But Peyton was in the picture now, and he couldn’t assume she would respond to him the way she used to. God knew he wanted to kick the man’s ass right out of the proverbial window, but he would not be that guy. If Tori was happy with him—really, truly happy—he would do the decent thing and walk away. But not before he gave his best shot at winning her back.
“I got home last night,” he said in answer to her question. “Had just enough time to catch up with Mom and Joel.”
He saw her imagining what they might have talked about.
“Oh, great,” she said, searching his deliberately inscrutable expression.
The sound of a throat clearing jerked Alex’s head around. He hadn’t even noticed the woman in the bizarre Christmas sweater standing farther down the counter, he’d been so fixated on Tori. Thank God he was stateside and not in some hostile country somewhere.
“You gonna introduce us, Fancy Face?” the woman asked.
Since her nickname for Tori was clearly an endearment, he took it upon himself to make introductions.
“Alex Morrigan,” he said, before stepping toward her with a smile and an outstretched hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Annette Schwartz. I’m new to Edenton,” she added with an accusing glance at Tori, who clearly hadn’t told Annette anything about him.
“Alex is a friend from high school,” Tori inserted.
A friend? The generic word that came nowhere near to describing his and Tori’s passionate love affair was like a knife to the heart.
“Is that right?” Astute gray eyes regarded him with evident appreciation. “Can’t imagine why you never mentioned him before.”
Yeah, him neither. He shot Tori an admonishing look.
“Would you like some coffee?” Her bright question was an obvious cover-up.
Annette jumped into action. “Oh, I’ll get that,” she insisted, making her way around the counter. “You two go sit.” She waved them toward the coziest seats and table next to the Christmas tree. “I’m sure you have some catching up to do.”
Alex waited for Tori to ease into a plush leather armchair before dropping into the seat across from hers. Taking in her reindeer leggings and gingerbread slippers, he couldn’t help but say something.
“You are too cute,” he admitted. That wasn’t revealing too much, was it? Joel’s stern advice to play it cool echoed in his head, reining him in.
Every fiber of his being wanted to sweep her off her feet, but he was here for one reason only—to give Tori her first present and then walk away.
* * *
Self-conscious heat flooded Tori’s face. She surreptitiously pinched herself, unable to believe Alex Morrigan was actually sitting across from her, in the flesh. It seemed like forever since she’d laid eyes on him last. He’d matured over that span of time. Faint smile lines fanned the corners of his blue eyes. His shoulder span looked wider than ever, his chest broader.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she marveled. Simply looking at him made her blood flow faster.
“I’m glad to see you haven’t changed much,” he replied, offering her his familiar grin.
The appreciation in his eyes made her tingle all over.
But then his reference to change reminded her of how much had changed, and her pleasure dimmed.
“Well . . . .” She clasped her hands together deliberating how much to say. It wouldn’t be fair to him or to Peyton not to set the record straight. “Some things have changed,” she admitted, overriding the regret that abruptly lanced through her at no longer being Alex’s girl.
He straightened. “Oh, before I forget,” he said, dipping his long fingers into the pocket of his trench coat, “I have something to give you.” He set a small rectangular package wrapped in striped red and silver paper on the table between them.
No bow. No nametag. The breath tangled in her throat a moment, but then she realized the gift was too big to be a ring.
Not that he would propose out of the blue like that. What the heck was she thinking?
Curiosity vied with other emotions as she regarded the enticing offering. “You bought me a gift?”
“Open it,” he invited.
For a split second, she hesitated. She really shouldn’t be accepting gifts from a former boyfriend. Then again, she’d known Alex for over a decade. They’d been friends before they’d ever dated. Why shouldn’t she take his gift with grace?
Plucking up the box, she ripped off the wrapping and lifted the lid beneath. His confident expression turned watchful as he awaited her reaction.
A pair of painted eyes peered up from within the recesses of the box.
“An owl,” she cried, taking out the ceramic figurine to admire the delicate features glossed in vibrant colors. “You remembered my collection!”
