Her Favorite Holiday Gift

by Lynda Sandoval

  This could not happen. How could she have been so utterly weak?

  Melody spun and pummeled her way down the stairs, giggling, unaware of the havoc she could wreak by posting that photo. If it actually made it onto the blog and someone from her firm saw it—

  “Mel, wait!” Eric said, lunging after her, taking the stairs two at a time.

  Frozen, shaking, Colleen stood on the stair landing and covered her face with her palms. She could hear one helluva chase carrying on between brother and sister-in-law below her, but she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t move. She very well might’ve made the new stupidest mistake of her career.

  “What on earth is going on here?” she heard a booming male voice from below that resembled Eric’s. Probably his father’s. “Melody, stop running around like a crazy person. You’re carrying my grandchild, I might remind you.”

  Colleen couldn’t make out the ensuing argument, but all of a sudden, she felt a light touch on her upper arm. Gasping, she dropped her hands. Emily Nelson stood there, perplexed. “Honey, what happened?”

  Colleen couldn’t believe it. Her chin actually quivered. It was the nurturing mom thing that undid her. “Melody took a photo of Eric and me. Kissing.” Her face flooded with heat. “She said she was going to upload it to the blog.”

  Emily’s expression softened. “Well, that’s okay, sweetie. You’re both adults. You don’t work in the same firm. Kissing often happens when adults are romantically involved.”

  Strangely, she didn’t want to break the spell, didn’t want to dispel the illusion that she and Eric were a couple. But she had to tell the truth. Her career could depend on it. “The problem is, Emily, we’re not romantically involved.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “We’re opposing counsel on a major case. The biggest case of my career, and I work for a very cutthroat law firm who would not appreciate knowing I spent my Saturday with Eric, no matter how innocent.” A tear had the nerve to spill over and tumble down her cheek. She smacked it away. “If anyone there sees that picture, I’ll lose my job,” she said, her voice husky with shame.

  Emily’s eyes widened. “Surely not. Over a photo?”

  “Trust me,” Colleen said.

  Emily’s expression moved quickly from surprise to confusion to alarm to control, then she grasped Colleen’s elbow. “Come on.”

  The two of them marched down the stairs, and at the bottom, Emily barked, “Melody!”

  Chaos stilled. Melody glanced over, wide-eyed, at her mother-in-law. “Yes?”

  Emily held her hand out, palm up, and snapped her fingers toward her. “Give up the phone.”

  “But—”

  “Enough of this. If Eric and Colleen want to keep things private, it’s our job as family to support them. Family before Web site, not the other way around. Now, hand it over.”

  Eric, chest still heaving from exertion, cocked his head in Colleen’s direction.

  She hiked her shoulder, clueless.

  Reluctantly, Melody placed the cell phone in Emily’s palm. “Sorry, you guys,” she said, ducking her head. “I was just messing around. Like, you’re both grown up. I didn’t know it was such a big deal.”

  “Dad? Brian?” Emily said. “Awkward moment for an introduction, but this is Colleen, Eric’s friend who’s come to visit for the first time. And it appears we’re acting like hooligans and owe her an apology.”

  “So what’s new?” Brian asked, from his kicked-back position in a recliner. “Hey, Colleen.”

  “Hello,” she managed, though her heart still pounded up near her throat.

  Brian grinned, then gave Eric a thumbs-up. Melody sank onto her husband’s lap.

  Eric’s dad, a strapping, thicker version of his son with—as predicted—the same chiseled features, leveraged himself from his chair and crossed the room. “Colleen, is it?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Robert Nelson, but everyone calls me Dad. I apologize, though I don’t know what for. I was engrossed in the game. In the Nelson household, though, it’s often wise to offer a blanket apology to newcomers.”

  Colleen smiled. “You look like Eric.”

  “Sure, about forty pounds and twenty years ago.”

  “More like fifty/thirty,” Eric said.

  Dad glowered at him, then held out a hand for Colleen to shake, which she did. “So nice to meet you. You’re always welcome in our zoo, at your own peril.”

