by Jacie Floyd
“Thanks for helping, man.” Mitch clapped him on the back. “Lisa, boys, this is my friend Marty.”
The ex-soldier nodded to each of them, but made direct eye contact with Lisa. “The name’s Quin, not Marty.”
“Nice to meet you, Quin-not-Marty.” She reached out to shake his hand, forgetting he was holding her belongings. She retreated, flushing slightly.
Setting down the bags, he reached out and took her hand with a firm grip. A super-charged moment passed between them as his calloused palm retained hers a second too long.
“Since when is your name Quin?” Mitch asked.
“Since birth. Martin’s my last name.”
“I forgot that. I guess they started calling you Marty during basic and it stuck.”
“Yep.”
“Typical.” Mitch clapped his palms together and moved on. “There are tables in the main room for food, the Angel Tree is in the far corner, and the Santa-gifts go with me.”
“See.” Tyler poked his younger brother in the ribs. “I told you Mitch would be the fake Santa tonight.”
Seth’s eyes widened. “Are you gonna be Santa, Mitch?”
He accepted Lisa’s bag of gifts, then turned back to her youngest son. “Nope, not me, but I happen to know where he wants me to stash these presents we’re taking to some kids who need a little more Christmas.”
“Good, ‘cause I want to talk to the real Santa tonight.”
“Why?” Lisa asked. No telling what he would ask for that wasn’t on his original list. She hoped it wasn’t something she’d have to scramble to find. Or a puppy. They couldn’t get a puppy until they got their own house, and that wouldn’t be until spring.
“If I wanted something that cost a lot, like a PlayStation, I could tell Mitch, and he’d probably get me one. I need to talk to the real Santa to ask for something special.”
Tyler pushed Seth’s shoulder. “Dork. Don’t you know—“
Lisa lasered Tyler into silence with the mom-eye. She wanted her baby to believe in the magic of Santa Claus at least one more year. Soon enough for him to grow up after that. “That if he doesn’t behave Santa won’t come see him, right?”
“I have been really good this year. I helped Mitch save Nikki, and I got a special Good Citizen award at school. It was on TV and everything.”
Mitch patted him on the back. “That you did, but it’s up to Santa to decide who gets what. Most kids think getting a PlayStation is a really good gift.”
“It is good. It’s not special.”
“What special thing do you want?” Lisa asked.
“I’m only telling Santa. He’s the one who can get the really hard stuff.”
“Good plan.” Mitch exchanged a look with Lisa. What would she do if Mitch couldn’t find out from Santa what this special something was? “Let’s go get some snacks. Then I’ll introduce you to some of the other kids. Santa will come, and there will be games after dinner.” He turned to Quin who prepared to follow them. “Want to sit with us, Marty, or do you have other plans?”
Lisa felt Quin’s attention boring into her back, but when she glanced back at him, he shuttered his eyes again. “I thought there was assigned seating.”
“Yeah, but I’m the one who ‘assigned’ the seats, and I can switch it up easy enough.”
Lisa held her breath, unsure if she wanted this man with the penetrating eyes to sit with them or not.
Quin followed Mitch and Lisa’s family to their table, fascinated and repelled at the same time. He liked this woman with the nice eyes, gorgeous curling hair, and knock-out smile. He guessed she was soft and curvy under that heavy coat. But she was way beyond his touch. She was beautiful in a way that nearly bowled him over. When was the last time a woman had affected him like that? She wasn’t a young girl trying to figure out what she wanted. She was a fully-grown woman with experience and history behind her. And a body that wouldn’t shy away from a man who desired her.
Slow yourself down there, bozo.
It was way too soon for him to think along those lines. He was still miles away from getting his shit together. And until he did, he couldn’t risk getting involved with anyone. And getting involved with someone like Lisa would mean getting involved with her sons, too. That was just the way it was. He could tell by looking that she was the protective kind of mom that would always put her boys first. Good for her, and good for them, but bad for Quin.
