“I bow to your expertise. Just show me how it’s done.”
Lindsay continued stirring, with Fred following her example. A thoughtful crease appeared across her brow as she bent over her task. Her hair slipped forward to partially obscure her face like a curtain, falling in waves of whisper-light brown. It looked unbearably soft. He felt an irrational urge to bury his fingers in it.
“You’ve never used a computer, have you?” Her question caught him off guard.
“Never needed to. I’m more of a field staffer.”
“Do they use computers, where you come from?”
Too many questions, and about things that didn’t matter. “The mix is boiling,” he said. “What now?”
“It never comes to a boil this fast.” Lindsay’s attention shifted to the critical matter at hand. “Quick, keep stirring. I forgot the candy thermometer.” Still stirring her own pot, she took a wide step to her left with one foot and rummaged in a drawer just barely within her reach. Her eyes widened in alarm. “I didn’t think. I only have one candy thermometer.”
“So we’ll time my batch to match yours. What’s the worst that can happen? You’ll still have one good batch of fudge, and I’ll be out of your way.”
She might have looked displeased at the thought, even as she scrabbled through the kitchen drawer. He hoped so. But if she hadn’t sensed from the beginning how heavily this bet was hedged, she still had a lot to learn about him.
Lindsay retrieved the candy thermometer and clipped it inside her saucepan. For a few minutes they stirred side by side in silence. Now and then she hunkered down, knees bent so she was at eye level with the candy thermometer, watching for that crucial temperature, as intent as any emergency-room physician. For Lindsay, fudge was serious business. But it didn’t seem to bear the burdensome weight of those awful cards in the living room.
“You enjoy this, don’t you?” he said.
“I guess so. It gets exhausting after a while, though. By the end of last week I felt like my arm was going to fall off from all the stirring. But it’s something I’m good at.”
“And that’s important?”
She flashed him a menacing look. “Menace” being a relative term, coming from someone nearly a foot shorter than he was. “Keep stirring.”
“So amateur psychology isn’t one of my strong suits. We’ll add it to the list, along with electrical things and computers.”
Lindsay didn’t seem to hear him. She was peering at the candy thermometer again. The sheer depth of her concentration put a strange little ache in his chest.
You know, you could probably use that computer network of yours to find Steven, too. Provided that finding him was the problem. But he wasn’t about to upset the applecart by tossing that name out again. He wasn’t anxious to think of it himself.
Steven should be pounding this woman’s door down, not the other way around. If they’d sent Fred to work the other end of the case and help Steven reconcile with Lindsay, it would have been much easier. He could have shoved Steven at some unknown pretty girl with both hands, before he had a chance to know her.
But Lindsay must need him for something else, or he wouldn’t be here. So he’d bring Christmas to her the best way he knew how: one moment at a time.
Finally Lindsay pronounced the mixture hot enough to add the chocolate chips. Followed by yet more stirring, until at last she determined it was time to remove it from the heat.
“All right,” he said. “Ready for the moment of truth?”
Lindsay looked at him quizzically.
Fred held a wooden spoonful of fudge up in front of her, waving it lightly through the air to cool it. “Here. Time to see if I’ve got it right.”
Lindsay looked at him over the spoon, a wonderful complication of emotions in her eyes. Did she want him to win or lose the bet? Fred wasn’t sure she knew the answer herself. She turned her face up toward him as he held the spoon to her lips. And then, as she tasted it, she closed her eyes, savoring the chocolate. Her expression was one of blissful surrender.
This was the real Lindsay, her face unguarded, completely in the moment. Very much like a woman lost in a kiss.
He never should have brought the bloody mistletoe.
Chapter 4
Dear Aunt Arline,
Hope this finds you feeling well. How’s the weather in Minnesota?
It’s a little late in the season, but this morning I put up my Christmas tree with
Lindsay scratched out the word “with” and put a period at the end of the sentence. There was no way she could explain Fred.
