Ugly Sweater Weather NEW

by Gadziala, Jessica

  "Clarence said he would pop by later to take Lock for a walk, so we don't have to worry about getting back at a certain time."

  "He's too good."

  "I have to get him some of those new Game On pieces for Christmas, apparently."

  "Aren't they like two grand for a scarf or something like that?"

  "Probably," I agreed as she grabbed a shawl that didn't look like it would be nearly warm enough, but she'd probably been informed by the same fashion-advising co-worker that her usual jacket would clash with her dress as well. "Okay. All set. Did you call an Uber, or are we taking a cab? What?" she asked when I shook my head and led her down the hall, through the lobby, then out onto the street, where my driver was standing beside the town car. Seeing me, he reached out, opening the back door.

  "You got a car?" she asked, looking over at me with a wide-mouthed smile.

  "I thought the theme of the evening called for it."

  "You're awesome," she declared, insisting I shuffle in first because she claimed she wasn't going to be able to get in gracefully, and she didn't want me to watch. "Oh, my God," she said as soon as she was settled, as I'd placed the flowers down on her lap. I'd chickened out of bringing them to her door, but from the looks of things as she pulled them up to take a sniff, Clarence was right. Women still enjoyed getting flowers. "You brought me flowers," she said, eyes wide.

  "I thought they were a nice touch," I said shrugging.

  "Will they last through the play? Without being put in water?"

  "They'll be fine," I assured her, leaving out that we weren't going right home after the ballet. I wanted to keep my surprises up my sleeve until it was time for them.

  "That was actually even better than I imagined," Dea declared a while later as we moved through the crowd of people as they left the theater.

  "It was," I agreed, though, admittedly, I spent most of the night watching her watch the ballet. What can I say? Dea was very animated when she was fascinated. Her eyes went wide, her lips opened and closed with wonder. She gasped and sighed and smiled sweetly. You could practically know what was going on in the ballet just by watching her face.

  "I'm glad we got dressed up. I swear it made the whole show feel better. That makes no sense, but it's true. We should dress up more," she decided as we stepped back onto the street.

  "We should. We can have a standing dress-up night every month or something," I suggested, sliding into the car, waiting for her to do the same as I reached for the ice bucket and glasses the driver had moved into the back as I'd asked.

  "Oh, fancy!" Dea said, beaming at me as she clicked her seatbelt. "I haven't had champagne since like last New Year's."

  And she hadn't been a fan.

  "That was crap," I told her, handing her a flute. "This is the good stuff."

  She took a sip as the driver looked over his shoulder at me. "We are early," he told me. "Do you want me to drive around first?"

  "Early for what?" Dea asked, brows furrowing.

  "We are going to dinner," I told her.

  "Listen," she said, tone mock serious. "I am not in the kind of dress that will allow me to have all-I-can-eat without looking like I am a couple months pregnant. You should have told me it was a Spanx night," she said, smiling.

  "We aren't having all-you-can-eat," I told her, topping off her champagne before I put the bottle down. "You can just bring us. We can take a walk around the area for a couple minutes," I told the driver.

  "Are you not going to tell me where we're eating?" she asked, brows lowering.

  "No. It's a surprise."

  "I guess I can trust you," she decided, leaning back in her seat, watching out the window as we rode through the city. "What is this neighborhood?" she asked when the driver parked a few blocks away from the restaurant in West Village full of its quaint brick and brownstones.

  "You'll see in a minute," I assured her. We didn't end up being as early as the driver expected thanks to traffic. By the time we walked the fifteen minutes to the restaurant, we would be just five minutes early for our reservation. "How are your feet?"

  "Fine for now," she said, pulling her wrap tighter against her body.

  "Here," I said, shrugging out of my jacket, slipping it around her shoulders.

  "But now you're cold," she told me, leaning her face into the lapel to take a deep breath of my cologne.

  "Alright, how about we share a little?" I asked, slipping my arm under the jacket, curling it around her waist.