He nodded. “Came across it at Otovalo Market in Ecuador. Made me think of you, so I bought it.”
Guilt tightened an invisible noose about her neck. Sliding her thumb over the smooth glaze, she pretended to admire the owl while formulating her response.
“Alex.” She cleared a blockage from her throat. “You shouldn’t have,” she continued lamely. Just tell him, urged her conscience.
Annette chose that precise moment to bear down on them with coffee and pastries. “What’s that?” she asked, plucking up the gift from Tori’s hand and admiring it.
Alex, in turn, took a bite out of the pumpkin spice coffee cake and moaned his appreciation. As she watched his eyes close and his expression transform into one of ecstasy, a bone-melting memory panned through Tori’s mind. To think she would never relive that experience.
“No one bakes like you, Tori. Too bad I have to run,” he said, taking a swig of his latte and popping the last bite of cake into his mouth. He scraped back his chair. “Otherwise, I’d have another one.” He took his drink with him.
“You’re leaving already?” She fought to hide her dismay as he stood. Wasn’t this the way it always was—her chasing after him while he ran off, on fire to see and save the world?
“I’ll see you again,” he promised. Humor glinted in his eyes as he gazed down at her. “In fact, you’ll probably see a lot of me now that I’m stationed in Virginia Beach.”
Incredulity made her jaw drop. “Virginia Beach? That’s only . . . .”
“Ninety minutes up the road,” he finished, holding her gaze intently. “Hope you like the owl.”
Annette handed it back to her and she cradled Alex’s gift, at a loss for words.
“Thanks for the goodies, ma’am,” he said, toasting Annette with his cup.
“You betcha, Sweet Cakes.” She tossed him a wink.
“See you soon, Fancy Face,” he added to Tori, adopting Annette’s nickname for her.
Leaving them gaping after him, he strode with purpose to the door, his posture erect and confident. Pulling his umbrella out of the stand, he popped it open as he pushed outside. Then he disappeared into the wet blur without a backward glance.
Tori sat stunned in her seat, staring after him.
“Now that is a real man,” Annette declared.
Chapter Five
Sweat dampened the small of Tori’s back. The muscles in her arms shook with exertion, but the nut clamped around the screw refused to budge, which meant she’d never get the leak under her sink fixed. Disgusted with her failed efforts, she let the monkey wrench fall on her chest while she caught her breath.
“Why the fuck am I doing this?” she muttered.
By all rights, she ought to be up in her apartment watching a Netflix movie with her feet up. The bakery had closed hours earlier and, although Annette offered to stay and help, Tori had shooed her out the door, wanting a little peace and quiet after such a stressful day. The fact that Alex hadn’t dropped by as he had the day before might have contributed to her stress—after all, she’d been on tenterhooks all day, expecting him to stroll in at any moment. Not that she would admit to her disappointment.
It
was mainly the clogged sink that had caused her great exasperation, putting a damper on the cookie-baking bonanza she’d needed to accomplish in order to stay ahead of her orders. Hours had passed, and she had nothing to show for it but a dozen banana-nut muffins rising in the oven.
She answered her own question. “Oh, yeah, because my boyfriend-slash-landlord has yet to replace the stinkin’ pipes and update the plumbing.”
For months, she’d been pleading with Peyton to make some urgently needed updates. Being the owner of the building, it was his obligation to cough up the sum for the upgrades—propane to natural gas, iron pipes to copper, and new electric wiring. He’d whole-heartedly agreed, which made her really happy, but he’d done nothing yet to fulfill his promises.
And now Tori was stuck with a clogged drain, a sink full of dirty dishes, and a sour attitude.
“Stupid . . . piece of . . . .” Swearing a blue streak, she put the wrench back to work and strained with all her might against the rusty nut. Maybe it would be worth sacrificing her nest egg to pay for new plumbing? Nah. Provided she unclogged this drain, a plumbing upgrade came in second to switching over from propane to gas.