  “Thank you. And you don’t owe me an apology. No one does.” She saw Melody peer up from under the shame veil of her lashes, and she smiled at the younger woman. “It’s okay. Really.”

  Emily handed the cell phone to Colleen. “I don’t have the foggiest idea how to mess with pictures on a telephone, for heaven’s sake. If you want to delete it—”

  “Aw, but it’s a great photo,” Melody said. “I won’t post it anywhere, I promise. You guys should have it, though.”

  “That’s okay, Mel,” Eric said. “Really. We don’t need the photo.”

  Emily added, “Melody, dear, let them decide when and how and to whom they announce whatever relationship they have, okay? I’ll explain later. Or Eric can, if he chooses.”

  Colleen, meanwhile, had opened the photo, and it stole her breath. The curve of her jawline, Eric’s lips on hers, backlit from the ceiling fixture in the hallway behind them like an aura. Feeling only slightly guilty, she sent it to her own phone, then deleted both the photograph and any sign that she’d sent it anywhere. Brash perhaps, but she wanted to look at that photo later.

  “Done,” she said, with a tight smile. She handed the phone back to Emily, who crossed the room and returned it to a very smacked-down looking Melody.

  “I’m really sorry, Colleen. I was just having fun.”

  “It’s okay, sis,” Eric said, ruffling her hair. “Sensitive situation, that’s all.”

  Melody’s eyes bugged. “Oh, my God. Colleen, are you already married? Is that what’s up?”

  All the air left Colleen’s lungs as if Melody’s question were a boot to the gut. Colleen splayed a hand on her chest. “No! No, of course not.”

  “I swear, Mel, if any of this ends up on that blog—”

  “It won’t!” Melody flailed her arms wide. “God, Eric! I got the message, loud and clear.”

  Eric studied her through narrowed eyes for several seconds before easing back.

  “Can we all just have a nice visit now, please?” Emily asked, exasperated. “Lord, I’ve been asking that for decades, and it gets me nowhere.”

  “Sure, Mom,” Eric said, but abruptly focused on his own cell phone. He unhooked it from his belt, read through a text, snapped it closed, and blew out a sigh. “Actually, darn it. Looks like I have to get back to the city. Sorry, Colleen.”

  “No, that’s okay. Is anything wrong?”

  He mussed his hair with one palm. “Something came up with a case. No worries.”

  “On a Saturday?” his mother exclaimed.

  “It happens.” He strode over, kissed his mom on the cheek, then turned back to the others. “Bye, all.”

  Everyone called out their goodbyes as Emily bustled off to retrieve Eric’s and Colleen’s coats.

  “We’ll be on our best behavior next time you stop by,” Eric’s father said, with a wink toward Colleen.

  “It was lovely to meet you all,” Colleen said, and she meant it. The Nelsons might be exuberant, a little overbearing, halfway terrifying at times. But they were alive, pulsating with everything that meant family.

  Banter, bickering, baked goods.

  Brian and a subdued Melody returned Colleen’s kind words, and in a flurry of wool and scarves and icy air, Colleen and Eric were gone.

  Chapter Eight

  Fuming and humiliated by the spectacle of his family, Eric didn’t speak until they got into the car and snapped their seat belts on. He kicked the engine over, cranked up the heat, and blew out a breath on the tail of a particularly ripe swearword. “At least that works every t
ime.” He tossed her a sidelong glance.

  “What? Swearing?”

  “No. The handy dandy fake urgent text message.”

  Colleen uttered her shock on a laugh, then grinned at him, shaking her head. “You mean, you don’t have to get back to the city for a case?”

  “No, I had to get out of there before I became a basket case.”

  “Sneaky move, Counselor.”

  “I never should have subjected you to them,” he muttered, teeth clenched. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be silly. I liked them.”

  He scoffed.

  “No, really.” She glanced at the warm glow emanating from the windows of the Nelson’s house. “At least your parents’ house is lively.”

  An innocuous opening, one he wasn’t going to miss. “What’s it like at home with your mom?”

  “Well, first of all, it’s my house, not hers. So it’s different.”

