“So, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, I like him. A lot.” She cringed. “Maybe a little too much.”
Denny wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Still not getting it.”
“You know me. I don’t do long-term relationships. Or they don’t do me.”
“You mean you haven’t done one yet. That doesn’t mean you can’t.”
Anne reached for her cup, knocking Denny’s arm off her shoulder in the process. “Yes, it does. Men don’t want to stick around while I go off dancing around the country.”
Denny sighed. “There is some truth to that.”
Anne turned and looked at him. He was the only person who actually got it. Got her. Believed her.
“I speak from experience,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t still have a hot and heavy affair.”
“Denny! I told you, the man won’t sleep with me.”
“Oh, right, which is why you wanted me here, besides to rehearse. I’m sorry I blew it.”
“You didn’t blow it.”
“Yes, I did.” He cringed. “I couldn’t help looking at him like I wanted to devour him. The man is divine. I think I actually drooled in my coffee.”
Anne knocked his arm with her elbow. “You did not.”
“Almost. So, you just need a different plan.”
“And what would that be? I’ve tried everything, even sneaking into his apartment and waiting for him in his bed, naked.”
“Whoa! You didn’t tell me that, girl.”
“I’ve tried it all. The man has the willpower of a saint.”
“Damn. Well, if seduction and jealousy aren’t working, what else do we have?”
“That’s the problem. He thinks I’m the one with a love-‘em-and-leave-’em habit, and he won’t sleep with me until that changes. He claims his heart’s in too much danger.”
“He’s in love with you, honey.”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“And he doesn’t want to end up with a broken heart.”
“Maybe.”
“So, what is it you want exactly?”
“Him. In my bed.”
“Hmmm, can’t blame you for that. Anything else?”
“I don’t know. I’m kind of scared this time.”
“Well, then that’s what you need to tell him.”
“What?”
“The truth. That you’re scared.”
“What good will that do me?”
“I don’t know. But it’s all you’ve got, honey.” Denny pulled her back into the comfort of his arm. “Surprise him. Do things differently. Be honest.”
Anne took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Scary thought.”
“I wish you were coming with us.” Shelly tossed Sara’s backpack into the back of the station wagon.
“I wish you were staying here,” Chris said, draping an arm over her shoulder.
“Come with us, please.”
“Why, so you have a sympathetic shoulder to cry on when they pull their shit on you?”
She punched him softly in the stomach. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Text me when you get there so I know you’re safe. At least from the crazy holiday drivers.”
“I will. So, what will you do?”
He shrugged. “You know the holidays aren’t a big deal to me.”
She raised a single eyebrow and gazed up at her brother. “Yeah, right. So, any plans?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, let me know, okay?”
Sara came out of the house with a bag full of homemade gifts she and her mom had made and set it on the floor of the backseat. She gave Chris a giant hug before climbing into the car. “I wish you were coming with us, Uncle Chris,” she said.
“Me too.”
“Liar,” Shelly whispered.
He chuckled. “Have fun.” He kissed his sister on the top of her head, then bent down to kiss his niece through the open window. “You’ll have more presents to open when you get home.”
“Don’t go overboard,” Shelly cautioned.
“Never.”
“I mean it.” She punched him affectionately again and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Chris waved good-bye and waited until they were out of sight. Then he went back inside the empty apartment to make sure everything was locked up. It felt odd with no one there. Empty and cold. And for the first time in a long time he was hit with a deep pang of loneliness.
He hurried through the apartment, checking all the windows, then locked the door behind him. Given that it was only a few days before Christmas, he considered going shopping, but was anxious to get home. A strong sense of relief overcame him as he made his way to the Canden Valley highway. It would be good to get back to his apartment. At least there he could always go to the pub so he wouldn’t be alone.
When his cell phone rang a minute later, he pressed the answer and speaker buttons simultaneously.
He smiled at the sound of Anne’s voice. “Where are you?”
“Somewhere between Winslow and Canden Valley.”
“Going in which direction?”
“Toward you.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Want to go out to dinner with me?”
“Where’s your friend Denny?”
“He’s gone home to San Francisco.”
“So, you want to go out? On a date?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Why?”
“You mean, do I have an ulterior motive?”
“Yes.”
“Of course, I do, but I’ll try my best to control myself.”
“That would be good.” Refreshing.
“So? Dinner and dancing? We could have dinner in Winslow and then go to the Dunedin Inn to dance.”
“Sounds good to me.” Better than good.
“How about I pick you up at seven?”
“How about I pick you up?”
“I invited you.”
“So? I can still pick you up.”
“I’ll be in your driveway at seven,” she insisted.
Clearly he was not going to win this battle. “Anne?”
“Yes?”
“What made you change your mind? You refused my invitations two nights in a row.”
