Mail Order Soulmate

by Jean Oram

  “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she whispered to Zach. “We have a turkey to cook.”

  Zach’s eyes opened and his lips curved lazily. He went to stretch, but she stopped him, heart racing. “Xavier’s on your chest.”

  “Just seeing how fast your reflexes were.” He gave her a cheeky grin and carefully cradled Xavier as he stood, her son’s little wet mouth slack against Zach’s collarbone. Catherine had to admit she was a tad envious. Being in the shelter of his arms out on the patio last week while settling Xavier’s croup had felt good, felt right. She needed to figure out how to get in on more of that.

  “It stopped snowing,” she said.

  “Want to run out and get pie fixings? The car keys are around here somewhere.”

  “I went out while you were sleeping. I only ran into a few things while figuring out winter driving like you showed me.” She began listing incidents, checking them off on her fingers. “There was the car in the parking lot that came around a snowbank too fast, and I didn’t have time to brake as I was driving on the wrong side of the road again. I slid down the driveway and took out the garbage cans across the street, but they were plastic so it’s okay. And then there was a light post on Main Street. Really, a silly place to have it…”

  Zach simply rolled his eyes, knowing she was teasing him. He’d taken her out a few days prior to give her a lesson, and at the time she hadn’t known if she was more nervous about being at the wheel of an out-of-control car spinning around on the clear ice of Blueberry Lake, or the fact that Xavier was being watched by the neighbor. She’d never left him alone with anyone other than Zach, and that had occurred only once, this past week. Now twice.

  “I’ve never done Thanksgiving before,” she said. “I’m pretty excited.”

  “It’s a lot of cooking and a lot of leftovers.”

  “Perfect. Less for us to cook later in the week.”

  “You won’t be saying that after four days of turkey this and turkey that.”

  They set to work in the kitchen, prepping the food while elbow to elbow, laughing and singing to oldies on the radio. It felt warm, homey, and like everything she’d ever wanted.

  She’d decided to let go of her past and just relish the fact that everything felt brighter.

  “You seem chipper,” Zach said a few hours later, as she wiped her brow with an oven mitt. Xavier was still sleeping upstairs. The potatoes were almost ready for mashing, and the apple pie had been squeezed into the oven beside the turkey, which they’d managed to wrangle into a too-small roaster first thing. It was starting to smell delicious, the bird’s juices hissing as they hit the sides of the hot pan, making the kitchen area a sensory delight.

  “I am chipper.” She tapped Zach lightly with the oven mitt. She was pleasantly tired, and had loved every second of cooking with him.

  He raised his eyebrows and handed her a glass of nonalcoholic wine, lightly tapping his glass of merlot against it in a silent toast.

  “So? What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?” he asked. He was watching her as they took a sip of their drinks, and seemed to have noticed the shift in her mood and how she’d dropped her paranoia. He seemed relieved, as though her being on edge had put him on edge as well.

  “Do people really do that? Make a public gratitude list?” She took a sip of the sweet wine.

  “Well, it depends how emotionally needy they are.”

  Catherine snorted wine out her nose.

  “You are so very proper and British, as well as ladylike,” Zach said with an amused smile, handing her a cloth to wipe her face.

  “This was actually the hardest thing to master in finishing school,” she said seriously.

  “I’ll bet.”

  She paused, her left arm across her waist as she held her wineglass at chest level with her right. “In an attempt to err on the side of not being emotionally needy, how many things am I safe to list?”

  There were so many, how could she choose?

  “I was just kidding. Us army guys have trouble with the emotional stuff sometimes. List as much as you’d like.”

  “Gratitude shouldn’t be difficult, Zach.”

  “True. Just don’t make me cry, okay?”

  She rolled her eyes, and he reached out and gave her earlobe an affectionate tug, like he was a middle school boy with a crush. She liked it.

  “Oh, I will. You’ll be crying like a big ol’ baby by the time I’m done.”

  “Maybe I should go first, so you have an example to follow. Try something simple, like how you’re grateful for Xavier’s returned health.”

