by Miles, Ava
Dustin thought she had Christmas OCD. Well, he played World of Warcraft and Halo. She played Christmas.
Rhett wandered in, laughing with Dustin, their arms wrapped around each other like old pals. Dustin had loved Rhett since he was a kid, but now that she knew Rhett’s intentions, this proof of their camaraderie made her fist clench. She squeezed the gumdrops too hard and felt their sticky insides adhere to her hand. When she opened it, they looked like pulverized colored mushrooms. She hastily cleaned up with a wet paper towel.
“Looking pretty good there, Abbie,” Rhett drawled, taking a seat at the kitchen table where the gingerbread house was set up.
Of course, he wasn’t talking about the house…
“Yeah, Mom. The only problem is you need to change your gingerbread house rule and let us eat them.”
She arched her brow as her son leaned over her and swiped a gumdrop, one she hadn’t decimated. “After all of the hours I put into these, no one is eating them. Are we clear?” He’d eaten half of one when he was ten. She’d caught him with crumbs around his rosebud lips, the broken house in front of him. He’d gotten an awful tummy ache from the sugar overdose, so she hadn’t scolded him. Much.
“You’re the Grinch,” her son complained, reaching for one of the pecan sandies she’d set out on a plate.
“Ah, leave your mama alone,” Rhett chided, following Dustin’s lead and swiping a cookie. “She takes pride in her work, as she should. These houses are things of beauty. I’ve always loved seeing what new confections she’d whipped up when I visited y’all around Christmas.”
His eyes gleamed like the shiny gold wrapping she’d bought from her favorite online paper store. Gosh, she hadn’t unconsciously bought it because it reminded her of Rhett’s eyes, had she? Oh brother.
“Thank you, Rhett,” she managed to respond. “At least someone appreciates my efforts around here.”
Teenage sons sometimes didn’t. Hers was too busy eating her out of house and home with his hollow leg.
And then Dustin proved her right by bringing out a gallon of milk from the fridge—not a glass—and hefting over six containers of cookies. As if the plate she’d arranged wasn’t enough.
“Do you want to go up against me in a Cookie Eat–Off, Rhett?” Dustin asked, pouring milk into the largest glass from their cupboard.
Rhett snagged a piece of peanut brittle, cracking the candy in half with his teeth. “Nah, there’s someplace I want to take your mom, if she’s at a good stopping point.”
Abbie busied herself with rearranging the gumdrops in their bowl by color, red on the left, yellow on the right, and green in the center.
“Mom, you need a Christmas OCD support group.”
“Hey, man,” Rhett said before she could reproach him. “Be nice to your mama.”
The glass Dustin was raising to his lips paused before he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Rhett winked. “That’s my boy.”
The whole scene made her wring her hands under the table.
Somehow Rhett had managed to become a respected disciplinarian without even asserting himself. Was Dustin doing this because he was trying to show her he approved of Rhett or did he really respect him? Something to think about.
When she glanced through the kitchen window above the sink, all she saw was a sea of darkness. “Rhett, it’s pitch black outside.”
“Mom, it’s only seven thirty,” Dustin muttered. “And Uncle Mac is still out there. In the pitch black. Oh no! Rhett, we might need to look for him. He could be in danger.”
Her kid hadn’t gotten this smartass gene from her, and since she didn’t want to think about what other genes he might have gotten from the man who’d fathered him, she tried to laugh it off. “Funny,” she said, setting aside the bowl she was still clutching. “What do you have in mind, Rhett?”
His eyes turned molten, like the fire dancing in the fireplace in the next room. She darn well knew she’d opened herself up to that kind of a look.
“Something Christmassy.”
“Is that even a word?” she asked to be contrary, part of her not liking how he always maneuvered her into these little outings.
General Patton again.
“Trust me. You’ll love it. It’s like something out of those old Christmas movies you like.”
Dustin groaned. “If I have to watch It’s a Wonderful Life one more time, I will poke my eye out. No Red Ryder BB gun will be necessary.”
