Santa Baby Maybe (Kane Christmas Book 2)

by S Doyle

  “I do,” he said stiffly. “But it’s a choice. Not a requirement.”

  “And he wears one every day,” I offered, thinking it might help him. “Even on Fridays when he looks like a total nerd doing it.” Shit. “I meant…he wears one even on Fridays.”

  Alexandria didn’t show much reaction and this was getting even more uncomfortable.

  “You should probably check on your table,” I said. “Because you said time was tight. And we’ll get out of your hair and let you guys have fun.”

  “Why is time tight?” Sophie asked Alexandria, leaning back against the bar. “I mean, isn’t this a date? Shouldn’t you just go with the moment? See where it takes you?”

  Sophie’s words nailed me in the gut. I didn’t want W.B. seeing where the moment took him. Especially if that ended up in this woman’s bed, between her thighs.

  Suddenly the image of W.B. pumping his hips as he thrust himself inside a faceless woman overcame me and I gulped.

  Don’t think about him naked. Don’t think about him naked!

  “I only allow a maximum of ninety minutes for a first date,” Alexandria stated. “Start to end. It keeps it neat, efficient, without any time for awkward silences between the two participants.”

  “Solid plan,” Sophie said as she took a hard pull on her beer. “No chance for anything to get out of hand with that strategy.”

  “Exactly.” Alexandria nodded, not realizing Sophie was being sarcastic.

  I closed my eyes. This was excruciating. W.B. was on a date with Anti-Fun. Which once again made me realize how unavailable he was to me because this was who he wanted to be with. For life.

  Opening my eyes, I looked at him and was surprised to see he was looking back. Like he was trying to assess my opinion of his date. I didn’t want him to see my disappointment. If Alexandria was who he was looking for, who was I to offer any kind of an opinion?

  “Well, we really, really have to go,” I said, putting emphasis on my second really so Sophie would get the message. Fortunately, she did. She slid her now empty bottle onto the bar. I got off the stool where I was sitting just as one of the patrons, a larger man who must have been heading out, bounced into me hard.

  “Hey, asshole, watch it!” W.B. called.

  The man kept moving but I tripped between the stools, then pinged off the rail of the bar and started flailing. Knowing there was no hope for it, I landed flat on my ass in the middle of the bar.

  “Joy!” W.B. shouted.

  Instantly, he crouched down in front of me. “Are you okay? Should I go after that jerk?”

  I shook my head, “It was only partly his fault. I think I’m a little light-headed from chugging my margarita.”

  “I’ll call for an Uber,” he suggested.

  I shook my head again. “It’s okay. Sophie’s driving.”

  He offered me a hand and I took it. With a surprising show of strength, not only did he lift me up, he nearly pulled me off my feet. Fortunately, I righted myself.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I told him. “Mortified and my butt is beer soaked. But I’ll survive.”

  “I hear beer is good for soft skin,” he said with a rueful smile. “Your butt should be fine.”

  Wait. Was he talking about my soft butt?

  “Mr. Darling,” a young woman called from behind where W.B. was standing. Still holding my hand in his grip. “Your table is ready.”

  “Yes, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “We only have fifty-six remaining,” Alexandria pointed out.

  “I’ll make do with the fifty-five I have left after that,” he said to her tightly. Then he looked to me. “Sophie’s driving you home, not back to the office. Yes?”

  “Yep. I’m a lightweight. She knows it. And she’s only had one beer.”

  He nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I can pick you up tomorrow. For work. If you would like.”

  “I…uh…no, you don’t have to do that. I’ll call an Uber. It’s fine.”

  “I want to,” he said definitely. “Text me your address.”

  “W.B., I must insist,” Alexandria huffed. “You’ve proven you can be gallant. Which is excellent, but we really must be getting to our meeting.”

  “Don’t you mean date?” Sophie snorted. Then she grabbed my free hand, the one W.B. wasn’t holding, and tugged. “Let’s go, Joy. Let’s allow these kids to have their time-restricted fun.”

