Mr. Ungritch left the kitchen, and she could hear him talking to his son, although the words were muffled. Monica turned to face Mrs. Ungritch, who was pouring cocktail sauce into a cut-crystal bowl.
“Shrimp?” Monica prompted.
“A tradition,” Mrs. Ungritch said. “Do you like seafood?”
“Love it,” Monica said, realizing then just how hungry she was. She crossed to the counter and arranged the rolls in a basket, then filled up a pitcher with water and ice.
“I’m so pleased that you and Jaxon are becoming friends,” Mrs. Ungritch said. Her tone was more than pleased.
“What makes you think that?” Monica teased.
Mrs. Ungritch laughed. “If I thought it would bother you, I wouldn’t tell you what I think. But the good thing about you, Monica, is that I’ve always been able to confide in you.”
Monica’s hands stilled at the confession. It meant a lot to her. Mrs. Ungritch had been her employer, yes, but also a mother, and sometimes even like a sister and friend. “I can tell you’re just bursting, so tell me what you think.”
Mrs. Ungritch’s smile grew wider. And Monica realized that behind Mrs. Ungritch’s glasses were the green eyes Jaxon had inherited.
“My son likes you.”
“All right,” Monica said, trying to act nonchalant, when in truth, her heart rate had just increased a notch. “He’s a great guy, and of course I like him too. He’s your son, after all.”
“I mean...” Mrs. Ungritch blew out a breath. “I mean, even though he might not admit it, I think he’s really drawn to you. Attracted to you.”
Now Monica’s cheeks were heating. She tried to laugh it off. “We just met.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Mrs. Ungritch said. “Last night when you were playing Santa and Mrs. Claus, he kept trying to sneak in glances your way.”
“We’re probably the last people who should be dating. I just broke up with David, and Jaxon is going through a lot of changes.”
Mrs. Ungritch clapped her hands together. “It couldn’t be more perfect. You can help each other through— be there for each other.”
“You are thoughtful to think so,” Monica started, “but although your son has been really kind, I don’t think I can assume to know what he thinks about me.”
Mrs. Ungritch lowered her voice. “I’d never push him, you know, but he won’t have any argument from me if he decides to ask you out.”
And Monica realized she was secretly hoping Jaxon would ask her out.
“Need any help?” Jaxon said, coming into the kitchen.
He was a little irresistible.
He flashed her a questioning smile, as if to ask if she was all right. She gave a quick nod.
“You can take in the salad,” Mrs. Ungritch told her son.
She bustled out ahead of them, and Jaxon looked over at Monica. “Is she this bossy in the store?”
“Always,” Monica said. “Did you hear our conversation just now?”
Jaxon grabbed the salad tongs then picked up the bowl. “No. What was it about?”
Monica was relieved he hadn’t heard what his mother said. She slid a glance at him. “It was about how happy she was that you’re home.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Really? I thought it was about how she wants me to ask you out.”
Monica stopped dead. “You heard!”
He only grinned.
She closed her eyes, wondering how red her cheeks were going to get.
“Monica,” Jaxon said, his voice causing her to open her eyes. He was standing close to her, close enough that she could practically feel the warmth of his breath, and was staring down at her. “I hope you don’t think I’m just taking my mom’s advice, because I do want to ask you out.”
“You do?” Monica said, unable to look away from him.
“Yes, officially,” he said. “If you don’t think it’s too soon after your breakup with David.”
“There you are,” Mrs. Ungritch said, coming into the kitchen again. “What’s the holdup?”
“Nothing,” Monica said, stepping past her and walking into the living room, then the dining room.
Both Jaxon and Mrs. Ungritch remained in the kitchen for a few moments, and it wasn’t hard to guess they were probably talking about her. She sat across from Mr. Ungritch and talked to him until Jaxon and his mother reached the table.
Monica was sure that if she made eye contact with Jaxon, she’d blush again. After Mr. Ungritch said grace, the family settled into an easy conversation, mostly Jaxon’s parents catching him up on the neighbors’ lives. Monica knew most of the people they were talking about, but she found she wasn’t paying much attention. She was much too aware of Jaxon’s occasional glances.
Her phone buzzed, and her pulse jumped. She slid it out of her pocket without drawing attention to herself, hoping it wasn’t David. But Jaxon’s name popped on the screen. She’d put in his number when he was on his way to pick her up.
She lifted her eyes to meet his, but he was listening to his father talk. Had the text been sent earlier but been delayed?
She waited a few more seconds, but Jaxon still didn’t look at her. So she opened the message.
Do you want to go see a movie tonight or something?
She looked up again and found Jaxon looking at her, a slight smile on his face.
She kept her expression neutral and texted back. Are you asking me out on a date?
Monica watched his expression as he surreptitiously read her text. The corner of his mouth turned up, and then he was looking over at his mom as she replied to something his dad said.
Monica’s cell vibrated, and she looked down.
I am.
Again, she gave no expression and texted. It’s Christmas. Do people really go to a movie on Christmas Day?
A moment passed, and his reply came. I believe they do.
