Blind Date (Dating Series Book 7)

by Monica Murphy

  Well, look at them now.

  “Please, Caroline,” I say, reflecting on her timeline. “You and Alex moved pretty fast once you reunited.”

  Caroline smiles. “True.”

  “Keep banging him,” Stella tells me, right before she takes a sip from her mimosa. “Invite him over Christmas Eve and leave the tree lights on and nothing else. Dress provocatively or…wait! Wrap a red bow around your boobs and that’s it. Tell him Merry Christmas.”

  Everyone laughs except me.

  “But I didn’t put a tree up this year,” I protest.

  Stella makes a face. “Fine. Throw up some twinkle lights everywhere. Anywhere. Wear something soft and seductive. Ply him with wine and jump his bones on the couch.”

  I don’t think he likes wine—not that I need him to drink it to get him in the mood. And when Stella says seductive, I’m pretty sure she’s meaning lingerie, while I’m thinking more along the lines of a soft sweater that feels good to the touch.

  Two different planes here. And Isaac isn’t complaining any, so I don’t think I’m doing anything wrong…

  “I have the perfect suggestion. You should come by Bliss and I’ll help you pick something out,” Sarah says, referring to the lingerie shop she still works at.

  “That’s a good idea,” I say with a slow nod. Maybe. Though I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. “But I work all day tomorrow, so I won’t be able to until after Christmas.”

  “What are you doing for Christmas?” Kelsey asks me.

  “Going to my parents’ house like usual,” I answer. Cousins and aunts and uncles will be in attendance and they’ll all ask me the same thing. Have I met anyone? What are my future plans? Have I considered starting a family yet? I’m not getting any younger. How many kids do I want to have?

  The list goes on. It’s excruciating.

  But you know what? I can face it and answer them with confidence. I don’t need to feel inferior because I’m not married yet. I’m an independent woman. I can do whatever the hell I want. They can take their judgement and stuff it.

  Gah, it’s liberating to just think that!

  “You bringing Isaac with you to meet them?” Caroline asks.

  “No way.” I shake my head. “It’s too early for that, don’t you think?”

  Caroline shrugs. “Maybe not.”

  Hmm. I probably should. Mother likes him a lot. I’m sure my father will too. Maybe. He’s so protective of me. And it always takes my big brother some time to warm up to anyone. Palmer might not like Isaac. He could believe Isaac is too young or not serious enough.

  Then I think of how I shouldn’t let others determine my future plans. I need to stand up for myself and go after what I want. Forget what everyone else thinks and focus on me.

  And Isaac…

  In the early days of our relationship, my parents liked Joe only because he seemed solid. He had a plan, and he was executing it. His one single flaw?

  Asking me to move in with him versus asking me to marry him. And my biggest flaw was agreeing to it. Oh, how my parents hated that. I think they were secretly relieved when Joe and I broke up and I found my own place. At least I wasn’t living in sin any longer.

  “Hey.” I startle at the sound of Eleanor’s voice, and I try to smile but it feels too forced so I give up. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m a little scared,” I admit, deciding to be truthful. “It’s been so long since I’ve been in a relationship, and the last one ended so badly. I’m afraid of messing everything up all over again.”

  “You won’t know if you’re messing it up unless you give this guy a try first,” Eleanor says gently.

  Very true. And I’ve already been giving him a try.

  I really like him, too. I think he likes me, too.

  So why the sudden fear?

  “He seems really nice. Candice wouldn’t try to set you up with some random guy either,” Eleanor continues. “I watched how he watched you at the wedding reception. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you the entire night. Plus, Mitch told me he paid him twenty bucks to purposely not catch the garter. He wanted it that bad.”

  “He wanted photos of us together,” I say, my heart squeezing when I remember that night. We ended up having so much fun. I couldn’t believe it when he caught that garter after I caught the bouquet. He said we were a perfect match.

  Was he right? Are we really a perfect match? Or are we just getting caught up in the romanticism of it all?