The carols on the stereo had stopped. Out of sheer stubbornness, Lindsay tried to keep working, but the silence nagged at her. Finally she got up. But before she changed the music, she went into the kitchen for some eggnog. Only because it would expire soon.
Okay, so Fred was right about some things. He hadn’t really been telling her anything she didn’t already know. For years, she’d been trying to get more out of Christmas. That was why she bought eggnog in the first place.
But Steven?
Fred was way off base on that one. His “Headquarters” database must have a huge glitch. After the way she’d left things with Steven, the man would probably throw rocks at her if he ever saw her again. It hadn’t been the right way to break up with a boyfriend; it wasn’t even a good way to treat a friend. And Steven had been a friend, her best friend, all through high school.
Their dating relationship came so gradually that Lindsay was hard-pressed to remember exactly when it started. They’d met the summer before their freshman year in high school, when Steven moved into Lindsay’s neighborhood. He lived a block away, so there was no need for a car when they started getting together to study. Lindsay was horrible at algebra; Steven never knew where to put a comma in an essay. It was a seamless give-and-take.
When there were dances at school, they paired up. No need to wait around, hoping some guy she barely knew would ask her. Not even that good-looking football player, who ended up getting expelled for sneaking booze into one too many school events. So wasn’t it just as well?
She did remember their first kiss, a nose-bumping affair outside Lindsay’s front door, and that she was glad it was Steven because neither of them had to be embarrassed about it. What she didn’t remember was any spark. Nothing like the way she’d felt when Fred’s hand brushed hers just handing her the Christmas tree lights.
Steven had liked Christmas too. And Lindsay had loved it. There’d been so much more time for things then—no obligations other than school and, later, a part-time job at McDonald’s. Not nearly so many people to buy for. Plenty of time for planning and wrapping and finding just the right present. Steven had been easy to shop for; they were together so much she knew exactly what kind of sweater he needed or what CD he wanted. Everything had come so naturally.
But in all that time, she couldn’t remember hours disappearing as fast as they just had with Fred.
Crazy talk. Fred wasn’t here to date her, and the sooner he was out of her life, the better. Maybe following through with things like carols and eggnog would fulfill enough of his mission for him to go away, and he wouldn’t even show up tomorrow night.
She told herself that was what she wanted.
Returning to the living room, she put on the hokiest country Christmas music CD she could find. It sounded like just the thing to send any self-respecting Englishman running for the hills.
It wasn’t so easy to dispel him from her thoughts.
Getting ready for work the next morning, Lindsay reached into her closet, and somewhat to her surprise, came out with her brightest red sweater. She pulled it on and studied the reflection in her bathroom mirror with a critical eye. The vivid red fit the season, but it washed out the color of her hair, a bland shade that was neither blond nor brown. To compensate, she spent some extra time on her makeup, bringing a touch more color to her cheeks and eyes. It helped. But something was missing. The next thing she knew, sh
e was hunting through her jewelry box for her old pair of dime-store candy cane earrings.
She ended up late for work, but no one seemed to mind once they saw she’d brought two plates of fudge.
“So how’s your merry gentleman?”
Jeanne sauntered into Lindsay’s little cubicle of an office and perched on the corner of her desk, a square of fudge in hand.
Lindsay couldn’t help smiling. She had to admit it was a good description of Fred. “He’s fine. Helped me out with the fudge, as a matter of fact.”
“It’s extra good this year. Not that it isn’t always. But you know what I mean.”
Lindsay knew, all right. The fudge had been disappearing fast all morning—particularly the batch Fred had made, although the fudge with almonds usually went more slowly.
Jeanne lazily swung one leg up and down. If any man had been in the room, Lindsay knew he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off that unconscious, coquettish swing of her calf. “I can’t believe you never mentioned him,” she said. “Where’d he come from?”
How to answer that? England, over a hundred years ago. Or out of her television screen. She certainly couldn’t talk about “Headquarters,” whatever that was. “A friend of a friend. He’s just visiting for a little while.”