  Eventually W.B. did let me go, and he and Alexandria made their way back to the hostess stand. As I left the bar, I looked over my shoulder to see the young woman leading W.B. and Alexandria through the maze of tables. It surprised me when W.B. looked back over his shoulder looking for…well, me. I guess. Our eyes met and he smiled. Then frowned. Then he looked straight ahead.

  So I left and didn’t look back again.

  I also did not text him my address.

  7

  Six Weeks Before Christmas

  W.B.

  She was avoiding me. I knew this because I had done the same thing to her weeks ago. It was relatively easy to do. I knew it was happening when a full week passed and I hadn’t once seen her throughout the company. Not in the hallways or any of the break rooms. And she hadn’t come to my office for any reason.

  Of course I’d seen her from a distance on the first floor amongst her crew of glass blowers when I entered the building every day, but I had no reason to walk over to her and ask her why she was avoiding me.

  Why she hadn’t texted me her address. Why she hadn’t let me pick her up and drive her to work.

  There had been no more ornaments for my tree. There hadn’t even been a reaction when I sent her an email suggesting she could contain costs on the Sunday events by cutting down on the unlimited supply of marshmallows allowed in the hot chocolate. Just a simple reply that she would look into it.

  It shouldn’t have bothered me. Or, more accurately, I was determined to not let it bother me. Only I wasn’t succeeding very well. The hard truth was that I liked being around Joy. I liked the easy banter we shared. I liked that there would never be a first date between us.

  No awkward meeting. No stiff conversation. No assessment of her personality, looks, and personal ambition. Because I didn’t look at Joy as a potential wife.

  I simply looked at Joy.

  Which was why I was waiting outside of the Kane Co. building on Sunday afternoon for the ornament-making event to be over and everyone to leave. Joy was teaching the class this week. I knew that from Sophie, who had oddly felt the need to let me know that in the break room on Friday.

  The plan was simple. Wait for her to come out and then walk by her as if it was the most natural thing in the world for us to bump into each other on the sidewalk. She’d ask me what I was doing downtown, and my cover was Christmas shopping. She didn’t need to know I only ever sent my mother money for Christmas.

  I pulled the wool coat around me a little tighter and shoved my gloved hands into my pockets. It felt as if the temperature had dropped a couple of degrees while I’d been standing out there, making me rethink my mental sanity.

  All I had to do was walk inside, where it was warm, and ask her straight up.

  Why are you avoiding me? What did I do? And maybe more importantly, can I fix it?

  Instead, I shivered into my coat and listened as the door to the building opened and a group of people poured out. I pulled my hand out of my pocket and glanced at my watch. Just after two. They were done. I listened as the group, mostly women, although some men, walked by me, showing each other their personalized ornaments. All seemingly pleased with their efforts.

  Or maybe that was just a residue of happiness from being in Joy’s presence for an afternoon. She was the type who infused her good nature into everything she did. Including instructing others in how to blow glass ornaments.

  Joy wasn’t in the first wave of people who exited the building, which made sense. She would need to stay behind, straighten up for the clean
ing crew who would come shortly to clean up after the event. Patiently, I waited five minutes. Then another five minutes.

  What the hell was taking so long?

  Unless she had her cat with her. Maybe trying to corral him into his crate for transport was an effort.

  Shit, did she need help? Maybe I could walk inside with the excuse I’d been downtown shopping and thought I would check in on the event. Without thinking about it too hard, I abruptly pushed myself away from the building and started toward the entrance. And bumped hard into someone who was at that same time walking in my direction without seeing me.

  “Oh!”

  “Shit.”

  I tried to reach out to catch her but it was too late. Whether it was the force of slamming into me, or simply the surprise of someone being where she wasn’t expecting, Joy stumbled a few feet backward and then promptly fell smack on her ass.

  “Ow!” she screeched as she landed. Then she looked up at me and sighed. “This seems to be a theme with us.”

