A mirthless smirk twisted his lips. “I’m kidding, Bridget. It’s so I can help you with your damn necklace,” he answered, holding the delicate chain in front of her face as if he were preparing to hypnotize her.
“Right, yeah,” she swiveled around and waited, biting her lip to get herself under some semblance of control.
“Where’d you get this?” he asked, his voice gruff.
“The Kringle Cares group sent it as a thank you,” she replied as his fingers trailed across the base of her neck.
“That lady did call you her angel.”
She steadied herself. “It was no big deal. I was happy to help.”
“Always, the helper. There, it’s on,” he said, stepping away from her as heat again bloomed on her cheeks. But this time, she wasn’t embarrassed. No, she was angry. What kind of Grinch was against helping others?
“Yes, I like to help when I can. You should try it for once,” she countered.
He scoffed. “It’s not who I am.”
“No kidding,” she huffed under her breath.
She had to remember that this was who he was to her—a grade A jerk intent on keeping the Abbotts a Dasher-free zone.
He ran his hands through his hair. “Listen, Bridget, I’m here. What do you want me to do?”
She glanced around the chapel. All the decorations and greenery were in place. Once the candles were lit, the sanctuary would glow, bathed in the warm light. There was really nothing left to do but clean up. She spied the broom in the corner and pointed to it.
“You can sweep up the loose pine needles.”
He frowned. “You want me to sweep?”
She stared up at the wooden beams. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve never used a broom.”
A muscle ticked on his jaw. “I know how to use a broom,” he shot back, plucking the old thing from the corner.
She gave him a screw-you grin. “Congratulations, now get to work.”
No matter if they were in a hotel suite, kitchen, or chapel, this man brought out the fire in her—the vixen she never knew dwelled beneath the surface. Was that a good thing? Being a bitch was never a good thing, but with Soren, it worked. She glanced over to find him doing a damn good job sweeping up every loose pine needle.
Maybe he was good for something other than supplying her with multiple orgasms.
Ugh! Focus!
She pushed the idea out of her head and went to the bench to collect the items she’d brought to decorate when Soren’s voice cut through the swish of the broom.
“What were you and Lori talking about?”
She brushed a few bits of trimmed ribbon into her hand. “Just now?”
“Yeah,” he replied, not making eye contact.
She held up one of the photos. “Our parents’ wedding. This is where they got married.”
Soren propped the broom against the wall, then came to her side. “They look happy.”
“They were very much in love, like Lori and Tom,” she replied, getting in a little dig.
But his eyes revealed nothing.
“Lori didn’t have any big news?” he asked, expressionless.
What was he after?
“Soren, what are you talking about?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
Just great! They were back to Soren, the stone man.
“Is there something I should know?” she pressed.
Had Tom mentioned something?
That muscle on Soren’s cheek ticked again. “No.”
Tired of playing games, the vixen inside her took over.
“Is this how you act when you’re hungover? A cretin who grunts and responds with one word?” she questioned.
“I wish like hell this was just a bad hangover.” He looked around. “Are you done?”
Now, on top of being a Grinch of a curmudgeon, he was also an enigma!
“Yeah, let’s head down to the mountain house,” she replied, keeping him in her peripheral vision as she put on her coat, then collected the photographs.
He looked like the same man—a little rougher around the edges—but there was something different about him today.
He opened the door and held it for her as they crunched through the snow over to the waiting gondola. She entered the enclosed space and rubbed her hands together. Soren took no notice of her as he closed the door and hit the button to start the lift, and slowly, the gondola began its descent down the mountain.
She touched the glass. “It’s like being in a snow globe, isn’t it?” she offered, staring out at the flurry of white circling around them.
She’d extended the olive branch. Would he take it?
The answer: a colossal no.
Nothing. The man couldn’t even agree on something as trivial as snow acting like…snow.
She turned to him, ready to lay into him yet again for excessive bah humbug behavior when the gondola lurched, and she fell forward into his arms.
Suspended in time, they stared at each other.
“Dan said that the gondola’s been acting up,” he said, their noses touching as he held her in his firm grip.
“Oh,” she replied, capable of nothing else.
She stared into his eyes and again saw that flash of searing pain. And heaven help her, her heart literally ached, wanting to quell whatever storms raged inside him. Because no matter how hard he tried to put up an icy front, she knew firsthand that the man was capable of fiery passion and all-encompassing desire. But before she could say another word, he morphed back into aloof curmudgeon mode.
He set her back on her side of the gondola. “You need to stay over there to keep the weight even. Do you think you can do that?”
She bit her tongue and ignored him.
How would she get through the night with this Grinch?
Luckily, they’d be with Cole and Carly, but that would only be for a little while. She’d put him to work. That’s what she’d do. After the kids were in bed, she had to assemble the croquembouche. A labor-intensive endeavor, the French dessert consisted of several ping-pong ball-sized profiteroles, a pastry similar to cream puffs, stacked into a tree-shaped tower that’s held together by drizzled caramel. She’d made the many profiteroles this morning, but the real work was in constructing the tower and making sure it held its cone-like Christmas tree shape before decorating it with sugar and almonds.