His allusion to their other family favorite, The Christmas Story, made her smile. “I’ll see if I can arrange that. Okay, Rhett.” Easier to go than to fight. Dustin would only poke at her until she agreed.
A smile broke out across Dustin’s face before he covered it with a fake cough and a hand over his mouth.
“Do I need to change?” she asked, standing up, a little nervous to be going out with Rhett. It always felt like a date when the two of them did something alone, even though there was never a goodnight kiss. She knew there wouldn’t be unless she asked for it… He’d made that clear.
His gaze slid down her apron–clad frame, his mouth quirking up to the side. In the center of her apron was a smiling Rudolph with a jingle bell for a nose. She tapped it playfully, and the metal rattle carried across the kitchen.
“Yeah, you might want to change,” he said, his face stretching into a full smile now. “Not that I don’t like your current look. Wear something warm.”
As she turned to leave the room, she could feel his eyes on her and hear Dustin’s whispers.
They were plotting. General Patton and his faithful aide, trying to bring her down.
As she spied the mistletoe hanging from the hallway entrance—something that made her think about the last hot kiss they’d shared…way too long ago—she decided she might not mind his strategy so much tonight.
Chapter 4
Situated in the red–brick town square, Dare Valley’s ice skating rink looked like a Norman Rockwell painting, complete with the gas lighting. The white lights strung across the various lampposts created a halo effect on Main Street. A sign blinked “Merry Christmas Dare Valley.” Sparkly angels with trumpets looked like they were swinging themselves from the lampposts, ready to sing Christmas carols.
Rhett wanted to pat himself on the back when he heard Abbie’s sharp intake of breath as he pulled into a parking space someone had just vacated on Main Street. Gotta love parking karma.
“Are we—”
“You’ve got it, honey. I knew you’d love this.” He came around the car to help her out, holding her elbow to make sure she didn’t slip on the sidewalk even though Dare was pretty good about keeping its streets clean of all the white stuff.
“I’ve been wanting to come, but Dustin and Mac said it just wasn’t cool.” Then she stopped and gave him her trademark suspicious green–eyed look. “They were punking me, weren’t they? You guys conspired about this, didn’t you?”
The gas streetlights flickered, throwing shadows over her beautiful, frowning face. The cold wind lifted the ends of her black hair out from under her blue knit hat. Without the kid around, he could reach out and swipe a finger across her gorgeous cheekbone, so he did. “I plead the Fifth.”
“Fine. I am not going to let your General Patton strategies ruin this for me.”
Patton? Well, he considered that a compliment. The guy won the war, after all.
“Just look at these Christmas decorations,” she said, gesturing with her hand. “We’ve lived in some lovely places, but I think I like Dare best of all.”
Rhett was starting to feel the same way. “Yeah, it sure has that Christmas magic people talk about.”
He looked at the angels wrapped around the lampposts and smiled. I could use a little help here, he thought. Even though it had been a while since he’d asked for heavenly assistance, it felt right. His mama had taken him to Sunday school, so he knew how things worked.
Abbie gave a half twirl, surprising him. She looked so young and happy, something he
wished he could see more of in her.
When she found her balance, she lowered her arms to her sides. “I’m so glad you brought me, Rhett. Thank you.”
God, she was easy to love. He just wished she’d let him do it more fully.
“Come on. Let’s have some fun.”
Her smile was as bright as that of a two–year–old high on sugar and presents on Christmas Eve. “Okay,” she said, “but I have to say, this is the last thing I’d think you’d ever want to do. You know, what with your image and all.”
The snow crunched under their boots as they walked across the brick path to the rink. “Well, I get to be with you, so it doesn’t much matter what I’m doing.”
Okay, that wasn’t quite true. He was as horny as an old coon dog. He kept choosing public places to spend time with her so they wouldn’t truly be alone. A man could only take so much temptation, and he’d promised himself and her that he wouldn’t touch her until she asked.
