Dear Santa, I Can Explain!

by Kayt Miller

  My olfactory senses take over when I smell her popcorn. It smells delicious. It’s been forever since I’ve had popcorn. I’m tempted to reach in and take some but from the look on her face, reaching my hand into her personal space may end with me losing a finger or two.

  “I’m not going. I’m sick.”

  “Why didn’t you call me? I could have brought you chicken soup?” I smirk because I thought it was funny.

  “Not that kind of sick.”

  “Oh, are you menstruating?”

  “No. No, you didn’t just ask me that.” She shifts and places the bowl on her hip. “No, the kind of sick I am is the kind you get when you don't want to see someone.”

  I blink at her. She’s confusing me. “Come again?”

  “Oh, jeez. I’ll spell it out. I’m sick of you, Gabriel. You’re rude and arrogant, and you’re a crappy date. You let that mean woman talk smack to me all night last night.”

  “I––.”

  “Plus, I don’t want to go with you tonight after you made it clear that I’m an embarrassment to you. Etiquette lessons, Gabriel? Really? That’s just downright offensive.”

  “I––.”

  “And you choose restaurants that are so snooty and highfalutin. I have no idea what I’m ordering. So, no. I’d much rather eat a bag of microwave popcorn while sitting on my couch watching a Regency romance movie with my animals than go on a date with you.”

  “Are you sure you’re not menstruating?” I want to add ‘Because you’re pretty grouchy’ but I don’t get the chance. Her apartment door slams shut in my face. I didn’t even have the opportunity to give her the flowers and candy.

  As I turn to leave, an old woman steps out of her apartment. She eyes the flowers and candy. I hold up the bouquet for her. “Those yellow carnations?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I smile.

  “You trying to win your girl with yellow carnations?”

  “Uh, I––.”

  “I used to be a florist. Do you want to know what yellow carnations symbolize?”

  “Sure.” Why the fuck not?

  “All right, I’ll tell ya. Yellow carnations symbolize rejection and disappointment of someone that has failed you in some way. If you’re in a situation where you’re planning to end a relationship, they’re the perfect flower. But, if you’re trying to win a girl’s heart, you’re best to stick with the classic, red roses. But, for our girl, Lexie? I’d choose pink roses.”

  “Wow, gee, thanks.” I hand her the flowers and the chocolates.

  “She’s not diabetic.”

  I turn to leave but apparently this conversation from hell isn’t over yet. “Huh?”

  “Lex. She’s not diabetic.”

  “And?”

  “You were going to give your girl sugar-free candy. Why?”

  “Fewer calories, I guess.”

  “Jeez, mister. You’re an idiot.”

  “I know.” I know.

  Chapter 24

  Lexie

  Well, who knew slamming the door in someone’s face could be so satisfying? Not me, that’s for sure. The nerve of that man. Am I menstruating? No gentleman asks a woman that. If anyone needs etiquette training, it’s him. Now I hope I run into that etiquette lady so I can add that to my list of grievances I’ve got accumulating on Gabriel.

  I plop down on my couch and hit play. Watching a little Jane Austen movie starring Colin Firth is just what the doctor ordered. I turn off the lamp next to the sofa and snuggle in for a relaxing night. But, it’s not as relaxing as I’d hoped it would be. I’m not sure what it is, but I keep comparing Gabriel to Mr. Darcy. No, Gabriel is no Mr. Darcy (and definitely no Colin Firth because, seriously, who is?) but there are qualities about Gabriel that match up.

  For one, Gabriel and Mr. D. are both handsome, wealthy and arrogant. For another, they’re both a little isolated. Mr. Darcy has Bingley, but who is Gabriel’s Bingley? I’ve never seen him with any male friends, at least not anyone who has visited him at the office. Yeah, I know. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d ‘hang with the dudes and catch a game.’ Because, like Mr. Darcy, Gabriel attends fancy-schmancy parties and events and he’s into eating weird food made from fish eggs and baby animals. I shiver remembering. Don’t get me started on the baby animals.

