Christmas at the Graff

by Kaylie Newell

  “I guess to answer your question, my childhood was bearable,” he said, still with his back to her. “I made it through. I had enough good experiences with enough decent people that I can look back and count some blessings.” He turned then and smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not a ton, but some.”

  “I really can’t imagine what possessed me to ask you that,” she said.

  “You’re curious. It’s natural.”

  He came back to sit down, and she noticed the snow was letting up some. Despite being freezing cold and having lost the feeling in her butt cheeks at least twenty minutes ago, something about that made her sad. She didn’t want to have to leave yet.

  Leaning back again, he pushed his gray knit hat farther back on his head, and then folded his hands over his stomach. “Where should I start?”

  She watched him incredulously. He was actually going to tell her. “At the beginning. If you want to.”

  “The beginning...”

  “If you want to.”

  “I don’t remember much,” he said evenly. “Just bits and pieces. I guess the first memory I have is with the O’Ryans. They were my first family. In a nutshell, there were five foster homes. One bad, two not-so-good, and two that were decent. But I didn’t get to the last one until I was fifteen, so the help I actually let them provide me was minimal. By then, I was getting into all kinds of trouble, hanging out with the wrong kids, doing things that could’ve landed me in juvi, and probably should’ve, honestly.”

  She frowned. “I remember fifteen. It wasn’t fun.”

  “I don’t know that it’s fun for any kid. But throw in a tumultuous home life, and bingo. You’ve got yourself a little thug. At least, that’s how it was for me.”

  “I didn’t act out. I guess I acted in, if that makes sense.”

  “Elaborate...”

  She shivered and hugged herself. “I stopped wanting to hang out with my friends. I was into sports, but quit those, too. My dad left, but it was more than that. My mom hated him. Like, hated the ground he walked on for years after that, so there were a lot of unresolved daddy issues for me.”

  “Daddy issues, huh?”

  “It’s not that bad. But you can probably tell I worry a lot. I worry about getting close. About not getting close. About not getting close and then regretting the opportunity to get closer. Your basic messed-up psyche.”

  He gave her a faint smile. “Lucky for you, I speak messed-up psyche. Try having parents who dump you on their neighbor’s doorstep after a week-long drug binge.”

  “My God.”

  “I guess that’s why the obsession with health. A career in healthcare, hobbies that can border on the insane because they’re labeled healthy. It’s a whole thing.”

  “When did you come to Marietta?”

  It seemed to her, an outsider looking in, that he belonged here. It was easy to forget he wasn’t born here. He’d made a conscious decision to settle in Marietta as far as what Joe had said.

  “That last foster home I told you about?”

  She nodded.

  “The dad was a general practitioner. A damn good one, too. He taught me I had brains, even though I wasn’t using them at the time. He taught me what someone could do, what they could accomplish, if they really tried. I hadn’t pushed myself before, so when I actually attempted to get decent grades, to play football, I was pretty surprised at the results.”

  “What were the results?”

  “A full ride to the University of Illinois.”

  She stared at him. “Wow.”

  “Then graduate school in Iowa,” he continued. “My girlfriend at the time was from Montana. Convinced me to come visit over the holidays, and I fell in love.”

  “With her?”

  “With boarding.”

  She smiled. “Your first love.”

  “My only love. Relationships and I don’t mesh well. The mountains never let me down, though. Not in all the years I’ve been here.”

  Her heart squeezed. So, he wasn’t the boyfriend type. What did she expect? A marriage proposal over a protein bar? Yes, if she was being honest. She’d imagined that more than once, God help her.

  “But you have a relationship with my dad.”

  “I do.”

  “And he’s never let you down?”

  He touched her knee. A simple gesture—meant to accompany his words. But it just made her more aware of him than ever. “People make mistakes. It’s taken me a long time to see that they can be redeemable, too. Not all of them, but some of them. Joe’s one of those. He loves you and your sister, Jemma.”

  “I know he does. But is love really enough? I don’t know that I can forgive him for all those years without him. It was too much. Or too little, depending on how you look at it.”

  “I think he wants to make it up to you.”

  She sniffed at that.

  “You know, he could’ve gone into a skilled nursing facility or hired someone to come take care of him pretty easily,” he said. “He’s got the money, the resources. He saw this as an opportunity to try to rebuild something with you.”

  “Through guilt.”

  “Hey. Whatever works.”

  “It was selfish. I have a job and a life back home.”

  He watched her, his hand still resting on her knee. Her words were prickly, but she’d missed the mark on the tone. She knew she was trying to talk herself into something where her dad was concerned. Maybe trying to keep seeing him as the monster under the bed she’d believed in all those years. It was easier than admitting he might be decent after all.

  “Forgiveness is a radical thing,” he said. “It frees you from a lot of shit.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you speaking from experience? Have you forgiven your parents?”

  He laughed. “Hell no. That’s different.”

  “Is it? Maybe we’re both holding on to a lot of shit.”

  “We’re not talking about me here.”

  “Maybe we should be.”

  He’d always been calm and even tempered in front of her. It was only now that she recognized a flash of irritation in his eyes. Which was okay. She was irritated, too.