  “Nope. Ladies first. And no suggestions, although that is a good one.” She paused, thinking. She had so many things to be hugely grateful for. Soul-baring things. And that’s what this exercise could easily become, because she feared that once she started listing all she was thankful for, everything wonderful in her new life would come spilling out, possibly revealing what she’d left behind.

  Plus it might end up being like telling a man on the first date that you loved him, wanted to get married and have his babies. Immediately.

  “I can go first,” Zach said, after she’d paused for a long moment.

  “No, I’ll go. I was just thinking what’s number one on the list.”

  She stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his waist, an intimate move she’d seen so many couples do without thought. “I am thankful for you.”

  There. She hadn’t kept going. She’d made it simple. Chosen the one thing that all her other gratitudes stemmed from: Zach.

  His eyes were warm as he watched her. He said nothing, letting them have this—a moment. A couple’s moment.

  “I’m thankful you answered my message,” she added.

  Oh, no. Here she went. He should have said something. She could feel the pressure building inside her to keep sharing, like a train without brakes on a downhill track. To express the avalanche of emotions and gratitude within her.

  “I’m thankful that you welcomed me and my son into your wonderful home and beautiful community.” Her voice was growing wobbly with emotion, and Zach’s hand slipped around her waist, silently supporting her. “I’m so very thankful for you, Zach. Thank you.”

  She rose on her tiptoes, lightly dusting his lips with hers so she wouldn’t say more, then lowered herself, her eyes fluttering open again. He was watching her, his own eyes dark with emotion. He set his wineglass down, then set hers alongside it before sweeping his arms around her, drawing her so close she could scarcely breathe.

  It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

  Zach’s eyelids were heavy, his lips throbbing. He’d never made out with a woman for as long as he had with Catherine, right here in his kitchen. Their lips had explored, their hands weaving warm patterns as they charted the territory of each other’s body.

  But as they continued to kiss something kept nudging into his mind. Something was screeching, but it wasn’t Xavier. It was a horrible sound and he wished it would stop.

  He stole another hungry kiss and slid his fingers back into Catherine’s thick locks, memorizing the way she felt in his arms.

  The world could take a hike. He was kissing his wife.

  His. Wife.

  “It’s the smoke detector,” Catherine said, breaking free long enough to utter the words.

  They jumped apart, eyes wide.

  Smoke. Fire.

  “The baby,” he said, and Catherine was off at a run to retrieve Xavier before Zach even discovered the source of the smoke.

  It was the oven. Smoke was seeping out the edges of the closed door.

  “It’s okay,” he called, the steadiness in his voice surprising him as he dived toward the stove.

  How had he not smelled the smoke? How had he not reacted the very second the smoke detector went off? He’d been a mere five feet from the smoke source, seven from the alarm.

  Clutching oven mitts, he ignored the shriek of the smoke detectors, which were now drowning out Xavier’s freaked-ou
t cries.

  Zach felt unsettled and freaked out, too. He was trained for emergencies, and this minor one had his whole nervous system spinning out.

  Because, he thought grimly, it had interrupted him while he’d been doing something very, very important. Something he might not get the chance to do again with his wife, who seemed to have finally relaxed after the croup scare.

  This Thanksgiving meal had better be the best he’d ever tasted, because he already resented it.

  “Open the doors and windows,” he called, shoving his hands into the mitts. Then he grabbed the bubbling-over turkey pan, spilling more of the hot juices in the process and sending a new plume of smoke into the room. He was never going to get those alarms silenced again. He set the turkey on the stove and turned on the overhead fan. With the oven so hot he couldn’t clean the bottom of the oven, meaning there was no way to stop the smoke. The fats would have to burn off.

  While he’d wired all four smoke detectors together so if one went off, they all went off, at least he hadn’t set the system up to call the fire department. That’s all he’d need—their teasing about his cooking.

  His ears were aching from the shrill screeches coming at him from every direction, and he hated to think how it sounded to poor little Xavier.

  Through it all, Zach heard the doorbell ring, and he raced to answer it.