So far she hadn’t, although he’d seen the speculation—and the struggle—in her eyes. It almost comforted him.
“Speaking of images,” he said, “I have something to tell you, but let’s skate first.”
She gave him a wary look, but then again, when didn’t she look at him that way? Her walls were strong and well fortified. Her General Patton allusion was apt. He’d managed to breach her walls during the six months they’d secretly been together, but it was like she’d built new ones while he was overseas. Then he laughed to himself as another thought struck him. Abbie was like the gingerbread houses she made. Cute as a button and sweet to boot, but with walls that were nearly indestructible once they were set.
Rhett bought the tickets, and together, they put on their rental skates, sitting in the metal chairs that lined the outdoor rink. Couples skated by—and many times one partner was clearly better than the other, helping their loved one stay upright with each slip and trip. Kids screamed at each other as they skated past, some looking like they’d been born with blades on their feet, others doing a hop–hop–hop, arms flailing before they took a dive and slid across the ice like they were trying to get to second base.
Christmas music boomed over the loud speakers arranged around the rink. Right now, Bing Crosby was crooning “I’ll Be Home For Christmas.” His mama would have loved it.
Hands pulling at her laces, Abbie said, “I’m really relieved they spray the skates with Lysol. I mean, you don’t know what people’s feet are like.”
Her voice was so serious, he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Only Abbie would think of something like that.
All laced up, he took her hand. “Okay, let’s go.”
The minute he hit the ice with her, his right foot slid out a few inches. Wisely, he released Abbie’s hand, his arms flailing out like those little kids they’d watched earlier. And at his whopping height of six foot six, he probably looked like a giraffe about to make a crash landing on the ice.
“Best stay a few yards away until I get the hang of this,” he told her, watching as she tucked her hands behind her back, skated forward like a pro, and then did this ridiculously scary turn he knew would make him break a leg if he tried it.
“You’re a natural!” he beamed, and then his feet jimmied again on the ice, causing him to hop like an out–of–control rabbit.
The smile on her face was the kind that inspired poets. “I can’t beat you at poker, but I’ll best you at this. I took ice skating lessons when we lived in Wyoming. I love it.”
And when she threw her arms out and did another one of those twirly turns, his heart plopped at his feet. God, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he’d seen a fair amount. He could never get enough of her black hair, green eyes, and porcelain skin…or that wickedly slim yet curvy body.
Then his ankle turned, and he had to fight to stay upright. Shit. Where were his leg muscles? Heck, he worked out, but two minutes on the ice had turned him into Plastic Man. The dumb things a guy did for a girl.
“Go on and skate ahead. I know you want to,” he said, being realistic. This wasn’t going to be the romantic hand–holding date he’d hoped for.
Mostly because he sucked.
And looked like an idiot. This was not putting him in his best light at all.
She waved and skated off, her feet crisscrossing as she picked up speed on the ice. He tried to follow her, but when he swiveled his head to watch her, his feet did the whole slide–scamper, running–in–place thing again. He’d invented a new skating technique: jogging on the ice like a moron.
The people watching from the sidelines weren’t even trying to contain their laughter. Terrific. Normally he didn’t mind attention—heck, he invited it—but tonight he’d wanted to lay a metaphorical Christmas cloak at Abbie’s feet like a prince.
Instead, he was trying not to crash onto the ice more than those punishing few times he’d fallen in the beginning. Each time he’d get back up, jaw locked, and think, watch out, kids, I don’t want to crush you as the adolescent skaters zipped past him, guffawing like baboons. When Rhett started complaining to himself about the kids’ antics, he realized he was sounding like an old man.
It was a low point, all right.
Abbie would circle him when she reached him, making him dizzy from something other than her perfume. Then she’d laugh and take off again, her blades calling out swish–swish as they made grooves in the ice.
“I like seeing you like this,” he said as she came to a stop in front of him for what seemed like the hundredth time, a mist of ice from her toe–picks cascading over his own skates.
