Single Dad's Kissmas

by Mika West

  “You know, I spent a year in this town in high school,” he said, avoiding the question. Or was he fishing?

  I looked at my hands, then at the ring. The champagne had made me less nervous. Bolder. Fuck it, I thought.

  “I know,” I said, exhaling a sharp breath and waited for his reaction.

  He merely looked at me with an unreadable stare.

  “You probably don’t remember, or me for that matter, why would you? But you went to my school for a year. That’s how I knew how old you were,” I continued, unable to rein in my tongue.

  “Of course I remember you,” he said.

  I stopped looking at my hands and stared up at him in disbelief. His deep gray eyes met mine; his expression serious, and I realized how close we were sitting. His face was a mere foot from mine. My heart fluttered, I looked back down at my hands. Of course, he’d said.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked. “That first day at the office, you just left. You didn’t let on that you knew me. Didn’t say anything to me about it.”

  “Well, for starters, I thought you didn’t remember me either. And after what you’d said in school, I didn’t especially want you to.”

  I looked back at him again, confused.

  “What?”

  The warmth that had been in his eyes had momentarily died out.

  I couldn’t understand what he meant. I’d never said anything to him in school. Never had the guts. We’d never exchanged a word, and all these years later I’d regretted not overcoming my shyness. All those days in the library I’d kept quiet, followed the “rules”. At most I’d say clipped, one-word responses to Nicole while she talked on and on about the school paper and the other girls in the club.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked again.

  “Never mind,” he shook his head. “It was a long time ago. We’re different people now.”

  He looked out at the rosebushes, as mysterious as ever. The chill was starting to settle into my bones; through his jacket, yet he showed no signs of the cold at all.

  I thought about his words for a moment. “That’s impossible,” I blurted, unable to let it go. “You didn’t even notice me in high school. No one did.”

  “That’s not true.”

  My head reeled. “Why did you move?” I asked, changing the subject. I couldn’t think straight.

  “We had to. My Dad got… sick. So I moved to my aunt’s in Boston.”

  All of the pieces were starting to come together. Tommy rose from the bench, and I followed him to the railing, he was looking out at the garden, his hard profile like a marble statue.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” I said. “I just lost my Dad last year; it’s such a hard thing to overcome.”

  “I’m sorry about your Dad too,” he said earnestly.

  “Honestly, my sister took it way harder. That’s been the worst part, the pieces of the people he left behind. Having to keep them glued together when you’re falling apart as well.”

  He surprised me by taking my hand and squeezed it. Then thought better of the gesture and let go.

  He forced a cough. “You’re good for looking after her.”

  “I try.” Trying to lighten the mood, I added, “I think with this hefty Christmas bonus you’ve promised me that it’ll really help. I’ve been saving up to get her a car for Christmas.”

  “A car? That’s quite the generous gift!”

  I shrugged. “It’ll be worth it to see the look on her face. It’s only my neighbors’ old junker. It’s been for sale forever. Dad paid for half of it before… well, before. They were supposed to work on it together. Like he did with me.”

  He smiled. “You call your car ‘put together’?”

  I punched his arm. “I admit I’ve been neglecting her. Didn’t have the heart to work on it without him. And couldn’t bear taking it to a garage for someone else to work on either.”

  Our eyes met, and his smile faded into something more serious. That same look from before, the one like he was about to say something important, returned. He leaned closer.

  “Thank you again for coming tonight,” he said.

  He leaned closer still, and my heart began to race.

  I put my hand on his arm, bracing myself, not sure if I was reading the signals right. My stomach flipped in knots, my nostrils filled with his scent, I felt almost like I had a rush of adrenaline: the gazelle waiting to be caught by the lion.

  His lips met mine, and suddenly, I understood every cliché about fireworks and shooting stars.

  A hot current ran from my lips, down my arms and into my hands, all the way to the tips of my fingers. He placed one hand on the small of my back, it was cold, but I didn’t care. His other hand found my cheek, his fingers slipping into my hair.

