by Jenny Hale
The sun wasn’t even up yet, the stars shining through the great ballroom windows as she passed by them. The sconces on the wall were lit like nightlights. They led the way down the enormous hallway to the kitchen.
She entered the room and nearly jumped with fright. Nick was sitting on one of the barstools, the morning paper in his hands. He set it down and looked over at her. His eyes went from her hair down to her slippered feet, interest showing on his face.
“Good morning,” he said, a small smile playing at his lips. His eyes were unstill, and she wondered what he must think of her. Had she known anyone would be up, she’d have at least dragged a comb through her hair.
“Good morning,” she returned. Nick was already dressed, shaved, and perfectly handsome as always. “Do you just wake up like that?” she teased, trying to make light of her own appearance.
Nick looked down at his clothes. He allowed a smile. “Do you just wake up like that?” he teased back.
She laughed quietly so as not to wake anyone else. “I was just coming down to find something to eat. I’m starving.”
“The chef won’t be here until seven. Let me cook you something.”
“No. You don’t have to do that. I’ll find something. Have you eaten? Let me cook for you! I make a mean omelet.”
He smiled again, his eyes shifting down to his newspaper, affection oozing from his face.
“You’re in a good mood today,” Abbey noted, rooting through the cabinets for a frying pan. She retrieved the eggs and cracked some into a bowl she’d found. “Whisk?” she asked.
“Top drawer to your left.”
“Thank you. So, what are your plans today?”
“I’m putting a bid on a paper corporation. You?”
“Making handprint ornaments for the living room Christmas tree.”
He laughed. “Busy day for both of us, then.”
“Yes,” she grinned, pulling a green pepper and an onion from the fridge and dicing it. “Good thing I’m cooking. We’ll need a good breakfast. I thought you were taking time off for Christmas.”
“I am. It’s only one bid.”
Abbey pursed her lips in playful disapproval, although she was half serious.
She slid the egg mixture into the pan she’d heated up and began dropping the diced peppers and onions in. The eggs sizzled as she turned down the heat on the stove and then walked over to Nick.
He’d picked his paper back up, and she leaned over his shoulder. “What are you reading?” she asked, their cheeks nearly touching.
He turned to look at her. “The business section.”
She reached over and took the paper out of his hands. He watched her, his forehead creasing in interest. She turned one page after another and then stopped. “Here,” she said, sliding the paper back over to him. “This is the only part I read.”
He looked down at it. “The comics.”
“Yep.”
“I’ve never read this section.”
“What?” She pushed the paper a little further down so it lined up with his line of vision. “Look at this one,” she said, pointing to one of the comic strips. “Read that.” While he was reading, she walked over to serve up the omelets. Her back was to him when she heard a laugh escape his lips and she turned around.
“That’s funny,” he said, scanning down the rest of the page. He stopped on another one on the opposite side and chuckled again.
“See? You don’t have to always be all business.” She winked at him as she slid his plate toward him. When she’d prepared her own plate, he folded his newspaper and set it aside, allowing her to sit on the barstool next to him.
He took a bite and swallowed. “This is delicious,” he said.
“I’m glad you like it.” After a moment’s silence, she asked, “Will you have time today to make ornaments with us?”
“What time?” he asked.
“I can work around you,” she said, trying not to let her excitement get the better of her. “What time would you be free?”
“How about around noon?”
“Done.”
* * *
Abbey had spent the day finalizing the music and favors for the party. The house looked amazing, and Robin had already sent photos to two of her friends who were going to call Abbey for price quotes on her decorating services. She’d had a busy day, and she hadn’t seen Nick, but she’d promised to make ornaments at noon, and she was there and ready. She looked at her watch. He had one minute. Thomas and Max were sitting at the bar in the kitchen, the bowl of ornament dough waiting to be rolled out.
“He’ll be here,” Abbey said despite her reservations as Robin stood up to go get him. “Let’s give him a chance.” He’d proven himself at Max’s Daddy Day at school, and she wanted to believe that he would be there today.
“Hello, everyone,” Nick said, coming into the kitchen and Abbey let out a breath of relief.
“I thought you were going to be late,” Robin said to him.
“Nope. Not for this. I am intrigued with how to make a hand-ornament.” He walked over to the boys. “Thomas, have you done this before?”
Thomas shook his head.
“Max? Have you?”
“Yes. Mama and I do it every year. She has one for every age I’ve been.”
“Then you’re the pro at this. Will you show us how it’s done?”
“Yes,” Max said with authority. “You have to roll up your sleeves.”
Nick complied, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirtsleeves and folding them up to his elbows. “Now what?” he asked, reaching over to help Thomas roll his sleeve up. Robin was on the opposite side helping with the other sleeve.
“Mama, would you put the flour down, please?” Max said.
Abbey dusted the surfaces with flour.
“Now, grab a big glop of dough.” Max reached in and grabbed a fistful of the white mixture. He dropped it onto the floured surface.
Nick followed his lead and put a wad of it in front of himself.
