by Lori Wilde
“You pick it out.”
“Bring on the playlist.” Gabi rubbed her palms together, surprised by how much she wanted to do this.
“This way.” He stood and held out his hand to her.
She placed her palm in his, felt something low in her belly go warm and happy. He pulled her closer so they could edge around the tightly packed tables, his body brushing against hers. For a brief moment, his hand was pressed against her low back. His touch startled her, but in a good way.
When they reached the table where the karaoke song binders were located, they had to wait their turn to view the list. The area was bottlenecked with people headed to and from the bathrooms that lay beyond. Joe put both hands on her shoulders and moved her in front of him to clear room. The only thing touching her body was his big, strong hands, but she could feel every inch of him as surely as if they’d been pressed skin to skin.
Naked.
Her body quavered. Holy habeas corpus! What was this? The room seemed to grow smaller and her chest tighter and her insides hotter and she thought she might be having an out-of-body experience until she realized she’d forgotten to breathe.
Inhale.
It actually took effort to draw in air. She heard him take in a deep breath at the same time she inhaled. Ah, she wasn’t the only one in trouble here. Good thing she couldn’t see his face. One look in those sexy brown eyes and she would have been toast.
The person looking through the binder in front of her moved out of the way and, gratefully, Gabi put a little breathing room between her and Joe. She stepped to the binder and leafed through the list of duets.
“What number?” Joe leaned over her shoulder, his warm breath against her neck completely disorienting her.
“Umm, umm.” She needed something safe, a song that wasn’t the least bit suggestive—“You’re the One That I Want,” “From This Moment,” “The Time of My Life.” Ack! They all were romantic. Oh wait. There was a funny one. The Green Acres TV theme. Perfect. “Number seventeen. Let’s sing number seventeen.”
Joe leaned lower over her shoulder, peering at the list. “You sure?”
“Yes. Perfect. Let’s go.” In a blind rush to keep from spontaneously combusting, she headed for the stage. Back out. You can always back out.
But the current act was just finishing and they were up.
Joe stepped on the small stage like he belonged there. He tossed a microphone to Gabi, and took the other for himself.
No worries. She could do this. She would do this. No hiccupping allowed. Gabi got into position. Joe slung his arm around her shoulder. The words to the song came up on the screen.
But it wasn’t the Green Acres theme.
Instead, Joe turned to her and started crooning, “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.”
Oh no! She’d given him the number to the wrong song.
CHAPTER 11
As we give presents at Christmas, we need to recognize that sharing our time and ourselves is such an important part of giving.
—Gordon B. Hinckley
After they sang a duet about not breaking each other’s heart, Gabi and Joe made their way back to the table. The room erupted in wild applause. Gabi’s face burned hot with embarrassment, her mind scrambled for a reasonable excuse to end the evening early.
They’d no more than sat back in their seats than Emma’s cell phone rang. The bubbly redhead answered it, talked a few moments, and then hopped up, tugging at her husband’s arm.
“Honey, we’ve got to go. That was the babysitter. Lauren is running a fever.” Emma snatched up her purse from the floor as Sam got to his feet and helped Emma on with her coat. “We hate to bail on you guys, but—”
“No problem,” Gabi assured them, relieved she wouldn’t have to have a conversation with Emma and Sam after picking the wrong song. “You guys go take care of your little one.”
They waved good-bye and left Gabi and Joe alone.
A long silence stretched between them.
“Hi,” he said finally.
“Hello.” She smiled.
“Looks like it’s just you and me.”
“And a room full of people who are all staring at us.”
He waved his hand in a kingly gesture. “Ignore them.”
“Kind of hard to do when you’re feeling like a monkey at the zoo.”
“Keep your gaze focused right here.” He pointed two fingers at his eyes.
Oh, right in the danger zone, huh? Boom! Their eyes sparked and she felt the fire leap from her heart to her stomach to down there in a split second. His eyes looked so dreamy. Honestly, she could melt in them.
Unfair. He had an unfair advantage. Supreme sexiness.
“So, how goes the toy drive?” he asked.
“Slightly overwhelmed. Not the work, but all this,” she admitted, waving a hand at their surroundings. For the first time she realized mistletoe dangled from the ceiling over every table in the place and her pulse hip-hopped. No wonder so many people were smooching. “Twilight is a little nuts for Christmas.”
“Twilight is nuts, period.” He followed her gaze to the mistletoe. He should be forced to register that smile as a lethal weapon. “But in a good way.”
“The best way,” she agreed. A snow globe kind of way. “Does the town pull out all the stops for every holiday?”
“Yep. It’s a way of life. We have a party every time it rains.”
“Every time?”
“I might have overstated, but just a little. It doesn’t rain that much around here. We appreciate the wet things in life.”
Gabi felt her face flame. Unnerved, she took a long sip of her beer that was going warm.
“Got any plans for later?” he asked.
“Bed,” she said, and then realized how that sounded. “To sleep.” Oh gosh, that was worse. “I mean, I … I …”
His grin widened, enjoying her embarrassment. “Yes?”