  My chest swelled, and I stood on tiptoes to meet his lips. Heat radiated from him and filled my half-numb extremities. My whole body felt as if it were shaking, but he held me steady. Though he couldn’t stop the goose bumps that appeared over every inch of my skin as he brushed the hair away from my cheek.

  My back was against one of the columns, and when he stepped away, I fell a few inches from where he’d been holding me. His fingers trailed from my cheek down the neckline of the dress. I felt drunk again. His forehead pressed against mine, he smiled and exhaled, his breath crystallizing in the cold air.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time,” he said.

  We both sighed, my hand clutching his arm. I let out a giggle, the champagne and relief of all the tension bubbling out of me all at once.

  Before I knew it, he was kissing me again, and I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing onto him too. Delving in for another taste of the man I’d dreamed about for countless years.

  All sense of cold I’d felt before evaporated. The noise from the party quieted, it was like someone had turned the volume down. My whole world focused in on him and him alone. Where his hands were placed, stoking my body; how his tongue explored my mouth, tasting me. There was only him.

  Blood roared in my ears, my heartbeat thudded, and finally, I had to come up for air. We parted, breathless. My limbs were weak and simultaneously buzzed all over.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for a long while too,” I said gazing up at him.

  A devilish smile crossed his face, and he began to lean in again. I shook my head and placed a hand on his sculpted chest. His expression turned broody, thoughtful, trying to figure out why I’d stopped him from starting round three. Kissing him and more was high up there on the list of things I wanted to do, but somehow I managed to keep hold of my senses.

  “The things I could do to you right now,” he whispered. His hand skirted over the soft fabric of my dress, around and up my thigh towards my ass. He took hold of my cheek and squeezed.

  “We can’t,” I whispered back. “Not here.”

  “We can. No one will care. We’re engaged after all…”

  “We should go back inside, meet your Mr. Barnaby.”

  “Oh, we will. Just not yet. I’m not finished.”

  My mouth dropped open as he quickly lifted my dress, the gathered fabric hooked over his arm. He pinned me against the rail and with his fingers sought the smooth flesh of my thigh.

  “I want you, Shae.”

  “Oh god,” I breathed as he made his way higher up my leg.

  “I’ll stop. You just have to say the word.”

  He was giving me an out, but I surely did not need nor want it. Having him touch me, like this, in the open air, while we were surrounded by guests at a renowned party was pure madness.

  The “word” would not come though. I did not want him to stop.

  I bit my lip and closed my eyes, shuddering slightly as his digit made contact with me. Tommy stroked his finger over the best pair of knickers I owed, silky and naughty. I moaned as the pressure increased, his touch becoming eager and impetuous.

  “I want all of you,” he moaned back, leaning in to kiss my neck.


  My eyes sprang open as he pushed my knickers aside, his long hard finger delving into my wet seam.

  My breath ran ragged, and I held onto him out of fear that my legs would give in as he swirled his way inside. With long, deep thrusts he entered me. And with each jerk of his arm, penetrating me with his fingers, I moaned a little louder. Upon each one, I found it difficult to keep quiet, especially when his thumb tapped onto my clit.

  Realizing the sounds I was making was becoming an issue, Tommy claimed my mouth and silenced me with his tongue.

  Unrelenting, he speared me over and over with his fingers until I was a quivering wreck. Until I had to beg him to stop.

  “Not yet,” he replied, a grin on his face.

  He put up a free finger to his lips urging me to be quiet then ducked down from sight. My dress cascaded over him, hiding him from relative sight… and then. Oh God…

  His mouth was on me. Kissing me. His lips pursed, kissing my nub, then sucking. Oh God, the sucking. He lapped me up and made my head spin. Without him there to hold onto I had to brace myself against the railing. My hands were holding on tight to the wood as his tongue parted me open and filled the same place where his fingers had been only moments before.

  “I’m coming,” I cried weakly. Everything inside me was tightening, climbing, ready to unspool and fall into the abyss. I wanted to hold onto this moment forever, experience it over and over again, but soon it became too much.

