by Lisa Plumley
Whoa. Maybe he did, but she wouldn’t be the one who did it. Had she time–warped into the fifties or something? Holly Aldridge had bigger goals than taking care of a husband.
Double whoa. Husband? She didn’t know where that had come from. Determinedly, Holly steered her attention back to the hot dogs and tried to think spontaneously.
“Well, lady?” The hot dog vendor stared impatiently at her. Behind her, the line of people waiting was growing.
“Would you rather go someplace else?” Sam asked.
“No. Never mind what’s in it. I’ll take one…with everything, please. And a root beer, too.”
Being spontaneous was starting to feel awfully good.
So was indulging her appetite, Holly decided as she licked the last of the chili from her fingertips twenty minutes later. She sipped the foamy remnants of her root beer through her straw and glanced at Sam.
He was watching her. “Good?”
“Mmm-hmm. I can’t remember the last time I ate a hot dog. Brad prefers sushi.”
Sam made a face.
She couldn’t help but grin. As a prelude to changing the subject, she patted the picnic bench the two of them sat on. “This is nice. You really know how to treat a girl, Sam.”
He gave her a wary look.
Laughing, she waved her arm at their surroundings—a prime spot near the Christmas-crafts exhibition hall. Here, multicolored holiday lights twinkled. The air was scented with the fragrance of the fir trees stacked for sale nearby. And Christmas carols burst from the speakers at the nearest booth.
Despite the lack of snow, reindeer, and naturally occurring Scotch pines, Holly found the whole effect very Christmassy.
“No, really! I mean it,” she said. “It’s cheerful here. And peaceful. Plus, it’s nice not to have to worry about impressing anybody for a change.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Sam ducked his head and finished the last bite of his hot dog. When he looked up again, one corner of his lips was decorated with a little smear of chili.
“Umm, you’ve got a little bit of chili.” Holly tapped her fingertip at the corner of her lips. “Right here.”
“Here?” He probed one corner with the tip of his tongue.
“Other side.”
He tried again.
“No, lower. Here, wait a minute.” Grabbing a clean napkin from the pile on Sam’s lap, she moved closer to him and wiped away the spot. Beneath her fingertip, the corner of his mouth raised in a smile.
“There. I got it.” She dabbed the other side for good measure. “I guess nobody could eat with as much gusto as you do and not make a mess occasionally.”
“Thanks.”
Holly lowered her hand and made herself stop looking at Sam’s lips. Her gaze settled somewhere between his shoulder and jaw.
“You need a shave,” she informed him, trying to keep up her end of the conversation. The air practically vibrated between them. She needed to get back on safer ground, but before she could slide away, Sam wrapped his arms around her waist.
“I know.” The tone of his voice made it plain he couldn’t care less about razor stubble.
He was looking at her—she felt it. Holly risked a glance back at him, and her stupid, traitorous gaze went straight to his mouth again. They were close enough to share the same breath. Close enough to know better.
“Unless you want to be kissed again,” Sam warned, “you’d better quit looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m an especially tasty morsel of something you stopped indulging in a long, long time ago.”
Holly took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s time to stop denying myself,” she said slowly, assessing the dark shadow of beard stubble on his jaw. What would it feel like if she rubbed her cheek across it, just a little?
“Maybe,” Sam agreed.
That brought her up short. “You sound as if you don’t care one way or the other.”
Didn’t he want to kiss her again? Had she been so lousy at it the last time? She didn’t think so, but…wasn’t he even going to try to encourage her?
“I care.” He smiled, wryly. “Do it, then.”
Their eyes met. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Her spontaneity dissolved beneath the intensity of his expression, taking her bravado with it. This was real. No amount of rationalizing could change that.
“But do it because you want to,” Sam said, his voice lowered, “and not for any other reason. Not because you’re mad at your boyfriend or you want to prove something to me. Not because I kissed you first.” He smiled at that. “But just because you want to.”