Abbey handed each of them a cup. “For rolling the dough,” she said.
“Would you like a rolling pin?” Robin suggested. “Nick, you have one, right?”
“That’s okay,” Abbey said. “We always use a cup and it works just fine.”
Nick rolled his cup, his ball becoming flat but lopsided due to the shape of the cup. He rolled again, looking over at Max. Max had done it so many times that he had a perfectly round, flat shape, ready for his handprint.
Abbey reached her arms into Nick’s space to help him smooth his out. As she did, he whispered, “Thank you,” in her ear, and a prickle of excitement slid down her spine.
“Well, you looked like you needed help,” she said with a grin, their faces dangerously close.
After Robin had helped Thomas with his, the boys and Nick each sat in front of a round piece of dough. “Use the end of the cup to cut the dough into a circle. Then press your hand in. I like to do my right hand,” Max said. “You press it like this.” He placed his hand in the center of the dough and pushed down. When he withdrew his hand, there was a perfect print in the center. Abbey scooped it up with a spatula and set it on a cookie sheet. Nick and Thomas followed.
“I’ll bake them,” Abbey explained, “And then we can paint them for the tree.” She turned on the water at the sink. “You two can wash your hands and I’ll let you know when they’re ready to paint.”
The boys washed and dried their hands and Robin went with them into the living room. Nick walked over with dough still in his fingers. “Thank you for including me in this,” he said. “I’ve never done anything like it before.” He tried to brush his hands off by clapping them together but only succeeded in getting gooey dough on both hands.
“You’re welcome,” she said, and she meant it, unable to hide her amusement.
“I like doing things like this with you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It…” he searched her face as if she had the rest of his sentenc
e, but she stayed quiet. “It makes me wonder about things.”
“What things?”
“How different things with you are.”
“Good different or bad different?”
He smiled and it went all the way up to his eyes. “Good different. I want to kiss you right now.”
“But that wouldn’t be a good idea,” she said.
His face became somber. “Why is that?”
“Well, your hands are full of dough.”
He grinned a crooked grin. “So, you wouldn’t want these on your face,” he said, holding up his hands. The dough was sticky and crumbly at the same time, a small piece falling to the floor.
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
He took a step toward her. “You wouldn’t want me to run them through your hair.”
She watched him, not believing for a second that he would actually touch her with those fingers. “No,” she said, but honestly, she couldn’t care less what was on his hands if he were kissing her. She got closer until she was looking up at him, telling him with her eyes that she wanted him to kiss her. He’d shown up today, he’d been involved, he’d talked to the kids. There was something so attractive about that, that she couldn’t deny what she was feeling.
He put his hands on her cheeks, the wetness of the dough cold against her face. She didn’t notice it for long because, in less than a second, his lips were on hers. The soft warmth of them was making her lightheaded. She put her arms around his neck, kissing him back. Playfully, she bit his lip, and his eyes flew open for just a moment before he resumed kissing her. He pushed his hands up the back of her neck and into her hair, the dough trailing behind, his mouth moving on hers urgently.
“I should make ornaments more often,” she said.
“Yes,” he said, leaning down for one more kiss.
* * *
“The chef is here. He’s got a lot of food already,” Robin said.
“Robin has asked him to make literally everything she’s ever had at a party before,” James said. “We have to narrow it to six hors d’oeuvres, two main dishes, and five desserts.” James and Robin were seated at the bar area with a line of white plates in front of them. Susan was standing at one end, a white cloth napkin dangling from her fingers.
Nick walked in the room and stood next to Abbey. “Looks good,” he said.
Susan clicked over to them on her high heels and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, darling,” she said and then she looked at Abbey. “I’m so glad you two are both here! I’m trying to keep busy while Carl is out golfing. He doesn’t know a soul, yet he’ll be the first to chat with strangers if there’s a tee in the vicinity.”
“Want to help us decide between the garlic-roasted shrimp cocktail and the ham, Gruyère, and honey-mustard palmiers?” James said to Nick.
“Absolutely.” Nick went over to the sink to wash his hands and Abbey followed suit. Then, he walked around to the bar and picked up a little croissant-looking pastry.
It must be the ham-whatsits James had mentioned, Abbey thought. To her surprise he’d come back to her and was offering her a bite as she finished drying her hands. She leaned forward and he popped it into her mouth. It was the most savory, delicious thing she’d ever tasted.
“Those are my favorites,” he said with a little grin. “I used to ask for them whenever my parents had a party.”
“Mmm hmm,” she said, nodding, still chewing. She swallowed and set the towel down just as he handed her a stemmed glass with sparkling wine—another item set out for them to try. “It is very good.”
“The wine goes well with it,” he said.
She took a sip, and he was right. “If you already know what’s good and what you like, then why are you tasting things? You could’ve just told me what to order.”
“We have to have a consensus,” Robin said, her gaze darting back and forth between Nick and Abbey. “I can’t help it if you two have the same taste.” She winked in their direction. “I’d like to try them all.”
