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Dedication
For my siblings: Sue, Greg, Dee, Nola, Robin, and Hilary.
Thank you for all your encouragement.
I love you.
Chapter 1
There would be snow in Seattle for Christmas. The first snowflakes floated and swirled outside the window, covering the sidewalk and the park across the road. Those inside enjoyed the comfort of a crackling fire in the fireplace.
“Kiss my eggnog!” Claire said, trying to sound like she meant it.
With only a few days left before her Christmas rebellion, she had to make the most of the last assertive behavior session on her calendar.
“That was pathetic,” her neighbor RJ said from behind the Sunday paper. “Remember,” he turned the page, “this may be your last time to vent, to take it out on me. Because the point is not to ruin your mom’s Christmas, just stand up for your own choice of how you want to spend the holiday.”
RJ Saint-George had his bare feet on the coffee table, along with the bachelor disarray of Money Magazine, newspapers he’d already read, Christmas cards he’d yet to open, and his second mug of coffee into this session.
His home was devoid of all Christmas decorations, except for the advent calendar from his mother. Claire noticed that he’d kept up with opening the little paper doors to the present date. All the little foil-wrapped chocolates were gone.
Claire sat in the contemporary-style, leather armchair by the fireplace. A large framed black and white photograph of a sailboat navigating rough seas hung above the fireplace. The mantel displayed various shots of RJ in family photos with his parents and brother, as well as group shots of RJ and his friends. She had yet to see a photo on display of RJ with his girlfriend. And she’d snooped plenty on previous visits to his home.
As if the universe felt it necessary to remind her that the girlfriend truly did exist, RJ’s cell phone lit up with the model’s caller ID, that of a photo of her posing on a tropical beach.
The phone was on vibration mode. Without lowering the newspaper, RJ used his foot to nudge the phone under the pile of mail.
Claire smiled.
“It’s your dime.” RJ turned another page of the newspaper.
Yes, it was. Still, she felt drawn to glance down into her open handbag to see if she’d missed any calls or text messages. Her phone was particularly quiet lately, in its absence of Brian communication. She hadn’t seen him since their lunch date last week where he’d seemed preoccupied.
Just thinking of that lunch date made her tense up, as she’d suspected what might be on his mind, again. The same thing that was on his mind the previous two Christmases when he had lowered down on one knee and she’d replied, “I’m not ready.”
She zipped her handbag closed and focused on her session.
“Come on, let’s hear it, again.” RJ sat across from her on his leather sofa.
Comfortable in slender jeans tucked into knee-high, suede boots, and a cream sweater that tended to slip off one bare shoulder, she leaned forward, her long, blond hair brushing across her thighs.
“Kiss my rum balls!” She sat back and waited for his approval. She’d been working on that one in the bathroom mirror at home.
Claire lived just a few blocks from RJ in this lakeside community that lay across from the larger metropolis of Seattle. She’d moved into the neighborhood a few years ago and had met RJ while playing volleyball at the community center.
From the living room window, the tree-covered, hilly landscape of Seattle, with its mix of condominiums, mansions, and both contemporary and craftsman-style homes, was barely visible through the haze of snow over the lake.
RJ was one of the Seattle area’s most eligible bachelors, having agreed to pose for a fundraising calendar to help raise money and bring awareness to a cause he felt strongly about: the holes in the education system where standardized learning methods did not meet the needs of all learning types.
Both RJ and his brother had struggled through their school years with a learning disability. Because their parents had tutored them at home, on top of their regular schooling, and with the assistance of professionals, they’d both learned tools to successfully overcome their disability and had gone on to higher education and successful careers. They both held PhD’s in their specialized areas, and both were also co-owners of their family’s successful yacht building business.
Held over from his first professional career, RJ continued to practice as a licensed psychologist, specializing in both assertive behavior, and coaching kids and teenagers with learning disabilities. As for the calendar showing RJ tanned and fit in board shorts, grinning from the bow of his sailboat on a sunny, summer day, although he didn’t want one in his own home, Claire had purchased one for her home office. After all, it was all for a good cause.
Apparently, RJ didn’t think so much of her second attempt.
She received a disapproving glance over the top of the newspaper. From beneath his neatly trimmed sandy hair, apart from the unruly cowlick at his hairline, a pair of hazel eyes gave her a serious look. “My dog can do better than that.”
In the corner sat a basket of dog toys that hadn’t been played with in almost a month. RJ’s dog, the cutest eight-month-old bulldog she’d ever met, had been taken from outside of a coffee shop when RJ had left him in the care of a teenager who’d offered to watch his dog while RJ went inside for a coffee. Witnesses had reported that the teenager had been too busy texting to notice when a white van had pulled to the curb and a woman had jumped out to snatch Rosco. The police had matched the dog-napping of Rosco to similar ones that had been reported in the past months.
“Any news on Rosco?”
The newspaper went back up. “Nothing. The detective told me to check back in a few weeks.”
“This must be really difficult for you.”
