Have Yourself a Curvy Little Christmas: A Perfect Fit Holiday Novella (A Perfect Fit Novel)

by Jamison, Sugar

  Taffeta and crinoline and gold. Oh my!

  “Open your eyes, dumb-dumb.” Baba poked her in the behind with the cane that she only used when it suited her. “Who looks at themselves with closed eyes? You look ridiculous!”

  “I’m just savoring the moment, Baba.”

  Cherri forced her lids open, taking in the whole spectacular picture she presented.

  She flinched. Holy frickin’ crap on a cracker! Ridiculous was an understatement. She was covered in bows. On her shoulders. At her bust. On her hips.

  I can’t leave the house like this. I look like a six-foot-tall Christmas present.

  It was as if every eighties prom and every horrible bridesmaid dress ever created banded together and threw up on her. Puffy sleeves and ruffles complemented the bows. The gold of the dress turned her skin a sickly green color. Even her feet hadn’t escaped the horror. Her normally big stompers looked enormous in golden pumps, dyed to match her one-of-a-kind dress. And her hair … It was logic-defying and oh-so-high.

  She was a walking hot mess.

  Come and get it, fellas.

  “Well?” Cherri met her grandmother’s hopeful eyes in the mirror.

  “I love it!”

  “You do?” Baba smiled brightly, her green eyes twinkling with pleasure.

  “Of course I do.” She bent to kiss her grandmother’s soft wrinkled cheek. White lies were fine. Right? Okay, so maybe this was a big fat whopper of a lie but how could she tell the woman who raised her, who went without so that she could have, that Cherri didn’t like the thing she’d spent so many hours creating? She couldn’t. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

  “It was nothing.” Baba, not one for mushy emotions, briefly squeezed Cherri before clapping her hands twice. “Now get out of here. It’s time for you to rip the carpet at your party.”

  “It’s cut the rug, Baba,” Cherri reminded her gently. “But I will.”

  “You’ll be back before midnight?”

  She was twenty-two but her grandmother still didn’t want her out late. And after the past few months Cherri made it a point to stick close to home. “I’ll tuck you in and read you a bedtime story when I come back.”

  “Don’t be fresh.” She swatted Cherri. “You know only fast girls stay out late.”

  “Yes, Baba.”

  “And the only things open past eleven o’clock are legs and liquor stores.”

  “Baba!”

  “It’s true.” She kissed both her cheeks and shoved her towards the door. “And call me if you get bitchfaced and can’t drive home.”

  “That’s shitfaced, Baba. And you don’t have to worry. I won’t drink tonight.”

  The prospect of her seventy-five-year-old grandmother driving at night caused Cherri to shudder as she navigated the icy driveway to get to her beat-up Dodge truck. She had to squish the huge dress to her sides in order to get in and once she did, the cold seat touching her bare legs was a shock to her system. It was a chilly fourteen degrees that night, and as the harsh wind swirled around the car, she wondered why her grandparents decided to settle in the Adirondacks instead of Miami.

  Oh well.

  She disregarded the thought as she stuck the key in the ignition and sent a silent prayer to her guardian angel.

  “Come on, old girl,” she crooned at the truck. “You can do it. Mommy loves you so very very much.”

  The old thing didn’t start half the time, had a tendency to stall, and the heat didn’t work, but it was good for short distances. And it belonged to her grandfather. Getting rid of it was not an option.

  Mercifully the car roared to life, sending a blast of icy air into Cherri’s face. She shivered. Car trouble would have been the perfect excuse to not go to her birthday party that her best friends and bosses Ellis and Mike had decided to throw for her.

  “It’s your I’m-an-official-ass-kicking-adult party,” Ellis had said when she first mentioned it and Cherri shot it down. “Let me do this for you, honey. You deserve it.”

  Cherri agreed, even though the thought of being the center of attention made her stomach knot. She wasn’t the type of girl who made a big fuss about things. She was perfectly content to stay in the background. Which was no easy feat, considering she was pushing six feet tall, had an unruly mass of dark blonde hair, and resembled an Eastern European giant. But still she tried.