  But there’s a kind of loneliness about Fitzwilliam Darcy that I can see in Gabriel. At the office, he’s alone unless he’s with a client. When he goes out, he’s got some sexy woman on his arm, but they’re just fixtures. It doesn’t appear that any of them are anything other than ornamental or like me, someone used to fulfill a purpose.

  One more thing of note is that both men seem to be clueless about the women in their lives. Mr. Darcy says offensive and callous things to Elizabeth Bennett because he just can’t help himself. Gabriel seems to do the same. I mean, etiquette training? Am I menstruating? The man needs some help in the dating department.

  I know Gabriel Parker is every woman’s fantasy. He’s wealthy, talented, creative, smart, and gorgeous and before we started playing this charade, I could have lived with that fantasy version of Gabriel. But, if I were being honest, I’d say it’s his flaws that make him interesting to me now, endearing. Those flaws make him more human and therefore worthy of a second chance.

  I think I’ll cut Mr. Parker some slack and help him understand what a real woman expects from her partner. Maybe then he’ll be able to settle down someday with someone who is more friend than fashion model. Besides, I’m not sure I’m ready to stop kissing Gabriel Parker because Gabriel Parker kisses like it’s his damn job. It makes me curious what else he’s good at. (Wink)

  Chapter 25

  Gabriel

  My dinner last night was boring. There was no laughter, whimsy, or spark to the evening. It was just me and old Mr. and Mrs. Vinton. Sure, I enjoyed their company, but it wasn’t the same. I suspect Gloria Vinton and Lexie would have hit it off. Gloria’s kind-hearted and a tad non-traditional herself. She tinkers in the arts, bad sculpture mostly, but she’s got that quirky vibe that Lexie seems to have in spades.

  Sighing, I wait for the elevator doors to open on my floor. When they do, the first thing I notice is the vase filled with a dozen red roses on the receptionist’s desk. I look beyond those to see Lexie. When I approach, she pulls off her headset. “Thank you for the flowers, Gabriel. They’re beautiful.” As I’m about to speak, she adds, “And, I forgive you.”

  She forgives me? What the hell? I should be the one forgiving her. She’s the one who embarrassed me at dinner night before last. She’s the one who slammed the door in my face. But the sad truth is I didn’t send her red roses. That crone neighbor of Lexie’s was right. Red roses don’t suit her. Pink roses would match that sweet little blush she has on her cheeks right now. Fuck! I wish I had sent her roses because now I’m going to pull my damn hair out wondering who sent flowers to my woman.

  “Those aren’t from me.”

  She blinks up at me, brow creased, looking confused. “You didn’t send them?”

  “Are you sure they’re for you?” Delivery people always leave things like that at reception. Lexie signs for them and calls the recipient to pick them up. I see her blush at my question.

  “Yes. The card was addressed to me.”

  “What did it say?”

  “It said, ‘none of your business’.”

  “None of your business? That’s odd… oh,” I nod. “I get it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “The card didn’t say anything. It was blank inside.”

  “Ah, a secret admirer?”

  Her face flushes again, but a small smile appears on her face. “Maybe.”

  Maybe my ass. “Which florist sent them?” I'm going to call them and get a name out of them even if it costs me a million dollars.

  She pulls the card out of its plastic holder and reads, “Fleur De Lis Florists.”

  “Oh, that place is crap.” I want to laugh at myself for saying something so ridiculous. I use the
m almost exclusively. Not for carnations, though. I bought those at the corner market. Live and learn.

  She flinches at my words and shrugs, “I think they’re beautiful. Beats carnations.”

  “Touché. You got me there.” When the phone rings, I take the opportunity to head back to my office. “Katya?” She must not have heard me coming because she was right in the middle of a riveting game of Candy Crush. She quickly minimizes the computer screen to reveal our email server page.

  “Yes, Gabriel.” I hate it when she uses my first name.

  “Get Fleur De Lis Florists on the line for me, please.”

  “Right away, Gabriel.”

  When the phone buzzes in my office, I pick it up and hear a woman’s voice, “Fleur De Lis.”

  “Yes, hello. This is Gabriel Parker.”

  “Oh, well hello Gabriel. What can I do for you today? Need to send flowers to some poor woman you’ve tossed aside again?” Margery Fleur cackles into the phone. She’s my mother’s oldest friend and quite an outspoken character. Rude, but a character.

