All I Want for Christmas

by Nora Roberts

  room table and through the kitchen door. His sister was busy replenishing a tray of canapes. "Give us a minute," he ordered Mira.

  "Mac, I'm busy here." Distracted, Mira smoothed a hand over her short brunette hair. "Would you find Dave and tell him we're running low on cider?" She sent Nell a frazzled smile. "I thought I was organized."

  "Give us a minute," Mac repeated.

  Mira let out an impatient breath, but then her eye­brows shot up, drew in. "Well, well," she murmured, amused and clearly delighted. "I'll just get out of your way. I want a closer look at that boy Kim's so excited about." She picked up the tray of finger food and swung through the kitchen door.

  Silence fell like a hammer.

  "So." Casually, Nell plucked a carrot stick from a bowl. "Something on your mind, Macauley?"

  "I don't see why you have to be so..."

  "So?" She crunched into the carrot. "What?"

  "You're making a point of not talking to me."

  She smiled. "Yes, I am."

  "It's stupid."

  She located an open bottle of white wine, poured some into a glass. After a sip, she smiled again. "I don't think so. It seems to me that, for no discernible reason, I annoy you. Since I'm quite fond of your family, it seems logical and courteous to stay as far out of your way as I possibly can." She sipped again. "Now, is that all? I've been en­joying myself so far this evening."

  "You don't annoy me. Exactly." He couldn't find any­thing to do with his hands, so he settled on taking a carrot stick and breaking it in half. "I'm sorry...for be­fore."

  "You're sorry for kissing me, or for behaving like a jerk afterward?"

  He tossed the pieces of carrot down. "You're a hard one, Nell."

  "Wait." Eyes wide, she pressed a hand to her ear. "I think something's wrong with my hearing. I thought, for just a minute, you actually said my name."

  "Cut it out," he said. Then, deliberately: "Nell."

  "This is a moment," she declared, and toasted him. "Macauley Taylor has actually initiated a conversation with me, and used my name. I'm all aflutter."

  "Look." Temper had him rounding the counter. He'd nearly grabbed her before he pushed his anger back. "I just want to clear the air."

  Fascinated, she studied his now-impassive face. "That's quite a control button you've got there, Mac. It's admirable. Still, I wonder what would happen if you didn't push it so often."

  "A man raising two kids on his own needs control."

  "I suppose," she murmured. "Now, if that's all—"

  "I'm sorry," he said again.

  This time she softened. She was simply no good at holding a grudge. "Okay. Let's just forget it. Friends," she offered, and held out a hand.

  He took it. It was so soft, so small, he couldn't make himself give it up again. Her eyes were soft, too, just now. Big, liquid eyes you'd have expected to see on a fawn. "You...look nice."

  "Thanks. You too."

  "You like the party?"

  "I like the people." Her pulse was starting to jump. Damn him. "Your sister's wonderful. So full of energy and ideas."

  "You have to watch her." His lips curved slowly. "She'll rope you into one of her projects."

  "Too late. She's got me on the arts committee already. And I've been volunteered to help with the recycling cam­paign."

  "The trick is to duck."

  "I don't mind, really. I think I'm going to enjoy it." His thumb was brushing over her wrist now, lightly. "Mac, don't start something you don't intend to finish."

  Brow creased, he looked down at their joined hands. "I think about you. I don't have time to think about you. I don't want to have time."

  It was happening again. The flutters and quivers she seemed to have no control over. "What do you want?"

  His gaze lifted, locked with hers. "I'm having some trouble with that."

  The kitchen door burst open, and a horde of teenagers piled in, only to be brought up short as Kim, in the lead, stopped on a dime.

  Her eyes widened as she watched her uncle drop her teacher's hand, and the two of them jumped apart like a couple of teenagers caught necking on the living room sofa.

  "Sorry. Ah, sorry," she repeated, goggling. "We were just..." She turned on her heel and shoved back at her friends. They scooted out, chuckling.

  "That ought to add some juice to the grapevine," Nell said wryly. She'd been in town long enough to know that everyone would be speculating about Mac Taylor and Nell Davis by morning. Steadier now, she turned back to him. "Listen, why don't we try this in nice easy stages? You want to go out to dinner tomorrow? See a movie or something?"

  Now it was his turn to stare. "A date? Are you asking me out on a date?"

