he took the roller-coaster photo to work does earn him a delighted gleam in her brown eyes. She saw the placement of the other two. But is the orchard photo or the pre-hike photo that made it to the nightstand? "I suppose I might love you, too." She holds up two fingers very close together. "Just a little bit." Her soft murmur of laughter is teasing and warm. She still struggles with the words. But that doesn't mean she doesn't feel them. Deeply.

Harper murmurs a quiet sigh of happiness against Geoff's lips. "I don't do wait-and-see very well, you know." But there's nothing desperate or upset behind her brown eyes when she draws back. "I think you would be a very satisfying lunch." Not likely what he meant. But there's a bed full of silly nonsense toys between them. It's the best she can do without crawling all over them. "And if you win the lottery, you're paying the Agent Provocateur bill next time." She can't not smile at that grin of his. It may be physically impossible. "Greedy," she answers to the miles and miles he'll take. "And insatiable."

Harper slowly shakes her head. No. She wouldn't have him any other way. At least she wouldn't be as happy as she is here and now if things were different. She watches him crawl across the stash of silly gifts with a startled, then amused expression as she lowers her bare knees to accomodate him in his tee shirt that drapes on her much more slight form. "What are you ... oh." She automatically lifts her hands to slide up over his stomach to rove across his chest. There's no disguising how enamoured with him she is, body and soul. "The only man I want to be worthy of me -- if that's even a thing -- is you, Geoff. You have the power to erase all the dark things. And I didn't think that was possible." He looms and she likes it. "I'm glad you ..." Her smile is playful as she deliberately gets it wrong. "... liked your stocking." She arches a brow just so.

FIRST TUESDAY AFTER NEW YEAR'S DAY

Harper has a book. It's closed and resting on the sofa arm on the other side of her lap from Geoff's head. She's tracing fingers through his hair, twirling, dragging, smoothing, just all around lightly playing with his hair, sometimes teasing along his forehead, his temples, down the side of his neck. This endeavor is one she could continue for a long, long time. Now and again, less often than you'd think, she glances to the tablet. "I think there are loads of beautiful places I haven't been in state. But if you wanted to really get away from all the crazy of Gray Harbor, I'd get on a plane with you. I might not let us come back for awhile, but eventually ..." She smiles. "Is this where we're going to snowboard and ski? Because I still haven't bought the right clothes for that." Of course they could spend a fortune buying them wherever they go to do said snowy sports. Mose Allison's 'Fool's Paradise' is rambling through the speakers, adding to the curl-up-and-stay moment.

Now and then Harper's nails slide lightly along Geoff's scalp, but her hand does stop for that kiss to her wrist. "Out of state, then. We'll escape. This will be the farthest away from here we've gone together. It's exciting." Trees. Foliage. Steamboat Springs. "I'd prefer some place that's less populated by rich people. So places like Aspen or Vail are out. Is Steamboat really that lacking in forest? Because -- I mean -- part of skiing for me would have to be the trees. The evergreens and the animal life and meandering ski trails." She smooths two fingertips along Geoff's beard as she thinks about it. "I just don't want it to be all about money." Not that Harper would complain about nice accomodations. But she doesn't need a butler to be quite happy. "We're going to have so much fun. It'll be like bumper cars without the grumpy guy, and like hiking, but faster, and like the roller coaster, but more real." And that doesn't even count apres-ski activities.

Harper slides her fingers past Geoff's beard and down to his shoulder as she dips her head to look at the screen. "Right. No Mount St. Helens hikes. Check." She smiles playfully. "We can't go ski anywhere that doesn't give you your minimum allotment of wildlife. It's just a requirement. I will demand my money back if that doesn’t happen." She lowers her head to drop a soft kiss to Geoff's lips, then brushes her nose against his while her hair drifts down around his face. "Sorry. Snowboarding. You wanted to snowboard. I'm the one who is going to try skiing." That murmured as if it were an intimate secret, she lifts her head once more and teases fingers along the seams of Geoff's shirt. "I've heard some interesting things about skiing at Tahoe. As in, we might have to wear our wrestling gear if we went there." Laughter twines with her words. He brings up snow-shoeing. "Yes. We have to do that. Can you imagine? Skimming across the top of a few dozen feet of snow in the hushed quiet of the woodsy mountains? That sounds heavenly."