  She tensed for the barest of seconds.

  And then a shiver coursed through her.

  "It's so cold," she said, but I knew better. That wasn't a cold shiver. That was an anticipation shiver.

  "Mmhmm," I agreed, trying not to focus too much on how I could feel the body heat through her thin dress, how it did very little to hide the soft curves underneath.

  After a few steps, I could feel her leaning against me a bit, and couldn't help but wonder if she noticed that she did it, if she was starting to recognize her desire to be close to me for what it really was.

  "Okay, here we are," I said when we stepped in front of the unassuming brick-front building with brown doors and window frames.

  "What is this?"

  "One If By Land, Two If By Sea," I told her, watching as she looked over at me, brows furrowing a bit as she searched her head for her knowledge of this restaurant. I could see it when she placed it, her lips parting, her eyes going soft.

  It was one of the most romantic places in the city.

  People saved up to come for special occasions.

  "This is crazy expensive, Crosby," she said, shaking her head at me.

  "You deserve a fancy dinner when you're looking like that," I told her, watching as her cheeks tinted pink. "Come on," I added, urging her forward before she could start to overthink.

  "Wow," she said, mouth agape as she looked around.

  I had to agree with her.

  The inside managed to look both upscale and cozy with exposed brick walls, large windows, deep gray walls and ceilings, white-draped tables, wooden floors, and chandeliers.

  Each table was set with white with a single tall pillar candle lit in the center, the flames dancing around as we were led toward our table-for-two in a corner in front of the windows facing the back courtyard.

  "This was really sweet," Dea declared after handing me back my jacket, and sliding into her seat. "But if we do a fancy dress date thing as a tradition, it doesn't need to be this fancy. Though, this is amazing," she said, picking up her menu.

  She was a little tight for a while at first, awkward as a first date even though we'd known each other for a long time, had held dinner conversations countless times before. But by the time appetizers were eaten and some good wine was drunk, she had loosened up, raving about the drink, the food, the ambiance.

  "Really," she started after dessert was eaten, reaching across the table to rest her hand over mine. "This was so nice," she said, giving me a soft smile. And it wasn't one I was familiar with. She had a lot of them, and I thought she'd given them all to me before, but there was something different about this one, something more intense, something more, I don't know, intimate.

  It gave me hope.

  That this was starting to work.

  That she was seeing what I had seen for so long.

  We were about halfway through the schedule.

  I couldn't wait to see how things would progress.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dea

  I wasn't crazy.

  I mean, I was pretty sure I wasn't crazy.

  Something had changed with Crosby and me.

  The thing was, I couldn't tell if it was just on my side, or on his side, if we were both feeling the same way, or if I was creating something in my head that wasn't there.

  And the not-knowing was driving me absolutely crazy. I hadn't been able to think straight since he dropped me off from the dinner at the fancy restaurant, walking me to my door, reaching up to tuck m
y hair behind my ear, then telling me he had a good night, that he would see me the next day.

  Then he was gone.

  I stood there for what felt like ages, frozen in the spot, a little overwhelmed with the realization that the warm sensation moving through my system right then was decidedly more than friendly.

  Sure, I'd always had a soft spot for Crosby, but this was different. This affection I was feeling was the kind that was making my belly wobbly as I got dressed for our next "date."

  Wobbly.

  Bellies didn't get wobbly for "just friends."

  "Oh, Lock, what is wrong with me, huh, bud?" I asked, dropping down on my couch, resting my forehead to Lock's back. "I can't be having feelings for Crosby. I mean, that would make it weird for you and Lillybean to finally get together, don't you think?" I asked, sighing out my breath. "Maybe it was just all the romance of the restaurant," I mused, lifting my head when Lock rolled over, lifting his front leg, begging for a belly scratch.

  That made sense, after all. It was one of the most romantic restaurants in the city. On top of that, we were dressed up like we were going on a real date. There was champagne and wine. And flowers.