She felt his gaze on her, unwavering. She looked up, wondering how she could feel such a strong connection to this man already. After delaying her answer by taking several bites of the food on her plate, she finally texted back. All right.
Chapter Eight
“I don’t know why I waited so long to come home,” Jaxon told Monica as they were driving back from the movie to the care center to pick up her car.
“You were building a career,” Monica suggested.
“That’s probably what I told myself.” Jaxon had told himself that, but after his marriage to Cynthia had broken up, working for her father had been a disaster waiting to happen. He slowed the car and turned into the parking lot. Snow had started to fall, and it muted the light spilling from the lampposts.
“Maybe it was because so much time had passed, that it was hard to turn back,” Monica said, her voice contemplative. “I have a hard time remembering what life was like before my mother forgot my name.”
“What about your dad?” he asked.
“My dad died a few years ago, right about the time the dementia was overtaking my mom. So I left college and came back home to help out.”
He slowed the car, stopping next to where hers was parked, now dusted with snow. “You’re an amazing person, Monica. I’m glad you’re buying my parents’ shop.”
She flashed him a smile. “Thanks.”
“I’ll get the snow off your windows while you warm up the engine,” Jaxon said, climbing out.
The night air was cold, but invigorating. Monica climbed into her car and started the engine. He used his coat sleeve to clean off the windshield, then stopped. Someone had spray-painted bitch on the glass in red.
Monica must have seen it the same time he had, since she climbed out of the car and came to stand by him, facing the windshield.
He slipped his hand into hers. “Let’s call in a report to the police, then follow me in your car to my parents’ house. We can get the guest room ready for you.”
Monica only whispered, “Okay.”
“Are you fine to drive?” he asked. “We can come back
tomorrow.”
“No, I don’t want the care center employees to see this,” Monica said. “Although I don’t really want to explain to your parents either.”
“If anyone can be trusted, it’s them.” Jaxon wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him, and he wrapped his other arm around her so they stood together. “I had to learn it the hard way. Come on. Let’s make that call.”
They climbed into his car again, and Jaxon dialed the police station and asked to speak with the officer who’d first handled David’s reckless driving. When he answered, Jaxon explained the spray paint on Monica’s car.
“Thanks for reporting it,” the officer said. “We’ll go over to his place right now and question him.”
Jaxon thanked him and hung up. Then Monica got into her car and followed him back to his parents’ house.
On the way, Jaxon’s anger grew. He couldn’t believe what a jerk David was, but the part that made him the most mad was that Monica had been insulted. And despite the charges against him, David had still taken more action.
Jaxon had Monica pull into the driveway first and parked behind her. They walked to the front of the house together, and Jaxon noticed that only a couple of lights were on in the house. He hadn’t realized how late it was; his parents had probably gone to bed.
His cell phone rang just before he reached the front door. “It’s the officer calling back,” he told Monica.
He answered, and the officer said, “David wasn’t at his apartment, and it looked like it was mostly empty when we shone lights into the windows. So we knocked on a neighbor’s door and were told he moved out this evening. He left a forwarding address with the neighbor. Two states over. It looks like he left a parting gift for Monica in the form of spray paint.”
“So he’s gone for sure?” Jaxon asked, his gaze connecting with Monica. He gave her a thumbs up.
“Yes, but we’ll still pursue this.”
“Thank you, Officer,” Jaxon said. When he hung up, he smiled at Monica.
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “He really left. I’m so relieved.”
“Me too,” Jaxon said. “But I still think you should stay here tonight. You’ve been through a lot today.”
When she nodded, he opened the front door to the house and found that all was quiet. The Christmas tree was the only light in the living room, making the room glow like scattered stars. Jaxon shrugged off his coat, then took Monica’s.
“Looks like they’ve gone to bed,” Jaxon said. “I’ll show you the guest room.”
“Thanks,” Monica said. “I appreciate it.” She followed him down the hall, and they both stopped in the doorway of a bedroom.
The mattress had been stripped and propped against a wall. Boxes were stacked three or four high on top of the box spring.
“So...” Jaxon began. “Why don’t you take my room, and I’ll sleep on the living room couch. It could take a while to put this room together.”
Monica wrapped her arms about herself. “I can take the couch. I’m so tired, I’ll probably fall asleep instantly.”
“No, really. I insist that you take my room.”
She hesitated, but finally said, “All right. Thank you.” Then she gave a soft laugh. “I wonder how many times I’ve thanked you today.”
Jaxon laughed too. “I’ve lost count. But I hope you know it’s no trouble.” He grasped her hand and led her up the stairs. He liked the way her hand fit into his, small and warm. They passed his parents’ room, then stopped at the end of the hall. Jaxon opened the door and was glad he’d made the bed that morning.
“The bathroom’s across the hall,” he said. “You can wear one of my T-shirts. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“I will,” she said, leaning against the door frame as he walked away.
Walking away was hard to do. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her until she stopped worrying about jerks and nasty words on windshields.
