Accidental Romeo: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  Trying my best to hide my glee, I just lift a brow and grin, then follow Ben down the hall.

  Once we're in the kitchen, while Ben gets a can of cat food out of the cupboard, I take off my coat. Hunter stands behind me, and his hand on my back makes my breath stall.

  “So, what room do you put your Christmas tree in?” I ask, trying to get my focus on something but him so I don't burst into flames.

  Hunter smiles as he takes my coat. He knows what I’m doing. Just like he probably knows I got the inspiration from seeing the green wreath on the grocery bag he set on the counter.

  “They usually put it up in the front room!” Ben says from around the corner. I hear him spooning cat food out of a can and into a dish I've seen with Jingles' name on it.

  “They?” I look at Hunter, who's carrying my coat down the hallway, stepping out of the kitchen so I can see everyone. “Who’s they?”

  “The company Dad hires.” Ben sits down on the floor beside the cat, who's smacking away at his food. “They use a different tree every year. It was all white last year. Not the tree, but the lights and everything else they’d hung on it. Almost everywhere else in the house, too.” He frowns. “I think that was last year...wasn't it? I dunno. It was gone by the time we got back home. Maybe it was all gold last year?”

  “The all-white one was last year,” Hunter says from the laundry room. “The year before was the gold.”

  I’m stunned. He hires a company to decorate his house for Christmas?

  Oh, of course he does. That’s how far out of his league I am. Something else Ben said triggers more questions. “Back home? From where?”

  “Australia,” Ben answers like it’s no big deal. “Brisbane and Sydney.”

  I’m more than stunned. Flabbergasted, really. “You...go to Australia for Christmas?”

  “Last year,” he says. “The year before it was Tokyo.”

  The only question I can think of is, “Why?”

  “Because that’s where Ben wanted to go,” Hunter says, stepping up beside me, subtly rubbing the small of my back. “That’s one of his Christmas presents. Experience. I take him wherever he wants to go over Christmas break.” He winks at Ben. “Except Disney. Six years in a row damn near wore me out when he was a kid.”

  Ben laughs, then looks at Hunter with a bit of apprehension. “Uncle Sloan asked where we're going this year.”

  I stiffen slightly, recognizing the name of that long-haired weirdo I’d met in the kitchen just a few weeks ago. “Uncle Sloan?”

  “Ben just calls him that,” Hunter says. His expression is serious too as he looks at Ben. “And what'd you tell him? Where'll it be?”

  “I told him I hadn’t thought about it yet, actually,” Ben says.

  “Whoa.” I hold up a hand. “You guys just decide on the spur of a moment and then go?”

  Talk about out of my league. I have to plan a weekend trip months in advance.

  “That’s part of the fun,” Hunter says, although he’s not smiling.

  Ben stands up and leans against the other side of the island from us. “I have thought about it a little, though, Dad.”

  “Oh, and what are you thinking?” Hunter asks.

  “Well, this year, with a job and all, it might be kinda hard to get away. Thanksgiving was really busy at the bakery. I bet Christmas will be, too.”

  Ben looks at me, so I nod, even though I want to say his job at the bakery is nothing compared to a trip anywhere in the world. I mean, I love Midnight Morning, but if I had a chance to go to Venice? Shanghai? Cairo?

  I'd drop everything so fast my parents would have to draft Rochelle to do some real work.

  “And, well...for me to leave so soon after being hired wouldn’t be right. I think I just want to work during my break instead.”

  For the second time tonight, I'm stunned. Surprised at the real, honest excitement in his eyes.

  I knew he liked the job, but seriously? A trip to anywhere verses the bakery?

  “That’s a very mature attitude, Ben,” Hunter says, flashing him a sincere smile. “I’m proud of you. If you'd like to take a rain check, then that's what we'll do. We'll go on a trip whenever it works into your schedule.”

  “You mean it?” Ben asks. “Uh, Uncle Sloan said you might be disappointed.”

  Hunter cocks his head again, studying him carefully. “He said that?”

  Ben’s face turns red. “Maybe he was joking. He had a couple beers the last time I saw him and was hamming it up like usual.”