  It was just a heady dose of boyfriend stuff from my best friend. That was the most logical explanation.

  "Tomorrow, you get to come with us on our date," I told him, scratching him behind the ears, a little worried that bringing him back to the shelter for the Christmas drive/party might trigger some bad memories for him, but hoping all the handmade treats and playtime with other dogs might make up for it all. "But tonight, I am on my own again," I said, getting up, going back to my bedroom, and grabbing another layer out of my closet.

  I'd never done the whole Rockefeller Christmas tree and ice skating thing. In fact, I had only ever ice skated once in my life before. And had dislocated my shoulder. But I was choosing to be optimistic. And, you know, stay by the side, so I could hold onto the wall.

  "Are you sure you have enough layers on?" Crosby teased when I met him just outside of Rockefeller Center.

  "We are going to be on actual ice," I told him, though, admittedly, the long-sleeve thermal, sweatshirt, sweater, and jacket were starting to feel more than a little stifling. Add on the hat, gloves, and scarf, and I was practically an oven inside.

  "You're sweating like crazy and you know it," Crosby said, shaking his head as he put his hand to the small of my back—a somewhat new gesture of his that I liked more than seemed appropriate—and led me through the crush of people.

  "Okay, a little bit," I admitted as we got into a good position to look up at the massive tree.

  We saw it every year. It was impossible to miss. But we'd never actually made it a point to stop and look and take it all in.

  "I get why people come from all over to see it," I decided, feeling some of that childhood wonder we tended to lose a bit as we got older.

  "It's beautiful," he agreed, but, oddly, I felt his gaze on my profile, not on the tree.

  "Okay. So. Are we ready to see me make an idiot of myself?"

  "You'll be fine," Crosby assured me as we made our way to wait in line. "I can teach you."

  "Okay. Now you're putting images of you in my head as a figure skater in bright red and green tights..."

  "Figure skater, no. Ice skater, yes. I played hockey in middle school."

  "Wait... what? How do I not know this about you?" I asked, feeling like we'd shared so much since meeting, almost upset that there were things I still didn't know.

  "I didn't stick with it for long. Just a season. You know my parents, they wanted us to try new things, to finish our commitments to them, but they didn't care if we only stuck it out for one year before moving onto something else. I finished hockey and then tried karate. Then fencing, piano, drums. I can do a million things at a mediocre level," he claimed, shrugging. "I was actually a good skater. It was the shooting the puck part that I sucked at."

  "Is there anything you wish you'd stuck with?" I asked. I hadn't been allowed to do after school activities. Mostly because there wasn't a ton of extra money for it, and if there was extra money, my mom was more likely to use it on some new "get thin quick" scheme.

  "Anytime I hear Clarence or Noel play piano, I wish I'd stuck with it to get to their level."

  "Well, you are much better than I am, if that is any consolation." I only knew how to play Ode to Joy and even that, very slowly. "Hey, that would be a fun New Year Challenge," I said, lighting up. We didn't do resolutions because we knew we were doomed to fail, but we always set a small challenge for ourselves, usually to take a couple week class or declutter our lives, something that didn't take up too much time or effort, but did, slowly but surely, make our lives a little better.

  "Taking piano lessons?" he clarified.

  "Yeah!" I mean, we hang out all the time anyway, why not have one night a week where we hang out and learn something together instead of binge-watching something on TV or going out to eat?"

  "I think that's a great idea," he decided.

  "I mean, no pressure. We can quit anytime. God, remember when we thought we could do hot yoga every day for a month?" I asked, cackling a bit at the memory. He'd nearly passed out and I threw up. During our first class.

  "We are never taking fitness advice from a hemp-wearing hippie barista named Bodi ever again," he agreed, leading me up to the skate rental.

  Five humiliatingly clumsy minutes later, we were through the building, and Crosby was handing me the bar thing they give little children who are first learning how to skate.

  "This is humiliating," I decided, inching forward while freaking Crosby skated backward along with me.