No excuses. Holly could recognize a warning when she heard one. This one should have doused her feelings like a bucket of midwinter snow, but it didn’t. Her whole body tensed with anticipation. Yes, yes. It had been so long.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I…I do want to.”
Sam cupped her cheek in his hand, his fingertips stroking slowly beneath her ear. “Look at me, then. Look at me and know the man you’re with.”
It was Sam. Scruffy, messy, love-at-first-sight Sam, and in the instant before her eyes drifted closed, he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen. She kissed him.
It was the most potent experience she could remember having. As soon as she opened her eyes again, Holly knew she’d been crazy to think one taste was enough. Being with Sam made her want to throw common sense to the wind.
She shot to the other side of the bench as if her behind was on fire. “So, what should we do next?”
She wished her voice would quit shaking.
Sam leaned his head against the bench, gazing at her with half closed eyes. “More kissing?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” she said firmly. “Besides, anybody could see us here.”
“You won’t kiss me because somebody might see.”
It wasn’t a question.
“That’s right,” she lied. “Wasn’t once enough for you?”
“Not nearly.” He ran his fingertips along the bare skin of her upper arm, raising a shivery trail of goose bumps. “Was it enough for you?”
“I have a fiancé…at least, I think I still do. I shouldn’t even be here.” She got up, then grabbed her day planner and purse. “Maybe you should just take me home.”
“I’m not going to force myself on you, Holly.”
“I know.”
Sam reached for her hand. “Scared?”
Yes. Scared of you, scared of me. Scared of losing my best chance at happiness. She couldn’t say it out loud.
“Should I be?” she asked instead. It sounded ridiculous even to herself. She tried again. “I’m sorry, Sam. The kiss was a mistake. Things didn’t work out for me with Brad today, and I guess I was feeling vulnerable. I won’t let it happen again. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone.”
Sam crumpled his paper cup and threw it into the trash can.
“Okay,” he said. “I understand.”
Holly wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t what she heard next.
“Want to hit some rides before we go?”
Saturday night. Date night, at least for the happily coupled half of the planet’s population. Standing alone in the vestibule of Francie’s restaurant, Holly felt decidedly in the uncoupled half. Flipping open her cell phone, she turned her back on the lovebird couples waiting for tables.
Please be home. Come on.
Clarissa answered on the third ring.
“Hi, it’s me,” Holly said, trying to sound upbeat. “You busy?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I…” Clarissa always knew when something was wrong, even when Holly tried to hide it. Her throat tightened, making it hard to speak. She blinked, staring hard at the maître d’ stand. Focusing on it helped distract her long enough to finish talking. “You want to catch a movie or something?”
Silence. Holly could picture the scene, though—Clarissa sittin
g cross-legged on her black kitchen countertop, cordless receiver cradled to her ear, probably painting her toenails orange. Clarissa was big on beauty rituals.
“Sure,” Clarissa said. “A movie movie, or a DVD rental?”
Saturday night. Date night. The movie theater would be packed with hand-holding, smiling couples. The kind of couple Holly wasn’t part of anymore.
“DVD.”
“Gotcha. I’ll meet you at your place in half an hour.”
“Unless…unless you’ve got other plans. With David, I mean. I don’t want to interrupt anything.”
“Don’t be silly, Holly Berry. Get yourself home. And be careful, too.”
“Yes, Mom.” Holly smiled for the first time in what felt like hours. “See you soon.”
When Holly pulled into her driveway, Sam’s truck was nowhere in sight. He was probably on a date, too. So much for love at first sight.
He’d left the porch light on for her, though, and the holiday lights they’d strung along the eaves flashed merrily, too. Bathed in their multicolored glow, she trudged up the sidewalk to the front porch. She kicked off her high heels and sat on the swing beside Sam’s mini Christmas tree.
The decorated plant had taken up permanent residence there, where it got plenty of sunshine during the day. Sam had insisted six inches of Christmas tree was all he needed, but his macho attitude hadn’t fooled Holly one bit. His enthusiasm for hanging ornaments, cutting paper snowflakes, and blitzing the windows with spray-on snow hadn’t been lost on her. He loved the holidays as much as she did. Maybe even more.
