Once Upon a Holiday

by Burgoa, Claudia

  “Tomorrow I’ll just take a cab to pick up my car—”

  “The one you left running and it’s most likely in need of fuel?”

  She groans, stands up from her seat, and takes the bowl to the sink where she washes it. Totally type A personality. Too orderly and ready to plan every second of her life without even noticing what’s around her—or enjoying what she’s built.

  Once she’s done, she walks toward the fireplace and takes a seat. She pulls her legs toward her body, hugging them and settling her chin on top of her knees.

  Her pout is cute. It’s refreshing to be around a woman who doesn’t care that her curls are all over her face. She’s a natural beauty. Big brown eyes, long eyelashes, and her mouth—I just want to taste those full, heart-shaped lips again.

  What are you thinking, sweetheart?

  “Beckett will take care of your car once the storm is over,” I mention. “You could use my computer to order furniture.”

  “I can’t spend money on new furniture,” she responds, her gaze on the fire.

  “It’s on me,” I offer. “After you leave, I can increase the rent and make it an executive home.”

  “Am I expected to rent it for the entire year?”

  “That’s what the contract says,” I remind her because maybe she can come back and we can have another weekend together. “Look, I’m giving you a hand by buying the furniture. I’ll have my lawyer draw an amendment to it.”

  “Thank you for letting me stay here and I’ll take the furniture too.” She laughs. “This isn’t part of my thirty-day plan.”

  “Thirty days?” I ask and take a seat close to her. “What’s in this plan?”

  She shrugs. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “Or I might help you. This season isn’t my favorite. I could use a distraction.”

  “It’s on my iPad but it includes things like relaxing, learn calligraphy, pay it forward for an entire day, learn more about my family history—”

  “Like genealogy?”

  “Yep, Mom says her great-grandmother was Native American, but she doesn’t have any proof and then Dad’s grandmother had some Irish and Spanish roots. It’d be cool to learn more about them. Take a solo trip, for pleasure. I’m always traveling for work. Though, it’s something I’d have to hide from my family. I might just go up to the mountains. It’ll be short and just me, you know. Everything I’m doing is top secret.”

  “Why?”

  June explains to me she’s the baby of the family. Three older brothers and a twin sister who was born five minutes before her. She talks lovingly about her parents. How her father retired a few years back. Since then, her parents travel all year long except for the holidays. She has two nieces—also twins—and her brother Jason and his wife are expecting a baby.

  As she speaks of them, I can feel the love for her family just as I feel the melancholy of what her siblings have, and she doesn’t. A family. It can get lonely for some, and more during this time of the year.

  Go home and be with them, I want to say.

  I also want her to stay with me for the entire month. We could keep each other company and then there’s the question of why I even want that when I really don’t give two fucks about having someone—except, I care for her.

  This isn’t what she wants, and I can’t offer her more. I can’t even fake I would be there for the long run. A month is enough for me but what about her?

  Art is all that matters, I remind myself.

  I stand up and look down at her. “You’re welcome to stay for as long as the storm lasts. The computer is in my office. You can start looking at furniture. We can try to buy a few pieces online and the rest we’ll go and purchase once we can go out.”

  “Thank you,” she says. “For listening.”

  “Make yourself at home.” I march to my home-studio, I need to work.

  Sterling

  I spend all day in my studio working on a few drawings—of June. Then, at dinnertime I come out and find her cooking. There’s never been anyone else cooking for me, let alone a goddess like her.

  She’s wearing just the T-shirt I gave her. I stare at her long legs and imagine them wrapped around my head as I pound my dick inside her.

  Dude, change your train of thought or you’re going to lose her before you have her.

  I try to push down the urge but how can I when she’s so fucking beautiful. Her hair is tied into a messy do. Some strands hang around her neck. For one hot second I wish for this to be my life. The next I just want to bend her over the counter and fuck her hard.

  “Hey, I hope you don’t mind,” she says, not taking her eyes away from the cutting board.

  How does she know I’m here? I watch her cutting the vegetables meticulously. She has two pots on the stove and a big pan. There’s a large plastic bowl right next to the cutting board she’s using, and I’m intrigued about what she’s cooking.

  “You know how to use the knife,” I say, impressed by her skills.

  She shrugs. “I took a cooking class or two in San Francisco. Cooking for one and impress your date.”

  “Did you impress anyone?”

  She laughs. “I’m kidding. Mom taught me how to cook. She taught the five of us.”

  “You guys are close?”

  “We were closer.”

  And while she continues cooking, she tells me more about her family. How even when she had Jeannette, she always tried to play with the boys. “Sometimes, they would play tea with us. Other times we played football with them or whatever sport they were practicing. Even hockey.”

  She finishes dicing the onions and pours oil into the pan. “I hope fajitas is okay with you. I debated between that and stir-fry. I decided that eating Mexican food would help us forget the storm at least for a little while.”

  “Do you like Mexican food?”

  “I love food,” she responds. “I’m better at eating than cooking.”