“Maybe he’ll like it here.” A playful glimmer appeared in Jeanne’s blue eyes. “He sure seemed to like you.” She polished off her last bite of fudge. Almond, Lindsay noted, before it disappeared into Jeanne’s mouth. “He was asking all about you. Then, next thing I knew, I was telling him all about my cats.” She rolled her eyes. “The funny thing is, he acted like he was actually listening.”
Lindsay thought of Phil and his model ships. “He’s good at that. Listening, that is.”
“Sounds like a keeper to me.” Jeanne stopped swinging one long, slender leg, and started with the other. Matt passed by and almost walked into the wall of the next cubicle as he turned to look. Lindsay wondered if Fred had noticed Matt’s intentions toward Jeanne, too.
Oblivious to the broken nose she’d nearly caused, Jeanne went on. “If you got married, would that make him a U.S. citizen?”
Lindsay felt her face grow hot. “I doubt it.” Jeanne always seemed to be in a hurry to see a relationship turn serious. Little did she know how unlikely it was in this case. It would be pretty hard, after all, to go into a commitment with a man who could appear and disappear at will.
Now was a good time to change the subject. Lindsay asked, “How’s it going with you and Brad?”
“Same old, same old. I’m waiting to see if he starts a fight before Christmas the way he did right before my birthday. I swear some guys plan that stuff, just so they don’t have to shop for a present.” She boosted herself off Lindsay’s desk. “Well, I better get back to work. Want to do lunch at the Thai place today?”
Lindsay hesitated. The Thai restaurant two blocks away was an occasional treat for her and Jeanne, a chance to eat the kind of “girl food” no man they dated ever wanted to try. What did men know of coconut soup and Thai iced coffee?
In fact, Jeanne had introduced Lindsay to the food herself, the second week Lindsay worked here. The pretty blonde had known just what the stressed-out new girl needed while she struggled to adjust to her first full-time job. Jeanne had been reassuring and supportive, and Lindsay had been surprised to find how much she had in common with someone who was so outwardly different.
A Thai lunch was tempting, but . . . “I’ve got Christmas cards to do.” She’d brought along a plastic grocery sack full of them, to work on during lunch. She’d barely gotten past the letter M yesterday. There were a lot of Millers in her family.
“Oh, come on. It might be our last chance before you go on vacation.”
Jeanne’s tone held an imploring note. Maybe she was right. Lindsay was taking the week off between Christmas and New Year’s to visit her parents, so they were running out of work days. Plus, Lindsay remembered Jeanne saying that Brad’s idea of “out to dinner” rarely involved anything beyond ground beef in a bun. Not the most accommodating of males.
And after all, what were friends for? “Okay.”
Jeanne beamed and sashayed out the door.
Later that morning, Lindsay paused as she walked by the fudge on the long table in the middle of the office, next to the coffee machine. After making eleven batches of fudge last week—which, naturally, had to be sampled for quality—she didn’t quite have her usual appetite for chocolate. But she picked up a piece of Fred’s batch with the almonds and took a bite. Sure enough, it tasted nearly as knee-bucklingly good as it had in her kitchen yesterday, when the fudge was still warm.
Lindsay nipped a tiny corner off a piece of her fudge and took a quick taste. His was better than hers. But how? He’d stood right next to her, done exactly what she did.
She took one extra piece of the almond fudge back to her desk to save for later, before it all ran out. She was glad she did. By the time she and Jeanne returned from lunch, both of the plates she’d brought were empty.
Through the rest of the afternoon, the little square of fudge teased her from its hiding place, safely tucked in a coffee filter at the far corner of her desk. She made herself wait, forcing herself to focus on the stack of client statements that had to be done before she went on vacation. As the day stretched on, Lindsay tried not to glance at her old Timex watch any more than usual. Whatever Fred had in store for tonight, she’d find out soon enough.
She told herself that. But it didn’t keep her mind from conjuring up the image of laughing dark eyes, filled with some secret promise. Lindsay tried not to think about it, the same way she tried to ignore that hidden square of fudge. No. Not until she’d gotten enough work done.