Her mind flashed on Denny’s suggestion that she be honest. It was all she had to give. “I was playing with you. I wanted you to think I was otherwise occupied so that when you saw me with Denny, you’d be jealous.”
Whoa. She’d thrown all her cards on the table. “Okay, then. I’ll be downstairs at seven.”
“See you then.”
“How should I dress?”
“Like you.”
Ah, so she liked his clothes. He’d wear jeans and an oxford shirt with one of his corduroy jackets. Not exactly dressy, but perfect for Winslow.
She hung up before he could ask her what kind of food. Not that it mattered. They’d made some progress. She was attempting to be honest with him. Maybe at some point she’d even be able to admit her behavior patterns when it came to men. He winced. And maybe he would admit how long he’d been stalking her.
He could get used to this, sitting across a table watching her eat. She ate with enthusiasm, and she didn’t push aside the bread as if it were some vile object. She slathered it with butter and closed her eyes and savored every bite. The woman knew how to eat.
“What?” she asked, catching him watching her.
“You enjoy eating.”
“Of course I do.”
“And I enjoy watching you eat.”
She grimaced, but it didn’t stop her from taking another bite. “Are you good at sharing?”
“Sharing what?”
“Your food. I like to steal bites, just to warn you.”
It was something he already knew about her. He’d watched her go out to lunch with friends in San Francisco enough times and even on dates, to say nothing of seeing her at the Canden
Valley General Store with friends and family, begging bites of their ice cream.
“You can steal as many bites of my food as you’d like.”
She cocked her head to the side, not sure if she was happy to hear that or disappointed. She was, after all, still searching for flaws. “Why aren’t you married?”
Another low and husky laugh. Hard to be around and not find your heart on the ground, all weak and pathetic.
“You mean, I’m a good catch because I’m good at sharing my food, so why hasn’t someone caught me?”
She shrugged. “Just wondering.”
“I suppose I had to recover from watching the disastrous marriages in my family first. What’s your excuse?”
“Too busy.”
“But you’re not opposed to the concept?”
Damn. Why had she brought up the subject in the first place? She should have known he’d throw it back at her. She selected her words carefully, in such a way as to give the illusion of answering. “I’ve been fortunate to have witnessed a lot of healthy marriages in my family.” She smiled as the server set down her chicken parmigiana and his fettuccini. Perfect timing.
“Where were we?” he asked, obviously determined to get a straight answer out of her.
“We were talking about you,” she said, reaching across the table to twist a large bite of his fettuccini onto her fork. “And whether or not you’re spending Christmas with your family.”
“We were?”
“Yep. It was my next question. Mmm, why didn’t I order this?” she asked, savoring the pasta. Then she glanced down at her own plate. “I’m always torn between these two. Want to share?”
He shoved his plate toward her so she could do what she wanted with the two meals. She split them in two, giving him a slightly larger portion of each. He was surprised she didn’t give him more. The large plates were filled to the brim. There was no way she would be finishing her share.
“What?” she asked, feeling his eyes on her again.
“I’m just enjoying watching you.”
“You’re always enjoying watching me.”
“This is very true. Are you sure you got enough?” he teased as she shoved his plate back toward him, half filled with chicken parmigiana and half with fettuccini.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I like food, what can I say.”
“You really plan to eat all that?”
She giggled and shook her head, her hair dancing around her face and landing lightly on her shoulders. “My eyes are bigger than my stomach. I always think I can eat more than I can. But I try.”
She was one of the lucky ones. Most women he knew would kill to be able to eat a fraction of what she ate and maintain their figures. But then she danced more calories off in an hour than most people burned in a week.
Before he could point out that she hadn’t answered his question about marriage, she asked, “So, are you spending the holidays with your family?”
“No.”
“No? You’re not going to Shelly’s and Sara’s for Christmas?”
“They left for the Bay Area this afternoon.”
“And you didn’t go with them?”
“No.”
“You really don’t like being around your family.”
“I really don’t like being around my family.”
“What about spending the holidays with Josie and Martin?”
He was impressed that she had remembered the Sawyers’ names. “They always go on a cruise for the holidays.”
“You could go with them.”
It was something he had considered numerous times. But he would have felt like a third wheel. He’d tried to convince Shelly to let him treat her and Sara to a Christmas cruise more than once, but she’d never gone for it. The only other option was to bring a date, someone he would want to spend a week at sea with. “Maybe I will . . . some day.”
“So, what are you planning to do?”
“The holidays aren’t a big deal to me.”
If they’d been more torture than pleasure when he was a child, she could understand why. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Like I said, it’s really not a big deal.”