Why had he told her his name? It had been years since he’d told anyone to call him Quin. Even his ex-wife called him Marty or Martin most of the time. But for some reason, he wanted Lisa to call him by his real name. And then like a bonehead, he’d bungled the first opportunity she gave him to take her hand in his. The only way the moment could have been any more awkward was if he’d ripped open her blouse and buried his head in her breasts. Man, was he in dangerous territory here, wanting something he couldn’t have.
He’d get them to their table then disappear into the background. No point in torturing himself by sitting next to her and breathing in her fresh-baked goodness the whole damn night. He didn’t imagine he could stay at the party very long, camped out next to her pretending everything was super-duper.
His therapist and Mitch both insisted it would be good for Quin to get involved with the Gold Star group, so here he was. But he couldn’t see any good coming from it. Watch all these people honoring and respecting their family members for their service to their country? See them bravely grieve for lost loved ones and faded memories? Help one another set aside their sorrow and move on with their lives? Quin wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to do any of that for himself, let alone help anyone else. He’d seen too much, lost too much, and had too little left to give.
Some days it was all he could do to get out of bed. But that didn’t stop him from craving the normalcy that came to others so easily. Didn’t keep him from wanting to lose himself in a woman’s body.
The banquet room was decked out with evergreens and red and green ribbons and streamers everywhere. People all around them called out to Mitch, welcomed Lisa and her boys warmly, and eyed Quin suspiciously.
Finally, they reached Lisa’s designated table, and he could quit trundling around after her. Placing her remaining packages on a chair, he prepared to fade away. But she started to shrug out of her leather coat, and he felt compelled to help her. To touch her again, just that little bit.
“Thank you, Quin.” She looked at him over her shoulder. Again he felt an overwhelming desire to take off the coat and every stitch she had on under it.
He’d been right about the killer body. Her dark red dress fit her sweet figure without calling too much attention to her. “No problem, ma’am.”
“Now that you know my name, can you dispense with calling me ma’am? That seems more suitable for someone my mother’s age.”
“I’ll try to remember that, ma’am.” He ducked his head, scrambling for something more to say. All the thoughts running through his head seemed wrong, inappropriate, or off the mark, but silence wasn’t serving him very well either.
She looked at him curiously while she picked up the cookie tin and one of her bags. “I’ll be right back. I’ll take my goodies to the food table.”
“I’ll be happy to handle your goodies for you.” Damn, he could feel the tips of his ears turn red. Somewhere along the line he’d gotten out of the habit of casual conversation. “I mean your treats, or snacks, or whatever you’ve got in that bag.”
Her eyes twinkled up at him, and she bit her lip to control a smile that threatened to escape.
Mitch’s appearance with an older couple he wanted Lisa to meet saved Quin from falling all over himself like a big goofball. The couple had their grandson with them who was about Seth’s age, and Lisa was immediately sympathetic and gracious. He took her platter of fudge, bowl of Chex mix, and the damned Santa cookies over to the snack table. Although he did snag one of the cookies and pop it in his mouth. The sweet sugar burst onto his tongue with about th
e same impact she had made when she burst into his life. So delicious and unexpected, he wanted to eat all of the cookies and all of her. But he wasn’t ready for that much sweetness and light.
Off-balance from the sugar high, he headed for the back door and a breath of fresh air. The weather outside was drizzling and cold. The biting December wind cut right through him and his government-issued fatigues.
When he arrived at the party, he realized he’d seriously underdressed for the occasion, He hadn’t been thinking about his social obligations when the daily dose of claustrophobia hit him, and he marched out of his apartment without shaving or changing out of his camo.
He’d been talking to Mallory, his bitchy ex-wife and Chloe, their angel-haired daughter on the phone. The conversation had started out well, but ended horribly. Just the sound of their voices had made him want them so badly, made him want some connection so badly, he had to have a change of scene. But now that he was here, he wasn’t sure he could handle a forced bout of merriment either. The only way it could get worse would be if the mood turned somber and maudlin over their lost loved ones. He knew for a fact that wallowing in the loss didn’t help get over it one bit.
