McKenzie's Turn to Fall: A Holiday Romance

by Harlow James

  Dylan laughs and then reaches underneath the counter to retrieve a cookie for me, a gesture that as painful as it is for my hips to accept, my heart can’t deny saying yes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Got a fresh one for you, though,” he says with a playful smile.

  I push my cart closer to him and then reach out to grab the cookie, inhaling the caramel and spice flavors. “Thank you, and no I didn’t know that. It makes me feel like the worst cookie fanatic in the world now. So what did the Glenda the Good Witch cook up tonight?”

  Dylan chuckles at my joke and then watches me take a bite as his face morphs into a heated gaze trained on my mouth. “Caramel apple snickerdoodles. Heavenly, right?”

  “I’ll say,” I reply around my bite, chewing and savoring every granule of sugar as they bounce on my tongue.

  “So, Saturday,” he continues. “Do you have plans?”

  I shake my head, swallowing the last few chunks of cookie in my mouth. “This Saturday? Nope.”

  “Then why don’t you come to the park again with me? I’ll be coaching, of course. But you can write while we practice and then I can take you to lunch afterwards.”

  I bite my lip so he can’t see the eagerness I’m fighting to scream yes. It’s sweet how he’s encouraging me to work in an atmosphere he knows I enjoy, while also getting to see him more during the day. “I think I can fit you in.”

  Pushing himself off the counter, he replies through the biggest grin, “Excellent. Looking forward to it, Mac.”

  “Me too. Have a good night, Dylan.”

  “You too, Cookie Monster,” he says with a wink as I feel my cheeks turn pink and I push my cart away from him, wistfully sighing as I finish my cookie and my shopping, counting down the minutes until I see him again.

  ***

  “So, he wouldn’t sleep with you?” Brooke asks, slightly less astonished than I assumed she would be. We’re sitting across from each other at Perry’s Pub during our traditional Friday night happy hour, almost a week after my date with Dylan.

  “Nope. Said he wanted to wait.”

  “Hmmm,” she hums as she takes a sip of her margarita.

  “Hmmm? I was sure you’d be as disappointed as I was.” In true best friend fashion, she called me the day after our date to see how everything went, but I was vague about the details. She called my bluff, but I didn’t give her all of the specifics since I was still a little sour about feeling rejected.

  Brooke shrugs and then leans back in her seat. “Nope. In fact, I’m not surprised at all, Mac. Dylan isn’t like other guys, more importantly, other twenty-six-year-old guys. After seeing the way he looks at you, I know he’s not into you just for sex.”

  I sigh and then take a sip of my drink as well. “God, I wanted him so badly that night, Brooke. I couldn’t believe I was brazen enough to put myself out there and ask him in. But then he turned me down and I started to panic.”

  “Why? You even said you could tell how turned on he was …”

  “Exactly. I was a sure thing. I know he likes me, so when a woman you’re attracted to offers you sex, why not take it?”

  Brooke starts to laugh. “I understand where you’re coming from, but don’t get yourself down over this. He didn’t reject you, but it seems as though that’s how you’re taking it. He told you he wants to wait. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to sleep with you ever. Maybe he didn’t want you to feel like the only reason he wants to spend time with you is to sleep with you.”

  I tilt my head to the side in thought. Dylan has been nothing but honest with me about how he feels, so I guess when he said he respected me enough to wait to sleep with me, I should just believe him. But past relationships, mistakes, and self-doubt are making me question everything with him, even though he truly hasn’t given me a reason to.

  This guy that I was supposed to be casually dating is suddenly making me overanalyze everything, as a true woman does.

  “You’re right. He’s been nothing but amazing. I guess it’s not the end of the world if we don’t have sex yet.”

  She smiles. “See? There you go! Although I’m sure your vagina is just foaming at the mouth with the prospect of sleeping with him.”

  I nearly choke on my drink. “That was an image I could have lived the rest of my life without imagining, thank you.”

  “That’s what I’m here for, inappropriate dialogue and thoughts.”