  “Why would I be mad, Ben? It’s your present. Not Sloan’s.” Hunter slaps the counter with one hand. “It’s settled. We’ll stay home this Christmas and relax. You'll work your hours, and we'll enjoy your time off in the evenings.”

  “Awesome! Thanks, Dad.” Ben slaps the counter too. “So when will they put up the tree?”

  “I haven’t called them yet,” Hunter says. “Planning to tomorrow.”

  “Do you put up a Christmas tree, Wendy?” Ben asks.

  I start unloading the bag of groceries I’d bought. “Yes. Just a small one...I can only have an artificial one at my apartment due to fire hazards, and there's not much space. It's pretty tiny, actually.”

  “I already decorated the shop, of course – you saw – but there’s not much room there, either. Not for a real big ol' Christmas tree.”

  “I love how everything looks at Midnight Morning,” Ben says.

  A sudden rush of memories makes me smile. “When I was little, my dad and I would go to the tree lot over near the capitol and pick out the biggest tree.” I fold up the empty plastic bag. “Well, one that would fit in our house, anyway, and tie it to the top of the car. We'd bring it home and decorate it right after Thanksgiving.” I laugh. “With ugly decorations my sister and I made in school. Yarn snowflakes, clay reindeer that looked more like bears, Santa cookies hard enough to break your teeth...”

  They're both looking at me so seriously, my cheeks burn. “Some of the other decorations were nice.”

  “Yeah, we did those in school too. Do you still do that?” Ben asks. “Make your own stuff for the tree?”

  “No. No time, I guess. After I went to college, my parents bought an artificial one. Pre-lit. My mom likes that. And she likes not having the mess of a real one.” I shrug. “But that’s all part of Christmas. The mess.”

  “Is that tree lot still here? In Saint Paul?” Hunter asks.

  I shrug and blink, unsure what he's getting at. “I assume so.”

  He takes the plastic bag from my hand. “Then let’s go.”

  “Go?”

  “Let’s go get a Christmas tree.” He turns to Ben. “How’s that sound?”

  “Awesome!” Ben answers, jumping up so fast he makes Jingles bolt across the floor.

  * * *

  The next thing I know, we’re in Hunter’s SUV, heading to the tree lot.

  It doesn't take long to find the biggest, most perfect Norway Spruce in all of Minnesota. Then we hit the mall and buy a cart full of decorations. I’m in my glory.

  I love decorating for Christmas almost as much as I love baking cakes. It’s sort of the same thing, making something plain look spectacular.

  The main difference is, today, I have help. Hunter and Ben prove to be phenomenal tree-makers. I needed their brawn when it came to hauling that thing inside, and the bags of decorations.

  We take time out to eat the steaks Hunter grills, but by nine o’clock that night, their formal living room not only looks less formal, it's magazine perfect for a down-home, Norman Rockwell type Christmas.

  “Damn, Sugar. I'd say you’re in the wrong business,” Hunter says as we stand back, admiring our handiwork. “But I’ve seen your cakes, so I’ll say you're multi-talented instead.”

  I laugh. “So are you. That took some serious work to get the tree into the stand.”

  He’d had to saw off several branches and chisel the stump to fit, even though we’d bought the biggest stand available.

&n
bsp; “Wow. Looks even better than when you hire that company, Dad.”

  Ben stands on my other side, and even his profile shows his awe. A part of me rejoices at having shared this with him. With both of them.

  “Even Jingles likes it!” Ben says, pointing and chuckling.

  The big cat is curled up in one of the red velvet chairs near the fireplace. I’d picked out several Christmas pillows and put them in the chair, along with a red and green plaid throw I’d draped over the back.

  “Too bad our names aren’t on the stockings,” Ben says, turning his gaze to the fireplace. He holds up a hand. “Wait, I’ll be right back.”

  He shoots out of the room. A second later, Hunter grabs my waist and spins me around to face him.

  The kiss happens so fast, I barely have time to react. At first.

  Then I'm gone, melting into him, looping my arms around his neck to take it all in. Every glorious, tongue-dancing, heart-pounding second.

