Unforgettable Christmas - Gifts of Love (The Unforgettables Book 3)

by Mimi Barbour

  Although he hoped that they would eventually get there, because they were damn great together.

  It was no longer only about sex. He wanted to know how she was doing. Wanted to ask her about her day. Did she ever think about him?

  Dialing DeVine Studio, he perked up when a woman answered but then deflated when he realized the voice wasn’t Crysta’s.

  “Hi, is Crysta there?”

  “Crysta! No, sir, Crysta hasn’t been here for a while. Can I set you up with one of our other stylists?”

  “No.” Not there? “Uh, did she move to New York?”

  “No.” The woman gave a sharp laugh. “I think she still lives around here. I am not sure where, or if, she’s working.”

  Now, that was a catty woman talking. Not a friend—and that made him defensive on Crysta’s behalf. He ended the call, then canceled the order of roses until he found out where they could be delivered.

  Dillon explained the situation to the woman at Blossoms Florist and she put him on hold. After a few minutes, she came back on and said, “Have you tried her home address? Crysta Jones is listed in the phonebook.”

  He hadn’t even considered that and smacked his forehead. Phonebooks seemed very old-fashioned. “Let’s send them to her house instead. I don’t suppose you know her?”

  “I don’t know her, personally, but I am acquainted with her friend Lara, who works at Taverna? The singer.”

  “Perfect.” Lara, as Crysta’s best friend, would know where she worked. “Thanks for all of your help.”

  “Good luck,” the florist said.

  Within minutes, Dillon was back on track for his “seducing Crysta” plan. He had the number for Taverna, and was in luck when Lara answered the phone.

  “Thanks for calling Taverna, Lara speaking.”

  “Lara! It’s Dillon. Dillon—Bakersfield. I’m looking for Crysta? I called DeVine Studio, but she doesn’t work there anymore.”

  Silence thrummed across the line and he got the feeling that Lara wasn’t that excited to talk to him.

  “Is Crysta okay?”

  “Yes,” she said shortly. “In the best health of her entire life.”

  Odd. He stared at his phone, wondering what she meant by that.

  “I know that today is her birthday.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah.” Halloween was an easy date to remember, but still…

  She partially thawed over the line. “Cool.”

  “And I sent flowers to her condo.”

  “You did?” Her tone lifted in surprise.

  “Yes.” He gritted his teeth—he’d been hoping that Lara would be more forthcoming with information, but she wasn’t giving anything away. He hoped that Crysta wasn’t dating somebody else.

  “What kind?”

  “Orange roses.”

  She squealed. “Those are her faaaavorite!”

  He and Crysta had shared personal tidbits between making love, and he’d remembered that too. “Listen, Lara, do you know where she works now?”

  Silence. He heard the chatter of people over the line and imagined Lara at work. Did she sing the menu, or wear cowboy boots?

  “Well,” Lara said as if letting him on something she shouldn’t. “She’s between jobs at the moment.”

  Had Crysta gotten fired? Was that why she’d shown up in Jacksonville? Wondering, maybe, if he’d meant what he’d said about wishing she lived closer. God, he was an idiot.

  “I want to take her out to dinner for her birthday tonight. She’s probably got a million plans.” He braced himself for the answer as he asked, “Is she seeing anyone?”

  “You know, I don’t feel comfortable talking to you about any of this.” Lara clammed up tighter than a conch shell. “You need to talk to her.”

  “I was trying to make this a surprise,” he admitted. There was the bonus that she couldn’t say no if he didn’t ask.

  “Good point.” She tapped something against the phone. “All right. So far, she has plans to meet me after I get off at ten. I don’t think anything before that.”

  And after it would be drinks, dancing, and cutting loose. There would be no shortage of Halloween parties. “So, I could ask her to dinner. And no offense, Lara, but I want to steal her away to Key West overnight. Would you be upset?”

  “Me?” She exhaled. “Uh, no.”

  She didn’t sound as thrilled about the idea as she had about the roses. “What?”