  My eyelids slammed shut, and I held my breath, then in one swift moment, everything ignited.

  Colors danced behind my lids.

  My clit pulsed wildly.

  And I screamed out into the night.

  “That was… incredible,” I breathed as I readjusted my dress.

  “I’ll need my jacket back,” Tommy said with a devilish glint in his eye, “If we’re going to meet Mr. Barnaby.”

  I shrugged off his jacket and handed it over, a little perplexed and embarrassed. Was that all he was going to say after what we’d just done? I brushed the confusion from my mind, sweeping it under the carpet to deal with later. It was like spending an evening with two different people. I just couldn’t figure him out.

  My body stiffened with the onset of the cold, but I straightened my back and steeled myself for my acting debut. Do it for Liv, I said to myself.

  “Come on, let’s go.” He took my hand, and we walked briskly back toward the sounds of the party. I trailed a step or two behind, clumsily trying to keep up on weak legs, wondering what on Earth I would say to convince Douglas Barnaby that I was happily engaged to Captain of Mixed Signals.

  Chapter 9

  Inside, people were still milling about and socializing. I could no longer see the actress I’d spotted before; perhaps she’d only been there to make an appearance and left after having done her duty. Maybe I should follow in her footsteps, I thought. Leave as soon as we’d met with Mr. Barnaby, and I’d done what I was brought here for.

  I followed Tommy past important looking men and their stunning, often much younger, dates. We passed more waiters with champagne, and I snagged another glass, knowing I’d need it for what was about to come and especially after what Tommy had done to me in the garden. It was almost surreal like it never even happened. A cold night’s dream that would soon fade once touched with the morning light.

  Tommy seemed to have already forgotten it. He was all business now.

  At the opposite end of the hall was a large circle of older men dressed in black tuxedos. I knew Douglas Barnaby’s face from billboards and town adverts. He was standing in the prime position, all focus on him, surrounded by the others. Though it wasn’t hard to miss him. He stood out from the sea of black; wearing an all-white suit with a black bowtie, his large belly was rumbling with a deep hearty laugh we could hear above the piano and other conversations.

  Tommy approached the circle and waited patiently for a gap. While we were waiting, someone touched my elbow, and I spun around in surprise.

  I was shocked to see Matilda, one of the bookshop’s most frequent customers. She was an older woman, in her late 80s at least, but still sharp as a tack. She spent most of her days perusing the aisles of books and reading to children on Sundays. I always looked forward to seeing her face in the shop and to her stories. I’d sit with the children and their parents and listen rapturously along with them to the scratchy sounds of the sweet woman’s voice.

  “Shae? Is that you? It can’t be…” she asked.

  Maybe it was the booze, or the frustration at the mixed signals from Tommy, or the fact that Matilda’s stories were my only solace after Dad passed, but seeing my old acquaintance almost caused me to cry.

  I squealed and wrapped my arms around the delicate woman’s skinny frame. Matilda laughed and squeezed me back. When I released her, Tommy was staring at me in unconcealed horror. But I paid him no mind.

  Oh, how I’d missed her. Matilda was practically the only person I found I could talk truthfully to about Dad and my feelings. When you’re sad, people treat you like you have some sort of deadly disease, like it’s catching if they get too close. That the sadness would seep into them the longer they stayed around you. They get impatient for you to be “better.” Matilda, on the other hand, didn’t treat me like I was contagious. She would listen quietly and then tell me some profound piece of wisdom in her thick, syrupy voice, or even better stayed quiet and held me when the tears inevitably came.

  “Do you two know each other?” Tommy asked, still shocked and mildly horrified.

  “Yes, of course, Ms. Matilda was my favorite customer at the bookshop I used to work at. What are you doing here?” I said and turned my attention back to my friend.

  The informality of seeing Matilda juxtaposed with the strict, primness I’d been observing all evening struck me as somewhat funny.