  I crouched down in front of her. “At least this time you can’t blame the margarita.”

  “No,” she said, her face scrunched up in a frown. “I blame the big bulky guy who came out of nowhere. Were you trying to scare the crap out of me?”

  “I was just walking down the sidewalk. Christmas shopping,” I lied really badly. “Let me help you up.”

  I did that, but as soon as she put weight on her right ankle, I felt her buckle and a low moan came out of her mouth.

  “What?” I asked, panicked. “What’s wrong?”

  “I twisted it when I fell. Ow, that really hurts,” she said as she tried again to put some pressure on it.

  Great. My grand plan to confront her and I’d ended up hurting her.

  Then she looked at me with a somewhat horrified expression in her face. “I don’t know if I can walk on it.”

  “Do you think it might be broken?” I asked, even as I made my way to her right side and put my arm around her back and her arm over my shoulder to give her support. With my free hand I pulled out my phone and brought up the Uber app.

  “No, I’m certain I just twisted it. Let me try to walk it off.”

  “Not going to happen,” I told her. “I’ve called a car. We’ll head to the nearest urgent care and get it X-rayed just to be certain.”

  “We don’t need to do that. I’m sure if I just…ow!” She’d gone ahead and tried to put pressure on it, but immediately pulled up. I was tempted to sweep her into my arms and carry her for the rest of the afternoon, but that wasn’t exactly practical. Instead, I settled on taking most of her weight on my shoulders as we waited. However, when the Uber finally pulled up in front of the building, I did lift her into my arms.

  “W.B.! I do not need to be carried. Oh my gosh, you’re going to know how heavy I am! Put me down right now!”

  “Just open the car door,” I growled. Women, I thought, could be nonsensical. She wasn’t so heavy I couldn’t carry her and that was all that mattered. That and keeping her from jostling her ankle if it was, in fact, broken.

  Complying with my order, she did open the door, and as gingerly as I could I settled her inside. I circled the car and got in on the other side. The urgent care was only a few blocks down from the building and within two minutes we were pulling up in front. I had to rush to her, as she was trying to hop away from me, and once again lifted her in my arms.

  “W.B.!” she growled again.

  “Joy!” I replied in exasperation. “You’re hurt. You can’t walk. Stop fighting me. If you’re afraid I’m going to drop you, I’m not.”

  Instead of wrapping her arms around my neck, which actually might have helped my hold on her, she stubbornly crossed them over her chest. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to drop her. She opened the door for the urgent care, and using my hip I was able to maneuver us inside, again careful of her ankle, until I had her seated in a waiting chair.

  I crouched down in front her. She was wearing a long skirt, with leggings underneath to protect her from the cold. Carefully, I lifted her booted right foot and settled it on my knee, then gently pulled the leggings up so I could get a look at her exposed ankle. It was already swollen to the size of a baseball.

  “Shit,” I muttered. “Okay, wait here while I go get someone.”

  “It’s not like I can walk anywhere, Rhett.”

  I squinted at her for a second.

  “Rhett Butler,” she grumbled. “Who had a propensity for carrying women against their will.”

  “Never heard of him. But if he was doing it to keep them from walking on a potentially broken ankle, then he’s my kind of guy.”

  I made my way to the receptionist and explained our situation to the woman behind the counter. In less than ten minutes, Joy was being wheeled back into a hallway beyond the waiting room to get her ankle x-rayed.

  While I sat down in one of the waiting room chairs, my face planted in my hands.

  This day had not gone as planned.

  “I told you it wasn’t broken,” Joy said triumphantly as a male nurse wheeled her back into the reception area. An older woman wearing a white coat, whom I assumed was the doctor, trailed behind them holding a pair of crutches.

  “Not broken,” the older woman said. “But a bad sprain, which sometimes can be worse. I’ve wrapped it up tight. You’re going to want to stay off it for at least a week.”

  I stood and took the crutches from her. “Anything else I need to know?”