  "It's pretty bad, I'm not gonna lie," he agreed, making a gasp/laugh hybrid escape me.

  "Hey! You're not supposed to agree with me."

  "But I'd be lying to you if I didn't," he said, shrugging. "If you want, you can ditch the trainer, and I can help you."

  "Will you keep me from falling on my butt? Because that is my main concern right now. I should have worn padded butt leggings."

  "Padded butt leggings. Why do they make those?"

  "To get a fake big booty. I don't understand it. I mean, the second you get intimate with someone, they are going to know that your butt was all padding. But they do exist."

  "I won't let you fall on your butt. I mean, we might fall, but I will try my best to take you down on top of me. What?" he asked, head dipping to the side a bit, making me realize that his words had sent another of those unexpected surges of desire through me.

  On top of him; I wouldn't exactly mind that.

  Oh, my God. Yes, I would. What was wrong with me? I needed to go get my hormone levels checked or something because, clearly, something was off here. I'd always had what I considered a normal sex drive, but this was getting over the top. Every time he said something anyone could even remotely construe as sexual, I felt all heated. The only problem was, I used his family's practice as my gyno. And, what, was I going to walk past his mom and say, "Hey, yeah, I'm here because I am all hot and bothered over your son, so, clearly, something is wrong with me."

  I mean, I hadn't actually met his mom. She worked on the third floor, for the pregnant ladies. Her husband worked on the second, for the ladies who wanted to get pregnant. And I went to the first floor, for ladies who just wanted to make sure all their bits and bobs were working properly.

  But still.

  "Dea?" Crosby asked, brows pinched.

  "What? Oh, ah, I'm just having vivid imaginings of us falling, and one of these skates cutting a major artery," I told him, even though that was only partially true.

  "Alright. Come on, scaredy cat," he said, pulling the trainer away, and reaching for my hand.

  Even through the gloves, I felt like I could feel his body heat, something that proved a little too distracting as I tried to move and nearly pitched forward.

  "This isn't going to work," I decided, trying to reach again for the trainer.

  "Here,"
Crosby said, blocking my way. "Let's try this instead," he suggested, carefully releasing my hand to grab it with his other hand, pulling my arm across his chest, as his other arm slid across my hips, wrapping slightly over my belly.

  And we were close, so freaking close.

  "Alright, now like we are doing a three-legged race, okay?" he asked, giving me an encouraging nod.

  "Clearly, you were never my partner at Fun Day at school. Because we did not make it to the finish line of the three-legged race. But I have to appreciate your optimism," I told him, impressed that my voice came out even when I felt so breathless.

  "I have every faith in you, Dea," he assured me, nudging my hip to get me going. "Okay, I take it back," he said two minutes later when I nearly took us both down three times.

  "This is not as magical as I was hoping," I admitted, grumbling as little kids zoomed past us and turned in circles, giggling, like this was the easiest thing in the world.

  "You're overthinking it too much. Remember when we were watching that dance competition show and you kept yelling at the girl to stop trying to lead during the ballroom dancing?"

  "Yeah."

  "Loosen up and let me lead you," he suggested, arm tightening around me, reassuring me. "You can trust me, Dea," he said, voice low, soft. And it did that shiver thing to my insides again.

  I could trust him.

  I trusted him more than anyone else in my life.

  With my secrets, with my hopes and dreams, with my safety when we were out late at night.

  So, what was trusting him with guiding me on the ice?

  "Okay," I said, taking a deep breath, then slowly letting it out.

  As soon as I was done, Crosby urged us forward, gliding over the ice like I wasn't a stumbling toddler.

  And I could suddenly see why people enjoyed ice skating. There was that freeing sensation in your chest and belly like you got when you were on a swing, that happy, light, airless sensation.

  "Take another breath," Crosby instructed a moment later, and as soon as I started to, he whirled us in a circle, making a strange squealing laugh escape me as the tree above me flashed across my vision.