  “You should go for it,” Eleanor encourages. “Think of it as a Christmas treat for yourself.”

  I frown at her. “Are you calling Isaac my Christmas present?”

  She laughs. “Come on, you have to admit it’s a good idea.”

  Hmm. Eleanor’s right.

  It’s an excellent idea.

  Twenty-Four

  Isaac

  December 24th. That time of year when the holiday tunes playing overhead irritate a man beyond reason.

  Those last-minute customers who come in looking for a tree and lament over the lack of selection? Should’ve been here two weeks ago is what I always want to tell them, but I keep my mouth shut. That’s not very customer service manager-like of me, now is it?

  I’m tired to the bone and looking forward to the next two days off. For some reason, I’m not on the schedule for the day after Christmas this year, and it disturbed me so much I went straight to Charlie and asked him what was up.

  “You’ve worked here for a while now, plus you’re a manager. You deserve that day off,” he told me. “It’s mostly cleanup anyway. Who’s going to come in and complain about a tree they bought from us?”

  “You never know,” I said, and he just laughed.

  Not that the day after Christmas is particularly difficult. No one really comes to the farm, save for the people eager to grab some deals on Christmas décor that Victoria marks down in her store. But they all show up early, filling the red barn quick, in search of a bargain. By ten in the morning the onslaught is gone, and we’re left with a mostly empty store and lot. We usually spend the rest of the day cleaning up, just as Charlie said.

  Honestly, it’s kind of sad, spending your day at a Christmas tree farm the day after Christmas. It would always leave me feeling melancholy.

  Maybe I should be glad I won’t be there.

  Right now, though, the place is still hopping. We discount the trees the last couple of days to get rid of what we can. Most of the temporary lots set up around the Monterey peninsula are cleared out and gone. If you want a tree, you have to come out to the farm.

  And they do come out, more so than usual this year. Feels like people are here just to hang out among the trees. Over the years, Victoria has created a few photogenic spots around the farm where people can pose for social media worthy photos. All we ask is they tag Sullivan Christmas Tree Farm in their posts, which they almost always do. That tends to bring in an influx of business, specifically teenagers who are constantly on the search of that perfect, Instagram story–worthy photo.

  They also come for the free hot chocolate and candy canes, and today they’re handing out free cutout cookies decorated with sprinkles too. I’ve had more than my share this morning already.

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I check it to see I have a text message from Amelia.

  My entire body springs to life just seeing her name appear on my phone screen. It’s been too long, and I can’t wait to see her again. Hold her in my arms. Fuse my mouth to hers. She’s addictive. Intoxicating. I think about her and the word more floats through my brain.

  More Amelia. That’s what I want.

  All the time.

  Amelia: What are you doing tonight?

  I think about my usual ritual when it comes to Christmas Eve these last few years. I normally go home, take a long hot shower and collapse into bed, where I sleep like the dead for hours. It’s as if my body knows the holiday rush is over. I wake up late on Christmas morning, throw the presents I
bought my family into the holiday gift bags I picked up from the Dollar Tree before I head over to Mom and Dad’s house and enjoy a delicious meal. Dad’s deep frying the turkey again this year and I’m looking forward to it. We’ll probably throw back a few beers too.

  It’ll be a good holiday. It usually is. Simple, nothing fancy.

  Me: I have no plans.

  She responds almost immediately.

  Amelia: Good. You should come over to my house.

  I consider it. Will I be too exhausted? Grumpy company? By Christmas Eve I’m practically a zombie, and there’s something about the let down from all that pre-Christmas hype that leaves me in a near coma. Sometimes I even end up with a headache that only disappears after a good night’s sleep.

  Me: What do you have in mind?

  Amelia: I’ll make you dinner.

  Me: Aren’t you at work right now? Won’t you be too tired to cook?

  Amelia: I get off at three. We close early on Christmas Eve. And I would love to cook for you. Think of it as my Christmas gift to you.