Holly sighed. They’d spent hours hanging wreaths, making red and green construction paper chains, and eating gingerbread men together. Now, cradling the little tree’s terra-cotta pot with one hand to keep it steady, she dug her stockinged toes against the porch floorboards and set the swing in motion. Things with Sam might be coming up all fruitcake and mulled cider, but as far as the rest of her life was concerned…that was another story.
Things weren’t turning out the way she wanted them. The worst part was, Holly couldn’t figure out why. Everything ought to be peachy. You study hard, you get straight A’s. You work hard, you get promoted. You find the right man, you get loved. Except she’d found the right man, and Brad didn’t love her. He was messing up the rest of the equation. Where was the happily ever-after ending?
Not that she was naïve enough to believe all relationships ended happily. Her divorced parents were proof of that. But their marriage had begun in the heat of passion. It would have been impossible to sustain that, wouldn’t it? In contrast, with Brad, Holly had found a man with a background, interests, and professional goals that were all similar to hers. It should have at least increased her odds of success.
Instead it only left her feeling lonely.
Headlights swept the porch as Clarissa’s sports car pulled into the driveway and roared to a stop. Clarissa got out and tromped up the walk carrying an overflowing department store shopping bag.
“Hey, what are you doing out here?” she asked.
Holly stopped the swing. Clarissa picked up the mini Christmas tree and settled herself in its place, balancing the pot on her bare knees. She plunked her shopping bag between them. They started swinging again.
“I’m just thinking about stuff,” Holly said. “I haven’t made it inside yet.”
She hadn’t wanted to go in alone. Weeknights were easier. She could stay at work late and tell herself she was being productive. There were no such excuses on the weekend. The empty house waited for her, a big old reminder of how empty her life was becoming, too.
Clarissa tapped the shopping bag. “I’ve got all the essentials in here. A Charlie Brown Christmas and some spritz cookies if you’re feeling happy, It’s a Wonderful Life and a jumbo box of tissues if you’re not, and two pints of peppermint stick ice cream in either case.” She smiled sympathetically. “Plus a good ear for listening. What’ll it be?”
Holly burst into tears.
Clarissa stopped the swing. “I knew I should have brought a George Clooney movie, too. George is good for all occasions.” She rummaged in the shopping bag, then pressed a wad of tissues in Holly’s hand.
“Do you want to tell me what happened? Or should I just go wring Brad’s neck right now? You did go to dinner with him tonight at Francie’s like you planned, right?”
Holly nodded, sniffling.
“He stood you up. Damn him!”
“No…no, he didn’t stand me up. He was there.” Holly blew her nose and tried to get herself under control. Her nose was so plugged up she sounded like a muppet when she talked.
“He was there, but he was a half hour late,” she continued. “Gina—his secretary—called the restaurant to let me know. Otherwise I probably would have left.”
Yeah, right. She would have stayed out of pure stubbornness, if nothing else. Determination had served her well over the past few years. Holly couldn’t admit that to Clarissa, though. She still had some pride left.
“How did his secretary know about your romantic dinner together?”
“I made the plans through her. You know how busy Brad is.”
Clarissa shook her head. “I still think you should have left. It would have served him right.”
“I’m not trying to teach him a lesson. I’m trying to put our relationship back on track again.” Holly sighed. It was starting to look as if she was the only one interested in keeping things going between them.
Clarissa pulled two diet colas from the depths of her bag and cracked open a can for each of them. “Negates the calories to come later from the ice cream.” She winked. “So Brad the Bad strolls in late. Then what?”
“Well, he joined me at the table. Our special table—The Table—where we sat on our first date.”
Their first date, Holly’s first blind date. Her mother had fixed her up with Brad after meeting him the day she’d closed the sale of his parents’ new two-million-dollar Arizona “vacation cabin.”
