by Madeline Ash
Along the way, she changed out of her unseasonal outfit into a pair of black high-waisted shorts and a loose green singlet.
Only once she was tucked outside a café, nursing an outrageously good coffee and watching the bustle of the cobbled bluestone alley, did Regan acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, she was spending up a storm to avoid Felix.
He’d seen her weak last night; discovered a bigger mess in his temporary houseguest than he’d bargained for. Although he’d reacted with decency, she shied away from the possibility that he now pitied her. It would be a judgment on the job she’d done looking after herself and her self-worth couldn’t handle that.
So she ordered another coffee and cake along with it.
It was after two when she buzzed up to his apartment, summer sun raking heat down her back.
“Regan?” His voice came out rough through the speaker and her stomach flipped.
“Hello,” she said, hoisting several slipping bags.
She heard his exhale. “Come on up.”
On the third floor, she knocked on his apartment door and stood back, leg jittering. She’d stood in this exact spot yesterday, her heart pounding in her throat, preparing to throw her future into his hands. Now she stood, heart racing again, because he’d caught it and the enormity of that terrified her. Shamed her.
It made her want to run.
The door opened and there Felix stood, once more in nothing but knee-length shorts and glasses. His brown hair still looked slept on, spiking off to the left, but this at-home look was contrasted by the seriousness of his expression.
Saying nothing, he stepped back to let her in.
“You look like you were hoping I wouldn’t come back,” she said, a half-hearted jest.
Then she paused, noting the state of the apartment. Fairy lights coated the floor, strings and strings of them, all caught up in knots, forming electronic nests of cords and LED lights. It was like the Spirit of Christmas had slipped too much brandy into the eggnog and vomited all over the apartment.
“Actually,” Felix said quietly. “I was worrying that you wouldn’t come back.”
She faced him, instinctively defensive. “I left a note.”
“I stopped believing in the note after lunch.”
Was it worry or pity that deepened his words? She dumped her bags on the couch and rounded on him. “Felix. You were good to me last night. Calmed me down. But I don’t want your pity.”
“Good thing you don’t have it.”
“Look,” she said, then paused, thrown off balance. She darted a glance into the outside hall.
Frowning, Felix closed the door. Stood in front of it, arms crossed.
She swallowed, pulse kicking. This wasn’t going to work. How could it? An old dog couldn’t learn new tricks and she’d been like this too long. “Look,” she tried again. “This was a mistake. I’m a mess. You couldn’t have a less appealing guest and Christmas is supposed to be special—”
“Regan.” His blue gaze was steady. “You’re forgetting I know something about you no one else does.”
Her gut hitched. That she was a messed up charity case with no hope of improvement.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
She blinked, blindsided.
“A wild sixteen-year-old once backed me against the school shed and stuffed ten thousand dollars down my pants. She didn’t even make me dance for it.” A small smile warmed his features. “This girl was a rebel. Had a reputation for not giving a shit about anyone, including herself.” Pain snapped open deep in her chest as he continued. “I didn’t realize she intended to run away that same night. Unlike me, she didn’t have anyone to offer support. But she knew I was escaping and forced me to take half of her money, because she wanted to know that when she fled, her sister would be safe. She trusted me with that task—I’ve figured that out now.”
Regan stared at him, throat thick.
“She made me swear not to tell anyone. And I haven’t. At first, I thought it was because the money was stolen. She didn’t want to get me into trouble. But you know what? I just think she didn’t want anyone to know that she was really a softie.”
At that, she gave an involuntary laugh. “That again.”
“You are. You’re a soft-centered suit of armor.” His gaze dipped to her body, as if expecting chainmail, and got a lot less. It was a moment before he looked up. “And sure, it’ll be hard work getting out of those protective layers. I’ll expect clattering and cursing. But you’re staying here, Regan, and I won’t hear another word about it.”
She breathed in and watched him snap a finger into the air. Holding her gaze, he shook his head. With a dry twist of her lips, she smiled. Not another word. Nerves shifted through her, but so did pleasure and she felt the armor loosen just a bit. Okay.
So she was staying.
Still smiling, she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “That’s the biggest mess I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re telling me.” He ran a hand through his hair and the dark strands stood up before flopping back to the left. Regan found it difficult to look away.
“What happened?”
“Last Christmas.” He moved passed her to the other side of the couch, stepping over piles of lights in the process. “I have no consideration for my future self when I pack these things away.”
“Right.” She sighed, playing it cool, though on the inside, delight was lighting her up like a golden star. “Find me an end.”
“You make that sound easy.”
Her smile returned as they untangled. Often standing at opposite sides of the room, one looping the freed strings, the other weaving in and out, slowly but surely making sense of the mess. At one point, she pulled out a bag of corn chips and salsa from the groceries she’d bought, and Felix put on a funky ska album and shuffled around the hardwood floor in bare feet, his occasional hip shake making her grin.
He made hanging out relaxed and easy, and with the warm summer breeze blowing in from the balcony, her spirits buoyed. Strange to smile so much at nothing in particular, but her cheeks ached from it, and every time Felix noticed, his own smile stroked low and gentle deep inside her.