“You have a daughter?” she blurted to stave off humiliation.
The smile dropped from his face and his eyes clouded. He straightened, pulled himself up tall. Obviously a touchy subject. Had he lost custody of his child?
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “It’s none of my business.”
“It’s not,” he agreed, tight-lipped.
Terrific. Now the tension was even worse. On stage, someone was singing “Santa Looked a Lot Like Daddy.”
“I do have a daughter,” he said. “But I don’t get to see her very often.”
Why not? She longed to ask, but didn’t. She waited, picked at the label on the beer bottle that had gone damp from condensation. Change the subject. Quick.
“Her mother is living in New Mexico.”
“You didn’t have something in the divorce agreement forcing her to stay close by?” Shut up. It’s none of your business.
“It’s complicated.”
“Divorce usually is. You really don’t owe me an explanation.”
“Tatum got pregnant by another guy and let me believe the baby was mine, so I did the right thing and married her.”
“Casey’s not your biological daughter.”
“No, but I couldn’t love her more if she were my own flesh and blood.”
The room was noisy, but the silence between the two of them stretched heavy and long. Finally, Gabi couldn’t stand it anymore. “What happened?”
Joe shrugged as if his wife’s betrayal hadn’t been an arrow straight through his heart. “She told me the truth on Casey’s first Christmas. The next day, she moved in with Casey’s biological father. They asked me to stay away so as not to confuse Casey. And I honored Tatum’s wishes even though it cut me right in two.”
Gabi didn’t know how to respond to that. Any words of sympathy she could think of sounded inadequate. She reached over and lightly laid her hand on top of his.
“After Tatum and Casey’s biological dad separated when Casey was four, Tatum moved back to Twilight and I got to see Casey whenever I came back home to vis
it my family.” His face lit up. “But then Tatum met another guy and off she went to New Mexico.”
“Oh, Joe.”
He glanced up, met her gaze, raised a halfhearted smile. “It was for the best. I’m not cut out for married life.”
“Does Tatum’s third husband let you visit Casey?”
“She was never married to that guy and the relationship busted up about six months ago. That’s when Tatum reached out to me again.”
“Reached out?” Gabi echoed, struggling to keep jealousy from creeping into her voice.
“Not like you’re thinking,” he said. “Although I wouldn’t put it past Tatum to try and get me back. But she’s having money trouble and seems to think I’m her personal bank. To tell you the truth, I’d happily tell her to get bent, but I can’t bear to think of what situation she might put Casey in in an effort to make ends meet.”
“So you support her financially.”
“Not support. I’ve given her some, but most of the money goes to Casey.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I send it to Tatum’s aunt.”
“That’s smart. You do know you’re not obligated by law to support the child.”
“No,” he said fiercely. “But I’m obligated by love.”
Aw damn. Aw hell. He’d never been sexier than he was this moment, his love for that little girl etched into his face. She wanted to lean over and make full use of that mistletoe.
“How old is Casey now?” Gabi tried to imagine what that must be like. To have a child you loved with all your heart but never got to see.
“Eight.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Gabi murmured, her heart wrenching for his situation.
“Two years ago,” he said, looking glum.
“Are you going to get to see her for Christmas?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got to look after the Christmas tree farm, but I’m planning on heading out to New Mexico the day after.”
“The day I go home.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you … um … still in love with Tatum?”
“I never loved Tatum. I only married her because of Casey.” He plowed splayed fingers over the top of his head, leaving frustrated furrows parting his hair in five rows. “I was hot for Tatum, sure. Not denying that. And we were so damn much alike. We had a lot in common. Both of us had the attention span of a gnat.”
“I only ask because your aunt Belinda told me about the sweetheart legend and since Tatum was your high school sweetheart—”
“The legend is bullshit,” he said succinctly, his eyes growing hard, telling her not to go there.
“Point taken.”
“What about you?” he said, lightening his tone and the conversation. “Any high school sweetheart pining away for Gabi Preston?”
“Hardly.” She laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“I didn’t date in high school.”
He looked dumbfounded. “Why not?”
She rounded her shoulders in a no-big-deal shrug. “I was focused on academics.”
“Valedictorian?”
“Fell short. Salutatorian.”
“Brainiac.” His smile was honest. “If we’d known each other in high school you would never have gone out with me.”
“Because when I was a freshman you were already out of high school?”
“Well,” he said, “there is that, even though I failed third grade. Those damn multiplication tables. I was a bad boy and you were a good girl.”
“I thought that’s who went out with bad boys. The good girls who thought they could change the bad boys.”
“Not so much,” he said wryly. “Mostly bad girls go out with bad boys.”
“Like Tatum.”
“Good girls’ parents usually keep them reined in.”
“You were that bad?”
“Well …” He lowered his lashes seductively and leaned in so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. “I was good at a few things.”
“I’ll bet,” she whispered, her eyes latched to his.
They grinned at each other like they were still in high school and any tension that singing the duet together had stirred up disappeared.
“You’re easy to talk to,” he said.