Once downstairs, Jaxon found a blanket in a closet, then took off his shoes. He doubted he’d sleep much so he left the Christmas tree lights on as he lay on the couch. He couldn’t stop thinking about Monica and how different she was from Cynthia. Of how his parents loved Monica and trusted her implicitly, and for good reason.
Jaxon might not have known Monica for long, but he’d watched her in several situations already— from being around a lot of hyper kids to dealing with her ex-boyfriend, to seeing how she treated his parents. Jaxon didn’t know where things might end up with Monica, but he planned to ask her out again. Tomorrow. It had been years since he felt like he was doing the right thing. But coming home felt right. And being with Monica felt right.
“Jaxon?” Monica said, coming into the room.
He sat up, surprised that she was still awake.
“Sorry to bother you.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” Jaxon said, getting to his feet. “Are you okay?”
She had her arms wrapped around her waist. Her auburn hair tumbled messily about her shoulders, as if she’d been trying to sleep. “I think so,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes.
It was endearing that she’d come down to talk to him. To lean on him. It made him feel needed, wanted. He crossed to her and pulled her into his arms. She nestled against him with a sigh. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve been high maintenance from the moment we were in the same room together.”
He only pulled her against him tighter. He didn’t mind helping her. Not in the least. Hugging her wasn’t bad either. “You could take the couch, and I’ll grab a sleeping bag for the floor. We’ll have an old-fashioned slumber party.”
“Your parents would have a heart attack when they woke up.”
He drew away and smiled down at her. He loved how her blue eyes met his, trusting, yet amused. “It would be a good heart attack.”
“Is there such a thing?” she asked, holding back a smile in an attempt to seem serious.
“We can find out.”
She shook her head, and he wanted to touch her hair, to feel its softness.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “We’d better stick to plan A.”
“All right,” he said, but neither of them moved. And then he found her looking up, above their heads.
“Mistletoe,” she whispered, a smile curving her lips.
“It must be fate.” Jaxon moved his hands to her waist and rested his forehead against hers. Closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent. Wild flowers. “Maybe we’ll both be able to sleep if we just get it over with.”
“Get what over with?” her voice was drowsy, husky.
“Kissing each other.”
“Hmmm. I don’t know if that would put me to sleep,” Monica said.
He could hear the smile in her voice. “I guess we should just try it then, to rule it out.”
And he did. Monica’s hands moved behind his neck, and he drew her against him. With the Christmas lights twinkling beyond them and the snow falling outside, he kissed her gently, taking his time. He didn’t want their first kiss to be rushed. Or easily forgotten.
Monica sighed against his lips, her body relaxing until Jaxon felt as if he was suspended in the most delicious dream. She kissed him back, her mouth moving against his in answer to his silent questions.
Yes, she seemed to be saying.
When Jaxon drew away, he was no longer tired, but Monica said, “You’re right. I’d better sleep upstairs. Will I see you in the morning?”
“I’ll be right here.”
She laughed. “Standing under the mistletoe?”
“If that’s what it takes to get you to go out with me again.”
She placed her hands on his shoulders and rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I think I’m sold, Jaxon. See you in a few hours.”
Jaxon watched her leave the room, then crossed over to the couch and sat down. If he didn’t sleep tonight, it would be well worth it to know Monica was safe upstairs, that he had reconciled with his parents, th
at David had left town, and that tomorrow was a new beginning.
He closed his eyes, smelling the scent of wild flowers long after Monica’s departure. His cell buzzed with a new text message.
He smiled when he realized it was from Monica.
I’ve thought about your offer to come and work at the shop. I just wanted to let you know that you’re hired.
Jaxon laughed and texted back. Thank you. I accept.
As he faded into sleep, he realized he finally felt he had a purpose in his life after years of being adrift, and it centered around his family and the intriguing woman who would be his new boss.
Click on the covers to visit Heather’s Amazon Author page:
Heather B. Moore is a USA Today bestselling author. She writes historical thrillers under the pen name H.B. Moore; her latest is Finding Sheba. Under Heather B. Moore, she writes romance and women’s fiction. She’s one of the coauthors of The Newport Ladies Book Club series. Other works include Heart of the Ocean, The Fortune Café, The Boardwalk Antiques Shop, the Aliso Creek series, and the Amazon bestselling Timeless Romance Anthology series.
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Chapter One
Juliet Law turned down the Christmas song on the radio on her desk and reread the e-mail. Her heart had jumped to her throat and lodged there on first reading. The message had to be a prank. Or an overdose of peppermint cocoa.
Hey, Juliet. It’s been ten years. Yeah, that last date sucked, but if you’re up for it, so am I. I like to keep my promises. –Tag
Tag. Taggart McClintock. The boy next door when she was a kid. Her first date. Her cocoa mug bobbled in her hand and splashed a sip on her paperwork. Shoot.
A hot gust of wind threw sand at her Palm Desert office window. Baby, it wasn’t cold outside, as the song on the radio insisted. This part of California didn’t do ugly Christmas sweater contests. She wound her hair up into a bun, securing it with the pencil she just realized she’d been chewing.
Under the Mistletoe Collection Page 23