  Damn, he’s good. And an incredible kisser all the way around.

  Even the way he ends kisses, with a few small pecks that literally makes me melt inside.

  “I didn’t call you over here to work all afternoon and evening, you know,” he says, taking a step back.

  Aware that Ben could arrive back at any moment, I slide my arms off his neck and then pull down the hem of my t-shirt. “This wasn’t work. It was fun. I love decorating.”

  “It shows. You’re good at it, Sugar.” He nods toward the sofa. “Want a glass of wine? We can sit and enjoy your craftsmanship.”

  I laugh. “I more than met my quota for the month last weekend. But I’ll make us some hot apple cider.” We’d picked up a jug while shopping because they said they’d never had apple cider for Christmas and I’d said I couldn’t put up a tree without it.

  “I’ll help you warm it up.”

  The glint in his eyes says that’s not all he’ll warm up.

  Inwardly, I’m giggling with delight. Outwardly, I pretend I don’t catch his gist. “If you insist.”

  In the kitchen, I put Hunter to work slicing up an orange while I pour the cider in a kettle and dress it up. Soon, it's simmering away with cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves.

  “Thought you just had to heat up the apple cider?” he asks. “Smells a lot more complicated, Sugar. I like it.” He inhales hard enough for me to hear.

  “Plain old apple cider is too boring.” I grin but keep my distance, knowing Ben could walk into the kitchen any time.

  I’m not ready for Ben to know what's happening between Hunter and me. And I doubt Hunter is either.

  There’s a balance we have to maintain, especially while I'm also Ben’s boss.

  “Got your orange cut.”

  “Great. Put all but three half-slices in the kettle.” I walk around the island to get the can of whipped cream out of the fridge. “It all needs to simmer for a couple more minutes.”

  “Hey, where are you guys?” Ben shouts from down the hall.

  “Kitchen, son,” Hunter answers. “Making apple cider.”

  “Coming!”

  I take cups out of the cupboard and set them on the counter.

  “I haven’t seen him this excited in a long time,” Hunter whispers. “It’s nice for once. And it’s also thanks to you. Ever since the accident, it’s like he’s come around again. Back to being the kid I always knew.”

  “Kids get bored easily,” I say.

  “Not this time. Nothing boring about you, Sugar.” The smile and the brow he wags leave me in stitches. “Do you ever just relax and admire your hard work?

  I wish.

  I shake my head at him. “I like to stay busy. Probably because my parents never let us get bored. I can't remember not working at the bakery.”

  A thoughtful gaze settles over his face. I nod toward the pot he’s stirring. “That should be done by now. Ladle it into these cups.”

  He carries the pot over, and as he fills the cups, I top them with whipped cream and sprinkle on nutmeg, then add a cinnamon stick to each cup, twisting an orange slice and hooking it on the edge of each mug last.

  “Shit, you did it again. Looks too good to drink,” he growls.

  “You won’t think that once you taste it,” I answer, certain we'll all like it. Who doesn’t like spiced apple cider?

  He picks up a cup and takes a good, long sip. Then he makes a mock face like he's about to fall over. “Fuck, that's good.”

  My cheeks incinerate, thinking of when I’d heard him say that before. Last time, his face was between my legs, and it was a miracle I could hear, much less remember, anything at all.

  “Really delicious, Wendy. Might have to figure out how to spike this stuff for the company Christmas party.”

  Smiling, I pick up the other two cups. “Let’s go see how Ben weighs in.”

  Naturally, the kid loves it, but he has a surprise of his own in the other room.

  Ben shows us the stockings he’d printed names on with a permanent marker.

  Hunter. Ben. Wendy.

  I'm speechless for the umpteenth time I've been in this house. I don’t know what to say, but can’t let things go this far.

  “Jingles might have something to say about that last one,” I finally say, pointing. “That’s his stocking.”

  “A stocking for a cat?” Ben looks up, adorably wiping his whipped cream mustache off with his sleeve.

  “There'd better be! I had a dog growing up. His name was Bear, and he had his own stocking, too. My mother still has it.”