As they set down the third set and started work on the fourth and final, Regan asked, “Do you really need this many lights?”
“Possibly more,” he said without hesitation. “I’m writing a program that’ll sync the lights with music. Press play and they’ll make patterns in time with the beat, full on sound and light show style. I haven’t decided on a song yet, but I’m thinking the cornier, the better.”
“Mariah Carey,” she said instantly.
He cringed.
“How many other Christmas carols do you know with a real beat?” she asked, stepping up onto the coffee table with her arms high so he could weave through. He eased passed, dragging awareness across her chest like a heated magnet. Pulse thudding, she distracted herself by singing the opening bars of All I Want for Christmas Is You.
“Oh, no.” He was grimacing. “Stop.”
Smiling wickedly, she moved on the second line and added bopping to the mix.
“Allow me to explain the definition of stop.” But he started to grin as he untwisted another section.
She moved onto the third line, bouncing from foot to foot.
“Cease.” He defined. “Desist.”
She sang louder.
“I’ll bet you don’t even like this song.”
Actually, she did. As she spun around, unwinding a section of cord, she said, “Call it a guilty pleasure. A Christmas hit for over twenty years and I still love it. It’s on my iPod if you want to use it.”
“I can picture it now,” he murmured, eyes on the cords as he stepped up onto the table beside her. “Scene opens with ice and snow as far as the eye can see. No sign of humanity. No sounds but the screeching howl of the wind.” He raised his arms above her, and she ducked, stepping carefully around him. He smelled like the blue cotton shirt and, for a moment, she wanted h
im wrapped around her. A tiny shiver ran down her spine as she brushed against his chest and another few feet of lights came loose. “Then, a truck comes barreling out of the icy wasteland, the only movement for miles. As it passes, we expect a rough, bearded driver; a man hardened against the extreme elements, jaw set hard, eyes on the road. It draws nearer, nearer, and then we see it.” He lowered the cords and grinned. “A young woman bopping with all her might, belting out a pop hit Christmas carol.”
She grinned back, winding the free cord beneath her elbow. “Full blast, baby.”
“Okay, fine.” His eyes gleamed even as he shook his head. “We’ll use Mariah Carey. Hey, can you cross under here?”
He’d sunk to his knees, holding out the lights with one arm up, the other down. Crouching, Regan stepped through the circle of his arms. Half-way through, his bicep grazed her bare shoulder, calling forth a hot shiver, and she snuck a glance at him. Steady blue eyes gazed back, flicking briefly to her mouth, then falling firmly to the lights. Regan straightened, pulse unsteady, and watched the last knot of the string fall loose.
She handed him the loop of cord and spoke to change the subject. “Fee.”
“Mm?”
She inhaled, rallying strength, and asked quietly, “How’s Stevie?”
He paused. The cords lowered as he stepped down from the table. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
Eyes on her feet, she said, “’Cause I’m asking you.”
He didn’t answer as he placed the lights on the floor. “I’ll tell you, if you tell me why you quit trucking.”
The negotiation nettled her and she glared as a reflex.
“You need support,” he said, straightening. “You need to be able to relax enough to feel...anything, in front of people, and allow them to know you’re feeling it. My guess is you feel strongly about quitting.”
She frowned. “Are you problem solving me?”
He had the good grace to look sheepish. “Maybe.”
“I’m a person, not a problem.”
“Most problems involve people.”
“So do most castrations.”
“Forced to agree,” he said, lips curving. “But if you want help with this, you’ll have to leave my goods intact and answer the question.”
She shifted, fingers running along the hem of her shorts. “I’m not comfortable with this. That’s how I’m feeling.”
“Tell me why you quit. As simply as you can. And I’ll tell you about Stevie.”
Regan hesitated, resisting vulnerability, but after all these years, her desperation to learn of her sister had reached breaking point. And he was right. She’d come here to open up, and that meant talking, damn it.
“I just...couldn’t bear the risks anymore.”
He sat on the arm of the couch, watching her, and waited.
She stepped off the table, feigning nonchalance as panic rose at the memory. “Because I had an accident, okay? It was a cool summer, got cold early this winter. The ice roads opened up a few weeks ago.” Even now, her stomach jolted, feeling the grip of the wheels slacken beneath her on that incline. The shudder of the rig as she locked the rear axles and frantically struck it into low gear. The realization that she was wafting backwards, slowly at first, then faster towards a snowbank in a fifteen tonne truck. “I went off the road. Got lucky—the cabin didn’t tip. But it split the ice. Holy God, that sound.” The crack still echoed in the marrow of her bones, eight days on. She heard the tremor in her voice as she continued. “I felt it hit, felt the load crash sideways. I knew there was no way the ice could handle it.” The truck had convulsed, then yanked her back as the ice opened, a thirsty maw that started gulping. “We went down. I threw myself out the window, but it didn’t sink far.”
“Jesus.” Felix’s head was in his hands. Mortification hung from the corners of his mouth. “Regan.”
