Her Surprise Christmas Noel: Four women, one pact: find a date for Christmas (Christmas Kisses Book 2)

by Kenna Shaw Reed

  Immediately, those aquamarines found mine and she chuckled. Seriously? From crying out in pain to laughing in a nano-second? This woman had me spinning. I offered an apology, sincerely and without either reservation or my lawyer’s advice and careful wording. Her laugh crushed me like glass on a bar-room floor, was she having a go at me?

  “You think an apology is funny?”

  “You’re sorry? I kinda figured as much.”

  “So, why the laugh?”

  “Most people say sorry, hand over insurance deets and never see each other again. You call the ambulance I insist I don’t need.”

  “But you did.”

  “Regardless, you organize my car being towed away while the paramedic is binding up my shoulder.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And then you make one call and get one of the top surgeons to patch up my barely injured ankle.”

  When she put it like that, perhaps I did overreact with the whole fixing what I broke mantra, still, “The accident, well it was my fault. I was about to have a bad few days and got distracted.”

  Not that anyone would understand.

  “It’s fine. I just need to get somewhere, and without a phone or car—I’m not mad at you—life is gonna be a little more difficult. Today wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  I leaned down to get the box hidden underneath my seat. Scratching my hand in my attempt to pull out the small present without tearing the gawdy Christmas wrapping.

  “Here, I got it while you were busy in x-rays.”

  Not that the hospital gift shop had much of a choice. It was either cheap and nasty or this top line Samsung.

  “You got me a gift? It looks too big for a set of car keys.”

  “Depends on the car.” I deadpanned as she worked the ribbon from the box with her left hand. “I assume you’re right-handed?”

  “Let’s say my shoulder will give me the opportunity to learn how to be ambidextrous.” Delivered with a hint of the smile I’d been working so hard to get.

  No malice. This woman had every reason to be bitter and twisted, at least towards me, but she wasn’t.

  “A phone?” She held it as if it would slip through her fingers. “It’s too much. My phone was a thousand years old. This is far too much.”

  “How about we put it on my car charger.”

  That, she could do one handed. But I couldn’t watch her struggle to remove the sim card from her old, smashed relic. “Here, let me.” Our fingers fought for control, mine winning in the race to the small sim card remover.

  “I don’t like relying on people.”

  “I broke you, at least let me fix you.” Stupid bloody phone defied me at first, but at least I received an exaggerated cheer when finished. My assistant would have been so proud of me, and I owed Julie another bonus for each time she’d sorted out a new phone on my behalf.

  “Cheeky wench.”

  “Says the killer of cars, phones and I assume hearts.”

  “Guilty to the first and second, and no comment to the third.”

  “Is there a Mrs. Christmas waiting for you somewhere?” It was the closest we’d come to a real conversation and for once I didn’t mind answering.

  “I was hoping a waitress would keep my glass full for the next few days, and that a huge tip would replace knowing her name.”

  “Oh.”

  “So, Miss Methven,” I started before changing my mind. “Wanna lift?”

  Her pride would try and refuse, but I’d win her around. Giving her a lift was the least I could do to restore Christmas. Perhaps we could arrange to catch up in the New Year, I could take her around to look at new cars and make sure she got a great deal.

  Or you could just ask her out for dinner, like on a real date! Act like a man instead of a jackass.

  “Fine, but I don’t think you’re going my way.”

  “You don’t know unless you ask.”

  “Adelaide.”

  “As the Queen Adelaide Building in Brisbane or the capital of South Australia.”

  “As in,” again her cheeky giggle, “Before you so rudely interrupted me, I was going home to Adelaide for Christmas.”

  “Oh.” Her answer hadn’t been as off-putting as it should have been. Adelaide, lovely city, and I hadn’t been there in years. Not only that, my car could use a long trip.

  “Look, if you can drop me off at the airport, I’m sure I can get a last-minute ticket; and for bonus points, if we can go past a post office, I’ll post whatever’s left of the Christmas presents.”