  Taking his hand away, he stood. The sun had peeked its way through the clouds a minute ago, and the snowflakes had grown smaller, falling with less urgency.

  “Looks like it’s letting up,” he said flatly. “About ready to go?”

  “Are you mad?”

  “I don’t get mad.”

  “EJ—”

  He turned, taking a deep breath before opening his mouth. “Look, I know you see some similarities between your situation and mine, but the truth is, they’re unbelievably different. I don’t need any backseat therapy, okay?”

  She lifted her chin. “Like the backseat therapy you’re giving me?”

  “We’re talking about Joe,” he said. “Joe. He’s a good guy, worthy of a break from you.”

  “Oh, really? And you get to decide that? How convenient. He’s not your dad.”

  He clenched his jaw, the muscles working underneath the stubble. “That was a low blow.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

  “He might not be my dad, as you so sweetly pointed out, but I care about him and feel like I know him pretty well.”

  “You know the new and improved Joe. You don’t know the man who left his wife and kids for another woman.”

  “Do you even know why he left?”

  She opened her mouth, but then shut it again.

  “Bingo,” he said. “I’m guessing you haven’t even bothered to ask?”

  “How would you know?” she asked, glaring up at him.

  “Because I’m not an idiot. I have two functioning eyeballs. I can see that nothing’s really changed between you two, despite you probably wanting it to, and definitely him wanting it to. If you’d talk about it, maybe you’d understand some things that your fifteen year-old self wasn’t capable of.” He shrugged. “But you have to give him a c
hance, and in order to do that, you’d need to grow up a little.”

  She stood and put her hands on her hips. “Okay. Look, I only came out here to help you.” Lie. “For your information, I was ready to leave an hour ago.” Quadruple lie.

  “Sorry, princess. You’re the one who needed a rest.”

  “Don’t call me princess.” She felt herself glowering now.

  He’d hit a nerve. And he knew he’d hit a nerve. He smirked like a teenage boy, infuriating her even more.

  “Why not? If the shoe fits...”

  “Oh, if the shoe fits?” she said. “So you think I’m spoiled now?”

  He shrugged again, dismissing her. “I dunno. You’re acting like it.”

  Turning, he headed for the door. She tromped after him.

  “I’m acting like it? Because I don’t want to be stuck in a fire lookout in the middle of a snowstorm with a complete cad?”

  Back still turned, he let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, that’s a new one. I’ve never been called a cad before. Since, you know, it’s not the nineteenth century.”

  She actually wanted to throttle him, no matter how good his butt looked in those snow pants. “What do you know about the nineteenth century?”

  “A whole helluva a lot, sister. Since it was my minor in college.”

  That shut her up. He turned, and a slow, exasperating smile spread across his lips.

  “You minored in history?” she said.

  “Guilty.”

  “So did I.”

  “Well, look at that,” he said, his voice thick. “We have something in common.” He stepped closer and looked down at her. “Want me to talk dirty to you?”

  Her heart tripped over itself, and all the air left her chest in a soft swoosh. “I...I don’t...”

  “What revolutionized the production of cotton at the end of the seventeen hundreds?” he murmured, lowering his head toward hers.

  So, he was teasing her. But the tone of his voice, though...

  “The cotton gin,” she said, staring back.

  “And who invented the cotton gin?”

  Her lips parted as he hovered over her mouth, his breath freezing on the air.

  “Eli Whitney.”

  “And what was the year, Miss Banks?”

  “Seventeen ninety-six.”

  He’d come within an inch of her when she jumped, almost knocking him in the nose.

  “No! Seventeen—ninety-three.”

  He smiled. “Very good. You paid attention in class. Maybe a little too much. Did you ever get out?”

  “You see how nervous I get. I’ll just let that speak for itself.”

  “So I’m guessing not many boyfriends.”

  “You’re guessing right.”

  “Not many experiences where we cads are concerned?”

  “Right again.”

  He shook his head and made a tsking sound. “I could help you change all that, you know.”

  She looked down, embarrassed. Then he forced her chin up with his fingertips.

  The light was changing. The sun was low in the gray, mottled sky, getting ready to dip beyond the mountains and tuck itself away for the night. The snow had stopped completely, giving them their window to head back to the Jeep in relative comfort.

  But all she could do was stand there and stare up at him. His features were so rugged they belonged on magazine covers or movie screens.

  “Cold?” he asked, his voice husky.

  She shook her head. She was quaking in her damn boots. Literally. He smelled so good. How could a guy who’d been hiking up the side of a mountain just an hour ago smell this good?

  “Do you want me to kiss you, Jemma?”

  The question was so direct it nearly made her sway like a sapling. His expression had grown serious—gone was the playfulness from a few seconds before. In its place was a dolefulness, an unmistakable hardness to his lips.

  “Because I’m gonna be honest,” he said. “I’m not a great bet for someone like you.”

  It was too much. All of it. The proximity of his mouth to hers, the tantalizing whisper of his breath against her skin. The words that cut, even though he probably hadn’t meant for them to.