But what the hell? Morose soldiers in fatigues were probably common at Gold Star events. For most Army-types, it was their go-to choice of apparel for any but the most formal of occasions. These days his attire rotated between fatigues, wet-suit, and jeans. Any occasion that required more had to be pretty damned special. When he’d been married, the choices had varied a little more than that, but those days were in the rear-view mirror.
Until now. Lisa looked like just what he needed, but she for sure didn’t need him and his troubles. She already had her hands full, looked like. But she handled her boys with patience and good humor. He’d seen a few clouds in her eyes, but hell, she was here, wasn’t she? With two boys? By herself? He didn’t have to be a genius to realize she’d probably lost her husband in some military fiasco. The way he’d lost his brother Caleb. And lots of others that weighed on him. Yeah, he was in a party mood, all right.
Mitch would probably come looking for him and kick his butt if he didn’t go back inside soon. That was one thing he could say about his support counselor—he was persistent.
Quin had reached for the door when Lisa’s oldest boy stepped out.
“Did Mitch send you to get me?”
“No, Nikki just got here. He’s busy feeling her up in the kitchen.”
Quin bit back a smile. Mitch and Nikki were always going at it when they were together, but they thought no one knew. “In front of everyone?”
“Nah, he thought they were alone. I didn’t want to spoil their moment.”
“He’s entitled to be happy.”
“What does he have to be unhappy about?”
“Everybody’s got something.” He studied the boy, wondering what someone so young had to be unhappy about. Trivial boy crap, the death of his dad, girl problems, bad grade on a test, missed goal in soccer, or something else he was keeping bottled up.
“Not Mitch. He’s got it all. Money, cool job, hot girlfriend, rockin’ Harley. And he’s everybody’s hero.”
Not his place to explain Mitch to this juvenile with a chip on his shoulder. Quin had resented Mitch when he first met him, too. But then he got to know him and realized Mitch had his own problems. Mostly behind him now, but as he kept telling Quin, everybody carried scars. “Yours, too?”
“Nah, my little brother’s got that covered.”
“But you like Mitch’s Harley, huh?”
“Who wouldn’t? Are you in the Good Riders?”
“No.”
“How do you get into a motorcycle gang like that?”
“It’s a club, not a gang. And the best way is for one of the members to nominate you. You can apply for membership, but there’s a board that has to approve you either way.”
“Why don’t you join?”
Why don’t I? All the reasons he used to have no longer applied. But he gave the boy the easy answer. “I’m not much of a joiner. Plus, no bike.”
“Can’t you get one?”
“I could.” He had the money saved up. But owning something like that, belonging to a club, seemed a lot like settling down. Settling in. Making a commitment. He opened the door again. “Let’s get back inside before someone comes looking for you.”
“Like my mom?”
“Yep. She looks like the kind who worries if you’re gone too long.”
“Big time.” The boy veered off toward the restroom. “Tell her I’ll be back in a minute.”
Quin headed to the banquet room. As he entered, Seth was sitting on Santa’s knee and using a hand motion to shoo his mom away. “You can’t hear this, Mom. It’s a secret.”
The boy leaned in to speak into Santa’s ear. Staying in the background, Quin stepped behind the red velvet curtain to listen in. And he got an earful. Holy crap. No way could Santa grant the kid that wish. Or maybe he would. And the thought gave Quin a little pang of jealousy.
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Everybody Knows
An Excerpt
Did you get the picture I sent, India? Doesn’t Sunnyside look like a Norman Rockwell painting? With newer cars, of course.” Harper Simmons had fallen in love with her new hometown the second she’d rolled into it. After pulling into a quaint corner gas station, she’d snapped a shot of the picturesque town square and called her mother to gush.
“Yes, very charming.” India Lawrence’s dry tone expressed more than her words.
