by Tracy Brogan
I hated it when he called me kiddo. It was so patronizing. I was twenty-nine years old and an assistant buyer. I wasn’t his kiddo. I was no one’s kiddo. It was time for them, all of them, especially Blake, to stop treating me like my time and energy were insignificant. I was not an endless resource just there for the Haskell clan to use up at will.
“No.” The word came out softly, as if all he’d asked was do you want fries with that? But it clanged inside my brain like the opening bell. I wasn’t going to do this project. No matter how he tried to spin it or what it meant for my career. I didn’t care if Haskell’s became the largest Christmas store in the universe. At the moment, I didn’t even care if it was Haskell’s Holiday Haven that got carried away by the mudslide. I was done. Just so very done with each and every one of them.
“No?” Surprise took Nick Haskell’s voice an octave higher.
“I can’t work right now, Nick. I’m taking care of my grandmother. She needs me.”
“But this is big business, honey. Haskell’s needs you, too. I need you.”
He needed me because everyone else had been smart enough to say no and all of his relatives were already on vacation. In fact I bet he was just working his way down the list of possible schmucks willing to take on a huge job that had a massive potential for failure. And right before Christmas, too, which was already the busiest time of our year. I couldn’t believe Blake suggested his father call me. Me, when I was already missing out on Hawaii! But then again, that was classic Blake. Tell Kelsey to do it. That’s what she’s there for.
No, I wasn’t going to do it. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’ve got family obligations.”
But Nick Haskell had not grown that company from the ground up by taking no for an answer. “You could probably do most of it from your computer at home, if you tried.”
Now he was just getting pushy, and I was losing my cool. “Yes, I probably could handle the project from my laptop, but I don’t want to. Just because I didn’t go to Hawaii does not mean I’m available, so I respectfully decline. If this project is so important, maybe you could cancel your vacation.”
My terse response seemed to really throw him off his game. He sputtered and paused for a second, as if waiting for me to backtrack and offer my services. “Are you sure you can’t do this? I’ll throw in an extra day of vacation for you next summer.”
I nearly chuckled then. All things considered, I could only hope to be long gone from Haskell’s by next summer. It was time to find a new job. “Thanks, Nick, but no. I have to go now. Good-bye.”
I pushed my thumb against the disconnect button like I was squashing a bug. It felt good. For a second.
“Everything all right?” Drew asked from where he stood in the kitchen. He’d apparently opened a bottle of wine while I was on the phone putting nails into the coffin of my employment. I felt a teensy bit nauseous at what I’d just done. I’d never said no to Nick Haskell before because it had never occurred to me that I could. But apparently I could. And I did. And it felt pretty damn good. In a scary, empowering, terrifying way. The Rocky theme song started playing inside my head. Followed by a little more nausea. And a wave of dizziness. What had I just done?
“Kelsey?”
I looked up at Drew, trying to gain some equilibrium back. “Yes, everything is fine. I just refused an assignment and hung up on the president of my company, but . . . is that wine I see over there?” Suddenly I needed a drink.
“It is. I opened white but I have red.”
“White is great.” I walked over to the kitchen while Drew filled the glasses to the halfway mark. Enough to make me relax, but not so much to get me drunk. He was a gentleman. Except that I was going to want the whole bottle for sure.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked as he handed me one of the glasses.
I sighed. “I’m tired of my job. It’s a tedious, unfulfilling vortex filled with nothing but tinsel, and it’s making me hate Christmas.”
His forehead creased in exaggerated dismay. “Hate Christmas? That’s no good. Do you think a picnic on the floor will make you feel better?”
A slight giggle escaped me. Possibly from hysteria. Whatever. “It might.”
I watched, sipping my wine, as he crossed the room and moved the coffee table to the side. Then he spread a dark green fleece blanket on the floor, dimmed some of the lights, and turned on the gas fireplace. Dinner and drinks on a blanket next to a roaring fireplace? Oh, no. That wasn’t romantic at all. Said no one ever.
He came back over to the kitchen and picked up his wine and a wicker picnic basket sitting on the counter. He tilted his head, once, twice. “Care to join me over yonder?”
