All He Wants For Christmas

by Elisabeth Naughton, Alexandra Ivy, Cynthia Eden, Katie Reus, Laura Wright, Skye Jordan

  Heat rushed over her. It was this thing that happened to her whenever she was about to do something stupid or impulsive. Her parents called it her thermometer. “Well, maybe they should.” She took a few steps toward the house. “Maybe they need to know they can’t keep what they’ve done to you a secret.”

  “Fuck,” he uttered softly. “Just stop.”

  But she couldn’t. She was in full thermometer mode now. “Maybe they need some sense knocked into them. I’m a brown belt.”

  Unexpected silence followed. Then a gust of wind and snow hit her face and neck. And then…what was that? Laughter? She turned to see. Still sitting on the bottom step, the boy was slow shaking his head and…laughing. Carol was about to plant her hands on her hips and demand to know what was so funny about her three years in karate class. But then she noticed that Gabriel wasn’t laughing at her. And the sound he was making wasn’t happy or playful. It felt more like the joke was on him. Maybe…it was always on him.

  “Listen, Christmas Carol,” he said, sobering a bit.

  Her stomach tightened. “How’d you know my name?”

  He didn’t answer, just fixed her with that ice blue stare. “I don’t need your help. Didn’t ask for your help.”

  “I know that. It’s just—”

  “I’m sure you got a family’s who’s missing you, waiting with cups of hot chocolate and boxes of tinsel, and all that shit.” His voice fell to a whisper, but his eyes remained on hers. “Go home.”

  “You could come with me,” she blurted out. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just do what he asked? This wasn’t her business. Maybe it wasn’t what she thought it was. Maybe he got into a fight with his foster brother or a friend…

  But as he glared at her, she knew the truth. It was written all over him. In the strange, almost ghostly light of the snowfall, he looked so young, so in pain. She stuck her hand out to him. Confused, Gabriel glanced down at it. For one second, Carol thought he was going to take her up on it, grab on and let her bring him home, give him her cup of hot chocolate. But then the front door opened, a man grunted out Gabriel’s name, and any magic that the snow had sprinkled down on them was lost.

  “Gabriel,” she began.

  “Go,” he whispered.

  She’d never seen anyone scramble to their feet so fast. Fear.

  “Come with me—” She continued to push. But he cut her off with a look.

  “And you’d better not tell anyone,” he added before hustling up the steps, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

  Chest tight, throat tight, Carol watched him go, to the door, past the man standing there, and into the dark house…the only light coming from the red glow of a cigarette. Assholes. How could they… He was a kid. Just a kid. Like her.

  The door closed and she was alone. All around her, the snow was falling. It was nearly Christmas. She had to get home. Her parents would be wondering where she was. Jack and Kay Cardini…just the thought of them made her feel happy and safe. They were truly the most wonderful, trustworthy people on the planet. Her eyes went to the closed door one last time. Her mom and dad would know what to do about this. They’d know how to get Gabriel and his foster brother and sister out of that house.

  She turned and hurried down the sidewalk. Leaving Evergreen Way. Forgetting about her trip to Main Street. Forgetting about the one thing she’d thought she’d wanted for Christmas.

  Because everything had changed. The brick house she’d wanted so desperately for her collection an hour ago? It seemed silly and selfish. Her Christmas wish this year was a real house, a safe home, for Gabriel and his siblings.

  At Christmas, all roads lead home.

  –Marjorie Holmes

  Chapter 1

  Two Days Before Christmas, 2015

  “Afterward, he took me on a carriage ride,” Babette practically cooed as she dropped the box of ornaments down in front of her boss at the counter. “And, you know, I let him get to second base.”

  Shocker! Carol thought with a wry grin as she opened the box and started to unpack. They were in dire need of fresh stock. A group of tourists from Los Angeles had come through Christmas Carol’s Shop & Crafts an hour ago and nearly cleaned them out of Oliver Keegan’s handmade ornaments.

  “What? No comment?” Babette pressed, her heavily painted mouth curving up at the corners.

  “Oh…just wondering what Monty thought about all that PDA.”

  “It wasn’t in his carriage, girl,” Babette clarified. “It was up in my apartment.” She snorted. “But Monty wouldn’t have cared. He encourages romance in his ride.”

  Yeah, that was true, Carol mused with a grin as she priced each ornament. She remembered this one time, she was taking a ride with a cousin of hers who’d been visiting. Of course, Monty thought it was a date and assured them he’d keep his eyes on the cobblestones, and that anything that happened under the blanket, stayed under the blanket. Not that anything had happened under that blanket, but Monty had sure left the door open.

  Perv.

  She laughed to herself. And speaking of pervs. “I can’t believe you took a stranger up to your apartment,” she said, handing Babs the half dozen ornaments she’d priced to place on the massive pine tree near the store’s front picture window.

  “He wasn’t a stranger,” the woman corrected. “He was a tourist.”