  Logan came marching in, and Zach tried to fan the room with the open door, hoping that some of the smoke would drift outside.

  “You’re cooking? It figures.” Logan waved at the smoke, then went to open the patio door to create a cross breeze. “At least this time we aren’t stuck in a submarine.”

  “Order me a set of smoke detectors you can turn off,” Zach snapped, flapping a tea towel in front of the detector in the kitchen. “And while you’re at it, order me a bigger roaster so things don’t spill over again next year.”

  “Did you wire these into your security system?” Logan asked, as a voice clicked on through the system’s speaker. “Yup, you did.”

  “This is Kashmir from your home security network. Is emergency assistance required?”

  “No, Zach’s just cooking,” Logan said with a smirk.

  “Is there a fire present?” Kashmir asked. The smoke detectors suddenly went silent and Zach’s whole head practically rang in relief.

  He caught a glimpse of Catherine standing at the foot of the stairs, Xavier in her arms, his one ear against her chest, her hand pressed to the other one. Her hair was disheveled and her lips plump and swollen from their kisses. Zach’s whole world felt as though it shifted, and a flare of heat rose within him as he looked at his wife.

  “Is there a fire present?” Kashmir repeated.

  Logan, who had noticed the glance they shared, said, “Looks like these flames are going to be the kind the fire department can’t put out.”

  Zach couldn’t agree more.

  Catherine tried to keep her focus on their Thanksgiving dinner guests, as well as on Xavier, who was cooing in the baby swing between her and Zach at the corner of the table. Anything but focus on Zach, because every time she did she felt her cheeks heat, and she’d catch herself touching her lips, curious what it would feel like to kiss him regularly, to allow herself to truly let go and be his wife to the fullest extent.

  Ginger was asking her something, and Catherine reached over to give Xavier’s windup swing another twist of its dial, to put it back in motion. Something warm and sure was already adjusting the device, and she jerked as a sizzle tingled up her arm at the shared touch. Zach’s steady gaze met hers and she tipped her head down, feeling overcome by an inexplicable shyness. She was an adult! She was married. It was definitely okay to be attracted to Zach. But it felt like the attraction had just blasted out of left field and taken her down.

  “Catherine?” Ginger asked. By the hint of amusement in the woman’s tone, Catherine could tell she’d been trying to catch her attention for some time.

  “Sorry?”

  “Is this your first Thanksgiving?”

  “In America?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “Yes. It’s very lovely.” She winced at her proper tone, the pat, polite British reply. “Other than the whole smoke detector thing,” she added, causing her guests, Logan, Ginger, Amy and Moe, to break into laughter.

  They’d managed to get the oven to stop smoking, and the meal had turned out well despite the small delay. Xavier, however, was still a bit jumpy thanks to the shrill alarm, even though it had shut off nearly an hour and a half ago. But he was settling, thanks to Zach. Whenever the man held him, said hello on his way by the swing, or tickled his toes, Xavier gave him a toothless grin.

  She knew the feeling. It was like there was a force field around Zach that put every sense on high alert when he was near, causing her to hone in on him, become aware of where he was, what he was doing, and whether or not he was looking at her.

  Like right now, she knew he was gazing at her because her body was tingling with warmth that was like gooey, freshly made butterscotch.

  “How are you finding it, working for the boys?” Ginger asked.

  Catherine pulled her head from the clouds, determined to be a better hostess. Her focus so far had most definitely not been on the bounty loading down the table, or their guests.

  “It’s lovely,” she said, and sighed at herself. Another conversation-ending reply. “I’m sorry, I’m not being a very good host. It was a busy day.”

  Ginger and Logan shared a look and Ginger swallowed a smile. “We’ll help clear the table so you and Zach can head to bed early and get your rest.”

  “Oh, no. You’re our guests,” Catherine said, standing with her plate. “We insist you relax and allow us to take care of the cleanup.” She reached for Ginger’s plate, and the woman gave her an odd frown.

  Zach reached out and touched her elbow and her breath caught in her throat. “Catherine? We’re not done eating.”