“Yes, please.”
We sat on the blanket with our backs against the couch and our wineglasses resting on the hearth as Drew unloaded the food. “There’s some good chow in here from Jasper’s,” he said. “Although I believe Fontaine referred to this as a basket full of scrumptious delicacies sure to whet the appetite for . . . well, I’m not going tell you everything he said. You know Fontaine. Use your imagination.”
I was using my imagination. Just like I had last night and several times throughout today. And in my mind we were already halfway to naked. I liked Drew Hampton. I liked him a lot. I’d had more fun with him in the last few hours than I’d ever had with Blake. Blake was a putz.
“I told you I had a boyfriend, right?” I said.
Drew’s hand paused over the basket and he didn’t look at me. “Yeah. You did.”
“I’m going to break up with him.”
Now he looked at me, intrigued but unsmiling. “When?”
There were a lot of questions implied in that simple word. When. When can I kiss you? When can we start this? What exactly are we doing here?
“As soon as he gets back from Hawaii.” I wasn’t certain until that very moment. Now I was. Blake and I were finished.
Drew stared at me for moment longer, his gold-flecked hazel eyes drawing me in like magnets. My heart sped up as time slowed down, and I noticed everything in that instant. The shape of his jaw, the flip of his hair over his ears, the deep hollow at the base of his throat. And, finally, a tiny quirk to one corner of his mouth as he nearly smiled but didn’t give in to it.
“Good,” he said. “Then I shouldn’t get into trouble for doing this.” He cupped my face with both hands and traced one thumb over my bottom lip, a soft, slow motion as he stared at my mouth for an eternity. And then, at last, he leaned in and kissed me. Warm, delicious perfection. Pressure and insistence in just the right measure. I’d told Drew he’d been my first real kiss at fourteen. Now I realized I hadn’t truly had my first real kiss, because this was it. I felt it from my lips all the way down to my toes and past every detour in between.
I wound my hand around the back of his neck, needing him closer, and closer still. I hadn’t underestimated just how soft that hair of his was, but I had, remarkably, underestimated my body’s instantaneous reaction to his touch. It was electric. I gave myself up to the moment. I’d earned it, this indulgence. Because I was on vacation, and Drew Hampton just might have superpowers after all.
Arms tangling, heads tilting, pressure building. The kiss ended far too soon, but we stayed close, forehead to forehead. Breathy. Sizzling. Anticipating.
“I’ve waited a very long time for a chance to do that again,” he said, his breath a caress against my cheek.
I tugged off my scarf in a hasty motion. “In that case, we should make up for lost time,” I said. And then I kissed him again. And again, and again.
The picnic basket got pushed to the side, the food forgotten. Drew trailed kisses down my now-exposed neck and pulled me over his lap so my thighs were on either side of him. The move startled me, but I welcomed it and settled myself against him. There was no point in playing shy, in playing coy. I wanted him, and he was mine for the asking. And I was his for the taking. I worked the buttons of his shirt until I could slide it off his arms. No superhero emblem
on his chest. Just real man. Just smooth, warm skin spanning broad, taut muscle. Just Drew.
He made a sound deep in his throat, half laughter, half groan, all enticing as he pulled at my sweater. Up and over my head it went, and then I was there in my lacy bra feeling far less modest than I ought. Another heated kiss, another quiet gasp, another breathy moan. Garment after garment found its way onto the growing pile near the fireplace, until at last it was just us, the blanket, and the glorious thrill of anticipation.
“Now that’s a heavenly body,” he murmured, his gaze traveling over me along with his hands. I luxuriated and stretched, shivered and sighed as he explored me with his fingers and his mouth. So much wonder. So much yes. I took my turns, too, doing my own exploring and tasting and kissing, until at last we could wait no longer and engaged in some celestial motion of our own.
Best two hundred bucks I ever spent.