  “I gave her all my instructions. Keep it elevated, ice until the swelling goes down. And don’t try to put any weight on it. Take a pain reliever if you need it,” the doctor told Joy.

  But I was the one nodding. I would get her home first, assess whether she had what she needed, i.e., ice bag, pain reliever, groceries to hold her over for seven days, and if not then do the shopping for her.

  “Thank you, doctor,” Joy said as I was pulling out my phone to call for another Uber.

  The woman smiled and patted Joy on the shoulder. “Looks like your husband plans to take good care of you. I’ll leave you in his hands.”

  “Oh, that’s not my husband,” Joy objected. “Does he even look like he could be my husband? No way. Nope. Just a guy I work with.”

  “I’ll make sure she’s well cared for,” I said. “Thank you, doctor.”

  “Yep,” she said, and she and the nurse returned down the hallway from where they’d come.

  “Your address, Joy.”

  “Crazy. My husband. As if,” Joy was muttering.

  “Joy,” I said more sharply. “Address.”

  “Why do you need my address?”

  “So I can plug it into the app,” I explained. “Then a very nice man or woman will pull up shortly in a car and take us there. It’s this magical thing called Uber.”

  “I can call for my own car. I have crutches now to get around. You don’t need to take me home.”

  My jaw dropped. Was she serious? “Joy, we have to get you home. I have to find out if you have everything you need. If you don’t, I need to get it for you. Right now, your only responsibility is lying down on a couch. I assume you have a couch? If you don’t, then we’re going to my place.”

  Her jaw tightened like she was going to be stubborn.

  “Joy! I did this to you. You have to let me make this better. Now, you have two seconds to give me your address or I’m taking you back to my place.”

  Relenting, she gave me her address and I plugged it in, taking the effort to save the information for future purposes, even though I had no idea what they would be.

  She refused to allow me to carry her to the car when it arrived, and I relented because she was still in the wheelchair. But I did lift her out of the chair and into the car as carefully as I could. Wheelchair returned, crutches on the floor of the car, I got in on the other side and promptly lifted her legs into my lap, making her basically shift so she was leaning back against the car door. When she started to make a fuss, I reminded her
, “The doctor said you need to keep it elevated.”

  “You know this is a lot of fuss over a sprained ankle.”

  “A sprained ankle I caused,” I said even as I ran my hand up and down her very healthy left ankle. Which was really quite narrow where it met her foot.

  “You didn’t cause it. We bumped into each other and I fell. Tell me again what you were doing there. Did you say shopping?”

  I didn’t reply because I had caused it. I’d been purposefully waiting to bump into her. I just hadn’t meant to do so literally. Only she didn’t know that.

  “You know, you have very nice ankles,” I said, running my finger around her delicate left ankle just underneath her leggings. No wonder it had twisted so easily. It looked perfectly fragile.

  “You mean when one isn’t swollen three times its normal size,” she said, looking down at her feet.

  “Yes,” I huffed. Except then.

  The trip took twenty minutes to a small, well-kept housing community on the outskirts of Denver near Aurora. When we stopped in front of a neat ranch house, with its well-manicured landscape that I had no doubt would be filled to the brim with color in the spring, I wasn’t surprised.

  My condo was cool and sophisticated. Simple and suited to my needs.

  This house was warmth and comfort. I could feel it come over me just looking at it. But it was also something else. It felt solid and real. Not a transient thing, a place to stay, but a home. I got out of the car and retrieved her crutches.

  “I’m using them,” she insisted as she shuffled out of the car.

  Seeing her holding the car door to help her balance, I relented. She would need to get accustomed to the crutches, and the short walk from the sidewalk to the front door would be easy to manage. I handed her the crutches and she tucked them under her arms, then slowly I walked her to the front porch.

  I watched as she reached into the satchel she’d had thrown over her shoulder this whole time, and dug out her keys. She unlocked the door and navigated herself inside. The living room was to her right and she didn’t waste any time making it to the couch and easing herself down.