  “Once the storm lets out, I’ll take you to Ene’s, it’s one of the best Mexican restaurants in town,” I announce.

  She turns to look at me and her eyes focus on my cheek. She takes the dishtowel, wets it, and cleans my face. “Were you working?”

  I nod.

  “I like your paintings better than your sculptures.”

  “So, you know who I am?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve seen some of your stuff and just googled you while you were working. I had no idea who you were before we … were together, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  I nod, not sure how to explain how bad it can get when I sleep with one of my fans, even more when they have ulterior motives. “Can I help you with anything?”

  “Why don’t you change while I finish? I have the feeling that you don’t do this often.”

  I’m about to tell her that I cook often but my phone rings. It’s Beckett.

  “What’s happening?” I answer right away.

  “I ran a thorough background check,” Beck states.

  “Of course you did,” I groan and walk away from the kitchen. When I take a look at my clothes, I decide to take a shower. I’m black from the charcoal I used earlier. “Just so you know, she’s not some crazed groupie wanting to steal my underwear or wanting to have my babies.”

  “Her family is well off, she owns—”

  “Let me stop you there, big guy, I know about her PR company.”

  “That she’s selling it?”

  I open my mouth and close it intrigued by this piece of information. What are you up to, Juniper Spearman?

  People intrigue me. Their behavior holds my attention much longer than a good thriller. June is as complicated as my brother Wes. The guy who likes to plan every step of his life but when he fucks up it’s beautiful to see him behave—like the rest of us.

  How much of herself is she hiding?

  “Do you need anything?”

  “Nope,” I answer automatically. “You and your guys should enjoy your day off.”
/>   “I went home, but Clark is in the apartment, in case you need him.”

  I own the penthouse and the floor below that has two apartments. One of them has my security system while the other houses my security team.

  “Okay,” I say before hanging up.

  When I arrive at my room, the bed is made and the flowers I made her are on top of the nightstand. I’m not sure how we’re going to sleep tonight. There’s a guest room but I want her to stay in my bed and how is it possible that the thought doesn’t scare me?

  In fact, I think I have at least a couple of aces under my sleeve to make her stay with me for a little longer. If the storm continues during the weekend, we won’t be able to order her furniture until Monday, maybe Tuesday.

  I can invite her to Steamboat afterward. It’s just what she needs, a trip. It’s not by herself, but if I can just figure out what that list is about, I can try to stay close enough to help her—and to enjoy her.

  After I clean up, I head back in the kitchen where I find her setting the table.

  “It’s still snowing,” she complains, setting down a bowl with refried beans. I look toward the window, lift a shoulder, and walk to the kitchen. “It’s lovely in here but I feel trapped. I’m not sure if I could adjust to this weather.”

  Now, if she asked me how I’d like to spend my blizzard days I’d answer, with you in high heels, a lacy bra, and nothing else. First, I’d take her against the wall or on top of my desk with her legs spread. I could eat her right here in the kitchen.

  “Everything okay?” she asks.

  I lick my lips and nod.

  Nope, I have cabin fever and a hot woman in my house.

  “The storm will stop soon, the snow melts fast and in a couple of days it’ll be sunny.” I open the cabinet where I store the tequila and show it to her. “Do you want some?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m abstaining.”

  “Is that part of your thirty-day project?” I ask, pouring myself a shot.

  “No, it’s the yearlong project that comes right after.”

  “Are you looking for the meaning of life?” I ask, helping her set up the table.

  “No, just doing or learning things that I might not have time to do later,” she responds, deflating a little. “Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

  “Nah, I think everyone should take the time to find themselves. Some do it before they become adults, others take the step at a later age. There’s no judgment. Actually, I think it’s brave to step out of your comfort zone and change your present. So, any insight on what else is on that list?”

  “Thank you, I guess. Get inked, learn to snowboard, binge watch shows I’ve never watched before, find that friend that will stick with me, date someone who’s not my type, write about the good things in life, find those things first.” She tosses her head back and laughs hard.

  “Let’s go to Steamboat this week,” I offer.

  She bites her lip. “I have a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday. Maybe afterward?”

  I tense, my heart speeds up with fear. I ask, “Are you okay?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you’re working on a bucket list and going to the doctor. I don’t want to assume but, are you sick?”

  “I’m fine. It’s something else,” she whispers. “It’s a long story and I don’t feel comfortable sharing it with you.”

  “Fair enough but if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here,” I offer. “I guess, what I want to say is can I help you with the list?”

  “Why?”

  “Feels like something I can do and why not have that memory.”

  “Okay,” she agrees, and I can hear the uncertainty.

  “Are you up for the adventure of a lifetime?”

  She smiles and nods. June looks so sure of herself, and for the first time, I feel like I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. Seriously, what the fuck am I doing?

  June

  Cooking is fun, though, I’m also an expert on takeout. I serve a mean pizza on paper napkins or pad Thai when I work late hours. The taco truck that parks across the street from my office feeds me most mornings with breakfast burritos or afternoons with an order of tacos or just nachos.