  It had been only her and her grandparents up until Papa died seven years ago. Even then, birthdays were small affairs with just a cake and a special meal. Never a big fuss. She didn’t know who her father was. Her mother wasn’t a fixture in her life and had stopped coming around regularly when Cherri turned eight.

  Natasha didn’t often sneak into her mind, but on days like this, on birthdays and holidays, she wondered why her mother never bothered to stick around. Why she left a baby with an elderly couple struggling to make ends meet.

  “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” poured from the radio and Cherri realized that her thoughts had turned depressing. She shook herself out of them. It was probably a good thing she was going to a party. For a few hours she could forget the fact that despite her master’s degree, she was still working in a dress shop, that student loans that would keep her broke until menopause, and that the roof was about to cave in on them. Or that Baba…

  She shook her head hard. Tonight was her party and even though she looked like the Jolly Gold Giant, she was determined to enjoy herself.

  Be happy, damn it! It’s your birthday. Christmas is coming.

  She pulled out of the driveway.

  Things will get better, she promised herself. They had to.

  *

  She arrived at Ellis’s door an hour before the festivities were due to begin, her coat tightly wrapped around her to protect her from the frigid wind that hadn’t let up for days. She rang the bell and waited only a few seconds before Ellis’s husband, Mike, opened the door.

  He froze, mouth agape, his hand suspended in midair. “What the hell happened to you, kid?

  “What?” She made her expression blank, as if she didn’t know what he was referring to.

  “Your hair.” He reached out and touched it, seemingly unable to help himself. “It’s horrible.”

  “Mikey!” his wife snapped from behind him. “What are you saying to her?”

  “I-I,” He glanced at his wife and then back to Cherri, who was having a hard time keeping a straight face. She wasn’t offended by Mike’s statement. She realized that she put the B in bouffant. “Come look at her, babe.”

  Ellis peeked around her husband’s shoulder. “Oh, Cherri.” She shook her head. “Oh, sweetheart. Oh no! Who did this to you?”

  “What? Don’t you like it?” In that moment Cherri was glad she’d braved the cold to come here. Ellis was the most fashionable person she knew, and being a boutique owner and designer, she always had the best clothes. “I think it goes well with the dress.” She slid the coat off her arms in a dramatic fashion, and strutted into their living room like she was on a catwalk.

  Mike, unable to contain himself, burst into laughter. Ellis, as if in pain, bit her knuckle. “Who did this to you?” she asked again.

  “My grandmother.” Cherri put her hands on her hips and attempted her best model pose, sending Mike into hysterics.

  “Does she hate you?”

  “No. She worked very hard on this dress. She thinks I look bee-yoo-tif-ful.”

  “Do another turn on the catwalk,” Mike choked. She had never seen the tough, former cop giggle like a school girl and it lifted her spirits to be the cause of his glee. She raised her head high and sashayed further into their small house, stopping only to pose dramatically.

  She heard slow clapping when she stopped, but it didn’t come from Ellis or her laughing husband. She turned to see Colin O’ Connell, Mike’s women-loving, Irish-accent-having best friend gazing at her.

  He wasn’t in hysterics like Mike, but Cherri had definitely amused him. One side of his mouth curled into a laz
y smile and his soft brown eyes seemed to follow suit, crinkling at the corners.

  She had known this man for over a year. The moment she laid eyes on him she knew he wasn’t a man made for mere mortal women. In fact he was so far out of her league that for once in her life she forgot to be uneasy around him. But tonight his unabashed male beauty affected her, and for a split second she wished that she was small, and thin, and graceful. But she wasn’t any of those things. She was Cherri, built like a lumberjack, taller than most men, and very far from just plain average. So she ordered her cheeks to stop burning and turned to face him, posing as seductively as her six feet and big behind could manage.

  “Hey, sailor,” she purred, mocking her grandmother’s thick Ukrainian accent. “You like what you see?”

  Colin’s slow smile bloomed into a full one and for the tiniest moment Cherri was breathless. He raised his glass to her in a toast. “Aw, love. I think you just made my year.”