“I love being out here. The weather is perfect when you wear the right gear, and it’s so freeing.”
Yeah, she did look free—a word that could rarely be used to describe her.
For as long as he’d known her, she’d been chained to the past—a past she’d finally shared with him—and her responsibilities to Dustin, Mac, and the hotel chain.
How wonderful to see her this way. He would do anything he could to put this look on her face every day.
“Come on,” she called, skating way too close to him.
“Stay back,” he called.
“No, take my hand. I’ll help you.”
Yeah, right. All one hundred and fifteen pounds of her.
“No, I’m gonna follow the sucky people, since I’m clearly one of them.” Since the skating rink was outside, there were no rails like in the indoor hockey rinks he’d attended for games. “You keep on having fun. When you’re ready, I’ll buy you some hot chocolate.”
And tell her about his plan to give up the poker babes.
Surely that would satisfy her. If it didn’t, the next part of his plan would, something he’d begun months earlier with his friend Rye.
Abbie kept skating and skating long after he’d given up. He watched her with a smile while listening to the whining and crying of the kids sitting next to him, who clearly needed to go to bed. Every so often, she’d wave at him. Her wave reminded him of Princess Diana, so royal. So Abbie. She apparently knew a few people on the ice since she stopped and talked to them.
With the moonlight beaming down from above, he could make out the snow caps on the mountains in which the valley was nestled, almost like it was held between their palms. This was a great place. Family–oriented, yes, which he hadn’t been sure about, but now he rather liked it.
Would she want to have kids with him?
He shifted in his chair. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Blaylock, he told himself.
But he wanted to get ahead of himself. It was like being at the poker table—sometimes he just wanted to go all in. The rush was tremendous, and the payoff could be huge.
When she finally skated toward him, her cheeks were flushed from the cold. Her green eyes twinkled, her rosy lips were tipped up in a smile.
“You looked beautiful out there,” he said, feeling the familiar rush of attraction and warmth for her.
She bowed a
t the waist, something he couldn’t have done on the ice in a thousand years without killing himself. “Thank you.”
“You ready for some hot chocolate?”
She settled in close when she sat down to take off her skates. “You bet.”
When they were wearing real shoes again—God, he wouldn’t ever take those for granted—they made their way over to Don’t Soy with Me’s beverage stand. Jill Hale, ever the businesswoman, had arranged for her coffee shop to sell holiday–inspired coffees, hot chocolate, and apple cider by the rink. In line with Jill’s over–the–top style, the stand was decked out in bold Christmas colors and twinkling red and green lights. Her signature holiday coffee fairies were pinned to the stand’s red walls.
“I’ll have the raspberry hot chocolate, please,” Abbie said to the cashier.
Rhett studied the chalk board, laughing at the hand–scrawled quote. Christmas isn’t for wimps. Drink more coffee.
“I’ll have the Mexican hot chocolate,” he ordered, fishing out his wallet.
“You do love spicy things,” Abbie commented, humming along to Harry Connick, Jr.’s version of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”
Given their turtle pace toward sex, Santa would probably be kissing Abbie before he would.
“Yes, I do,” he said, and then had a flash of her feeding him Tabasco–laced peppers one night after he’d grilled them steaks for dinner.
Their eyes met, and he saw her mouth part breathlessly. Her lashes fluttered as she plucked at some invisible thread on her jacket. She couldn’t meet his gaze, so she busied herself by studying the rim of her cup while he waited for his beverage.
“It hasn’t gone away, you know,” he said.
Best to call out the elephant by the coffee stand.
She didn’t say anything for a long moment, blowing on her hot chocolate. “I know,” she finally replied, and then turned and walked away.
Dammit, he thought, tapping his boot on the brick sidewalk as he waited for his drink. He took the time to compose himself. Reminded himself that pseudo–dating Abbie was like high–stakes poker. When he finally sat beside her on the chairs she’d found for them by the rink, he was more in command of himself. Like with a big pot, it was time to call her raise.