  “True.”

  “It’s…quiet. We keep to ourselves mostly.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “We’re just so different, Eric.” She sighed. “It’s a really long story for another time.” Colleen bit her bottom lip. “I’m worried about her. She doesn’t go out.”

  “Ever?”

  “Not lately. Not since the knee surgery.”

  “Well, maybe she just needs time to recuperate.”

  “It’s been over a year. Clean bill of health from the docs and even they’re urging her to get out and use the new knee. I think she’s depressed, maybe.”

  “Why?”

  Colleen pursed her lips, measuring. “Just a theory, but I think the knee replacement has made her feel old. She needs some incentive to get out and about, but I haven’t found it yet.”

  Eric felt the tension emanating from the passenger side of his car. He stayed quiet. As suspected, Colleen changed the subject.

  “Anyway…I can’t believe I didn’t even get to see the infamous scrapbooking room.”

  “It’s impressive. I’d say there’s always next time, but I don’t want to throw you back to the wolves.”

  “The only remotely wolfish fact is that Melody runs CaughtInYourBriefs.com.” Colleen shook her head. “I mean, I remember you mentioning she ran some idiotic gossip site during lunch, but I can’t believe it’s that particular one. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He tensed at the mere thought. “At that point in our renewed acquaintance? Please. You would’ve run screaming.”

  “Okay, you have a point.”

  “Plus, I try to block it from my conscious mind most of the time anyway, believe me. Melody’s site isn’t something I’m particularly proud of.”

  “You must read it, though.”

  “Sure. What attorney in Chicago doesn’t gobble the thing up? Doesn’t mean I want to admit my sister-in-law runs it. I want no connection to that site whatsoever.” He laid an arm across the headrest of her seat and twisted around to maneuver backward out of the winding driveway. “I swear, Coll, if I’d had any idea Melody would pull that camera-phone stunt—”

  Colleen held up her palms. “No harm, no foul. And I deleted the photo, so there’s no harm.”

  “Thank God. My family is freaking nuts. Now you see why I dread coming here every Friday night.”

  They drove to the end of the street, took a left, and merged into traffic before Colleen said, “Actually, I don’t. Nuts or not, they love you. You always have a place to go where people open the door, hug you, offer you cookies—”

  “Torment me, embarrass me.”

  “That’s family.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t sound so awful to me. Growing up, every single year I asked Santa for…”

  “For what?”

  She flicked away his question. “Never mind. It’s the stupid musings of a little girl. I’m over it.”

  “Perhaps. But I still want to know.”

  “Okay, fine.” She sighed, wound her hands into a knot on her lap. “I asked for a real family, with a house and a yard, siblings and a mom who wasn’t sad and desperate all the time.”

  Eric’s heart squeezed. “Wow.”

  She twisted her mouth to the side. “I’m sorry, that’s probably way too much pathetic information and you’re not exactly my therapist.”

  “No, it’s—” The wail of a passing ambulance halted his response. When the lights disappeared in front of them and the only sound was the wipers swishing across the windshield, Eric asked, “Do you still want a family?”

  “I have my mom,” she said, in a monotone. “I’m trying to stop taking her for granted. You’re born into whatever family is meant for you, I guess.”

  “I meant, a family of your own.” Damn it, he couldn’t help but imagine beautiful little girls who looked just like Colleen, and maybe one boy with uncooperative sandy-colored hair. Their children.

  “I never thought I did,” she said, on a sigh.

  Her words didn’t really answer his question, but then again, the wistful look on her lovely face combined with the cryptic statement answered more than she realized. He decided to let it rest.

  She tucked her hair behind her ears. “So…speaking of family and Web sites and such, Melody’s got to have some excellent dirt on you. Why haven’t you ever ended up on the blog?”

  “Frequent death threats,” he said.

  She eyed him sideways, then laughed. “Excellent.” They drove in silence until the water tower faded in the distance. “Bye, Schaumburg,” she said, with a wave.

  “You sound like you’ll miss it.”

  “I will. It was fun.” She took in a breath and held it for a moment. On the exhale, she asked, “Does this mean our day together is over?”