She’d put him on caramel duty or make him hold the cone that held the dessert in place.
“What do you want me to do with a cone?”
She blinked. “Did you say something?”
He frowned. “No, you said something. You’re doing that thing again where you talk out loud without realizing it.”
She huffed her disbelief. “I do not do that!”
“You just said you wanted my balls in a cone,” he answered without the hint of emotion.
Dammit!
Screw him! No, not screw him!
To hell with him!
She lifted her chin. “I don’t want your balls, Scooter. I was thinking about all the things I needed to get done tonight. You’re going to help me put together a dessert made of many ball-shaped pastries that requires a cone.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Street cones? Like the ones they put on the road? What the hell type of dessert requires diverting traffic?”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He may be all Mr. Surly, but he didn’t know a damn thing about baking.
“It’s a pastry cone used to shape the dessert and hold it in place. And no, it’s not made with an orange traffic cone.”
He sat back and watched her. “You know a decent amount about baking.”
Bridget stared at the man. “Is that a question or a statement?”
“Question.”
She sighed and glanced at the mountain. “I know enough.”
She could feel his eyes on her, taking it all in as if he were weighing her worth.
This had to stop.
She cleared her
throat. “Tonight, we need to get the kids to bed and then finish up a few things for the rehearsal dinner. After that, you can do whatever you want.”
He nodded as the gondola came to a stop, and the Kringle Mountain House glowed against the mountain backdrop as the darkening skies crept in.
“Whatever,” he mumbled.
The light snow continued to fall as the wind kicked up, swirling snow across the mountain. They headed to the house only to have Delores open the door as they stepped onto the porch.
“Good! You’re back. The children were asking for you,” she said, ushering them in out of the cold.
Smoldering logs crackled and popped in the roaring fireplace as they entered the main room to find it quite altered. The sofas and loveseats sat bare of their padding, and the cushions and throw pillows littered the ground.
“The floor is lava!” Cole called, adjusting his candy apple red glasses as he hopped from pillow to pillow.
Bridget searched the room. “Where is everyone?”
“Dan wanted to leave a little early on account of the snow,” Delores replied.
Bridget checked her watch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think they were leaving for another half hour.”
“It’s no trouble. I was happy to spend some time with the youngsters. I’ll be in my cabin if you need anything. And don’t forget about Frosty. Safety first,” the woman answered with a singsong trill as she headed out the side door that led to the cabins.
What was up with Delores and safe sex?
“Uncle Scooter, your feet are in the lava!” Carly cried, blessedly calling attention away from the condom filled snowman as she leaped from a chair to a couch cushion.
“Save yourself!” Cole cried.
Bridget chuckled, but when she looked at Soren, his green eyes again flashed that deep, agonizing pain. He glanced at her, then back at the kids. He smiled at them, but it wasn’t his Uncle Scooter smile. That grin brimmed with affection and excitement. This one showed a hint of melancholy.
He kicked off his snow boots and jumped onto the pillow next to Cole.
“Birdie, you’re not going to make it. Help her, Uncle Scooter!” Carly directed.
“Can’t she get on her own cushion?” he asked.
“They’re not cushions! They’re rocks!” Cole corrected, getting into it.
“And they’re the only things keeping us from getting burnt to a crisp!” his sister added, not to be outdone by her little brother.
“The floor is lava!” the children cried in unison.
Reluctantly, Soren reached toward her. “You better play along. If you haven’t noticed, Carly and Cole don’t mess around with this game.”
“Remember last Christmas when you jumped over the coffee table to get to the couch, and Uncle Tom balanced on one foot until we threw him another pillow?”
Soren ruffled the boy’s hair. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Hurry, Birdie! Hurry!” Carly chided.
Bridget took off her boots, then reached toward Soren. He took her hand, and the electricity they could not seem to escape crackled between them as he pulled her onto the cushion.
She inhaled. He no longer smelled like the inside of a whiskey bottle. No, now the tantalizing sandalwood scent she remembered from their first night sent her reeling. She rocked back, but he caught her.
“You need to be careful. Someone might not always be there to catch you,” he said, looking as shellshocked as she felt.
She nodded. She knew that better than anyone. For the last ten years, she’d had only herself to rely on.
“Jump over to me, Birdie!” Carly beckoned.
“Yeah, let her go, Uncle Scooter,” Cole added.
Soren stared at her a beat before dropping his hands from her waist.
She shook her head, clearing the Soren-inspired cobwebs, then glanced between the kids.
“I’m going to jump, and then you two are going to get into your pajamas,” she said in her best big sister voice.
“Aw, Birdie,” the siblings whined in unison.
“Don’t you, ‘aw, Birdie, me,’” she teased. “Your moms want you in bed a little early. We’ve got a lot going on tomorrow, and we don’t want you falling asleep while we’re eating all the desserts that I’m making for the rehearsal dinner.”
“Desserts!” the kids yelled, then hightailed it from cushion to cushion before they jumped over the couch and headed down the hall that led to their room.