  “That’s cool,” Ben says. “Maybe it's not a bad idea.”

  “We’ll have to buy one more stocking.” Hunter holds his cup up to Ben. “Still plenty of time before Christmas.”

  They clink glasses.

  My stomach sinks. Oh, no.

  I should really put a stop to this while I still can, but...a part of me doesn’t want to.

  A shameful, secret part of me loves the idea of anyone spending this kind of attention and effort on me. And when it's a man who already has my heart under lock and key, and a boy who might be the sweetest kid I've ever known.

  Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

  “Well, son, if I recall correctly, you and Tommy have a big day tomorrow going to the car show with his old man,” Hunter says. “And work. Early.”

  “And I have to be at the bakery early,” I say.

  Ben shuffles his feet and looks at me. Then he hits me with a question I couldn't prepare for in a hundred years.

  “Yeah, Dad, you're right but...Wendy? You, um, you want to see my bedroom really quick? You haven’t seen that floor of the house yet. It’s cool. There's something I want to show you.”

  Oh, God, no.

  It hits me so hard, my ears are ringing. I stand there, falling in on myself, hoping this kid doesn’t have a crush on me.

  My heart goes out to him. He’d not just been bored. He’s been lonely. Against my better judgment, and praying it's just a misunderstanding, I say, “Sure. Let's make it quick.”

  “I’ll take your cups.” Hunter does just that.

  In the foyer, he heads down the hallway while Ben and I walk up the elaborately curved staircase.

  “Dad’s room is on the second floor. The rooms on the third floor are all mine.”

  “Wow, that's cool. Plenty of space,” I say. It’s all I can think to say.

  I’m drowning here.

  I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

  He’s at a fragile stage right now. A fragile, fragile age.

  He points out things as we climb. The house is gorgeous from bottom to top, and I make comments about how nice the finishes are, everything from the ornate Minnesota landscape paintings on the wall to the handcrafted woodwork lining the base of every wall.

  Ben gives me a quick tour. His music room, movie room, and others that he gestures to as we walk past.

  As soon as I step into his bedroom, which is large and nicely decorated with massive furniture and an entertainment system most boys hi
s age would kill for, he closes the door.

  I panic, trying to hold it in, my instincts telling me to escape.

  “I want to ask you something, Wendy.” He’s shuffling his feet again, looking around as if he's scared out of his mind.

  So am I.

  “All right,” I say, trying my very best to stay calm. “What’s up?”

  “Do you think...maybe...I could work at the bakery every day after school?” He jumps up, pacing toward me. “I don't know if you need the help and I know it's a crimp in my homework schedule, but...damn it. I just want to learn, Wendy. As much as I possibly can. I talked to a teacher about a work-study credit thing, and if you guys have the hours, I think I'd like to try.”

  A bit of the heaviness leaves my chest in one sense, but it grows heavier than a rock in another. “The bakery closes in the evenings, Ben. Some days as early as three. That's barely time for an hour of work by the time you get out of school...”

  “I know, but you stay later, and so does your mom sometimes! I could wash dishes for you after hours or help you with the prep work for the next day. I just really, really like working there. I’ve missed it this past week with everything being so crazy. Missed it a lot.”

  “Ben, I –”

  “You wouldn’t even have to pay me. I'll do it for free. The high school credit, if it works out. I want to learn. And in a few more years, I think I want to take a shot applying at a restaurant. If I'm good enough, maybe I'll even go to school for it, like you did.”

  I shake my head, trying not to tear up. “Oh, Ben. It isn't that.”

  “Please? Could we just try it? If it doesn’t work, I won’t be mad. I swear.” He moves to his bed and plops down. “It’s just, well, it sounds stupid, but it’s boring here. I feel bad because I know Dad retired to take care of me, so I don’t come home to an empty house, but...he can't help me with everything. Some stuff, I need to figure out myself. I'm old enough to know it.”

  I want to sit down next to him, put my arm around him, but know I need to keep my distance, so I lean back against the dresser. “Have you talked to your Dad about this?”

  He shakes his head.

  I use that as my out. “I can’t even consider it an option until you do. It's not my place. You understand, right?”