“Uh-huh. Good move, the special table,” Clarissa said. “Part of the emotional appeal phase of your plan?”
“Yes.” Holly was a little surprised Clarissa remembered the plan so well. “But Brad didn’t like it. He spent the first ten minutes badgering the waiter into seating us farther from the kitchen.” Holly sighed, remembering. “The poor waiter didn’t know what to do. I’d slipped him five bucks to seat us there.”
Clarissa tilted her head, staring up at the twinkling holiday lights. “Men can be so clueless about sentimental things. David still thinks I picked red roses for our wedding because they matched the bridesmaid’s dresses best. Duh! They were the first kind of flowers he ever gave me.”
Holly’s mind flashed on the poinsettias Sam had given her the day of the winter carnival. Good thing she wasn’t marrying Sam. Poinsettias would make a pretty goofy wedding bouquet.
“I know,” she agreed. “I don’t think they can help it.”
She swigged some diet cola, then remembered the peppermint stick ice cream in Clarissa’s bag. “Do you want to put the ice cream in the freezer?”
Clarissa carried her shopping bag inside. Holly followed, swinging her sleek new black shoes by their ankle straps. She didn’t know why she’d bothered getting dressed up. Brad hadn’t looked at her twice during the whole meal. If not for his perfunctory, “You look nice tonight, Holly,” she’d have thought he hadn’t noticed her efforts at all.
“The ice cream is safely stowed for later,” Clarissa said when she came back into the living room. She flopped down next to Holly on the sofa and sat hugging her knees to her chest. “So tell me the rest. What happened after Brad finished browbeating the waiter?”
“Well, we ordered dinner.” Holly paused, squinting to remember the awful truth. “You know, I always thought it was so charming of Brad to order for me when we went out someplace. But tonight… I don’t know, it seemed a little….”
She stopped and shook her head. “I’m probably just mad becaus
e things didn’t work out. But I didn’t like it. And it wasn’t just that, either. I can’t really put my finger on it. It was as if Brad wasn’t really there, you know what I mean?”
Clarissa nodded, setting her soda can on the glass coffee table top. Holly automatically reached for a coaster, then stopped. That was Brad’s rule, not hers. Whose house was it, anyway?
“I know what you mean,” Clarissa said. “David is like that if I try to talk to him while he’s watching ESPN. Zombie man. Not all there.”
“Exactly. Brad kept looking around, as if he was looking for someone.” Or looking for an escape route. “I had it all planned out,” Holly went on. “I brought a portable CD player so I could play our favorite song. I brought pictures of the ski trip we took last December, so we could reminisce about the good times. I even alluded to the first time we, ahh…”
“Did the deed?” Clarissa suggested with a wicked lift of her eyebrows.
“Noodled. Brad called it noodling.”
“What?”
“It’s true,” Holly admitted, feeling herself flush. “Whenever Brad was, ummm, in the mood, he’d kind of nudge me and say, ‘Want some noodling, little girl?’”
“Gross!”
“I guess it does sound a little strange. I got used to it.”
Clarissa gave her a sympathetic look. Holly shrugged.
“Anyway, nothing worked tonight. Brad didn’t want to reminisce. He said playing our song would disturb the other diners, and he flipped through the vacation pictures as if they’d catch fire if he held onto them longer than two seconds apiece.” Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. “What am I doing wrong, Clarissa? I’m really trying here, but I must be doing something wrong, because it’s not working!”
“It’s not you, hon.” Soothingly, Clarissa patted Holly’s arm. “It’s Brad the Bad. Honest. It’s got to be.” She paused. “Have you ever considered he’s just not the right man for you?”
“No. Uh-uh.” Feeling a need to keep busy, Holly reached for the shopping bag and dug around in it. She pulled out the DVDs and plopped them on the coffee table.
“I can’t give up now. Not after everything I’ve already invested in this relationship. What if I’m almost there? What if I just need a little more time before Brad realizes we belong together? We were really great together once.”