If Peyton were just her landlord and not her boyfriend, she would have taken him to court over his idea of upkeep. A building this outdated had to be in violation of a half-dozen safety codes. In light of his promise to update everything at once, she’d kept quiet about her complaints. She just hoped he wouldn’t wait much longer.
“Need some help?”
The amused male voice, so close, so unexpected, made Tori lurch from a prone position. Her forehead struck the underside of the sink as she scuttled out from beneath it.
“Ow, son of a—!”
“You okay?” His contrite, oh-so-handsome face came level with hers as he squatted next to her.
Rubbing the rising knot on her forehead, Tori tried to slow her runaway pulse, but her heart refused to settle. Being this close to Alex without a moment to prepare herself had her floundering for her poise.
He smelled like wintergreen and musk. His cheeks were still ruddy from the cold. His eyes sparkled. His short hair, most likely trimmed by his brother, looked rakishly disheveled. He looked good—windblown, rugged, mouth-wateringly good. She needed to put some space between them, and fast.
“Peachy, thanks.” Ignoring the hand he stretched out, she stood under her own steam and wiped her hands on her thighs. With a steadying breath, she steeled herself to meet his gaze again. “Just how long were you watching me?” she demanded.
“Long enough to hear you use some colorful language.” He grinned at her approvingly.
“You’re the one who taught me those words,” she reminded him.
“But you use them so creatively. What or should I ask who is a fu—?”
Tori clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the epithet. “Don’t finish that,” she begged, horrified that he had overheard her ten-word blue streak.
Big mistake.
Standing this close, she could discern the tiny flecks of gray mingled with the deep blue of his irises, the spattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose. The soft, scruff of his facial hair tickled her palm. His breath warmed the palm of her hand.
Jerking it away, she hugged herself, shoving her fingers under her armpits to keep from reaching for him again. Her body hummed with a thousand warring emotions, none of them particularly welcome. She glanced over at the clock, shocked to see how late it was.
“Why are you here? I closed hours ago, and I’m pretty sure I locked the door,” she recalled narrowing her eyes with sudden suspicion. “Did you break in to my bakery?”
Ignoring her question, he motioned to the cardboard box perched on the island beside them. “My mother asked me to drop off a box of ornaments from our attic. She said you’d had a mishap storing all yours in the attic. Something about a section of the rafters breaking off and smashing them?”
Another setback she could blame on Peyton’s poor upkeep.
Approaching the box with XMAS scrawled in blue marker on one side, Tori lifted one flap and peeked inside.
“Oh my God, they’re . . . .”
“A little old-fashioned.”
She shook her head, reaching for a tiny metal sleigh. “No, they’re perfect.”
The red paint was worn and chipped, but the intricate details were still stunning. “Are you sure she meant for me to have these? Maybe she meant I could borrow them. These are vintage, Alex.”
“Nope. I’m sure. In fact . . . .” He hesitated. “There’s something extra in there from me.”
She peered warily into the box again. Pressed between an antique waxed angel and a Santa Claus figurine was a gift wrapped in the same red and silver paper Alex had used to wrap his first gift.
And now he had given her another one.
She shouldn’t accept it. It just wasn’t right. Was he hoping to rekindle their relationship? If so, he obviously hadn’t heard about her and Peyton, which was hard to believe given that his mother and brother knew. She ought to have come clean with him the day before, but he’d taken off so suddenly, she hadn’t had the chance. Still, better he should hear it from her than through the grapevine.
“Alex, there’s something I—”
“Aren’t you going to open it?” he interrupted her.
She blinked. “It’s not . . . .” Her fingers itched to tear open the wrapping. “I mean, you shouldn’t have. It’s not even Christmas, and I haven’t—”
“Since when has that stopped you? Every Christmas Eve since ninth grade I’ve had to hide your presents because you always peeked.”
“I did not,” she lied.
“Yes, you did.” His tone grew affectionately chiding. “You tried to rewrap them, but I knew the difference.” He raised an eyebrow, daring her to deny it.