She watched the kids scamper away. “That was easy.”
“Denise and Nancy don’t let them indulge in sweets all that often. If you mention dessert, you can pretty much get them to do whatever you want,” he said, picking up a couple cushions, then tossing them back onto the couch.
She followed suit, gathering the throw pillows. “Good to know.”
The pendulum swung, and the man she’d pegged as a creep again proved her wrong—at least when it came to Cole and Carly.
With the room back in order, silently, they walked side by side down the hall. Giggles met their arrival as they entered the kids’ room and found them already under the covers.
“Did you brush your teeth?” Soren asked in quite the paternal tone.
“Yes!” the kids answered, squirming under the covers next to each other in the queen-sized bed.
“Did you use the bathroom? Cole, I’m talking to you,” Soren continued.
The boy groaned. “Yes, Uncle Scooter, I’m empty.”
Carly sat up. “Birdie, what are you wearing? Is that a new necklace?”
Bridget touched the angel pendant. “Yes, it is. Remember the nice people we helped when we made all those sugar cookies?”
“Yeah.”
“They sent me this as a thank you present,” she finished, sitting on the bed to give the girl a closer look.
“It’s an angel,” Carly said, leaning in.
Cole crawled across the bed to take a look. “Is it a snow angel? Did a Christmas fairy make it?”
Bridget chuckled. “Maybe.”
“Will you tell us more about Christmas fairies?” Cole asked, sinking into the pillows.
She tapped her chin theatrically. “You already know that they love to make snow angels, and that they’re shy, extremely hard to catch in the act, and can also offer you a Christmas wish.”
“Yes, we’ve been looking all over for them,” Carly replied.
“Has my sister told you about the time when a Christmas fairy left us a present?” she asked as Soren settled himself on the other side of the bed next to Cole.
The little boy gasped. “No, Aunt Lori didn’t say anything about presents.”
Soren’s expression grew a touch sour at the mention of Aunt Lori—no surprise there!
She waved the children in. “Well, a few days before Christmas, when my sister and I weren’t much older than the two of you, Lori and I went looking for snow angels. And guess what?”
“What?” Carly asked on a bated breath.
“We found one.”
“You did?” Cole whispered as Soren gave a skeptical harrumph. But she ignored his bah humbuggery.
“We didn’t see the fairy when we found the snow angel. We were too late. But she’d left us something.”
“What was it?” Carly asked, twisting the covers in anticipation.
Bridget lowered her voice. “Two candy canes. One on each wing.”
“One for you and one for Aunt Lori?” Carly asked.
“Yes, and they were the sweetest, most pepperminty candy canes we’d ever tasted.”
“Wow!” Cole breathed, grinning ear to ear.
A warmth filled her chest, imagining her mother and father making the snow angel, leaving the treats, then using a shovel to smooth out the tracks around the make-believe fairy’s creation.
She tapped Carly’s nose, then Cole’s. “And with that, it’s bedtime. Sweet dreams.”
“Will you make me a Scooter burrito?” Carly asked, reaching out to the somber man on the other si
de of the bed.
Soren glanced at her, then to the girl. “Sure, Carly. One Scooter burrito coming up.”
“With the sound effects, please,” Carly requested, wiggling with excitement.
The man shook his head as the hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “You got it.”
Soren vroomed as he tucked the blanket around the little girl like a race car or, in his case, a scooter. It was sweet—a counter to the gruff, growly man who’d met her at the chapel.
“Cole, do you want a Scooter burrito tuck-in, too?” he asked, patting the boy’s leg.
“Not tonight,” the child answered, adjusting his glasses.
“Would you like me to set those on the side table for you?” she asked.
Cole stopped playing with his bright red glasses. “No, I’ll do it by myself in a minute. I have one more question about fairies, though.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“Is a pixie a fairy,” he asked with a serious expression.
She nodded. “Yes, a pixie is very much like a fairy.”
“All right, Abbott kids. Eyes closed,” Soren said, ending the fairy talk and switching off the light.
She went to the door and stood next to him. “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
“Okay, Aunt Birdie. I mean, just Birdie,” Carly said through a yawn.
She glanced at Soren, expecting to find the silly, sweet uncle who just made vroom sounds, but found him frowning. The Aunt Birdie slip of the tongue most likely the culprit. They stepped into the hall but left the door to the children’s room open a crack.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said, striding down the corridor a step ahead of her.
She followed him into the kitchen about done with his lightning-fast personality shifts.
He glanced around the kitchen. “Where are the cones and the balls?”
She barked out a laugh. “There will be no cones or balls until we get something straight.”
“What’s that?” he asked, as if he couldn’t care in the least.
“I don’t understand what’s going on with you, Soren. Do you hate me, or do you like me?”
He rubbed his hands down his face. “Bridget, stop.”
She paced the length of the kitchen. “No, I’m tired of this. I’m sick of the back and forth. I’m exhausted from trying to decipher if you truly are an awful person or if there’s more to you.”
Not Your Average Vixen: A Christmas Romance Page 21