The newspaper remained motionless.
Claire crossed one leg over the other, her foot gently swinging. She reached for the latte she’d brought to her 10am “stop by if you feel like it” session offered by RJ at the mere cost of a pot roast. She felt a bit special knowing that she was the only client that RJ invited over on a Sunday. Everyone else had to wait for the weekday hours at his leased office space in a professional building.
“Brandy thinks I should just get another dog,” he said.
She was shocked that someone would suggest that so soon. “Brandy obviously doesn’t know you very well.”
“She’s known me longer than you.”
Claire lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Doesn’t mean she’s ever really listened to you.” And she had proof of that, after witnessing how self-centered his girlfriend could be. Not to mention she was mean. She’d purposely spiked the volleyball at Claire during a game at the community center.
After a moment, RJ said, “What is your suggestion? Should I get another dog?”
“No. Wait for Rosco to be returned to you.”
“You think that’s going to happen?” He looked at her over the rim of his coffee mug.
She lifted her chin. “I’m an optimist.”
“Yes, you are.” The newspaper went back up and they were back to her session. “Let’s hear it, again,” he said.
Did she imagine it, or had he winked at her with a smile in his eyes, before returning to the sport’s section?
The newspaper held a dual purpose. RJ liked to get his news from the newspaper, and Claire needed a wall between them as she vented, because this was a part of herself she wasn’t familiar with. It didn’t feel natural. But as RJ had said, it was either vent verbally or get a punching bag.
Either way, the process was necessary to get her frustrations out of her system, here, rather than in front of her mother.
The goal was to get to a point where she could
be mature and calm when telling someone who loved her, that she needed her to stop orchestrating her life. She and her mother were too many years into this problem, and it wasn’t going to be an overnight fix, according to RJ. His professional opinion for her problem with her mother? Set boundaries. Well, she might as well listen to the expert.
“Kiss my royal rum balls!” She jumped to her feet, with fists clenched and cheeks flushed warm, with not-so-feigned anger. She took a deep breath, surprised at the force of her words. “Good enough?” she added with a roll of her shoulders and taking on a tough-chick stance with hands on her hips.
RJ set the paper aside. “Congratulations.” His eyes were warm with amusement as he folded his muscular arms across his broad chest. “There’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?” She felt flushed, not only from her practiced performance, but from the way RJ had briefly let his eyes run the length of her. She was, fairly, certain that he wasn’t aware he was checking her out. He wasn’t that type of guy who openly looked at other women. But she’d caught him looking at her in this manner on more than one occasion.
This morning she was more aware of the chemistry between them than ever before. Well, she felt the chemistry. Secretly, she hoped that he did, too. And that might be a problem.
Perhaps it was due to her declining attraction to her boyfriend of two years who felt that Claire could find a more serious profession rather than that of cluttering up people’s homes with furniture and artwork on their walls. That’s how he described her business to others, thinking it was funny. In fact, she couldn’t recall if Brian had ever acknowledged that she was a licensed Interior Designer and earned a decent living at it. He felt it ridiculous that people paid her to do what she did.
She reached for the caramel-colored, wool wrap on the back of the chair and picked up her leather handbag to sling over her shoulder.
“I still don’t think that this is the best way to handle your mother when she starts insisting on how and where you plant your sweet ass during the holidays.”
“You’d prefer I wait until the next time she arranges a romantic opportunity for Brian to pop the big question?”
“Oh, yeah, that.”
This was RJ’s same response every time she mentioned her boyfriend’s many attempts to arrange a romantic “pop the question” moment with her mother in on the plan.
Claire had managed to avoid those close calls, so far, using the excuse of last-minute clients needing her immediate attention to an interior decorating dilemma.
“Claire?”
She paused in slipping the wrap around her shoulders.
“You’ve had your chance to vent. My advice in dealing with your mother is to keep it simple and be firm. If she gets upset, remember what else we practiced.”
“Don’t worry. I plan to be very diplomatic. Like you said, it just feels good to vent. Is your fee the same?”
“Yes. But could you throw in those roasted red potatoes you make with rosemary?”
“Done.” She held out her hand, palm up. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you? Or did Brandy decide she did want a romantic Christmas in the mountains?”
His expression was hidden from her as he dug around under the stack of newspapers and pulled out a set of house keys. “There’s been no change.” He dropped the keys into her palm. “The cabin is yours for the weekend.” A small frown formed between his eyes. “You sure you’re not going to regret this? It’s fairly isolated up there.” He sat back, again, arms folded behind his head. “You could just take a stand by staying at your own house. Board up the windows,” he teased, “or tell your mom you have the flu.”
She shook her head. “That wouldn’t work. My mom would be pounding on my door, believe me. I need to get away into the mountains. Your cabin is perfect. It’s what I need right now.”
His smile was kind and understanding. After a moment, he said, “Yeah, I’m beginning to think I need the same.”