  “Nothing. You need to talk to Crysta. I say, make the dinner arrangements, but don’t have any expectations. Then you’ll be fine.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  Lara hung up before he could ask her.

  Which meant getting in the car, and making arrangements as he drove. He booked a room in Key West, overlooking the famous sunset, and hoped for the best.

  Sometimes, when you balanced on the open side of the helicopter, the only way out was to jump.

  ***

  A firm knock sounded on Crysta’s front door. Who could it be? Lara was the only who had her access code to get into the building and the elevator. She opened the door a quarter inch, keeping the chain lock attached. A delivery woman carried a gigantic bouquet of long-stemmed orange roses.

  “Beautiful!” Her favorite kind of flower. “Who from?”

  “Are you Crysta Jones?”

  “Yes.” She unlocked the door. The lady brought in the roses, placed them on the kitchen table, and handed Crysta a card.

  “Thank you.” Crysta tipped her five bucks, then closed the door. Had Jimmi remembered her birthday?

  He wasn’t the kind to spend money, er, send flowers. And she hadn’t heard from him since he’d fired her, anyway.

  The card read, “Meet me for dinner. I’ll have a car downstairs at 7:00.”

  She was exhausted and tired—it might be her birthday—but she wasn’t going to get dolled up and meet a stranger for dinner. She’d been binge-watching Forensic Files for hours, too exhausted to do more than move from the couch to the kitchen for hot tea. Her comfortable, thick-cushioned sofa in deep brown she’d gotten for half off because of a tear at the bottom she’d secured with fabric glue. Good as new.

  The glass coffee table had been replaced with an oval mahogany one and she had sold her decorative vases, along with the couch and chair. Rather than severe black and white, her interior design was sage, sables and cream. The color blocks of orange made a statement, without overwhelming the senses. Her home felt cozy now instead of like an art gallery.

  The roses filled the apartment with a floral scent that made her breathe in deeply with pleasure. Maybe Lara had sent them? She snapped a picture and texted it to her.

  Lara called immediately. “Happy birthday!”

  “Thanks! I just got four dozen orange roses.” She stuck her face in the petals and inhaled. “Did you send them?”

  “No—that is so awesome. Anything else?”

  “Like what?” Lara knew something…she’d been very quick to call.

  “I don’t know,” her best friend hedged.

  “Liar.” Crysta waited. “Who sent the flowers?”

  “He didn’t sign the card?”

  “No.” But suddenly she knew…a smile grew on her face. Dillon had remembered her birthday? How sweet! But dinner? She put her hand to her stomach. How could she hide her pregnancy? Or maybe he’d changed his mind about a family…

  Lara huffed a breath before she confirmed her suspicion. “Dillon. He wants you to have dinner! You should totally go,” she rambled. “It will be fun. And you know, maybe have some more fun. It’s not like you can get pregnant.”

  “Very funny. I’m as huge as a house.” She’d already gained 20 pounds, and she was only six months along. The big months were still ahead.

  “You look beautiful. My stomach is bigger than yours, and I’m not preggers. Oh, Crysta, this could be a wonderful opportunity, to tell him the truth.”

  Her friend kept saying that she should give him a chance—but Lara
hadn’t been there that night on the beach, when Dillon had opened up about his deepest hurt.

  “He will take one look at me and know—I can’t go.” She couldn’t risk it.

  Crysta wandered down the hall and viewed herself sidewise with a very critical eye. Her height helped camouflage her condition. Her hair had grown and now touched her shoulders, streaks of black mixed with her natural dark brown. Her cheeks were fuller, but she barely had a bump. Compared to how stick thin she’d been when she and Dillon had met, this was gigantic. Dr. Mary told her to go crazy and eat all the healthy food she wanted; she had, and it showed. Did she look pregnant? Not even in the cami and yoga pants she had on.

  “Go to dinner. The man cares about you.”

  Because she was lonely, because she missed Dillon, she was tempted to say yes. But it wasn’t right. “All that will do is drag out a situation that can’t go anywhere.”