  She found that her throat had gone dry, and she licked her lips carefully. He was being a gentleman. He was letting her down easy before she fell any harder than she already had. She knew the longing was probably written all over her face. She’d never been able to hide her emotions well. Even less when she was hungry, cold, and sex starved without even knowing it.

  Suddenly, she didn’t care how bad of a bet he was, or that things probably wouldn’t progress between them the way the naïve girl in her wished they would. She simply wanted to be kissed.

  But he was going to have to make the first move. Because even though part of her was dying to throw caution to the wind, right along with her sensible cotton panties, the other part didn’t know if she could actually handle the aftermath when all was said and done.

  She forced herself to step closer—just close enough that her jacket rubbed against his. Then pushed every nagging question to the farthest, darkest corner of her mind. She’d just worry about it tomorrow.

  “Please kiss me,” she said.

  He reached up and ran his fingers along her cheekbone. His hands were an anomaly—big and strong, but incredibly gentle at the same time. She wondered what else they were capable of.

  Wrapping them in her hair, he tipped her head back until she had no choice but to look him directly in the eyes. Those gorgeous, expressive eyes, with the long, strawberry-blonde lashes. She couldn’t believe how dark they were now, when they’d been icy blue pools just a few minutes ago.

  She licked her lips, and then parted them slightly. Maybe it was the anticipation of the kiss. Or maybe it was the fact she’d been told once she had a pretty mouth, and he might notice. And notice he did.

  His gaze dropped, and his thumbs moved in a rough arc over her cheeks.

  Lowering his head, he breathed against her for a painful, ovary-busting second, and it was all she could do to stand still next to him. Her entire body shook now, from her head all the way down to her toes, which curled in anticipation.

  And then, he kissed her. She’d been waiting for it, longing for it, but the actual act blew her fantasies right out of the water. He was an artist—his tongue, his paintbrush. And damn if she wasn’t the canvas. He kissed her tenderly and deeply until she sagged like a doll in his arms.

  She was breathing in shallow little huffs. When he pulled away from her mouth, she felt him smile against it.

  “Doing okay?”

  She nodded, taking another shaky breath. “It’s just that...I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like that before. You’re really, really good at this.”

  He nipped at her bottom lip. “I’m really, really good at a lot of things.”

  Why didn’t she doubt that? Criminy, what was this man capable of? If he’d asked her to unhook her bra right that minute, she would’ve tossed it out one of the broken windows and into the nearest snowbank.

  She stood there trembling, waiting...

  But instead of asking, he straightened her hat on her head, and then touched her chin. He’d kissed her. He’d given her what she’d wanted. Part of her felt giddy as a teenage girl. The other part was afraid this was where it would stop. Period. End of report.

  “We’d better get you back,” he said. “It’ll be dark soon.”

  And her heart sank a little.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jemma sat across from her dad in a little booth at The Java Café. The lunch rush was over, and the place had grown quiet over the last ten minutes. She sipped her coffee thoughtfully, looking up every now and then to see him watching her.

  “What?” she asked, licking some whipped cream from her lips.

  He set his coffee cup down. “Nothing. You just seem...prettier today than a few days ago. How is that possible? You were already pretty.”

  She smiled
, feeling a rush of blood to her cheeks. “Thanks, Dad. That’s sweet.”

  “I’m not saying it to be sweet, honey. It’s the truth.”

  “Maybe it’s the lip gloss. It’s new.”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  Elsie came over with a pitcher of steaming coffee, her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. She wore a cheerful Christmas blouse with gold sequined bells on the breast pockets.

  “Anyone need topped off?”

  Joe shook his head, never taking his eyes off Jemma. “No thanks, Elsie. I was just trying to solve a mystery here.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  Jemma had been away from her father for an entire decade, but he had no problem slipping into the embarrassing Dad roll. She wanted to crawl under the table and die.

  “Why my little girl is glowing today.”

  Elsie stepped back and studied Jemma. “I know why.”

  No. No way on God’s green earth did Elsie know Jemma had kissed EJ Corpa the other day during that storm. But she probably looked like the cat that ate the biggest, fattest canary around, so there was that.

  Joe sat up straighter, wincing at the pain in his hip. “Do tell.”

  Jemma looked from her dad to Elsie and back again.

  “She’s happy, Joe. Can’t you see that?” She slapped him on the back. “Honestly, men can be so clueless sometimes.”

  “Well, I know she’s happy, but...”

  Elsie filled Jemma’s coffee cup to the rim and gave her a look that Joe couldn’t see. “Clueless,” she mouthed.

  She sauntered away, leaving Joe confused.

  Jemma smiled again and shifted in her seat. Okay, so it was pretty obvious Elsie had an idea. How long before her dad figured out there was something going on? And how exactly was she going to handle that? Would he be angry at EJ? Angry with her? She was so out of touch where his feelings were concerned that she really had no idea what his reaction would be. Part of her was embarrassed—she felt the same way any daughter would whose dad knew too much about her love life. The other part was defensive, like she shouldn’t have to explain anything to a man she didn’t consider a huge part of her existence anymore. And that was her relationship with Joe in a nutshell. One big cluster of emotions.