Harper settles comfortably against the couch cushion. Conversation with Geoff while he's resting his head atop her lap couldn't be improved upon much, really. She laughs, the sound soft and amused at the mountain manager complaint bureau. "I have a feeling the manager is a porcupine. But then he or she could claim we'd seen them and that would count as wildlife. Bureaucracies!" Harper murmurs the last with faux exasperation. "My mom and dad once vacationed in Tahoe. South Lake, not north. I don't know if they skiied or not, but my dad had some pretty funny stories about people skiing in bikinis and body paint. My mom used to call going without underwear 'going Tahoe style'. I got the impression when they talked about it that there was a party atmosphere there. What with the casinos at the base of the mountains and all. But they also saw a couple bears there. So I don't think it's an un-natural setting. Dad said ..." Harper stops talking a moment and glances off to one side. "... says that the view of the lake from the top of the gondola is spectacular." Harper smiles faintly, "Thanks, Dad." Her fingers resume their wandering over Geoff's neckline, the seams at the shoulders of his shirt, journeying slowly and thoroughly. "I'll admit it. I kind of love your asshole face. The one you use with that kid from the shop. You know the one I mean."

Geoff's playful side is definitely part of what makes Harper adore him so very much. She quells some laughter as the porcupine visual becomes clearer and clearer in her mind. "We'll see bears," she both agrees and demands of the natural world. "And I think we'll see some other wildlife, too." The she pauses. "The bears will be hibernating if we go this month. So I suppose I promise we'll see elk or deer or something. But we can definitely put a bear on hold for adoption and go back to swim and hike in the summer."

He likes the sound of both gondolas with lake views and casino nightlife for adult play. Harper smiles down at him, her brown eyes warm and sparkling with anticipation. "You're spoiling me, you know. So many fantastic experiences ... you might end up sorry you didn't spread them out more." The words are soft, her meaning the exact opposite of what she's said. "A week minimum. We're definitely gambling again. We came out way ahead last time. I think you're my lucky charm. I just have to remember how I rubbed you so I can repeat the experience."

He simultaneously accepts her conversation with her father and incorporates it into theirs. Her eyes widen as he prefaces what he's about to say and she murmurs mildly, "Go dance with Mom, Dad." The hand on Geoff's chest lifts up and waves in the air dismissively. The fact that he called her (strangely both present and not present) dad 'Dad' sits so comfortably with Harper that she won't contemplate the significance until much later. He whispers and she lowers her head so that her hair falls forward again. A slow smile curves her lips. "Is that so, Mr. Turner? What a coincidence." She arches her brows as she lets him fill in the blanks himself. "I suppose," she murmurs softly, "-- that settles where we're going. I mean --" She drops a kiss to one of his brows. Then the other. "-- we're already dressed for the venue."

The big gun is swimming with otters? Harper can hardly sit still for that one. "Oh, yes please. Let's do that. Let's do that several dozen times." Another woman would be talking about sex. He easily steals a kiss as she imagines what the experience would be like. Her focus returns slowly and she lowers her lips to brush a soft, lingering kiss in return. "You say the sexiest things." Swimming with otters, indeed.

Harper is distracted enough that she's already gone from a Geoff in her lap to being carried toward the bedroom. "Scoundrel," she protests. "Rogue! Rapscalion!" But then it deteriorates to murmured accusations lost against the skin at the side of his neck. She draws back and presses a palm to his chest. "I want to adopt a family of otters." It's her turn actually. He's got the deer, the leopard, and perhaps a porcupine. The words don't match the suggestive tone.