  “Why not.” I shrugged, as much for JoJo as to clear my head from a crazy thought. Why the hell not—this was a day for crazy.

  “Why not what?” This time her nose crinkled with confusion and not pain. “You don’t have time to drop me off at the airport? Fine, I’ll catch a cab.”

  “Road trip. Surely spending a couple of days with you has got to be less boring than being alone with a bottle or six of bourbon.”

  “Should I feel flattered?” JoJo snorted. “You don’t have to. Drop me off at the airport, or a taxi rank and I’ll get there myself.”

  Infuriatingly beautiful and stubborn. I could live with the first, but the second might take some getting used to. Luckily, I had all the time in the world.

  “I’m not asking, I’m telling. There’s no reason for you to fly when I have a perfectly good car.”

  “As opposed to my car which used to be perfectly good until it met you?”

  “The Jeep can be your car with one signature, if you want it?” I said without thinking, covering my gaff with a laugh. “What have you got to lose? I’ll drive, you talk, and we’ll get you to Adelaide in a couple of days.”

  “But—” JoJo wasn’t convinced.

  “Take a photo of my driver’s license and send it to your friends, family, whomever. Check my wallet and you’ll find membership to half a dozen clubs and a Working With Vulnerable People card.”

  “Why?”

  “So, you can see I’m not as derelict as I look.”

  “No, why do you have one of those cards and why are you wanting to help me?”

  “I do some volunteering,” I hedged. My parents preferred handing over money, I gave time as well. Not that JoJo needed to know the details, yet.

  “And helping me? I don’t need your charity.”

  “You said you needed to go home, I’m the reason your car got totaled.”

  “But you’ll never get back to your home in time for Christmas.”

  “Like I said before, my Christmas was going to be spent alone in a bar with a bottle for company. As long as you’ve got more personality than glass?”

  “Oh, Noel,” JoJo’s eyes twinkled a warning that I probably should have heeded. “You’ll get personality with a side of attitude. Are you sure you can handle me?”

  “One hundred kilometres at a time. Now, I assume you were planning to stop overnight? Should I look for a couple of rooms?”

  “Already ahead of you, and you even look the part. The cheapest room I could find in Wagga. If you are insane enough to do this, I’ll email them and get a second room.” JoJo rubbed her shoulder before shuffling through her bag for pain meds. Without being asked, I opened her water bottle. “Thanks.”

  “Um,” I stuttered, looking at the time. The accident happened before nine and it was already after one. “Wagga is—”

  “Yep, five hours with good traffic. You can change your mind.”

  “Not even if you beg me. Although I might need to stop somewhere to buy some clothes and a toothbrush.”

  JoJo

  Okay, Noel Roberts might be the sexiest hunk I’d been up close and personal with, in months or years, but he could be a stubborn shit.

  So far, we’d bickered about rugby league, population growth, the rise of veganism and the impact on the economy and a dozen other subjects that we, apparently, had strong and opposing opinions.

  To be h
onest, I enjoyed our debates and may have exaggerated my opinion just to annoy him. Crazy? Yes, but he’d gotten under my skin and my defensive reflexes came into play.

  Like needing to push him away before he could become someone I cared about. Forcing him to see the worst side of me, so he’d reject me before I had a chance—well, to think I had a chance. My plan was working, and before we’d gotten out of Sydney, I was certain he already regretted his offer.

  “This station better?” He asked over the drone of radio personalities trying to kill my Christmas spirit with fake jokes and laughter. Our fifth attempt at a mutually acceptable radio station.

  Until I could get my playlist back, he controlled the car sound system. Choosing talk-back radio instead of music.

  “Music is more relaxing.” Even though he didn’t have anything on his list that remotely resembled good taste, I didn’t know anyone who voluntarily listened to the radio for a road trip. “You don’t need to bore me to death with the radio.”