At four-twenty-five, she finally decided she’d earned it. Lindsay went to the coffee machine and poured half a cup of late-afternoon brew to go with her chocolate. On her way back to her desk, she heard a deep, resonant laugh from inside her cubicle.
Lindsay turned the corner, and there stood Fred, lounging against the filing cabinet beside her desk, eating her last piece of fudge, and chatting with her friend Jeanne.
He was hatless once again, his dark hair slightly tousled as though he’d just been walking outside, and Lindsay wondered distractedly if he ever really needed to walk anywhere. He wore the same overcoat and bright red scarf he’d worn yesterday morning, and his face exuded friendly cheer as he smiled at Jeanne. Lindsay’s heart did a flip of its own accord; she’d been seeing him all afternoon, but her mind’s eye hadn’t done him justice. Hard to believe he was here because she’d lost a bet.
No, no, no. Two days ago you thought he was a figment of your imagination.
A gorgeous figment.
“He wouldn’t dare,” Fred said to Jeanne. Utter disbelief shimmered in his eyes. “If he starts a row with you before December twenty-fourth, you let me know. I’ll have a word with him.”
His glance went to the doorway, where Lindsay stood. And stayed there. His smile didn’t widen; it deepened, with undisguised pleasure at seeing her. He straightened from his half-leaning posture. “Lindsay.”
Even her name sounded unusually beautiful to her. How was she supposed to act rational around a man like that?
Lindsay’s eyes went to the last fragment of fudge in his hand. “That was my last piece.” If it were anyone else, she would have wondered how he found it.
“Your last piece? It’s my first.” He blinked in wounded innocence. “You made me leave before it was ready to eat. Wait four hours to let it cool? Sadistic.” He popped the small remainder of the fudge into his mouth.
Jeanne stared at her. “He helped you make it? And you didn’t let him have any?”
Great. Now she was a Christmas-hating, fudge-hoarding hag. “I had cards to do.”
“I offered to help with the cards. But no matter.” Fred tossed the crumpled, empty coffee filter into her trash basket and turned that encompassing gaze on her once more. “I like your earrings.”
The little candy canes. No one else had noticed; she’d almost forgotten about them.
“I know I’m a little early,” he said. “I thought it would be best to get a good head start.”
“I can’t leave early, I came in late—”
“Phil said it was all right.”
He’d cleared it with Phil? Lindsay glanced at Jeanne, whose raised eyebrows mirrored her own, then back at Fred. “You could sell ashes to the devil, couldn’t you?”
“Maybe,” he said lightly. “But why would I want to?” Jeanne laughed, but Lindsay wasn’t sure whether or not it was a joke.
“Well, I’ll let you two get going.” Jeanne edged out of the room with a knowing smile. “Have fun.”
These little blue-walled cubicles had never been roomy, but now, alone with Fred, the space seemed especially tight. Lindsay felt unaccountably shy, and far too aware that just a few feet separated them. They’d spent hours alone in her apartment yesterday, where they hadn’t had an office full of people just a tottering partition away, but this felt different. More confining, maybe, and something about that seemed to pull her toward him.
Lindsay searched for somewhere else to look, and her eyes fell on the calendar on the wall next to her. December nineteenth. Only six more days to get everything done.
“You have reminders of time everywhere, don’t you?” Fred moved toward her. “You’re always worried about what’s ahead. What you need to concentrate on is now. Otherwise you’ll miss it.” He reached into his overcoat pocket. “Here. You’ll want this, where we’re going.”
Fred pulled out another scarf, this one red and white, and draped it lightly over her shoulders. He drew her hair out from under the scarf, the warmth of his fingers lightly brushing the back of her neck. Lindsay fought back a pleasant shudder.
Fred’s fingers lingered in her hair before he let it fall back into place, his expression unusually serious. His face was close to hers as he went through the motions of straightening the scarf, his eyes never leaving hers. What did he see there, and what was he thinking? She forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply, afraid to move, afraid he’d know what she was thinking. All she had to do was tilt her head back a little to raise her mouth toward his—
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