  I laugh at my best friend before she changes the subject and tells me about a hot single dad that came into her office yesterday for life insurance. Seems my friend is making moves in her love life as well after she accepted a date with the man she deemed a silver fox.

  I’m trying to listen, be the attentive best friend she deserves, but it’s so hard when I have eye-candy like Dylan to fantasize about.

  Our date last Saturday was something straight out of a Hallmark movie. I hadn’t laughed like that with a man ever. And I definitely hadn’t left a date that sexually frustrated either. The few dates I’d been on in the last year were less than stellar, and definitely didn’t leave me longing for the man to come inside my house. And my last relationship was with a man that would drop condescending comments about my body every time I indulged in food, awakening my insecurities even more than they already are. So when I felt bold enough to invite him in, I knew it was what my mind and body wanted, regardless of how apprehensive I was to start this dating process all over again.

  But Dylan has made it easy, effortless, and inevitable, like that first encounter with him was the just the catalyst of a long line of simple, yet meaningful interactions that we would tell our children about later.

  Children? What the hell, Mac? Now you’re definitely getting ahead of yourself. Although, Dylan has been open about wanting kids and he obviously adores them since he coaches his nephew’s football team…

  One thing at a time, Mac. You know, two people have to have sex in order for that to even be a possibility.

  I laugh at myself in my head as the rest of the evening plays out, wishing I were out with Dylan tonight as well. But at least I get to see him in the morning at the park for his practice and my writing session that will lead into lunch.

  I wake up the next morning before my alarm, eager to start my day and get ready to see the man that has been doing extremely R-rated things to me in my dreams. Let me tell you, a romance author’s imagination can be a scary place sometimes, and I’m pretty sure that half the things I’ve imagined Dylan doing to me aren’t humanly possible.

  Once I’m dressed in a warm sweater and leggings and the hunter green beanie Dylan bought for me at the festival, I grab my laptop and head for the park, knowing I’ll need to get there early if I have any hopes of getting any work done—because once Dylan shows up, he will provide way too strong of a distraction to my book, even though he is the inspiration behind it.

  A sudden pang of worry illuminates from my chest and I realize that if this continues, I’ll need to come clean with him that I’m writing a book that he is basically a character in. Hell, let’s be honest—he is the hero in my book—my real-life book boyfriend. I hope he takes it as a compliment and not something else, but I also know that telling him right now might seem silly. I don’t want to scare him away, although I’m pretty sure his declarations have cemented the fact that he is clearly interested in me and doesn’t plan to waver in that resolve any time soon. I’m hoping that one day down the line I’ll be presented with the perfect opportunity to praise him for inspiring my creativity and a story that I haven’t felt this excited about in months and we’ll just laugh about it, then ride off into the sunset with each other.

  Hey, a girl can fantasize, right? I mean, it’s pretty much my job.

  After buttoning my brown pea coat around me and grabbing my laptop from the front seat of my car, I make my way over to the same bench I sat at last time, buzzing with anticipation of seeing Dylan again today. I swear, this week was the longest week ever waiting for Saturday to come.


  As if I channeled his presence with my thoughts, a car door slamming in the parking lot alerts me to his arrival. He steps from his truck as his nephew, Jaxon, jumps down from the passenger side, holding his football helmet in his hand. Dylan slides toward the bed of the truck, extracting an orange mesh bag that seems to be filled with cones, footballs, and some sort of cloth I can’t quite make out.

  But as soon as he sets the alarm on his truck and he and his nephew make their way to the same field as before, his eyes lock on mine as that panty-melting smile of his stretches across those lips that have been tantalizing me ever since I tasted them.

  Dylan’s body is a freaking masterpiece—total droolworthy material. The man’s muscles tighten and release beneath every stretch of fabric he wears, especially his navy Under Armor shirt and grey sweats he has on today.

  Did you hear that, ladies? Grey sweatpants, A.K.A. lingerie for men.

