Well, she couldn’t exactly say yes. Not considering the way things were with Newell right now. Throwing a date in with an old friend could rock the boat even further with him.
More than a friend, if she was honest with herself.
Her fingers hovered over the keys while she debated how to answer the e-mail.
Tag McClintock. Whoa. Her heart shot into a wormhole and landed smack dab in Desert Valley high school, circa ten years ago. There’d been so many years of being kids together, throwing rocks, training her dog to do tricks, making that fort, and Tag’s promise he’d dangled to take her on her first date. All the build-up, and then— blammo! Tag was right. That night, ten years ago, had been the suckiest date of all suckitude. It was off the suckage scale— culminating with the police. And a large dose of Pepto Bismol.
He’d probably needed the full ten years to heal from the PTSD of that night.
Even though Juliet would’ve gone out with him the very next day, had he asked.
Which he hadn’t.
She sipped her drink to combat the dry of her throat and cranked the radio up again. They were playing her favorite version of “First Christmas Date,” the duet by Ace Bandage and Sarah Karnes. It kind of described her and Tag, their first Christmas date, young and in love. Well, except the in love part— for him. And how smooth and easy the date went.
Tag. Would he look the same? Like an engineering geek version of James Bond?
Ten years. She could still hear his nervous chuckle as they stood on her doorstep beneath the Christmas lights. “Sorry about tonight, Juje.”
To reassure him, she’d filled the chilly air between them with a joke. “Aw, don’t worry, Tag. We can try it again in ten years. When we’ve both had time to recover.”
He’d looked a little jarred, and he pulled a smirk, twisting a flower off the Christmas cactus on her porch railing and handing it to her. “Yeah.” A look of earnest regret crossed his face. She couldn’t blame him. Some of it wasn’t his fault.
Tag leaned in, placed a soft kiss on her cheek, and didn’t ask her out again.
Until now.
Tag was probably only home for the Christmas holidays, needing a little female companionship while his real girlfriend shopped at Bergdorf’s or wherever rich big shot businessmen’s girlfriends shopped.
Juliet spent most of her salary at Target.
Or maybe he had come home for the holidays, and his parents pressured him into contacting her, the cute little girl who grew up next door.
Frankly, a little part of her wanted to say no. Forget it. Don’t call me up after ten years just because you’re single and lonely over your vacation and just now remembered I was the best sport ever and the best friend you ever had before you went off to the Ivy League and became some kind of big shot businessman.
Her fingers still floated over the keyboard while she decided how to answer. No matter how tempted she was to type, “Absolutely! Just name the time or place! I’m there in two seconds!” with all the exclamation points, seriously, she should say no. Not because of all her other insecurities about why he might be asking, no. But because he was a ghost from her past. A very potent ghost. No one since even compared to Taggart McClintock.
And after this restitution date, or whatever it was, he would go away, back to his big shot businessman life, wherever he lived now, and she’d be in another decade-long limbo.
She made another cup of cocoa and let the hot liquid slide down into her stomach and burn up the butterflies. She could lie, say she’d gotten married. But next year was their ten-year high school reunion. The truth would out. She could fib and say she was involved with someone. There was Newell— they were “involved.” Sort of. Mostly they were involved in a war with management of the prop plane company they both worked for. He was involved with dumping his ex-girlfriend, and Juliet was used as arm candy to make the ex jealous.
At least she got dinner out of it. And when Newell finally did cut loose all those apron strings to his girlfriend, he had real potential for being an awesome boyfriend.
Which sounded pathetic, when she thought about it. But... her life was actually something pretty awesome— working as a private pilot for this mom and pop business, but nearly at the point where she could buy her own plane. And Palm Desert was incredible— it was where celebs came to escape L.A. Plus, she had the bonus of living somewhere where she could always, always brag about the weather: it was either the hottest place in the nation and she was a beast for surviving it, or else it had the mildest, most beautiful weather while everyone else suffered through winter. Like today, a week before Christmas, the temperature read sixty-eight. Best of both worlds.