Drew
I smiled stupidly up at the ceiling because the effort to turn my head was beyond my current ability. The only thing moving was my heart, and that was about to collapse as well. Nothing is better than sex, but those few minutes right afterward come in at a close second. That span of time when you feel as if your joints have all disconnected and the bits of your body are just sort of floating in space. Then, eventually, your various parts begin to reassemble like Iron Man’s suit and your brain starts thinking, “Damn. I’d like to do that again.” It’s the sweet spot, and I was in it. Way in it, because I hadn’t just had sex. I’d had great sex, and I’d had great sex with Kelsey Parker. It was everything I’d hoped it would be. Magnificent and fun and lusty and sweet. It’s a good thing my mouth wasn’t working at the moment or I might say something unretractably regrettable. Like I love you, Kelsey Parker.
I didn’t love her. Of course I didn’t. I couldn’t. I hardly knew her. All I really knew was the stuff I remembered from high school. And the stuff I’d learned during the time at Jasper’s Pub. And the stuff from tonight. The wonderful, heady, fantastic stuff from tonight. Oh, hell. I actually may have just fallen in love with Kelsey Parker. Shit.
“I hope you realize I’m not typically a one-night-stand kind of girl.” Her husky voice floated past my hazy, euphoria-drenched state of bliss.
“Good,” I said, sounding far more calm than I felt. “Then I guess that means we’ll have to do this again very soon.” I managed to turn my head, and she was smiling, her hair messy in the best possible way. I’d done that. I’d messed up that gorgeous hair of hers. I reached over to brush the strands away from her face but my body followed of its own accord and suddenly I was kissing her again. A long, slow kiss that said without words how I was feeling.
“We could probably do this again soon,” she said when the kiss ended. “I think that could be arranged.”
“Good,” I said again. My stomach growled, reminding me of other basic needs. I rolled onto my stomach and reached for the picnic basket. “Hungry?”
“Sure.”
I grabbed two more blankets and we each fashioned toga-type numbers, which looked way cuter on her than it did on me, and then we dug into the goods in the basket.
“Fontaine didn’t lie,” she said. “These are some scrumptious delicacies.”
“You’re a scrumptious delicacy,” I teased, kissing her shoulder. I might be overdoing it, but she didn’t seem to mind. She pressed close and giggled in my ear. This night could not get better. We ate the food, snacking on pieces of fruit cut to look like little flowers and pieces of cheese shaped like moons and stars to match the planetarium theme. If the guys at work could see me now, well, I wasn’t the type to kiss and tell, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to share that my dinner tonight included cantaloupe shaped like a daisy, even if it was fed to me by a beautiful, and virtually naked, woman.
“So tell me about that phone call from your boss,” I finally asked. “And what’s with the hating of the Christmas?”
She picked up a napkin and wiped away a drip of watermelon juice from her chin. “I don’t really hate Christmas, I guess. It’s hard to explain.”
“Try me. I’m pretty smart, remember?” I wasn’t really that smart, but if the conversation didn’t steer away from all things sexual I was likely to start pulling at her blanket soon, and I didn’t want her thinking I was some kind of Neanderthal who couldn’t even let a woman eat in peace.
Her sigh was soft, nearly silent. “I’m sick of my job. I’ve worked at Haskell’s for nine years, and I guess I’m wondering if it’s time for a change. They take me entirely for granted. That call tonight? That was my boss asking me to take on a huge project just so he can go on vacation.”
“Lousy,” I said, making a little sandwich with two crackers and a crescent of cheddar.
“It is lousy,” she said. “And they pretend they’re all about glad tidings and goodwill.” She made air quotes and her blanket shifted, causing me to swallow those crackers without chewing. “But they don’t care about goodwill,” she said. “Their focus is on getting mass-produced everything at the cheapest price possible and then selling it for the highest profit imaginable. I mean, I know that’s essentially what every company does, but this is Christmas. Christmas stuff should mean something more, shouldn’t it? None of their merchandise has any soul, or any originality, but my job is to convince people that pinecones covered with fake snow somehow capture the spirit of the holiday. And I see people in the store buying into the frenzy of it all, and I feel responsible because I’m the one putting it on the shelves. I’m like a drug dealer getting them their glitter fix.”