She admitted the truth with shrug. “Fine.”
In her defense, he’d given her the best gifts ever. One year, he had stuffed a dozen mason jars with her favorite bath salts, lotions, chocolates, and candies. Her first year in culinary school, he’d left sticky notes with hearts and silly sayings all over her dorm room. Her favorite saying, “Forget Spooning, Let’s Fork!” had given her mother a heart attack when she’d dropped in for an unannounced visit.
Her warning to Tori echoed through the years.
Don’t you even think about marrying that Morrigan boy, Victoria. That family does not belong to our social circle, you hear? You need to forget about him.
Tori had continued seeing Alex for another whole year after that. But when summer ended and the situation in the Middle East worsened, Alex couldn’t wait to take off in pursuit of ISIS extremists. Feeling forgotten, even before he’d left, Tori had decided she didn’t want to play second fiddle to Alex’s career anymore. By Christmas, she’d decided to release him.
“So, what’s wrong with your sink?” Alex asked, drawing her back into the present.
“The pipe’s clogged. Again. I was trying to clear the U-bend, but the screw is rusted. Can’t get it off.”
He ducked his head under her commercial-sized sink to peer at the pipe in question. “Mind if I take a stab at it?”
“By all means. I’ve tried plunging it. I’ve used a ton of Drano. Taking it apart is my last resort.”
“Say no more. I got this.” Dropping to the floor, he rolled onto his back and slid his head and shoulders under the sink.
Tori’s gaze trekked down the length of his god-like physique. Gray sweatpants rode so low on his hips that the red band of his boxers peeked into view. When the bottom of his navy-blue T-shirt rose up, exposing half-an-inch of taut skin and delicious v-shaped abs, Tori’s brain blanked.
She was staring. Gawking. And maybe even drooling a little. She touched the corner of her mouth to check.
The oven timer dinged, pulling her attention away from the prime specimen sprawled on her floor and back to more important things. Shaking her head, she withdrew from Alex’s tempting form and circled ove
r to the stove. Lecturing herself inwardly on how inappropriately she was behaving, she opened the oven door to retrieve the muffins. The vague feeling she’d forgotten something came a split second too late.
“Shit!”
The hot Calphalon seared her fingertips before she snatched them away.
“Ow, son of a mmm—” She snapped her mouth shut, swallowing the rest of her curse.
Tori felt his presence looming over her seconds before he spoke. “What happened? Are you okay?”
She straightened and snatched the oven mitt off the counter, ignoring Alex’s question while using her good hand to rescue the muffins from the heat. Plopping the pan down on the cooling rack, she shook off the mitt while blowing on her injured fingers to quell the sting. “I’m fine. I was just being stupid.”
Turning with a wince, she found Alex standing next to her again.
“Let me see.” He caught up her wrist and inspected her injured fingers.
She did likewise, not surprised to find the tips of three fingers bright pink and already starting to blister. “Second degree burn,” she murmured, having branded herself a sufficient number of times to diagnose the severity.
“You need cool water.” Keeping hold of her wrist, he tugged her toward the sink then remembered the pipe underneath it was in pieces.
“The bathroom,” she suggested, pointing to the unisex restroom out in the eating area, underneath the stairs. “I’ll take care of it,” she added, but he was already marching her out of the kitchen into the bakery’s front room, his hand gently clamped around her wrist.
Chapter Six
Flicking on the light first, Alex pushed Tori into the room ahead of him, positioning her before the sink. He tested the water first and then put her fingers under the cool flow. His large hand cradled hers, his thumb sliding along the crease of her palm with long, soothing strokes. The pleasant caress combined with the instant relief of cool water drove Tori’s pain away completely, replacing it with unexpected pleasure.
She found herself standing in the sheltering curve of his bigger body. Where her shoulder touched his chest, electricity seemed to arc between them, shooting sparks to her extremities, causing them to tingle. Her breath flowed faster. Her pulse thrummed.
Rekindled, a Christmas Novella Page 3