Most of all, it was home.
Her peppermint cocoa had cooled to sixty-eight degrees while she dithered.
Her phone buzzed in a text.
Polly: Hey, Juliet. Weekend plans? You want to go out with my brother? He’s almost divorced and needs a date for his holiday office party.
Ugh. Polly’s brother. He was not Juliet’s idea of holiday cheer. Almost divorced was not the same as divorced.
Juliet: Sorry. I have plans.
Polly: Plans???? Elaborate, or I’ll think you’re dissing Vince. And me.
Juliet debated. Nothing was set with Tag. She still hadn’t decided— or answered him. So what if as a teen she’d had a little crush on her neighbor?
Oh, who was she kidding? It had been blinding. She’d thought of nothing and no one else for the rest of high school. Even when he went back to Nadia the cheerleader, Juliet had carried a torch. The only thing that cured it was his leaving for business school back East and her staying home and earning her pilot’s license. Okay, maybe it was never cured— just put in a cryogenic containment freezer that she never dared open again.
Tag. Tag McClintock.
And what if she did go out with him? Where would they go? He didn’t live in Palm Desert. She’d just go out with him, spend a couple of hours, say good-bye, and then live another decade with a gaping ache impossible to fill, even with chocolate.
Her computer chimed a new e-mail.
Come on. Say yes. I mean, there’s no possible way it could be worse than our first date.
Well, that was true. She bit her knuckle.
Juliet: Sorry, Polly. I’ve got a date.
Chapter Two
Six times. That’s how often she changed her clothes while waiting for Tag to knock on her door. Six. Six was too many. Especially since it mashed the beach waves she’d meticulously curled into her long brown hair. Now they were more like lake waves. Or puddle waves. Or, considering the color, mud puddle waves.
Why did she even try?
Then came Tag’s text.
Wear something nice. Kind of formal. I have a surprise.
In the entire pile of outfits decorating the chair and floor of her bedroom, not one was “nice” or “kind of formal.” It had been a series of jeans and cardigans scented with lingering perfume bursts.
Another text came.
I’ll be there in five.
Five! Five minutes? Her heart sped. Surely he meant hours. Because it would take her that long to find something kind of formal in this town, let alone in her closet. All she had was... the Red Dress. It was a notoriously hot dress. And not the Palm Desert heat meaning. The last time she’d worn it out, was with Polly to her brother’s work party, and every single guy at the firm (and even two married guys) had asked for her number.
Yeah, she couldn’t wear that with Tag.
The doorbell rang, setting off tremors in her stomach. Tag. He was here.
“Just a sec!” Juliet shrieked but then cleared her throat and called in a calmer tone, “Be right there.” She was already in motion. Within thirty seconds she’d yanked the Red Dress off the hanger, tugged it over her curves, slid her feet into the pumps that made her five inches taller, and snagged a breath mint and her keys from atop her dresser.
“Coming!” She chugged across the entryway and
threw back the door. And then her blood reversed direction in her arteries. There stood Tag. And no, it wasn’t the geeky engineering version of James Bond. Just the James Bond. And he was in a suit— a kind of formal one, black with a white shirt and a narrow black tie. It took her a minute before she could speak. “Tag. It’s...” That’s as far as she got.
He wasn’t speaking either, just looking perplexed. Oh, no. She hadn’t checked in the mirror. Was her wardrobe malfunctioning? She glanced down in horror, but no. All was fine. Finally he said, “Wow. You look—”
“I know. It’s a little much for dinner and a movie, or whatever you have planned.” Seeing his face, hearing his voice, sent her into a spin that rivaled those high-powered washers down at the laundromat, the kind for king-sized bedspreads.
“No. Uh…” He blinked three times and shook his head. Finally he said, “Hello, Juliet. You look great.” Then Tag stepped forward, and Juliet went in for the kiss-hello— always awkward, and he didn’t know quite what to do. Ugh! Why did she do that? She was not the kiss-hello type. He tipped his nose to the right, to the left, and suddenly, he’d kissed her right on the lips.