  A beat passed. He swallowed thickly. “Do you want it to be?”

  She considered the question. “Honestly? No. I’m having too good of a time. I haven’t thought about that idiot Ned Jones for hours.”

  Alert. Eric pressed his lips together to keep from commenting. He’d agreed they wouldn’t talk about the case, and he wasn’t going to be the one to breach that. But he wondered why the client whose honor she so vehemently defended a couple weeks ago was suddenly “that idiot Ned Jones.” Could she have confirmed his hunch about the Drake Thatcher connection?

  He made a mental note to hit the research full force on Monday, then simply said, “I’m having fun, too, now that we’re no longer at my parents’ house. And I’ve still got steam if you do.”

  “Power on,” she said, pumping her fist.

  He reached over and squeezed her leg briefly. “What’s next on the agenda, then?”

  “Well…if you don’t mind, we should pick up my car. I don’t particularly want to leave it in the conservatory parking lot.”

  “Not a problem. And after that?”

  She seemed to morph into a shy version of the Colleen he knew, which left him intrigued.

  She tucked her hair behind her ears. “If the offer still stands, I’d love to see your place.”

  He shot her a double take. “My—Really?” He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that his cleaning lady had come around earlier that day to de-guy the house.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Frankly, I am. But, don’t get me wrong, I’m not at all devastated by the notion.”

  “Good, then. It’s a plan.” She curled one delicate hand around the seat belt crisscrossing her body. “Moving forward with the plans, logistically, we’ll probably have to eat at some point.”

  He balked. “I’m not cooking. I don’t even really know how to operate my stove. Possibly the instruction manual and warranty card still reside inside the thing, but that’s unconfirmed.”

  “No problem. I’m not cooking either. Takeout?”

  “Sounds good. Maybe a movie at my place?” He grinned. “A reprisal of the West Side Story nights?”

  “Maybe.” She angled her face, causing her shiny black hair to sweep against her porcelain cheek. Again with the shyness. “Or we could just…talk.”


  “Catch up.”

  “Yeah.” A pause. “It’s been a long time, Eric.”

  That last statement was imbued with so much unspoken promise, he couldn’t catch his breath. He remembered the interrupted kiss on the stair landing, could still feel the softness of Colleen’s lips, the powdery scent of her skin. He wouldn’t mind a second chance at that.

  Wouldn’t mind it at all.

  Wouldn’t mind pulling Colleen into his arms and never letting her go, if you boiled it down to the bare-boned truth of the matter.

  Colleen marveled over the architectural differences between her sleek high-rise condo and Eric’s 1895 greystone…well, mansion, really…on a tree-lined, homey street. He was giving her the grand tour—twelve-foot ceilings, six bedrooms, eight ornate fireplaces, four bathrooms, all restored to pristine period detail. She’d always been a clean-lines kind of girl, but she fell in love with the grand moldings in every room, the archways, the woodwork, the mere concept of a fully functional carriage house in the back.

  “This is a lot of house for a single guy,” she said.

  “Believe me, I know. I could probably make do living in the carriage house alone. But I plan to stay here for a long time, maybe fill those bedrooms one day.”

  Colleen imagined the peal of children laughing as they pounded through all six thousand square feet of the place, the ultimate hide-and-seek utopia. She had to keep her mind off that track. She couldn’t bear to think of Eric married to someone else. Couldn’t bear to think of herself giving up her goals. Hence, she had to banish the whole thing from her brain. “Must take a lot to clean it.”

  He flipped his hands upward. “Housekeeper. Guilty as charged.”

  “Not to worry. I have one, too.”

  He planted his hands languidly on his hips and glanced around one of the front parlors. “I couldn’t pass this place up once we flushed out the squatters. I got it at a steal because it was a total gut job. Tons of work, but I couldn’t bear to leave a historic home like this to the house flippers. They rehab these old gals, sure. But restoring them in the way they deserve? Not always.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed, wrapping her arms around her middle. “It’s so different from my place. It feels…I don’t know…like a home.”