I chuckled at “glitter fix,” but I’m not sure I was supposed to. All I knew was that her smile had faded and I wanted to bring it back. “I can see where that would get old, but for what it’s worth, you should hardly feel responsible. If people didn’t buy it from Haskell’s, they’d just get it someplace else.”
“I know. That’s what’s so depressing. Tacky Christmas crap is everywhere, but where’s the meaning? Where is the charm? I’ve been trying to convince Nick Haskell to at least include some handmade items. You know, stuff that has actually been touched by a human? But he says the profit margin is too low and no one gives homemade stuff anymore.”
“We do,” I said, realizing I was about to win some points for this.
She finally smiled again. “You do? Who is we?”
Yep, points for me for sure. “My family. We call it Practice Christmas. It’s kind of dumb, but we like it.”
“Practice Christmas?”
“Yeah. My mom started the tradition when we were kids, probably just to keep us busy and away from her, but we still do it. We each draw a name and have to hand-make something for that person. We can’t buy a kit or get someone else to do it, and let me tell you, it’s a crapshoot. Sometimes you end up getting a box full of the pieces and parts of whatever your gift was supposed to be. Apparently we’re not a very crafty family. See this scar here?” I showed her the scar on the side of my thumb. “That’s from when I was ten years old and tried to carve a bar of soap into the shape of a fish for my sister. And my mom broke her toe one year when she was trying to make something for my brother and accidentally dropped a drill on her foot.”
“Wow. That’s extreme crafting.”
Her smile was back in full force now, so mine was, too. “It is a little extreme sometimes, but it wouldn’t seem like Christmas if we skipped it. And as much as I hate to admit this, I have actually gotten pretty handy with a glue gun. If you ever need a picture frame covered in silk flowers, I’m your man.”
That may have been the wrong thing to say. I’m her man? Great, Drew. Way to put the cart before the horse’s ass. But her eyes got kind of misty and her face tilted toward mine. “See, that is so sweet,” she said. “That whole idea of taking time and making a special gift for a specific person. That’s what Christmas gifts should be about. That’s the kind of store I’d like to work for.” She turned away and popped a grape into her mouth.
“It definit
ely sounds like a new job might be the way to go. Any ideas where you might want to work?”
Her shoulders gave a little rise and fall. “I’m not sure, exactly. I don’t have any definite plans. Sometimes I think about opening my own little store. Like some kind of boutique, maybe? I have a business degree, and I’ve gotten lots of experience from working at Haskell’s, but that’s a huge step. Not sure I’m up for it.”
“That is a huge step, but a cool idea.” I picked up the wine bottle from the table behind us and refilled her glass.
“Yeah, it’s more like a speck on the flea of an idea. I haven’t really given it much legitimate thought, but it might be time to do that. Especially once I’ve broken up with Blake.”
I stopped pouring. “Blake? What does he have to do with it?”
“Well, I mean since he’s a Haskell. And my boss.”
All those free-floating parts of my body suddenly slammed back into place. “You’re dating a Haskell? And he’s your boss?” I poured the rest of that wine into my glass.
She readjusted her blanket, pulling it up higher. “Well, I mean, technically he’s my boss, but that’s sort of a new thing, and it doesn’t really mean anything. It just means, you know, that when I end things with him, I have to handle it delicately since he or his father may have to give me a recommendation letter someday. But Blake’s not petty. He wouldn’t say anything negative. At least . . . I don’t think he would.”
I took a pretty significant chug of that wine. “So how long have you two been together?”
“Um . . . two years, on and off, but, you know, the last couple of months have been kind of wonky.” She took a hearty gulp from her own glass.
“Wonky?” What the hell was wonky?
“Yeah, like not great. I mean, he did just go to Hawaii without me.”
Great. I was revenge sex. Kelsey Parker had just used me to get back at her jackass boyfriend. I didn’t mind the being used part so much, I guess. But I liked her. I liked her way more than I should. If I was just a means to an end, I needed to know that now. Just because she was at the end of her relationship with another guy, it didn’t mean this was the beginning of a new one for us.