  Huh. Well, that sounds nice. And who am I to turn down a homecooked meal by a beautiful woman?

  Me: Sounds good. I’ll come over later.

  Amelia: What time are you off?

  Me: Five.

  Amelia: Perfect. Get here around 6:30 or so. I’ll try to have dinner ready by 7.

  Me: I’ll be there.

  I barely knock on the door and Amelia has it open, a smile on her pretty face as she takes me in. “You made it.”

  “I said I would.” I hand over a bottle of wine as I enter her apartment. “For you.”

  She examines the label as she shuts the door behind me. “Nice choice. Thank you.”

  I don’t bother telling her I received the wine as a Christmas gift from a client of Sullivan’s. They handed out bottles to all of us employees as a gift. “I know you like your wine.”

  “I do.” She heads for the kitchen and I follow her, inhaling when I catch a whiff of the delicious scent.

  “What are you making?”

  “Roast chicken and homemade mashed potatoes. Plus a salad and rolls,” she says, going to the oven and opening the door a crack so she can peek inside. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I’m starving,” I answer truthfully, enjoying watching her move about the small space with efficiency. I’ve never had her cook for me before, and she looks like she knows what she’s doing. Girls I’ve dated in the past weren’t that great in the kitchen. They’d rather go out all the time. Not that I need a little woman in the kitchen taking care of me, but it’s nice to have her fussing around the kitchen and making me a meal. Just like I’m sure she’d appreciate it if she needed my help with anything.

  “You’re watching me like you can’t believe I can cook.”

  I glance up to find her smiling at me. “I’m impressed.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug, then make my way toward her. “I feel like you doing this is your way of showing you want to take care of me.”

  She goes still the moment my hands land on her waist. “Maybe it is,” she admits.

  Leaning in, I drop a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I think you like me, Amelia Lee.”

  “I thought we already established that fact, Isaac Jones,” she teases.

  I settle in at the small dining table, running my fingers along the vivid red cloth napkin folded neatly beside the white plate, admiring the deep green placemat beneath it. “You’ve even set a festive table.”

  “My mother gave me those,” she says, indicating the napkins. Or maybe the plates, I’m not sure. “Speaking of my mother…”

  Amelia doesn’t finish her sentence as she moves about the kitchen, stirring a pot. Turning off the oven before she opens the door and brings out a tray covered with what looks like—swear to God—homemade dinner rolls.

  My stomach growls. Noisily.

  “Speaking of your mother what?” I ask when she still hasn’t said anything.

  She glances up from whatever task she’s doing, her gaze meeting mine. “Would you like to come to my family’s house for Christmas tomorrow?”

  My heart literally feels like it just expanded in my chest. This is a big move, and I’m surprised Amelia’s making it. Surprised and…

  Pleased.

  “Well?” she asks when I don’t respond fast enough for her.

  A chuckle leaves me. “No shit? You really want me there?”

  Amelia laughs, and it’s the most joyous sound. “Yes, I really want you there. Though I understand if you can’t make it, being that it’s Christmas and my invitation is so last minute. I’m sure you’d rather spend the day with your family.”

  “My parents always open gifts in the morning. Then we have breakfast. By the afternoon, not much is happening. I usually nap on the couch,” I admit.

  Her smile is small and damn it, I wish she was sitting right next to me so I could touch her. But she’s still in the kitchen, watching me with a hint of wariness in her gaze. Like she’s afraid I’m going to turn her down. “You should come over in the afternoon then. You could meet all of my family.”

  “All of them?” I lift my brows.

  Nodding, she wipes her hands on a towel before making her way over to me, her steps deliberately slow, as if she’s drawing the moment out. She’s not near close enough for my liking yet. “My parents and my grandparents will be there. My brother and his girlfriend. My aunts…”

  Her voice drifts again and she rolls her eyes.

  “What about your aunts?” I ask, curiosity filling me.