She’d been told that before. She was easy to talk to, easy to get along with, easy to put other people’s needs ahead of her own.
“Tonight feels …” She paused. “Special.”
He leaned in even closer, the cuffs of his blue shirt looked so cozy against the grainy wood of the table, his sumptuous brown eyes searching her face as if he was unable to believe she found anything special about karaoke and was having him on. “Do you mean that?”
She dipped her head, wondering if she’d said too much, but unable to deny it. Briefly, just a short, quick bob of her head, she whispered, “I don’t get to hang out much.”
“Hang out, huh?” He raised an eyebrow and his tone took on a where-did-you-come-from tone. “Is that what we’re doing?”
“Sure.” Her shrug was easy, but her neck muscles corded tight.
His masculine fingers hooked around the long neck of his beer bottle. He raised it in a toast. “Then here’s to something special.”
Flustered by the heat spreading over her chest, she picked up her own bottle of beer and brought it up to kiss the lip of his. “Something special.”
They drank. Not so much of the beer, but from each other’s eyes.
Joe toyed restlessly with the bottle, rotating the base in a rocking motion. Was he nervous? He seemed unperturbed except for that meticulous motion, circling his thick wrist, causing the liquid inside to swirl up and down the sides of the tinted glass. She studied his hand and he stilled, an edgy silence descending between them.
Their gazes locked.
Someone could have yelled, “Fire” and neither of them would have moved. They were that into each other. The karaoke bar, the customers, the drinks on the table disappeared. It was just the two of them breathing rarefied air that no one else in the room was privy to breathe.
Without a word, he pushed aside the bottles and glasses and laid his hand palm up in the middle of the table.
She stared at that hand. Big. Strong. Inviting. Take me.
“Gabi,” he said huskily. “If I don’t touch you soon, I’ve got to leave or go crazy.” His words were so forceful, but his body language was relaxed. He wanted her, that much was clear, but he was leaving the next move up to her.
That extended hand looked vulnerable there on the table, reaching, waiting … Take me.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Her heart thudded, a drum in her chest. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she confessed, not caring if it was too soon or incautious. She smiled and slipped her hand into his.
He interlaced their fingers, squeezed her hand, but his eyes were somber and she felt her own smile drain from her face. What was going on here? Why was she feeling so … so … Honestly, she didn’t even know what she was feeling. Intoxicated, yes, but how was that even possible on half a beer? Fascinated. Scared. Nervous. Blindsided.
Joe stroked the backs of her knuckles with his thumbnail, a reassuring gesture that seemed to say, Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay, ’cause I’m feeling it too.
She stared down at their joined hands—his so big and hers so small—and her heart jackhammering even faster. Could he feel it? The rapid pounding of her pulse?
“Would you like to go for a walk around the square?” he asked. “Look at the holiday decorations?”
“I’d like that very much,” she said.
He had to let go of her hand to collect their coats. Onstage an exuberant twentysomething was mangling, “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” but the crowd was cheering her on anyway.
Joe helped her on with her coat—those gentlemanly Texan ways that sent her stomach fluttering—and held the door open for her. A smiling couple was coming in as they were going out. They nodd
ed at each other and a sweet sense of community spread fresh warmth through Gabi’s bloodstream. She liked this friendly town and the people in it. She thought of how her best friend, Bailey, would roll her eyes and mumble, “Mayberry” if she were here and realized she was very glad none of her friends were here. Haven. Twilight was her special haven from the world. Her secret getaway no one in LA would ever have to know about.
“Here,” Joe said, and hooked his arms through hers. “Stuff your hands inside your pockets since you don’t have gloves. The temperature isn’t that cold, but the wind is blowing damp across the lake and adds to the wind chill.”
She did as he said, liking how he was thinking about her and how they were linked as they walked the paver stone sidewalk uneven with age. Her chin was level with his shoulder and she had to take quicker steps to keep up with his long-legged stride, but she felt completely safe with him.
Across the street on the courthouse lawn, children and their parents stood in line to see Santa Claus. A kiosk on the corner was selling roasted nuts, the earthy flavor stirring the air. The clop-clop of Clydesdale hooves pulling a horse-drawn carriage rang out against the street.
“It’s like living in a Christmas snow globe.” Gabi breathed.
“We’ve already covered how Twilightites love their celebrations. Overblown. Overdone. Over the top.”
“You’re lucky,” she said.
“How so?”
“I never had anything like this growing up.” She swept her hand at all the revelry around them. “And I wanted it so badly.”
“What do you mean?” He scratched his head as if he could not fathom such a thing. “You never had Christmas?”
How did she begin to explain that for the first six years of her life celebrating Christmas had taken a backseat to her brother’s illness. And after Derrick’s death, her parents stopped caring about anything except the law. Their work had consumed them. She understood their need to blunt their devastating pain with work. It became their salvation. But she feared Joe would judge them harshly.
“Not like this.”
“Christmas clashed with your parents’ beliefs?”
Could work be considered a belief? “Something along those lines.”
“Change of topic?” he asked.