  “No. I need to know who sent my girlfriend flowers.”

  “Your girlfriend? The one I’ve been seeing on your arm in the rags the last few days?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “She’s not your typical, uh, well, I can’t say girlfriend since you never date anyone longer than an hour or two. So, I’ll just say she’s not your usual type.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “So, would her name be Lexie?”

  “Yes. Someone sent her red roses, and I want to know who’s poaching.”

  “Gabby Parker, you know I can’t tell you that.”

  “First of all, if you know me well enough to dare call me Gabby, a name you should have stopped using when I turned three, then you can tell me who sent my intended flowers.”

  “Intended? Are you serious about this girl? Are you engaged?”

  Oh, shit. Margery Fleur is the wrong person in which to confide. She’s the biggest gossip this side of the Mississippi. “Not yet. Soon. So, don’t go blabbing and ruining the surprise.”

  “Well, if I were you, I’d get on that. The person who sent her those flowers was a hotty. Besides, he paid in cash and specifically said he wanted to remain anonymous until he was, and I quote, ‘ready to make his move.’ Isn’t that romantic?

  Hearing a sixty-five-year-old woman call a man a ‘hotty’ is not good. “Sounds like a stalker to me. How old was he?”

  “Early thirties, I’d guess. I’d also say he’s better looking than you are as well. Bigger. Broader. Taller.”

  “Wow, what is he, eight feet tall?”

  “I’d say closer to six-four.”

  “I’m six-three.”

  “Good for you, Gabby. Alright, my flowers aren’t going to arrange themselves. Good talk.”

  She hangs up the phone before I can get any more information out of her. “Damn it.” I’m going to have to step up my game with Miss Cartwright. She’s suddenly become a hot commodity and I don’t share. Ever.

  Chapter 26

  Lexie

  “Well, that was certainly interesting.”

  I practically jump out of my chair when I feel Cammy’s breath on my neck. “Jeez, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “Sorry.” She’s still leaning over me whispering in my ear. “I didn’t want anyone to hear me.”

  “Well? Tell me… what’s interesting?”

  “That whole thing with Gabriel and the roses. So, who really sent them to you?”

  Shrugging, I turn to face her, “I have no idea. The card wasn’t signed, and there was no message.”

  “Wow. I knew it would work, but I hadn’t anticipated a love triangle.”

  “Huh? A love what? What would work?”

  “This whole thing with you and Gabriel. I’ve been on the phone for three days straight setting up interviews and photo shoots for the boss man. You two are the talk of the town, girly.”

  “How could that be? How do people know? We’ve only gone out a couple of times.”

  “People and their cell phones. Social media. It’s gone off like wildfire that a simple girl like you,” she winks, “has tamed the notorious bachelor Gabriel Parker.”

  I roll my eyes because I’ve done no such thing. I pat her hand, “I’m glad it’s working. Have you heard anything more from that crazy lady? Christine?”

  “We haven’t heard from her, but the press sure has. She’s been very busy giving interviews, showing off some bogus sonogram of Gabriel’s baby. It’s a hoax. His attorney and the private detective will get to the bottom of it.”

  “Private detective? What is this Magnum P.I.?

  Cammy throws her head back and lets out a roar of a laugh. “Leave it to you to use a reference from 1983.”

  “What? Magnum was hot. He still is.”

  “True dat, girlfriend. Mr. Selleck has aged well. Anyway, you two seem to be convincing. The kiss at the gallery opening was probably the thing that truly convinced everyone. There’s a video of it on YouTube.”

  “No way,” I gasp. “A video? Of us kissing?”

  “Yeah, girl. And let me tell you. It was h-o-t, hot.”

  I quickly turn to my computer to open up YouTube. “What do I search for?”

  “Hot kiss at Chicago art gallery.”

  I type in the words and stare. Oh. My. God. It’s true. I’m on the internet kissing Gabriel Parker. I know I’m blushing like crazy but dang, the kiss is really hot. “Does Gabriel know?”

  “I doubt it. I just found it this morning myself. I haven’t told him yet. Maybe you should tell him. It might be awkward for me to tell him.”