She had a strong urge to invite him to spend Christmas with her and her family, but it wasn’t something she did easily. In fact, it was not something she’d ever done. Their family was so big that rarely did anyone invite someone outside of the family for the occasion. Besides, most of her friends were part of her family. Cassie was one of the few exceptions. Ever since she and Alex had become boyfriend and girlfriend when they were kids, she’d spent part of Christmas day with the McCullough family. But now she was part of the family. Just like Sophie was. And Nick. And Arielle.
Things were changing, she realized. Suddenly and quickly. People who had sworn they’d never get married were settling down with a partner. The family was growing by leaps and bounds with spouses and in-laws. And it wouldn’t be long before lots of little people began to make an appearance. She smiled at that thought. She was going to be an aunt. Even though technically they were cousins, she felt like an aunt to Matt’s kids, Belle and Brandon, but still, this would be different. Her big brother was going to be a father.
Her sigh caused Chris to set down his fork. Where had she gone? He had sensed her feelings of empathy for his having missed out on the kind of Christmases she had grown up with. But then she had drifted off somewhere. Was she actually considering inviting him to join her family? He couldn’t quite believe that. The family was so large as it was, they weren’t likely to include more guests.
He wished he could crawl inside her head and hear her thoughts. There was a glint of nostalgia in her eyes. He would have liked to know what it was about. And what had caused it. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m fine. Of course.” She gave her meal her full attention, cutting a bite of chicken and sliding it gracefully into her mouth, just as she did everything.
He watched her eat for a few minutes, then took a couple more bites of his pasta, a sip of his wine, and motioned for the server to bring him the bill. “Do you want to take the rest home?”
“Sure, why not. But you should take it.”
“You don’t like leftovers?”
“I love leftovers, but both of my parents are great cooks, and I have a refrigerator full of leftovers that I can raid any time.”
“Unlike me?”
‘Unlike you. So, why the rush? You seem in a hurry.”
“I am.”
“No dessert?”
“No dessert. At least not here.”
“What are you in a hurry for?”
“To hold you in my arms.”
“You mean—?” Her eyes lit up, and he smiled at the mischief dancing in them.
“I mean, I’m anxious to get you on the dance floor.”
“Oh.” The disappointment was blatant.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to mislead you.”
She shook her head as if it were nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. She wanted to make love to him. Unfortunately, his not following through with his own desires was the only thing giving him the edge. Obviously most men fell into bed with her at the crook of her finger. He couldn’t blame them.
Once he had finished paying the bill which she tried to pay due to the fact that she had invited him on this date, he whisked her out of the restaurant. Not an easy task, considering that Mama Francesca for whom the restaurant was named, had come out of the kitchen and insisted on a hug and a catch-up conversation with her favorite dancer.
“She’s sweet,” Anne told him once they were safely tucked away in her Honda.
“She seems very nice. And she’s an amazing cook.”
“And baker. But you didn’t have to get all those cannolis to go. “
“Sure I did. It’s my favorite dessert. But I’ll share, don’t worry. You can take one home with you.”
“Sweet. One out of the five you got.”
“I thought that was pre
tty generous myself.”
“Not so much.”
He reached for her hand as he steered her car toward the highway. She was only letting him drive because she’d had two glasses of wine which her lithe body did not assimilate as quickly as his did.
He liked holding her hand. Sometimes it felt as intimate as lying in bed with her. Of course, they hadn’t made love yet, but there was something about holding hands. Something he would never tire of. How did he convince her of that? He had that familiar urge to tell her he loved her. Fortunately while mischief was her middle name, his was willpower, at least recently. Out of necessity.
“Where are you?” she asked.
He glanced in her direction just before pulling into a parking lot. “At the Dunedin Inn.”
“You know what I mean. You were daydreaming.”
He raised a challenging eyebrow. “Just thinking about dancing with you.” For the rest of my life.
The band members all waved or nodded when they saw her enter the room. He wasn’t surprised. Musicians liked having good dancers on the dance floor when they played their music. It made them look good. Just like a good subject could make a photographer look good.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked as she tossed her wool coat onto a chair and led him toward the dance floor.
“Soda water. A double.”
He laughed and relayed that to the server as they passed him en route to the dance floor, adding an extra one for himself.
The band was playing a slow song, not one he recognized. Old rock and roll, he suspected from the rhythm and the lyrics. He didn’t really care. He just wanted to hold her in his arms. Ever since she’d shrugged off her coat in the restaurant a couple hours ago, revealing a soft ocean blue dress that hugged her body and fell just above her knees, he’d wanted to attempt to determine what kind of fabric it was. Silk, he decided, as his hand curved around her lower back. Or satin. He wasn’t an expert on fabrics. He just knew what felt good. And touching her through whatever it was, sure as hell felt good.
“I like your dress,” he whispered in her ear.
“Thanks. It’s Cassie’s.”
December Dance Page 21