  “They’re bossy and nosy and they’re going to ask you all sorts of questions. Uncomfortable ones too,” she says, not holding back. “They love to gossip and they’ll ask what your intentions are in regards to me. My father will probably barely speak to you, and my brother will treat you like a criminal.”

  Well. That’s a lot to unpack.

  She exhales loudly, stopping at the edge of the table, too far away for me to touch, damn it. “I don’t want any secrets between us, Isaac. My family is very traditional. They have certain—expectations that I haven’t met yet. Meeting them will most likely be a trial by fire for you. I understand if you’re not up to it yet. It’s still really early days for us.”

  We’re quiet for a moment as I let all of the information she just told me sink in. I get the sense she’s waiting for me to bow out. Like she’s already prepared for me to disappoint her. And yes, it is definitely early days for us, but I want to meet the rest of her family and get to know them better. Eventually, I want her to meet my family too. This woman—she feels important to me.

  Mind blowing but true.

  “Your aunts? They’re going to love me,” I finally say with as much confidence as I can muster.

  Her mouth hangs open the slightest bit for a few seconds before she snaps it shut. “You really believe that?”

  I nod. “Hell yes. I’m good with nosy old ladies, though I’m sure your aunts aren’t that bad. Plus, I get a lot of older ladies coming to the farm every day. I know how to charm them.”

  “You are rather charming,” she says softly, her lips turning upward into the slowest, most beautiful smile I think I’ve ever seen. “And I hope you’ll love them too.”

  “I bet I will, if they’re anything like you. Now come here,” I say with a flick of my head and she approaches me without hesitation. I snag her hand when she’s close enough, pulling her into my lap. A gasp leaves her, her arms going around my neck, her fingers sinking into my hair. Leaning in, I nuzzle the side of her neck, making her shiver, and I lift away so I can stare into her dark eyes. “You still feel a little unsure about things, don’t you.”

  I don’t ask it as a question. I can tell she’s unsure.

  Amelia nods slowly. “I really want you to meet my family, and then I start to second guess myself and wonder if we’re moving too fast after all.”

  “We’ll move as fast or as slow as you want,” I p
romise her, dipping my head so I can brush my mouth against hers. A jolt shudders through me at first contact and I kiss her again. “And I’d really like to spend my Christmas with you, Amelia. If that means I need to meet the rest of your family to do it, I’m game.”

  She touches my face, her fingers featherlight. “I’d really like that.”

  “Me too.” I turn my head and kiss her fingers. She snatches them away, a big smile on her face. “You need any help in the kitchen?”

  Amelia gapes at me. “Are you for real right now? You actually want to help me?”

  Damn, that old boyfriend of hers is such a grade A asshole. I can’t wait to prove to her that we’re all not like that guy. “Yes, but I have ulterior motives.”

  “Like what?” she asks carefully.

  “Like I’m fucking hungry.” I kiss her fiercely and the second I pull away, she’s laughing. “This isn’t funny. I’m starving.”

  My stomach chooses that exact moment to growl. Loudly. Which only makes her giggle harder.

  She rises to her feet and offers me her hand, which I take and let her pull me up. “Come on, starving man. Let’s get you fed.”

  I follow her into the kitchen, our hands linked, my heart light.

  I’m going to fall so hard for this woman. And I’m going to make her fall just as hard for me too.

  I can guarantee it.

  Twenty-Five

  Amelia

  “Your young man has certainly won everyone over,” my mother says as she stops to stand beside me. We’re in the living room, festive Christmas music playing in the background, the room crowded with multiple family members. All of them smiling and laughing, many of them surrounding my guest, Isaac.

  I don’t bother protesting over my mother calling Isaac my young man. Damn it, he is my young man. As in, he’s mine.

  He belongs to me.

  “Do you like him?” I turn to look at her, my gaze searching for any trace of disapproval. She could never be a poker player. She visibly wears her emotions so it’s always obvious how she feels.