  Ginger laughed as Catherine promptly sat, surprised and embarrassed to see that was true.

  “Don’t worry,” Ginger said. “We can tell you have a lot on your mind. We’ll be out of your hair soon.”

  Catherine was mortified that her crush, or whatever it was, was not only interfering with everyone’s good time, but that it was so obvious.

  Ginger leaned closer and said, “You make a great match. Enjoy it.”

  Now she wanted to vanish.

  “Tell me about your bridal shop,” she said. “I heard Devon’s wife makes one-of-a-kind dresses for you?”

  Ginger’s eyes lit up. “You’re in need of a dress for the reception in December?”

  “Oh…no. I’m not in need.” The reception had been pushed back to December 17, and she still had hopes they could avoid the event altogether.

  “You have one already?” The light in Ginger’s eyes died and Catherine felt horrible.

  “I meant… I don’t know that it’s…that we’re having a reception.”

  “You have to,” Amy insisted from her spot across the table.

  “Everything has already been booked,” Ginger said, and Amy nodded in agreement.

  “Everyone in town is so excited,” Amy explained. “December is always cold and dark. We need a reason to party—in a fun way—before we have to spend time with our families for the holidays.” She turned to Moe. “Speaking of which, did you find a gift for your dad?”

  “Other than paying his mortgage? No.”

  Amy’s shoulders sagged. “He’s so impossible to buy for. He needs everything, but makes such a fuss about the cost.” She turned back to Catherine. “So? Reception? Yes?” She nodded with a big smile, as if her enthusiasm might cause Catherine to give in.

  A reception would be lovely, but so much work in such a short period of time, and it felt…like pretend. Like they were jumping the gun. She knew that didn’t make sense, seeing as they were already married, but the party felt like they would be celebrating something the two of them didn’t have.

/>   She sneaked a glance at Zach, who was quietly listening, his expression unreadable. To the best of her knowledge their plan still was to find a way to slip out of the commitment.

  Catherine had opened her mouth to argue the value of holding a reception when Ginger said quickly, cutting her off, “Are you big into the holidays? I love Christmas and try to go all out, especially now that I know Annabelle loves the holiday, too.”

  “Where is she tonight?” Amy asked.

  “She has a boyfriend,” Ginger sang.

  “Somehow —” Logan gave Ginger a pointed look “—she convinced me it was okay for her to forgo dinner with us and spend it with her boyfriend’s family.”

  “So? What are your plans?” Ginger asked, waving off Logan. “This is Xavier’s first Christmas. Are you going to do it up big?”

  Memories of Catherine’s own Christmases came to mind. The new bicycle—which she later discovered had been stolen from a girl in her grade who lived one block over. The holiday trips where her father took them to exotic locales, and upon arrival back at the British border she’d be questioned heavily about what all her father had done while away, where he’d gone, who he’d seen, where they’d stayed and what all was in the suitcase upturned on the counter in front of them. The month of December was always filled with big, loud celebrations where her father pulled out his accordion and played for their guests, the house filling with music and the sound of singing. But as the night wore on, as her father and his associates drank too much, brawls would inevitably break out, destroying the feelings of warmth and joy that had been building all night. Since Catherine had left home, Christmas had been a quiet nonevent, one where she hoped her favorite takeout place would remain open for the holiday.

  “I like a quiet Christmas,” she said. Compared to the fuss she’d grown up with, she definitely preferred something peaceful and low-key.

  “I do, too,” Zach stated, and Catherine almost wished he’d said the opposite. “It’s all I’ve ever known.”

  “Big ones are just more stress, more stuff, more expectation, more fights and more disappointment,” Catherine said, a bit too forcefully. She inhaled and tried for a smile, putting her focus on Xavier in hopes that the sudden welling up in her eyes would go unnoticed. She’d always envied families who seemed to have these wonderful cozy Christmases filled with love and joy. Despite the unorthodox relationship she had with Zach, she hoped to be able to build traditions for Xavier that he looked forward to, cherished times where he felt part of something special.