  Carol laughed again. “You have a problem, you know that?”

  Babs flipped her glossy black hair over one shoulder. “No, girl. I have fun. Something you seem to know nothing about.”

  “Oh, come on. Not fair.”

  “Very fair,” the woman said, climbing the stepladder and slipping the ornaments on the empty, fragrant branches. “And what’s up with that, by the way?”

  “What’s up with what?” Carol said, distractedly. Did they really not have any more cranberry candles?

  “I’ve worked for you for two years,” Babs continued. “Been your friend for four. Never seen you with a guy.”

  “Not true—”

  “I’m not talking family, hon.”

  Fine. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t dated.” Candles? She hadn’t bought enough. “I’m just discreet.” Or needlepoint stockings. She stood up to find Babs standing there, a jean-clad hip pressed against the counter, a dark eyebrow raised.

  “So?” she drawled real slow. “Who were you discreet with?”

  Carol rolled her eyes and shoved another six ornaments at the woman. “We don’t have time for this. I’m hoping there’ll be a huge rush after lunch.” Praying was more like it.

  Babette didn’t move. Except for her other eyebrow. That one was up now, too. “Just name one.”

  “One what?” Carol ground out, exasperated. She grabbed her inventory list. She needed more homemade candles. They were always a popular last-minute item on Christmas Eve. She’d call Gabby, see if the woman could bring some over.

  “Guy,” Babs pressed her. “I need a name. A date you’ve had in the past four years. Share with me and I’ll go away.”

  “Oh my God, you’re annoying.” Forget the candles, maybe she needed to head straight for Yuletide Spirits and grab a drink.

  As usual, Babette was undaunted. She just stared at Carol. Forget retail, the woman should’ve gone into detective work. Flipping relentless.

  “Fine,” Carol relented. “Jeremy. Okay? Satisfied?”

  Babs scrunched up her face like she was searching her memory. “Never heard of him.”

  “That’s because he’s from Blue Mountain.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Uh huh.”

  “It’s true!”

  “And you shared nothing with me?”

  “I told you, discreet.”

  “What is he?”

  “What do you mean, what is he? He’s human.”

  “No. I mean, is he a business guy? Real estate agent?” Her mouth twitched and she wiggled her eyebrows. “Lumberjack?”

  Carol leaned forward on the counter and whispered, “
Yes, as a matter of fact. And a very hot one.”

  A small gasp escaped her friend and she pretended to fan herself. “God, I so want to believe you.”

  Behind Carol, the antique Santa clock chimed. She shoved the box at Babs. “And I want you to get all of these ornaments hung.”

  With a soft grunt of “Bummer,” Babette turned away and headed back to the tree. Carol opened the glass case to her right and began restocking the jewelry. A few antique Santa watches she’d found at an estate sale in Raleigh and some lovely, delicate gold necklaces. She stopped to admire Mary Evans’s newest creation—miniature snow globe rings. With a soft smile, she slipped one on her finger, then held up her hand. Forget diamonds. This was true romantic perfection.

  Her gaze slid gingerly over to Babette, who was on tiptoe placing each ornament with care. She’d never told her friend about him, true, but there had been a Jeremy. Six weeks of him, to be exact, about a year and a half ago. He’d been wonderful. Sweet, fun, sexy, knew how to split logs for the small fireplace she had in her upstairs apartment. But he’d wanted to get serious. And to him, serious meant marriage. And marriage meant his wife didn’t work. He’d been pretty clear about that. And though Carol supported his right to want a stay-at-home wife, it just wasn’t her. Christmas Carol’s meant the world. The Main Street shop in her hometown, which was nestled at the base of Holly Mountain, was a dream realized. And nothing was ever going to make her walk away from it. Not even the fact that it was a constant struggle to keep the doors open, and the rent—and Babette—paid. She was hoping and praying that this season would put her close to the black.

  “More, please,” Babette singsonged as she sidled over to the counter once again and gathered up the six remaining ornaments. “And by more, I mean deets.” She cocked her head to the side. “About this Jeremy guy, and when was the last time you…” Her eyebrows went up and down. “You know.”

  Carol snorted. “That’s hilarious. You can do it, but you can’t say it?”

  “Oh, I can say it, honey. In four different languages, in fact. I was just being respectful.”

  “Well, I suppose there has to be a first time for everything.” Carol gave her a wide, wicked smile.

  “Fine,” Babette cooed overly sweetly. “Sex. When was the last time you had sex?”

  “I’m not answering that.”

  “I think you need to.”

  “And I think you should be getting back to work now.” Carol closed the jewelry case and picked up the glass cloth. “That Mrs. Claus costume isn’t going to wear itself.”

  Babs pretended not to hear her. She stepped back. “It’s such a waste. I mean, look at you.” She gestured up and down Carol’s red wrap dress. “All that blond hair and those hazel cat eyes. You’re a Victoria Secret model! And let me just add that those ample girls of yours deserve to be seen.”