“Oh!” Juliet gasped, her heart rate kick-starting. Because his lips were hot velvet.
“Sorry. I’ve never quite mastered that East Coast thing.” He shook himself and looked directly into her eyes, and to Juliet, that look was almost tangible, like a cable with a grappling hook shooting from him and snagging deep in her soul. Reflexively, she reached out and touched his hand. He grasped it and led her toward his car. “It’s been a long time.”
Tag led her down the driveway, and a desert creature, a lizard of some kind, scurried across their path. “They’re good luck,” he said, pointing to the scaly thing.
“If past is prologue, we need it.”
“Oh, I’m not going to let there be a repeat of the past. I have this all planned, down to the last detail.” Tag squeezed her hand and flashed her his teeth in a confident grin that sent a flash up her spine.
Tag helped her into his rental car. Nice rental— high end. But when she looked around at the dash and for stickers denoting which rental company, she couldn’t find any. Huh. Weird. Where would he borrow it from it if it wasn’t rented? Tag’s parents didn’t seem the type to drive a coupe with a speedometer that cranked into those ranges, so he probably didn’t borrow it from them for this trip home. But then again, people could surprise you, like when her clergyman retired and bought a Harley Davidson and a skull-emblazoned helmet.
Had Tag come to stay?
“Merry Christmas,” Tag said, extending a hinged box with a satin ribbon. Half his mouth raised in a lopsided grin.
“I— oh, thank you. I didn’t get you anything.” Embarrassment pinged in her. She should’ve thought of him. Well, not that she’d thought of anything else. But she should have thought more. Like what would please him.
“It’s okay. I wanted to. I’m glad you wore red.” He looked her up and down, letting his eyes loiter on her shape. It made her nervous and pleased her at the same time. Thank you, water aerobics. He motioned for her to open it, and inside lay a necklace with flashing red stones set in silver bezels.
“Wow. This is gorgeous. Thank you.” She never wore much jewelry, but this? This was incredible. She lifted her hair while he extended it around her neck and fastened the clasp, his hands lingering near the skin of her shoulder a second or two longer. She got goose bumps and shut her eyes. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It’s one of a kind.” Tag started the car and peeled out of the driveway. So, still the same kind of driving habits— the ones that got them in so much trouble before.
Juliet pulled down the visor to see. She rested her hand on the necklace that came just to her collarbone, its pendant flashing in the last rays of the setting sun. What fire! But even so, it caught her off guard. Jewelry? After ten years of not seeing each other? Her mind swung on the pendulum between best- and worst-case scenarios. Best, he really liked her. Worst, he stole it. No, wait. Worst, it belonged to an ex girlfriend and he wanted it off the top of his dresser.
Geez. She had to stop this erratic mind-reeling and say something normal. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
“It’s what I do.”
What? She cocked her head and looked at him. “Jewelry?”
He peeled onto the freeway, heading west toward L.A., and said, “No. Think of you.”
The words hit Juliet like a juggernaut. Better than best-case scenario. Her breathing hitched. Sure, she’d never let Tag McClintock out of her heart, but she’d forced him out of her mind— with herculean effort— over the years, especially after they graduated, moved away from living next door to each other where out her window she could see the light around the blinds of his bedroom. Hearing him say this didn’t just open her heart’s door a crack. It blew it wide open— with a PVC pipe full of C4.
She couldn’t respond, but she dialed her knees his direction, and he took the hint and rested his hand on her leg as soon as he’d shifted into fifth gear and they were at cruising speed on the I-10.
“How are your parents?” she asked.
Over the speeding miles, they caught up. But Juliet was surprised how much Tag already understood about her current life. He knew her dad had been sick, that her brother Wyatt got in that wreck, that her mom had been caring for the both of them while Juliet’s income supplemented the situation.