  She laughed again, kindly. “Oh, my dear. The secret is out I suppose. I wasn’t a customer.” She gave my arm a good-natured squeeze. “I own the bookshop.”

  “Shae,” Tommy said, with gravity, “This is Matilda Barnaby.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  “I’m Dougie’s mother!” she exclaimed.

  I stared at Tommy then at Matilda, utterly confused.

  “And who is this handsome fella, Shae?” she asked.

  My heart was overwhelmed with seeing Matilda. She was like a warm bed at the end of a long and tiring day. She was like a grandmother’s hug, or a cup of tea, or a ray of sunshine. It was awfully tricky of her never telling me her last name, but thinking back it did make sense why she spent so much time there. But I couldn’t tell her who Tommy was without blowing the whole fabricated act I’d been brought along to promote. I couldn’t lie to Matilda. Instead, I was rendered speechless.

  Tommy stepped in, his chest puffed with importance, “I’m her fiancé,” he declared.

  A wash of guilt overwhelmed me.

  Matilda’s hands flew to her face. She extended an arm and grabbed my hand with aged fingers, her smile escaping from beneath her other hand still clamped to her mouth. Her eyes sparkled brightly. I wanted to back away and tell her that it was a big misunderstanding, regardless of how I felt for Tommy.

  “Oh, my dear, that is such wonderful news! Congratulations! Here, I’ll introduce you to my Dougie. He always enjoys a good love story.”

  Still in shock she dragged me by the hand (with surprising strength for such an old woman) to meet her son. Before we had stopped short in front of the group, but she plowed right through, the men around Douglas Barnaby parted ways, no doubt familiar with Matilda’s temper (it matched her sweetness in intensity).

  “Dougie dear, this young woman,” she said, thrusting me in front of the man, “is the reason your dear old mother has kept her youthful glow all these years. Shae, this is my son, Douglas.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barnaby.”

  “Thank you for not calling me Dougie,” he said with a laugh. I returned his easy smile.

  Matilda was almos
t jumping with excitement. “And this young man is her fiancé! Sorry, what was your name, dear?”

  “Thomas Carver, sir,” said Tommy, extending his hand to meet Mr. Barnaby’s.

  The men behind us were watching with exasperated expressions, no doubt feeling jealous of the young lawyer who’d jumped to the front of the line—so to speak—to meet the most prestigious man at the event. Chances were, more than half the people here had come not for charity, but for the sole purpose of impressing Douglas Barnaby and getting on his good side.

  “Carver? Ah, like Lawrence and Carver? The firm? If I’m not mistaken you’re in the running to man our legal division next year, is that right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ve made quite a name for yourself, young man, I’ll give you that. And you seem to have found quite the woman while you were at it. She’s certainly made an impact on my mother.” He smiled fondly at me. It felt nice to have someone tell Tommy he was lucky to be with me rather than the other way around.

  “That’s very important, you know. Taking time for yourself and the ones you love. We get so caught up in business, business, business, that it’s easy to forget what’s important,” Mr. Barnaby continued.

  “Oh now you’ve got him started,” his mother interjected, nudging me and smiling. “He won’t shut up now.”

  “Well, it’s true! There’s no personal touch anymore. No more informal coffee chats at bookshops or at a ball game. I miss those days. Instead it’s all clinical, business done in soulless boardrooms. It’s not good, I tell you. Not good for the soul. You’ll do well to take a cue from your bride-to-be. It’s about community. That’s where it starts.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, sir,” Tommy said and nodded.

  “Good, good!” said Mr. Barnaby, patting Tommy heftily on the back. “See Mother, this young man agrees with me.”

  Matilda smiled and rolled her eyes.

  “We must get together and discuss this further, Thomas. I would love to hear your thoughts. I’m leaving town tomorrow for a business meeting, but I’ll be back on Thursday, let’s set up a time to meet. We can even go over some business if it takes our fancy. But for now, we’re at a party! So let’s celebrate young love!” He raised his glass, and the circle of men watching us did the same.