  “Firstly, the radio will have news reports, including any accidents we need to avoid. Secondly, the last thing we need is to be driving into a bushfire. The radio will warn us.”

  “And third?”

  “Why does there need to be a third?”

  “Bad things always come in threes.”

  “Well, third, the radio pisses you off and right now that’s enough for me.”

  “Says you!”

  “Back seat bloody driver.”

  “Like I should trust you with my life?”

  “I’m a good driver.”

  “Tell that to my poor phone,” I cradled the mangled plastic. Truthfully, I’d been meaning to trade it in for two years but couldn’t be bothered wasting the money. “Or to my car.”

  “Touché, but you don’t need to point out every red light.”

  “Only cars on round abouts.”

  “Bitch!” Already, we’d settled into the very Australian way of insulting like old friends. Noel’s bitch had less malice than a happy birthday.

  Still, he was a stubborn, good looking shit and I couldn’t let my guard down for a minute.

  “Where to?”

  “I told you, Adelaide.” As soon as we got out of the Sydney traffic, the lull of the car and pain meds worked their magic and sleep could have been minutes away.

  Or not.

  What if I snored in my sleep? Not that anyone had complained, but I couldn’t remember the last overnight guest, at least when sleep had been involved.

  “Funny girl.” Noel didn’t take his eyes from the road changing up his playlist. I’d won a small victory—no more radio. “Where are we stopping for the night?”

  “Like I said, I booked a place in Wagga Wagga.”

  “Why—you could have driven further than five hours in one day.”

  “My parents stress too much when I’m driving, and it makes them feel better if I break it over two nights.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t you have parents who worry—like where you’ll be for Christmas?”

  “How about we talk less about my parents who you won’t be meeting in two days and tell me more about your family, and this pact you made with your friends. You said something back at your car.”

  Right now, I didn’t care what Noel thought of me or my friends. How pathetic the idea sounded. My shoulder hurt and hopefully making him laugh would replace one pain with another.

  “None of us wanted to go home for Christmas.”

  “You seem pretty keen now—even trusting your life in my hands, or driving.”

  “Yeah, well.” Maybe I cared more than I wanted to about what Noel thought. “We made a stupid pact, to beg, borrow or buy a date to take home for Christmas. To parade in front of our families so they’d stop giving us grief about being single.”

  It sounded worse telling Noel, than when I said the same words to Jasmine. At least she understood.

  “What am I?”

  “Huh?”

  “As I recall, you wanted me to drop you off at the airport, so you didn’t beg. I offered to sign over my car, so you didn’t borrow it or me.” Gone was the argumentative asshole who disagreed over anything and everything. Noel’s smile was warm and teasing in a good way. No judgement. “You could offer to buy me, but baby, no woman has ever been able to afford me.”

  “Oh, I think I have some spare change at the bottom of my bag!”

  “Don’t let my clothes fool you. I’m worth at least a couple of notes!”

  “Well, now you know. You can always drop me off at the airport.”

  “Or you could invite me home for Christmas lunch. I’ve been known to play nicely with parents.” The same man who argued over radio stations for an hour, offered to be my fake date out of the blue.

  Infuriating.

  Intoxicating.

  Irresistible.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Maybe, I do.”

  “I have three brothers who are going to give you hell.”

  “They can’t be worse than their sister, she’s a real pain in my butt.” Noel joked. He was seriously offering to do this!

  “Why would you want to?” I gave in, like Noel knew I would. Maybe, because I wanted to try him on as an idea. Noel Roberts, underneath those awful clothes and scruff, was a decent guy. Someone I could actually think about as a boyfriend. Fake, of course.

  “Tell me about your family.” For once, he took his win with grace and humility.

  I talked about all the easy stuff. Growing up as the only girl in a house filled with older brothers. Eventually, I got to the hard stuff. The subject I avoided talking about with my friends, but Noel had proven to be a great listener. Allowing me the silence in between thoughts, but always encouraging me to go on.