She raised a shoulder. Indifference would hold back the tears and she refused to get upset in front of him again. “I got picked up by another driver. Wouldn’t have lasted the night otherwise.”
He shook his head, wordless.
“Scared the hell out of me. So I quit. Now tell me about my sister.”
Concern pushed his brows low, and for a good fifteen seconds, he simply stared at her. She shifted again, running her toes along a coil of lights. Strangely, she wanted him to think well of her, and her stomach twisted, suspecting he thought she was fool for trucking on the ice roads in the first place.
Finally he said, “Are you okay?”
No. But if she spoke, the tears would definitely come. I’m still terrified. She settled for shaking her head, but felt her eyes glisten anyway.
He stood. Features earnest, his body swayed towards her. Her heart swelled, filling painfully with blood and the need for a genuine human touch. For Felix’s touch. The need for comfort raged in her, a silent tantrum. She was sick of being alone. She always stopped herself from crying. She calmed herself down. She relied on herself and no one else, because there wasn’t anyone else. Now there was Felix. And she wanted a hug.
She opened her arms.
Swiftly, he moved forward, pulling her against him. Steady arms, firm around her shoulders and across her back. Regan gave a shuddering breath and relaxed into him, cheek hard on his chest and eyes closed. She breathed him in, heady and male, and felt something sweet grow in the desolation between her ribs. She cuddled closer and felt his embrace tighten. Her heart needed this closeness, this touch.
Then she shifted, her hips locking against his, and the embrace lost its innocence. A languorous tension seized her; dripped in the air and spread, thick and gooey, beneath her skin. He was warm and half-naked—it wouldn’t take long to be bare against him, giving in to the inherent sensuality of a sticky summer afternoon. She felt his pulse kick, matching hers, and suddenly she ached for his hands to slide lower, his body to press more firmly against hers.
Felix’s chin grazed the top of her head as he murmured, “I’m in awe of your bravery.”
She managed a wry, “Yeah, okay.”
“I mean it.” Arms loosening, he drew back until his dark blue eyes locked on hers. “I looked it up last night. Ice road trucking. You’re brave and strong and hardcore, and I’m in awe.”
“I told you before. I didn’t do it to be those things.”
He smiled and she was distracted by the beauty of his lips. Soft, gentle. The only lips that had ever treated hers with dignity. She watched them as he said, “Which only makes you more hardcore.”
Flushing, she glanced down. “Tell me about Stevie.”
At that, he released her, retreating back a step. She missed his embrace instantly. “She’s okay. Turned twenty-six last month. She’s working as a painter.”
“She’s creative?” Regan had been preoccupied growing up, but it horrified her to think she’d missed that.
“She’s not,” he said, smiling slightly. “At all. She paints houses.”
“Oh.”
“She loves it. Says it’s what she was born to do. Something about the rhythmic movements and sense of accomplishment.”
A sad kind of happiness sparked in Regan. Her sister enjoyed what she did. “That’s great.”
“But she’s missed you.”
The spark died and she lowered her face. “I don’t know why. I’m sure her life’s been easier without me.” She was aware of Felix shaking his head. “When do you see her next?”
“Christmas Eve.”
“But I thought you’re going—oh.” Regan realized too late. “She’s going to Byron Bay too?”
He inclined his head.
Suddenly, inexplicably, dismay seized her lungs. “Are you and Stevie...something?”
“No.” He laughed softly. “No. I love her, but there’s never been chemistry between us, as hard as most people find that to believe. We’re good friends.”
“Oh, okay.” She resented her relief. It shouldn’t matter to her whether Felix and Stevie were together. Regan shoul
dn’t think twice about it, nor should she wish to still have his arms around her. Annoyed at herself, she focused on her sister. “Does she have a partner? Husband?”
He regarded her, cautious. “That’s probably something she’d prefer to tell you about.”
“Is she happy?”
His pause betrayed the true answer and Regan’s heart sank. “She’s not unhappy.”
Silence filled the apartment. She toyed with the hem of her shorts, sensing that was all he would give. “Will we hang the lights up now?”
He considered the sets and glanced at his watch. “No. I’ll need to connect them to the system first, each has its own channel. After that, I’ll finish writing the program that syncs the lights with the song, and then we can hang them up. Better be tomorrow.”
She surprised herself by looking forward to it. “That parking spot’s in the bag.”
He offered a smile, eyes crinkling.
She looked away when she felt herself glow. “Except you don’t appear to have a tree.”
He made a clicking sound. “We could put some lights on the kumquat?”
“What? And not have that real Christmas tree smell?”
Uncertainty buckled his brows. “Okay,” he said slowly. “So tomorrow we hang up lights and get a pine.”
“And for the rest of today?”
Felix cast her a curious glance. “Know how I’m going to Byron Bay for Christmas, because Jed’s wife wants to see her friend?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, this friend of hers is an actor. She’s in this television series called Born Tomorrow and apparently it’s awesome. So I figured I’d watch it so I’ve got something to contribute if we have to make small talk.”