  Still, the few times I have enough time, I try to prepare my food and next year I have to learn how to be more conscious about what I eat. To start making it a habit, and after stalking Sterling on Google, I decide to spend some time in his gorgeous kitchen. It shocks me that it’s not just equipped with state-of-the-art appliances. There’s real food everywhere.

  What’s more surprising is having a man padding barefoot around the kitchen helping me set the table. It’s been a long time since I shared a meal with a guy.

  Not any guy though, Sterling Ahern. Who, by the way, isn’t old or ugly either. He stands close to me, with wet rumpled waves falling partially over his forehead. He’s handsome and so sure about himself.

  Something about his offer has me thinking about the list.

  What is it that I want to accomplish?

  Then, there’s the doctor’s appointment. I haven’t had my period yet so what if the doctor says I’m not ready?

  “Do you think the snow will clear up by Monday?”

  “Sure, it’s been going on for two days and from here it looks like it’s tapering off. If the sun comes out tomorrow, the snow should melt fast and the streets will be almost clear by Monday. Why?”

  I glance at the big window and wonder what almost clear means.

  “I have to go to the lab first thing in the morning for some blood work, to prepare for Tuesday’s appointment. Then, I have to do some shopping—and well, the furniture.”

  He nods, pulls out his phone, and taps it a few times.

  “One of the guys will drive you,” he announces.

  “Babysitters,” I say with a hint of mockery.

  “Bodyguards,” he growls but I can see a smile playing on his lips. “It’s not by choice in case you’re wondering.”

  Not by choice? I’ve worked with athletes and celebrities and not many of them have a security team. What makes him need one?

  While we finish setting the table, I keep wondering what is real and what is fake about the artist he shows to the world. When we sit down to eat, I fire my next question. Hopefully, it’s the right one, because he seems like the person who doesn’t like to talk much about who he really is.

  “How often do you entertain?”

  He smiles and takes a forkful of the Spanish rice I made, chews, and takes a sip of water to wash it down. “This is good.”

  “Thank you, I like rice a lot so don’t be surprised if I make a bowl or Greek food tomorrow.” I try the rice and he’s right. I outdid myself this time. Maybe it was the fact that I had some extra time to prepare it. It never comes out like this. It’s usually overcooked.

  “What makes you think I entertain often?” He gives me a dazzling grin. That grin that captivates me and reminds me how good we were together.

  A flush climbs up to my hairline as I think about the last time we kissed. The third time we fucked. I stare at his muscled arms trying not to think about the muscles he packs beneath the T-shirt and worn jeans.

  Not the best memory to replay as we’re trapped in his house for another couple of days. I go back to our current conversation. The best I can do until I can at least check into a hotel is keep things friendly. “The fridge and the pantry are well-stocked. Anyone would think you have a family living here—or at least a roommate.”

  He prepares himself a taco, and it drives me crazy that he’s ignoring me or at least the question.

  “So, how often do you invite women to have … dinner with you?”

  He regards me with narrowed eyes.

  I’m instantly remorseful about my words. “I didn’t mean it to sound judgmental.”

  “I live alone. That’s the way I like it. If you’re speaking about the guy you googled, I’m not him, but I accept that I had a misspent youth.” He exhales loudly. “I
t’s a long time ago. I don’t eat out often. Unless you count the events that I have to attend. We have plenty of food because my bodyguards stick around often.”

  I take a bite of my taco and after I chew and swallow, I say, “Sounds lonely.”

  He looks at me and appears to consider what I said before he speaks, “It’s not.”

  Sterling drinks some of the tequila. Not like a shot but as if he’s drinking bourbon. He leans back and watches me speculatively. I can’t help staring at him and for a second, I want to be the person who can convince him that having someone by his side is actually better than how he lives.

  “I like my solitude,” he speaks. “People are welcome to visit and stay for a while but never to stick around.”

  “So, no significant other,” I conclude.

  He snorts. “No, I don’t get attached to anyone or anything.”

  I tilt my head toward the bed and all the paraphernalia he has for his dog, “How about your dog?”

  “I foster dogs,” he answers annoyed. Clearly, he’s not used to being the center of attention and to have someone intruding with so many questions. “I don’t have time for a permanent pet, a woman, and not even my family. I’m almost forty and honestly, I like the way I live.”

  The tone he uses when he speaks makes me wonder if he’s trying to convince himself that his life is good or doubting what he’s done so far. Maybe it’s me. I’m trying to read between the lines because from where I stand, he’s a catch.

  Wouldn’t it be amazing to have him in my life?

  But it’s obvious that we don’t fit. It’s not like I want him to fall madly in love with me and propose but … He seems like the kind of guy who cares about others. He reminds me of Dad and my brothers. They’d take off a coat for a stranger and give their lives for their loved ones.

  “So, you don’t plan on ever getting married and having children,” I conclude.

  “I don’t believe in marriage or having spawns. It’s not for me. I’m selfish and to have children you need discipline. Same for a wife. My work consumes every second of my life.”