  “Dad’s been sick these last years and I’m worried what mum will do if he, you know.” I didn’t want to complete the thought, let alone the sentence.

  “About what she’ll do for money?”

  “No, not at all.” Why did everyone think missing a person came down to money. “They fell in love when he was fifteen and she was seventeen. Both sets of parents forbade them from dating, but they announced their engagement at his eighteenth.”

  “Gutsy.”

  “Absolutely, I think grandpa always harbored a bit of respect for the man who asked permission to marry his daughter in front of a couple of hundred guests. After all, there would have been a couple of hundred witnesses to grandpa either belting up daddy, or to watch grandpa force my mother to walk away.”

  “I wouldn’t have even thought about it that way. What did he say?” Noel asked, changing lanes effortlessly. Where was this careful driving when my Kia was on the roundabout?

  “That he operated on a no-returns policy. If dad was stupid enough to have continued to date mum without permission and crazy enough to want to marry her, there was no get out of jail for free clause.”

  “Harsh.”

  “And unnecessary. Mum always said that she knew dad was the one. It took their families a couple of years to catch up, but they’ve been together for thirty years. I know she’s terrified of having to live another thirty without him.”

  “What sort of things are they crossing off their bucket list?”

  As infuriating as Noel could be with his opinions, I’d learned he asked the right questions. Not the empty and meaningless ones I could bat away without thinking about the answer. No, Noel asked the questions that mattered, and he actually listened to my answers.

  City turned into country and the evidence of almost a decade of drought took my breath away. Still, the kilometres ticked over and we’d almost covered my family and anyone Noel was likely to meet by the time he pulled into a ramshackle service station less than an hour away from Wagga. Call me stubborn or independent, but out of instinct, I tried out my new crutches, hobbling across to the store in the search for something that resembled real food.

  “Ow,” I winced as the door slammed back on my injured arm wh
ich seemed to always be in the way. At least the air-conditioned store was a welcome respite from the forty-degree temperature outside. The minute Noel stopped the engine to fill up with petrol, the car had started heating up like a furnace.

  “Merry Christmas, looking for anything?” The Indian attendant seemed out of place.

  “I’ll pay for the petrol and was looking for something to eat on the road.”

  With barely a nod, he ducked out to the back room from where the fragrant spices of cardamom and turmeric burned my nostrils.

  “Would these do?” He returned with clear, plastic takeaway containers. “Chicken Masala and Beef Vindaloo? I assume there’s just the two of you?” He nodded towards Noel who’d almost finished filling the tank of a car. We hadn’t discussed logistics, but I knew him well enough to know his male pride or ego wouldn’t appreciate my next move. Even though I could have filled my car twice for the amount his Jeep had devoured, all the expenses for this trip were on me. “First Christmas together?” he asked.

  “Our first and possibly our last. Do you have any naan bread to go with that?”

  “Of course. Can’t leave a lady wanting more.” His conversation seemed so light and easy after Noel and my recent debate over European politics—proving we could and would bicker about anything. Infuriating man kept winning each time I stole a look at his profile and wondered about the kissability of his lips.

  Dislodging my brain from my body!

  No matter, by the end of the trip I’d promised myself that I’d be so comfortable with Noel-bloody-Roberts and immune to his looks, that I’d win an argument or three.

  “Actually, I’ll take this and this.” From the tourist rack, I grabbed a pair of board shorts and t-shirt. Hideous to the extreme, but Noel had made such a point of having agreed to leave home without his toothbrush and after making me listen to the radio for the first two hours, he deserved punishing. As Noel finished filling the tank and flicked through his phone messages while walking inside for the cashier, I quickly shoved a toothbrush on the counter. To hell if he preferred a soft or medium brush. From the look of him, he liked it hard.

  Or perhaps I did.

  “Let me.” Before the attendant returned with our naan bread, Noel had pushed his platinum credit card ahead of mine on the counter.