There was something bothering RJ. She could sense it. She wanted to ask him to come with her and share the solitude of the cabin with her. Although, she doubted that he needed the cabin for all the same reasons that she did. Christmas her way wasn’t her only reason for escaping.
He glanced to the dive watch on his wrist. “You do have another fifteen minutes.”
She was done discussing her issues for the day. And she knew she couldn’t get RJ to talk about what was on his mind. He was stubborn that way. Instead, she looked about the room and its minimal furnishing.
“Okay, out with it.” RJ sa an expression of good humor. “I can tell when you’re holding back. Come on, let’s have it. What do you think this room needs?”
Although a bachelor pad, RJ did have a woman in his life and that necessitated that Claire go about this carefully.
“Brandy probably has her own ideas.”
His smile seemed fixed. “I want to know what you would do. What would it take to make my home as inviting as yours?”
She hesitated only a moment longer. “Chocolate colored drapes at the windows. There’s a beautiful Asian-style cabinet down at the import store that would fill up that wall in your dining room. Plus, you need bookshelves for all your books.” She pointed to the stacks of books in the corner. “A few more pieces of art on the wall, toss the plant that you never water, and add an area rug in the dining room. Oh, and of course, a dining room table and chairs might come in handy.” She smiled. “You should add a headboard to your bed. I’d go with one covered in linen. And you can never have enough lamps for ambience.” Too late, and she realized what she’d admitted to.
RJ wore a crooked smile. “How do you know that I don’t have a headboard on my bed?”
Her face warmed at his teasing. Busted. She grinned.
“I’m not apologizing for peeking.” She just had to add. “I even took measurements for the headboard.”
He looked slightly stunned. “You’re kidding.”
“Yes.”
“You had me there, for a second.”
“I know.”
The steady way he watched her made her weaker in the knees than she would ever admit to, or should be feeling. Brian never made her feel like this when he looked at her, not to mention that he would never let her lay a decorating hand on his sterile home. She’d offered once, and he’d reacted like it was the most horrific thought he could have imagined.
“You eye-balled it, didn’t you?” RJ said.
She gave in. “You have a king-sized bed and you even have room for an armoire to hide the big TV that’s taking up all the room on your dresser.”
“Anything else?” he said, dryly.
“That’s it, for now.” She realized that she didn’t know him well enough to know how far she should go with this cheeky banter. Besides, his girlfriend was territorial. She’d likely veto all of Claire’s ideas. But tit-for-tat, she had a feeling that she wouldn’t like what Brandy might do to his place, if allowed a free hand in decorating. It hit her, then, full-force. She was jealous of Brandy. She felt her face heat up, again. “I should be going.”
In the foyer, RJ gave her shoulders a brotherly squeeze, a gesture of affection. She liked the feel of his arm around her. RJ smelled good; of clean laundry and warm cotton with a hint of cologne.
“You can do this,” he said. “We’ve been practicing for several weeks, now.”
Grateful to him for helping her build the courage to face off with her mother, she impulsively stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.
But just as she did so, he moved his head to look down at her and she ended up planting one on his mouth.
They both froze. In that instant, not only did it occur to her that his lips were warm and firm, yet, with just the right amount of softness, a voice in her head told her that RJ was just supposed to be a friend. One with a mean girlfriend. Holy Christmas cactus!
Claire pulled away. “I didn’t mean to do that.” She spun around and pulled open the front door.
&n
bsp; Escape wouldn’t come that easily.
RJ put a hand to the solid wood of the door. “Not so fast,” he said.
Chapter 2
Okay, here it comes – Claire winced inwardly – the boat builder with the PhD and great sense of humor has finally figured out the obvious, that I may have a teensy-weensy crush on him. Why hadn’t she left a good ten minutes ago instead of staying to make small talk?
Nowhere on his face was there any reaction to the kiss. He wasn’t even avoiding looking her in the eye. Dang his professional veneer.
“What’s the real reason you don’t want to spend Christmas with your family?”
She was partly relieved he wasn’t going to dig deeper into that wayward kiss, and partly disappointed.
“I told you.” Well, she’d told him what she wanted him to know, having learned something from his own practice of keeping people at a safe distance.
Determined to carry it off, like he was just any other guy, she kept her eyes glued to the faint white scar just to the left of the modest cleft on his chin. It might be too much temptation to look up at those steady eyes, at least not while standing so close. Maybe only in a safe situation, like one where she was within arm’s reach of his girlfriend’s backhand, or she had her own boyfriend by her side, thereby making the obvious beyond obvious, that the two of them already had significant others.
“I think that you’re playing the avoidance game.”
Her face burned. “I’m not playing a game. I’m just starting a new tradition.”
“By yourself?”
“Sure.” She shrugged indifferently. “Why not?”
“That’s the only reason?”
If Claire didn’t know him better – actually, she didn’t know RJ that well, at all – she might have thought that he was breaking his own rule about minding one’s own business. Hey, if he wasn’t opening up to her, about his personal life, she wasn’t opening up about hers, at least, not completely.
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