“Well, why don’t you call us when you’re ready to do the deserts?” Nick said. “Since Abbey seems to be on the same page as I am, I’d like to take a few minutes to talk with her, if that’s all right.”
They all agreed a little too energetically.
“Shall we go to the ballroom?” he asked. “I’ve had Richard start a fire in there.”
“Sure,” she said.
“We’ll be back,” he told them as the chef set another plate in front of the others. They smiled and waved them off down the hallway.
“I was hoping to discuss your plans for Christmas Eve,” he said gently as they walked. “You’re staying to take care of Caroline. No staff works on Christmas, but I’d like you to stay.”
She hadn’t really thought it through yet. The party was on Christmas Eve. She could attend that with him, but Max would certainly be too tired to drive all the way home with her. It would be very easy to put him to bed upstairs. The only problem was that this was supposed to be the perfect Christmas for Max, and Santa would have to arrive at an empty apartment. He wouldn’t get his gifts until they’d gotten back home. She considered this as they entered the ballroom.
Nick offered her a seat on the sofa.
“I’m just thinking about Santa Claus,” she said.
Nick nodded, looking thoughtful. “Well, he can either leave the gifts at your house and you can get them the next day, or he can leave them at mine. You could set out a note with his cookies and milk,” he said.
She didn’t want to have Santa leave the gifts in an empty house, but she also didn’t want Max to compare his gifts from Santa with whatever in the world Thomas was going to receive. She wouldn’t be able to compete.
“Something’s bothering you,” he noticed.
She chewed on her lip, trying to figure out what to say, and stood up. He followed suit.
“What is it?” he said.
“I want Max to have the perfect Christmas,” she said. “So I don’t want his Santa loot to be left at an empty apartment.”
“Fine. He can leave it here.”
“But…” It was so touchy. How would she explain it without making him feel guilty or, worse yet, make him want to buy more things for Max?
“But what?”
“I’m worried he’ll compare what he’s gotten with what Thomas gets, and I can’t equal what Robin will be able to buy.” He opened his mouth to speak but she kept going. “And I don’t want you to buy him things to bridge the gap either.” He shut his mouth. “I know Christmas isn’t about how much we get, but for a little kid, he already feels the pressure of pinching pennies. He hears what his friends have gotten and he wonders, since Santa can get anything, why Santa isn’t bringing it to him. It’s a tough situation. I don’t spoil him; I never have. But I want him to feel like he’s just as good as his friends, and if that means buying things, then so be it. I can explain it all to him later. But I want those things to be from me.”
“How many things do you have for him from Santa?” he asked.
“Three. I wrapped the others up from me.”
“Then we’ll put out three for Thomas.”
“Isn’t he used to getting more?”
“Not necessarily. Robin doesn’t like to spoil him either. Mothers are all the same,” he smiled.
“Are you sure Robin will be okay with that?”
“I’m sure.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling relieved.
“So,” he said with a smile. “That means you and Max are staying the night on Christmas Eve.”
“I suppose,” she said with a grin.
“Perfect! I didn’t want you driving after the party. Now, I have another money question for you: I want to get you a Christmas gift.”
She was very interested to see what he had to say.
“It would make me feel good about going to New York, knowing that you’re taken care of.”
What kind of gift was he considering?
She swallowed. He was going to offer her something that she would have a very difficult time refusing; she could feel it, and she was gearing up for how in good conscience she could tell him no thank you.
“Let me pay for the medicine.”
She shook her head, anxiety surfacing at the thought of pushing away what could help Gramps. But she couldn’t ask for it.
“Why?” he pleaded. “It will make him better. Let our family physician recommend specialists for him, and we’ll get him what he needs to be comfortable and to have a better quality of life.”
What would happen when Nick was gone? Who would pay for that kind of care once time had inched between them and she was left on her own again?
He cupped her face in his hands, her body tingling with his touch. “Let me do this for you,” he said in a whisper. “Your happiness and security is all I want for Christmas.”
The man who had everything had found something to ask for this Christmas.
“Please,” he said, and his eyes told her that he meant everything he said.
Reluctantly, she nodded, and with a huge grin, he leaned down and kissed her lips.
He pulled back to look at her. “Thank you,” he said.
She smiled at the sight of his happiness. For whatever reason, he wanted to do this for her, and it wasn’t out of pity. It was because he was looking out for her. He was taking care of her, and she didn’t mind it because it was out of affection for her, not obligation.
“I’ll take care of all his medical care,” he said. “If you need anything, let me know. He has an appointment on January fifth with a specialist recommended by our family physician.” He grinned a crooked grin. “You know, just in case you said yes.”
Her limbs felt weak, her head dizzy. She sat down on the sofa to keep herself steady. This was too much. In one conversation, all her problems with Gramps had been solved. Certainly, he’d still have to deal with the Parkinson’s, and her mother would have to help him while also watching Max so she could work, but Gramps might be close to his old self, and that was more than she could’ve hoped for.