  “You are wrong,” Lara said with heat. “I hate to say it, I hate to be mean, but things can change. You changed.”

  “This happened to me.”

  “It took both of you. I love you, but you are no Virgin Mary.”

  She refused to laugh. “Lara, stop—I mean it. It’s so hard not to tell him. Then I remember his face when he talked about his mom, and growing up as an obligation. I can’t do that to him. What happened was the truest accident.”

  Lara exhaled so hard she rattled the phone. “I think you are making a mistake.”

  “I know. You haven’t been quiet about that.”

  Again, her bestie sighed. “All right. I’ll back off—if you go to dinner with him tonight. He cares about you. Wear a big dress and you’ll be fine.”

  It was an altruistic reason to see Dillon, something her entire being craved. “You promise not to bring it up again, if I go?”

  “Yes. I swear.” Lara gave a shout of triumph then said, “You won’t be sorry, Crysta. Love changes things.”

  “Nobody is in love.” The words sounded like a lie. She loved this baby inside her, and she very much cared for Dillon. Which was why she had to set him free.

  She was downstairs on the curb at 7:00. A black limo pulled up and stopped before her building, where a large fountain spouted orange water in honor of Halloween. Her heart pounded, her palms were damp.

  “Crysta!”

  He got out of the limo, dressed to kill in black fitted slacks and a snug button up silk oxford with a slim orange tie. His hair was styled back with gel, his aftershave a spicy scent she couldn’t place.

  He stopped before her, taking her hand. She wore her hair tied loosely with black velvet, and she’d chosen a sheer black chiffon jacket over a sleeveless top and fitted black velvet cigarette pants, the illusion covering her weight gain.

  “You look beautiful.” Dillon kissed her full on the lips.

  Her toes curled inside her velvet flats.

  How could she be so connected to a man who hadn’t really been around? And yet, they’d had a connection from the first moment their eyes had met across the street. She couldn’t pretend this wasn’t real. The logic of it didn’t matter. If he felt at all like she did, then she knew why he was here. If it wasn’t for the baby in her belly, she wouldn’t deny their intense attraction.

  Because of their child, he had to go back to Jacksonville.

  She had to make sure that Dillon kept the freedom that he prized above all else. The career he wanted, the retirement. The plans to see the world.

  Crysta would not take anything away from him.

  Chapter Seven

  Dillon sat across from Crysta at the restaurant, candlelight softening her features. He’d chosen Italian because it seemed romantic, and he wanted every possible aid toward his plan of seduction. A bottle of Chianti, bread, salad, pasta, and he’d made sure to order chocolate for her birthday dessert.

  He noticed she hadn’t touched her wine, sticking to water. The dim ambience, the table for two tucked away from the crowd, created the illusion of privacy.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said, determined to break down all barriers. “You look beautiful. Your hair is soft…” She was softer, somehow, even more stunning without all of the artifice. He longed to touch the chestnut curls resting on her shoulders.

  Her eyes, so incredibly bright blue, were just as vibrant not surrounded in black liner. Her mouth, pale pink tonight rather than red.

  “You’re sweet. Thank you.” Her fingers trembled as she broke the edge off a breadstick, resting the remainder on a small bread plate.

  “I regretted the way we left things when you came to visit in Jacksonville.” Now that they were here together, he would make her see that he cared. “I’ve been away…”

  “Training. I remember.” She dabbed her finger over a sesame seed. “Did you get your commendation?” Her voice sounded mechanical, the polite conversation of strangers.

  “Yeah.” Was she upset that he wasn’t around? When they’d met, she’d also been so busy that their schedules hadn’t seemed like a big deal. Certainly not a hindrance to a possible friendship.

  Who was he kidding? He wanted to be more than friends.

  She dropped her breadstick onto her plate, uneaten.

  He took her hand, unable to keep from touching her. She hesitated, but then relaxed her fingers. “Congratulations,” she said.