  Suddenly I’m not sure if my tongue is still in my mouth, nor am I enthusiastic about the fact that this man is wearing grey sweatpants in front of other people, or women, more importantly. A wave of jealousy hits me when I think that another woman could be appreciating this fine specimen of a man that has with each passing second, become someone I’m utterly determined to claim as mine.

  With his navy ball cap on backwards, a few strands of his dirty blonde hair peeking out beneath the rim, he sets the bag down, turns to say something to his nephew as a few other boys and their parents join them, and then jogs over to where I’m sitting, my eyes locked on the way his bulge is moving in his pants.

  Jesus Christ, I am way too turned on right now.

  “Hey, Mac,” he says on a harsh breath as he comes to a stop right in front of me.

  “Hey.” Yup, that’s all I can muster at the moment while I remind my eyes to find his face and stop staring at his dick that I can clearly make out the outline of through the fabric of his pants. Seems Dylan has his own meat to handle outside of the grocery store.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” he says while taking a seat next to me and bringing his hand up to my face, stroking my chin before his eyes take in my hat. “Nice hat by the way.”

  I reach up to pat it. “Oh, this old thing? Some guy bought it for me,” I reply sarcastically with a shrug of my shoulder.

  Dylan chuckles. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. He says it brings out the green in my eyes. What do you think?” I ask as I bat my eyelashes at him.

  Dylan moves dangerously close to me, so close that when I take a deep breath I not only get the scent of his cologne and laundry detergent, but pretty sure his pheromones as well. Our noses are only an inch from each other and I hold my breath in anticipation, wondering if he’s going to kiss me this early in the day. I wouldn’t fight him on it, that’s for sure.

  “I’d say he was right. I don’t think your eyes have ever looked more beautiful. You’re a vision any time, anyway. But I think the hat definitely makes all the difference.”

  “Damn. Smooth, Dylan.”

  He grins. “You should know by now I’m a master with words.”

  “I usually am too, just more so through a computer.”

  Dylan eyes my laptop, and suddenly nerves run over my skin. “You plan on getting some writing in then? I mean if we’re not too loud and distracting.”

  “It’s not the noise I’m worried about breaking my concentration,” I say, as I drop my eyes down Dylan’s chest to his lap and back up again. “But I think I can manage.”

  Dylan leans in again to me, his lips brushing my earlobe, igniting a flurry of goosebumps over my skin. “Believe me, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to concentrate either with you sitting over here, looking breathtaking as always. But just know that when this practice is over, you will have my full, undivided attention, McKenzie. That I promise you.”

  When he leans back, I almost choke on my tongue as I try to swallow. “Sounds like a plan.”

  He kisses my cheek and then stands. “I’ll see you in about an hour and a half.” He turns around, jogging back to the group of boys and their parents that have now gathered at an alarming rate, leaving me in a puddle of want on the park bench, basically foaming at the mouth—or as Brooke would say, vagina—waiting for this practice to be over.

  Mustering as much concentration as I can, I open up my laptop and pick up at the place I left off at in my story, the words flowing effortlessly as I occasionally glance up to seek Dylan for visual inspiration.

  The truth is, I’m coming to a point in my story where I need to decide if my characters are gonna cross the line. In a true womanly fashion, the heroine is on the fence about sleeping with the hero, even though he’s clearly a good guy and she definitely finds him attractive. But is it too soon? Isn’t there a golden rule about how many dates you have to go on, or if you should know more about the other person before involving the physical aspect of a relationship? Even more, is it okay to sleep with the guy before a relationship has even been labeled? Does doing so before you’re officially together send the wrong message or make you seem easy or desperate?

  I’m beginning to think the internal dialogue of my character has become a fictional way for me to work out my own internal ramblings.

  I’m lost in thought, ideas forming as I jot down a few notes when a loud shriek comes from the other side of the park.

  “Help! Please! Somebody help us!”

  My back stands straight in my seat on the bench as the boys and Dylan all freeze in their places on the grass.