  “Oh. Really? You think so?” Part of me is embarrassed and wants to go home and stay there forever, but the other part of me wants to see his reaction. “I guess. Should I call him or just knock on his door?”

  “I’d just go. You’re going to chicken out if you overthink it.”

  She’s right. “You’re right. Can you watch the front desk for a minute?”

  “Sure. And let’s go to lunch today. Okay?”

  “Yeah. I’d like that. Somewhere budget friendly, please.” I step away from my desk, straighten my blouse and nudge down my pencil skirt. It’s one of the new outfits that Victoria and I chose. It’s a rather plain white blouse and black skirt, but the thing that makes this outfit are the shoes. They’re red, double strap Mary Jane wiggle pumps circa 1962. They turn the outfit from bland to fantastic.

  I cautiously step up to Katya’s desk. “Is Gabriel in?”

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because you’re his assistant?” I know that sounded like a question, but I said it like that to be ironic.

  She sighs and leans back in her fancy ergonomic chair. The ergonomic chair she insisted she had to have for her back. Just so we’re clear. She doesn’t have a bad back. I once saw her carry a microwave she won in an office pool out to the bus stop. Her back is fine. I swear that chair looks like it’s from the future with its chrome accents and an excessive number of knobs and buttons on the thing. I heard it cost the company almost five hundred dollars. That’s more than my entire house full of furniture cost. But, it does look comfortable. Pulling myself away from my chair-envy, “So?”

  “He’s in there. Just be sure to knock first.”

  I step up to his solid wood door and knock gently. Even I could barely hear it. When I hear nothing, I knock again, louder this time. “Enter.”

  I turn the nob and step hesitantly into his office. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. My heart is beating at double time in my chest, and my stomach just flipped over the minute I saw him at his long table that sits smack-dab in the middle of his office. He looks busy and focused. His jacket and tie are both off, and his shirt is unbuttoned revealing the top of his undershirt. He’s bending down looking at something on the big table that sits in the middle of the room. When he looks up, he smiles. “Well, hello Lexie. What are you doing here?”


  “I work here.”

  He chuckles softly, “I know. I mean, you never come to my office.” He’s standing up to his full height now.

  “Oh, well, I thought you should know.” Oh, no. Why did I agree to this? I don’t want to tell him about the video. I step toward the table. “Th-there’s a video.”

  “A video?”

  “Of us. Kissing. At, at the art gallery.”

  “There is?” Gabriel looks pleased with that news. “Where’s it posted?” he asks picking up the iPad that’s resting next to him.

  I walk around the table to get close enough to peer at the screen. “It’s on YouTube.” I watch as he brings up the site. “Hot kiss at Chicago art gallery.”

  He types in the name in the search box, and when it appears, he taps on the video. It’s more than two minutes in length. I don’t remember us kissing for two minutes. When he hits play, we stand silently, watching. At about thirty seconds in, I feel Gabriel’s left arm slide over my back down to my waist. When he reaches my side, he squeezes gently.

  At a minute in, I feel him pull me closer to him. At a minute ten, I feel his breath on my neck. “That’s one hot kiss, Lex.” His voice is low and husky.

  I nod because if I speak, he’ll know I feel the same. At about one minute and thirty seconds, Gabriel sets the iPad down and turns me in his arms. The hand that held the device is now behind my head, fingers wrapped in my hair. “Lexie,” he whispers as his lips descend onto mine. I respond in kind. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself up until we’re chest to chest. I have to arch my back to get closer to him. His palm slides down over my bottom and when I feel him squeeze, I moan in his mouth.

  Pulling away he mutters, “Jesus, Lexie. You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever met.”

  Without a word, I arch further into him and take his mouth. I slide my tongue over his bottom lip, turning my head slightly in an effort to touch my tongue to his. His hand squeezes my bottom again. Then the hand that was in my hair has joined his other. With two large hands cupping my ass, he pulls me up until I’m sitting on his large table. My skirt is so tight; I can’t move my legs apart to make room for him, so Gabriel does a little creative problem solving. He uses his palms to slide the skirt up my legs until he sees the tops of my garters.