  “Thank you.” Funny, that a gold star wasn’t such a compelling thing anymore. Instead, he said, “I have one more place to go this year, I’ll only be away for a month, and then I’ll be in Jacksonville for five months…teaching.”

  “Do you like that?” She tilted her head and smiled at him. “You seem like the kind of guy that would rather be doing.”

  “Teaching flying is still air time,” he said, smiling back. Glad she knew that about him.

  The waiter came to take their order and she chose cheese ravioli, while he went with chicken Alfredo. They could have eaten frozen lasagna for all he really cared, so long as they were together.

  When the waiter left again, he said, “The point is, Crysta, I would have more time to see you…and I would like that very much.”

  Her mouth thinned and she looked down at her bread plate. He didn’t release her hand, sensing she longed to pull away.

  “What?” He kept his tone light. “Do you not like me? I can take it.”

  “That isn’t the problem.” Her palm grew damp in his and he blew on the skin. She shivered.

  “Is there another man?”

  She hesitated. “I thought you wanted an open relationship?”

  “I’ve changed my mind. I know that I can’t offer a traditional boyfriend-girlfriend scenario, with us living in different parts of the coast, but I’d like to see where the future might go.”

  Color rushed up her throat and cheeks, and this time she managed to pull free.

  Shit. Now what had he said?

  He sat back and drank his ruby red Chianti. The dry wine settled over his tongue with a hint of sweet. Why wasn’t she drinking? Was she a recovering alcoholic? That might explain her reticence. But you couldn’t just ask that, could you? If she didn’t drink, then maybe he shouldn’t either?

  His imagination cartwheeled, and he wondered if she’d lost her job due to a drinking problem…how sad a case was he, when it didn’t matter to him. He just wanted to help her through whatever it was she was going through.

  The waiter came with their salads and she placed her napkin over her lap before digging in with pleasure. “Fresh parmesan over the top makes such a difference and I never think to do it at home.”

  He tapped the table with his forefinger, then followed her lead. Instead of trying to figure every last thing out, perhaps he should just enjoy the damn meal.

  Watch her, understand her, and wait for the right moment to sweep her off of her feet. “I talked to your friend, Lara,” he said. “Before driving down. I was surprised that you didn’t work at the studio anymore. Are you still doing hair?”

  She lifted her head, her smile slow
to come. Then she gave a slight shrug. “I hate to jinx anything, but I sign the lease on a salon next week. It’s small, but right downtown here…I won’t be getting the same clientele as I did cutting hair at DeVine’s, yet it has incredible potential. This area is huge with the tourists and there are a lot of locals too. Lara’s going to help with the phones, until I get busy enough to hire someone.”

  Her excitement was contagious. If she was signing a lease on a new place that didn’t gel with her hitting rock bottom with a drinking problem. And it meant she’d be around for a while.

  Keep it simple, stupid. “Was Lara also raised in foster care?”

  “Nope. Disgustingly normal family, she likes to say. Two parents, an older brother, and a younger brother. She claims they are all boring, but it gives me faith that there is such a thing as a happy family.”

  “It’s rare.” He thought of his own mom who he hadn’t heard from since he’d sent her the obligatory card on Mother’s Day.

  “I agree—but possible, and isn’t that what counts?”

  Her voice turned way too serious.

  Had she changed her mind about the whole kids thing? What could have happened? She was way too young for that biological clock to be ticking.

  If anything could make him hesitate about moving forward with her, it would be that.

  Crysta finished her salad and gently dabbed at her mouth with the napkin. The waiter came and whisked their plates away. Not that he would ever say anything, but she looked good with a few extra pounds. Maybe working at DeVine’s had been too stressful.

  He brought the subject back around to something that had excited her. “Well, good luck. What’s the name of your place going to be?”

  Her nose crinkled, her blue eyes sparkling. “I can’t come up with a name. It is so hard! I mean, how are you supposed to encapsulate what it is, with something clever, and easy to remember? I didn’t take marketing classes in college, so I’m at a loss.”