  Impatience flickered back. "Yes, a date. It doesn't mean I'm asking to bear you more children. On second thought, let's just quit while we're ahead."

  "I want to get my hands on you." Mac heard himself say the words, knew it was too late to take them back.

  Nell reached for her wine in self-defense. "Well, that's simple."

  "No, it's not."

  She braced herself and looked up at him again. "No," she agreed quietly. Just how many times, she wondered, had his face popped into her mind in the past few weeks? She couldn't count them. "It's not simple."

  But something had to be done, he decided. A move forward, a move back. Take a step, he ordered himself. See what happens. "I haven't been to a movie without the kids... I can't remember. I could probably line up a sitter."

  "All right." She was watching him now almost as care­fully as he watched her. "Give me a call if it works out. I'll be home most of tomorrow, correcting papers."

  It wasn't the easiest thing, stepping back into the dat­ing pool—however small the pool and however warm the water. It irritated him that he was nervous, almost as much as his niece's grins and questions had irritated when she agreed to baby-sit.

  Now, as he climbed the sturdy outside steps to Nell's third-floor apartment, Mac wondered if it would be bet­ter all around if they forgot the whole thing.

  As he stepped onto her deck, he noted that she'd flanked the door with pots of mums. It was a nice touch, he thought. He always appreciated it when someone who rented one of his homes cared enough to bother with those nice touches.

  It was just a movie, he reminded himself, and rapped on the door. When she opened it, he was relieved that she'd dressed casually—a hip-grazing sweater over a pair of those snug leggings Kim liked so much.

  Then she smiled and had his mouth going dry.

  "Hi. You're right on time. Do you want to come in and see what I've done to your place?"

  "It's your place—as long as you pay the rent," he told her, but she was reaching out, taking his hand, drawing him in.

  Mac had dispensed with the walls that had made stingy little rooms and had created one flowing space of living, dining and kitchen area. And she'd known what to do with it.

  There was a huge L-shaped couch in a bold floral print that should have been shocking, but was, instead, perfect. A small table under the window held a pot of dried au­tumn leaves. Shelves along one wall held books, a stereo and a small TV, and the sort of knickknacks he knew women liked.

  She'd turned the dining area into a combination music room and office, with her desk and a small spinet. A flute lay on a music stand.

  "I didn't bring a lot with me from New York," she said as she shrugged into her jacket. "Only what I really cared about. I'm filling in with things from antique shops and flea markets.

  "We got a million of them," he murmured. "It looks good." And it did—the old, faded rug on the floor, the fussy priscillas at the windows. "Comfortable."

  "Comfortable's very important to me. Ready?"

  "Sure."

  And it wasn't so hard after all.

  He'd asked her to pick the movie, and she'd gone for comedy. It was surprisingly relaxing to sit in the dark­ened theater and share popcorn and laughter.

  He only thought about her as a woman, a very
attrac­tive woman, a couple of dozen times.

  Going for pizza afterward seemed such a natural pro­gression, he suggested it himself. They competed for a table in the crowded pizzeria with teenagers out on date night.

  "So..." Nell stretched out in the booth. "How's Zeke's career in spelling coming along?"

  "It's a struggle. He really works at it. It's funny, Zack can spell almost anything you toss at him first time around, but Zeke has to study the word like a scholar with the Dead Sea Scrolls."

  "He's good at his arithmetic."

  "Yeah." Mac wasn't sure how he felt about her know­ing so much about his kids. "They're both taken with you."

  "It's mutual." She skimmed a hand through her hair. "It's going to sound odd, but..." She hesitated, not quite sure how to word it. "But that first day at rehearsal, when I looked around and saw them? I had this feeling, this— I don't know, it was like, 'Oh, there you are. I was wondering when you'd show up.' It sounds strange, but it was as if I was expecting them. Now, when Kim comes without them, I feel let down."

  "I guess they kind of grow on you."

  It was more than that, but she didn't know how to explain. And she wasn't entirely sure Mac would accept the fact that she'd very simply fallen for them. "I get a kick out of them telling me about their school day, show­ing me their papers."

  "First report cards are almost here." His grin flashed. "I'm more nervous than they are."

  "People put too much emphasis on grades."

  His brows shot up at the comment. "This from a teacher?"

  "Individual ability, application, effort, retention. Those things are a lot more important than A, B or C. But I can tell you, in confidence, that Kim's aceing advanced chorus and music history."