Harper’s uber-sophisticated, stylish mother might use the word “charming” as a compliment when referring to vintage clothing or antique furniture. Having her refer to any Midwestern location as “charming” was the verbal equivalent of boring, outdated, and provincial. Sort of like the black-and-white saddle shoes of real estate.
“From the gazebo to the barber’s pole, darling, it looks like everything you ever wanted.”
“And you disapprove.” Harper braced herself against letting her footloose mother’s opinion dampen her own. India might never understand Harper’s desire to put down roots.
“Where’s the Nordstrom? The Sephora? The Starbucks?”
“That’s the whole point.” Fanning herself with her hand, Harper ignored the almost audible frizzing of her hair in the ungodly heat. “Nothing here is like Chicago, New York, LA, or any other place we’ve lived. It’s unique and original with its own personality.”
After confirming that gas was chugging into the tank of the Infiniti hybrid her biological father had gifted her with, she crossed over to an old-fashioned red refrigerator box attached to the side of the building. Lifting the hinged lid, she smiled down at the neat rows of Coca-Cola bottles and inhaled the cold air that blasted out. Two grubby boys rode up on bicycles to make a purchase. She gave them a little wave and stepped aside.
Redirecting her focus to the movie-set perfection of her newly-adopted hometown, she itched to get settled in Sunnyside and be on a first name basis with the locals. Although her library contract with the town only obligated her for two years, she’d soak up the ambience for as long as she could.
“It’s not my style, but I see the appeal,” India admitted. “For you. Just remember, it might turn out to be more Amityville than Stars Hollow.”
“Right.” Harper dropped onto a wooden bench outside an open garage bay. Inside, a pair of denim-covered legs and booted feet stuck out from under the front of a car. Pink impatiens gasped for water in a large planter beside her. “I’m well aware that Sunnyside isn’t the set for a feel-good fictional television series.”
“If you prefer a page from reality, it won’t be like Nana’s hometown of Elbow Creek, Pennsylvania, either.”
Ah, now that was a low blow. Harper rubbed her forehead, fighting off the onslaught of memories and emotions that India’s words conjured. She had adored her grandmother, but spending childhood summers in h
er care had been a bag of mixed blessings. “I had some good times there.”
India sighed. “Just remember how deceptive pretty exteriors can be.”
“Yeah, that lesson has been permanently seared into my brain.” Sometimes even the most beautiful facade had a dark and sinister underbelly.
“Don’t repeat my mistakes.”
Or the ones Harper herself had made. But this was her new beginning. Her fresh start. “I won’t.”
Having hammered home what passed as her motherly advice, India finally acquiesced. “As long as you’re happy, dear, I’m happy for you.”
“I’m optimistic. And I’ll visit you and Fiona as often as I can, wherever you’re headed to next. As long as it’s reasonably close to a modern airport. I’m not putting down at another dusty airstrip in the middle of Pango-Pango to bring you a pair of must-have earrings for the latest cover-girl-on-a-beach photo.” Harper hoped the chuckle turned her words into a tease instead of a warning.
“Your years of running errands for me are over, but I’ll miss having you pop in and out.”
Harper’s heart spasmed with a pang of melancholy. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother and sister and some of the things they loved—like great clothes and fabulous footwear—but she wanted something more. Something of her own. A sense of belonging, which she intended to pursue here in Sunnyside.
“I’ll be the one with the permanent address. You and Fiona should come visit me.” She imagined her stylish mother and head-turning sister feeding the pigeons on a park bench. That would probably result in a full-blown traffic pileup—if such a thing was possible on these quiet streets.
On second thought, maybe a visit by the très chic duo wouldn’t be a good idea. At least, not until she secured her own position in town. No point in inviting negative comparisons.
“We’ll see.” India was frequently hard to pin down. “I’ll be in Milan in August, then Fiona will join me in Paris for September. If you could come for a few days, it’ll be just like old times.”