  “Please! Someone call 9-1-1!”

  Dylan’s head spins around until he focuses on something in the distance and then takes off, yelling out to the other coach to watch after the boys. His legs and arms are pumping furiously, his sneakers slapping the pavement beneath him before he stops abruptly and drops to his knees.

  Needing to know what happened and make sure that Dylan doesn’t need anything—although I’m not sure what I can assist with—I click save on my story, slam my laptop shut, and take it in my arms over to where a group of people has gathered now.

  “When did she stop breathing?” Dylan asks as he begins chest compressions on the young girl lying on the concrete, probably around age ten.

  “Just a few seconds ago.”

  “What was she doing before she passed out?” he presses, continuing to check her for signs of breathing.

  “Drinking her smoothie …” the young girl drags out before she gasps and covers her mouth in shock. “Oh, God! She’s allergic to kiwi and pineapple. I completely forgot!”

  “You knew she was allergic?”

  She nods, tears streaming down her face now in agony. “I did. I mean, I do. I’m the babysitter. They just recently found out she was allergic and I didn’t even think about it when I ordered the same smoothie for her that I do for myself. I’m such an idiot. Her mother is going to fire me…”

  Dylan stares down at the girl, leaning down now to blow a breath in her mouth. I’m standing there, watching with my heart in my throat as he works to keep her alive as the ambulance sirens get louder in the distance.

  “Do you have an epi-pen?”

  The girl trembles as she reaches for the bag she had around her shoulder that must have fallen to the ground in her panic, shifting items aside until she extracts the orange and yellow labeled pen.

  “Good. Give me that,” he commands and she hands it over as I watch Dylan remove the cap and grip the girl’s thigh before plunging the needle into her muscle. I cringe, feeling slightly light-headed as he pushes the medicine into the young girl’s body, people gasping around us as an older woman waves the paramedics to us.

  The first paramedic arrives and begins asking Dylan questions, his answers short and concise so they have the information they need to help save the girl. Once they shift her onto a gurney, the young girl’s eyes start to flutter as her babysitter cries out in relief.

  “Sarah! Thank goodness you’re okay!”

  Woozy and clearly startled by all of t
he bystanders studying her, she mumbles, “What… what happened?”

  “You had an allergic reaction,” Dylan interjects as the paramedic pushes something through her IV he inserted while she was still unconscious.

  “It was the smoothie,” she winces as she turns to her babysitter.

  “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I’m so sorry. I forgot…” the babysitter cries through rippling tears.

  “It’s okay, Julie. Have you called my mom?”

  “I will now that you’re awake. I’ll call her on the way to the hospital. We are going to the hospital, right?”

  The paramedic nods. “Yes. We need to run some tests and keep her for observation to make sure the reaction subsides.”

  In a matter of minutes, the girl and her babysitter are headed to the ambulance and the group of people gathered around the scene are congratulating Dylan on being a hero just now as I watch from the side.

  “Mac,” he says with an uptick of surprise in his voice as he stands and then notices me standing behind him. “Were you here the entire time?”

  I nod, still unsure of what to think or say right now. This man just ran to help a stranger without a second thought. He saved her life and kept her caregiver calm in a very stressful situation. My heart is beating uncontrollably in my chest—not only from the adrenaline I felt just now, but for this man that keeps showing me without a doubt how incredible he is.

  He’s the kind of man you never let go.

  “I was. I watched you save that girl. You were …” I trail off, shaking my head in awe. “You were incredible, Dylan.”

  Dylan flashes me a humble grin before we start walking back to his football team. “It was nothing. Seems I remember some of my paramedic training from the fire academy though,” he says through a light-hearted chuckle.

  “I’d say so. You were so calm. It was like you reacted on instinct.”

  “I did. I know the terror I heard in that girl’s voice. I had to help.”

  Feet before we get too close for young children to hear, I turn to Dylan and cup the side of his face in my palm, running my finger nails through the scruff on his chin. “That was so hot,” I say on a long, exasperated breath.