  Chapter 2

  Girls, girls, girls…

  A high-pitched giggle assaulted Colin O’Connell’s ears as he stood in his best friends’ home. Loud, earsplitting, headache-causing girly laughter. He gritted his teeth, unsure that he would be able to take much more of that sound.

  Ya, ha ha ha. Ya, ha ha ha.

  It was like an ice pick going through his brain. He took a long slow sip of the Irish whiskey that some beautiful soul had purchased just for him, hoping it would dull the intensity of that noise. It didn’t. And he found himself checking his watch again. 9:57. He wondered how much longer he would have to stay before he could get the hell out of there.

  Ya, ha ha ha. Ya, ha ha ha.

  He winced again, thinking the girl who produced the laugh must be part banshee.

  A party was in full swing around him, and despite decorations, people in goofy holiday sweaters, and nonalcoholic eggnog, Colin didn’t find himself in a festive mood. He should never have come. There were children here. Not small ones, but the kind who were old enough to vote yet too young to buy Guinness. And even though his hell-raising, drunken stupor nights had diminished in the last few years, this event was not his type of party. Yet he was here because Ellis had asked him to come. And Colin had a hard time turning down the woman who made his best friend so damn happy.

  He scanned the room for his friends, finding them sitting in a corner, arms wrapped around each other, engaged in deep conversation like no one else existed. It made his stomach churn uncomfortably and a funny, empty feeling to form in his chest. He looked away.

  More loud giggles punctured his ear drums. This time he turned to the source. There were four girls, all wearing too much makeup and tiny, ass-bearing dresses, huddled together. He connected eyes with the tallest one, a brunette. She was a beauty. Tight body, high firm breasts, long legs, and eyes that screamed, Fuck me. Too young. He immediately dismissed the thought of getting to know her better. But she was staring at him with blatant interest. Not one to be intentionally rude, he nodded at her.

  Ya, ha ha ha. She beamed at him, turned to her friends, and they all commenced the school-girl laughter.

  He shuddered, and turned away from the girl. She was the giggler. He hated gigglers. He hated girls too for that matter. Girls were inexperienced. Silly. They didn’t know what they wanted out of life, or where they were going.

  Girls were fine when he was just a lad, but now that Colin was a man, he wanted a woman. But there seemed to be girls everywhere he went. That was the problem with living in a big college town. Colin had thought Durant, New York, was the perfect place to settle after he graduated from its university. Plenty of bars. Lots of work. And girls.

  Twelve years later, his successful restoration business was the only thing keeping him here. And looking at all those pretty, young girls, in their short, sparkly dresses made him feel old. But maybe being old wasn’t such a bad thing. He liked old things. Old stories. Old people. It was probably why he’d opened Stone Barley Restorations. Every day he took antiques and breathed new life into them. It was hard, meticulous work, but his reputation was growing and he was getting clients from all over the country. Sticking with the old was going well for him. Maybe he should try dating older women. Anything worth having had a little extra age to it.

  It might be time to start dating again. It had been two years since Serena knocked him on his ass. It was time he got up. But then again … Serena was driven, focused, and far from a girl. She was trouble too. Maybe he’d give up on women period and join the priesthood. It would make his Gran happy.

  “Hey, Grinchy.” At the sound of those words he looked up to see Cherri Rudy, the birthday girl, approaching him.

  He hated to admit it but he was here because of her too. Normally he wouldn’t be caught dead at a twenty-two-year-old’s birthday party, but there was something about the girl with the odd name that made him get off his ass and come here tonight. Because of her little fashion show alone, he wouldn’t regret coming. The way she’d sashayed into the house in that horrible dress made him laugh. She was undeniably goofy, but there was also a bit of natural sensuality that floated around her. The poor kid had no idea what she was working with. When she grew up a little more, she would break hearts.