But then again, Juliet knew her fair share about Tag’s life, too. From her mom Juliet already knew that Tag’s younger sister had done a swan dive off the deep end, spent time in rehab, and had come out of it, clean for four months straight.
“That’s great for Kenzie.”
“Yeah, but...”
“But you were worried and came home.” Juliet filled in the blank.
He looked out the window. “I just wanted to help them keep an eye on her, you know?”
“She always looked up to you.”
“Truth is, I’d always planned to come back. The East Coast was just temporary, to get my credentials, pay my dues, so I could show up and live back here and not have to do lawn maintenance at the golf courses like half our graduating class.”
What he said was true. Most of their class did find jobs in landscaping. But that was never Tag’s thing. He was too good with people. And had a brown thumb.
“So, this isn’t just a Christmas trip.” And this car really wasn’t a rental. Or his parents’ midlife crisis. This was Tag’s. He was here for good. Wow. He must be doing quite well for himself. Or have some kind of wicked-high car payment. Knowing Tag, though, it’d be the former. “And you have a job somewhere.”
“It took me six months to find the right job out here. But,” he pointed into the distance. “See those?” They were coming up over the pass between the dry part of California and the lush part, where the San Jacinto and San Bernardino mountains caught all the rain and kept it on the west side, leaving Palm Desert a waste of blowing sand. At that junction stood sentinel hundreds of white towers with spinning triple blades. The wind turbines.
“The eyesores of the Golden State?”
“I’m the new director of the project.”
Her throat closed. Uh. Whoops. “Oh, jeez, man, I—”
“Don’t get me wrong. I know they’re eyesores. But they made it so I could relocate. So suddenly they’re as charming as the windmills of the Dutch countryside to me.”
That being the case, Juliet suddenly saw something whimsical in them as the massive blades spun in the fading winter twilight. “So, Mr. McClintock. What have you planned for tonight?”
Tag jutted his chin in confidence. “You do still like Ace Bandage, right?”
Ace Bandage! Her lifelong favorite singer? “You’re not taking me to see Ace Bandage.” She let out a squeal. “Are you?”
“There’s a Christmas concert at the Pantages Theater.”
“And we have tickets?”
“Sweetheart, we have backsta
ge passes.”
Juliet sank back against the seat of the car. Backstage passes! No way. And what was better— Tag just called her “sweetheart.” She let the endearment melt over her like warm caramel sauce.
But then Tag let his foot off the gas. She glanced over, and he was frowning and pulling off the freeway and muttering what might be a curse. Juliet sat up. “What’s wrong?”
Tag just shook his head, his mouth forming a tight line as he geared down and pulled into the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant in Covina. Juliet looked around, and then she saw the flashing blue and red lights. Her mouth went dry.
Great. This date appeared to be starting the way their first date had ended. “It’s going to be okay, Tag. They’re probably just doing random stops.” But Juliet knew he’d been close to breaking the sound barrier.
The officer went through the usual, “Do you know how fast you were going, sir?” recitation. When he left with the driver’s license, Tag closed his eyes and pounded back against the headrest a few times.
Juliet reached over and rested a hand on his arm. Wow. Tag McClintock, high school band geek, had been working out. Those triceps— hmm.
He looked over at her, clearly frustrated. “This was not in my plan.”
“Don’t worry. The concert probably doesn’t start until eight. We’ve got loads of time.” Juliet squeezed the triceps (to reassure him, right?).
Tag opened his mouth to say something, but the officer reappeared. “Sir? Will you please step out of the car?”
What? They never asked that. Not unless they had something serious to accuse someone of.
Juliet bated her breath while needles of fear pricked her all over. “Tag? Is everything—?”
Tag gave her a nod of reassurance, but soon he was bent face first over the hood of the car and being handcuffed and then hustled into the back seat of the police cruiser. Juliet stared, eyes wide, kneecaps shaking. She turned down a grating version of “Feliz Navidad” on the radio and then, on second thought, shut off the engine altogether.
Under the Mistletoe Collection Page 24