  He watched her make the short trip across the room. It was as if magic had transformed her. Long gone was the hideous gold tarp, and the hairstyle that could hold up in a hurricane. She looked altogether different in a slinky green dress that hugged her body and made her eyes turn the color of emeralds. Her hair was back to its normal tumble of loose golden waves. She wasn’t pretty by any stretch of the word. She was taller than most women, her shoulders broader, her weight heavier, but there was something about her that kept his eyes riveted to her as she walked towards him.

  “You look like you’ve been sucking on sour lemons, for the past hour,” she said as she stopped in front of him.

  He grinned. “I was thinking about how ugly your shoes are.”

  She looked down at her golden feet and then back up at him and gave him a soft smile, showing off a pair of identical dimples. “They’re something, aren’t they? I don’t think they’d be so awful if my feet weren’t the size of small boats. I wonder if I could use them as jet skis? Maybe I could glide across the water on my bare feet.”

  Her smile did something to her face, lighting it up, making her appear so innocent. Something made him want to step closer. “I’d join you. I’m working with size fifteens myself.”

  “Ah.” She looked down at his feet and then her eyes made a slow trek up his body before settling on his face. A knot formed in his stomach. “You know what they say about men with big feet?”

  “What?” He waited for a dirty joke to pop out of her mouth. He knew under all that nice-girl exterior that there was a little bit of naughtiness inside of Cherri Rudy. He was surprised to find he was anxious to see it come out.

  “Horrible dancers.” She carefully watched his face. “They step all over your feet.” She placed her hand over her heart and feigned shock. “You didn’t think I was going to say something else, did you?”

  For a moment Colin was distracted by the placement of her hand which lay very near her creamy exposed cleavage. “No.” Colin forced his eyes upward. Then took a step back for good measure.

  He had no business looking at Cherri like that or wanting to get to know her naughty side. She was a girl. Unworldly. Immature. Young. It didn’t matter that her curvy figure, intelligent eyes, and mature air told his hormones different. Twenty-two was twenty-two. Plus Mike and Ellis treated her like she was their kid sister. To him she was strictly off limits.

  He glanced at his watch. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

  “You don’t have to stay for my benefit,” she said softly, making him feel like the lowest piece of shit. “I’m surprised you lasted this long.”

  “I don’t want to leave, love. I was just checking the time.”

  “Liar,” she said without heat. “I’ve been watching you all night. You’ve
checked your watch twelve times.”

  “You were watching me?” He grinned at her again. “All night?” He placed his hand on her bare shoulder and immediately regretted it. Didn’t you just talk to yourself about being appropriate? Ass. Her silky skin was cool under his rough palm and it caused him to wonder if it would feel the same under his lips.

  “Yeah, well, it’s hard not to notice the giant sulking Irishman alone in the corner.”

  “I wasn’t sulking.”

  She folded her arms under her breasts, pushing them up into his eye line. “Well, you weren’t mingling.”

  Steady old man, he warned himself. Keep your eyes in your skull. She has no idea that doing that makes you want to jump out of your skin. “Neither were you, if you had time to ogle me all night.”

  “I hate parties,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to come to this one.”

  “But this is your party, with your friends. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

  “I know.” She gazed at the floor and then gave him a sad smile. “Just because it’s my party doesn’t mean I stop being a social misfit. Ellis was so sweet to throw it, but those girls,” she gestured absently behind her, “are not my friends.”

  “They’re not?”

  “Of course not. Skinny bitch goddesses don’t hang out with the enormous artsy kid. But they were in my education classes for the past four years so Ellis thinks we’re friends.” She frowned. “I sound like a whiny brat. I’m glad Ellis loves me enough to throw me this party. Let’s change the subject.”

  “Not yet.” She wasn’t enormous. She spoke about herself like she was queen of the Amazons. She wasn’t anywhere near that. He gave her soft shoulder a squeeze. There was an insecurity, a slight sadness that hung over her. It made him uncomfortable. “I’m glad you said those girls aren’t your friends.”

  “You are?” Her emerald eyes widened.

  “Yes, the laugh on that tall brunette sounds like a choking hyena for fuck’s sake. I had to stop myself from stuffing a cork into her mouth.”