  Carol stopped mid glass cleaning and stared at her friend. “Girls?!?”

  “Your breasts, hon.”

  “Babs, I swear to God—”

  The bell over the door rang out, putting an end to Babette’s dry-spell shaming and saving Carol from threatening the noisy woman with a termination she, of course, would never actually follow through on. Especially this close to Christmas. She could seriously forgive anyone at this time of year.

  “Can you help the customer, please?” she whispered to Babs before bending down to open a box of tree skirts that Millie O’Shay had brought by a couple of days ago. Handmade, local items were a bit more expensive than mass market stock, but Carol had a thing about both supporting the community and offering her customers interesting, unique items.

  “Sorry, hon,” Babette said with a curl of sinful delight in her tone. “I’m really busy. Up to my shoulders in ornaments. And then Mrs. Claus needs to put on her makeup. You’ll have to help this one.”

  Seriously? Gritting her teeth, Carol placed the beautiful gold skirt back in the box. Babette could be such a pain in the ass sometimes.

  “Welcome to Christmas Carol’s,” she called as she stood up, and came face to face with a man who looked like he’d just stepped out of a New York City business magazine. Her gaze moved over him, as inside her lungs her breath stalled. Tall, broad and clean-shaven, the man was wearing what she firmly believed was a million-dollar suit underneath a million-dollar gray wool coat. He fairly oozed confidence and intelligence. Not to mention sexuality. She licked her suddenly dry lips. Not that she was noticing…or looking…or… Her cheeks went hot.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, wondering at the strange squeak in her voice. Minnie Mouse was so not her.

  “I think so,” he said, granting her an almost wicked smile.

  Carol’s insides were melting, even as she stood there. Those straight, white teeth behind full lips. The strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. And those eyes. Those intense, ice blue—

  Her gut tightened. She bit her lip as her memory yanked and pulled, then finally grabbed hold. No… It couldn’t be…

  “Hello, Carol.”

  His voice was deep and rough, and even though it had been ten years, strangely familiar. He knew her. Remembered her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Gabriel,” he supplied, mistaking her muteness for lack of memory.

  “Right,” she forced out. Gabriel. Her gaze moved over him. Again. This time with fresh eyes. Forget the suit and the coat and the brilliant white teeth. He was so…tall. A man. A really gorgeous, sexy…just, wow… A thousand questions popped into her head, questions she’d been holding onto for a decade. Where had he gone? Was he okay?

  He was looking around her store, at the tree, at the craft room. “I’d heard you’d opened up your own shop.”

  “How?”

  He turned back to her, one dark brow lifted. “Pardon?”

  She swallowed thickly. “I wondered how you heard about my shop. I haven’t seen you… I mean, you haven’t been back to Holly. That I know of, anyway—”

  “Since that night you found me crying on the sidewalk?” he asked.

  Her breath caught for second. “Yes.”

  His face hardened. His eyes, too. “Christmas Eve.”

  “Right.” He didn’t seem keen on discussing it. She wondered if he knew she’d been the catalyst for him and his siblings being taken out of that home. That after telling her parents everything she’d witnessed, the Diamants had been visited by the police and social services. And if so, how did he feel about that? About her?

  “I check up on the perfect cobblestoned and twinkle-lighted town every so often,” he told her with a slight edge to his voice. “See how things are going.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “How certain people are faring.”

  Oh. Did he mean her? Her belly certainly thought so. It was churning and erupting with heat. “It’s really good to see you, Gabriel.”

  His eyes were pinned to hers. “You too, Carol Cardini.”

  Her heart fluttered in her chest. Churning belly, heat, and fluttering. She glanced down at his hand. His left hand. No ring. “I was just about to grab some lunch,” she began impulsively. “Maybe…”

  He cut her off. “I actually came in to get something.”

  “Oh!” Her startled voice made her cringe. “Of course you did.” Or maybe that was her embarrassment at thinking this boy—no, this man—had actually come into her shop to…well, see her! Moron. “What can I help you with?”

  A smile touched his mouth. As if her discomfort amused him. “Do you sell toboggans? The older kind? The good kind? Handmade.”

  “We do. And skis and snowshoes, as well.”

  “The toboggans are all I need.” He pulled one side of his coat back and reached into his suit pants pocket. “I’ll take every one you’ve got.”

  She laughed softly. “I have ten of them.”

  “Perfect.”

  Was he serious? She stared at him.

  He pulled out his wallet. Rich, deep brown leather. “I’ll have someone come by and pick them up around
five.”

  “Sure.” Guess he was serious. “But…”

  His eyes lifted to hers. Ice blue. Fiery blue. “Yes, Carol?”

  And the way he said her name. Oh Holy Night… There was interest there. “They’re antiques.”

  His brows drifted together. “And?”

  “Well, they’re five hundred dollars a piece. Collector’s pieces. But I’m pretty sure St. Nicholas Hardware has the plastic kind. They’re very strong and—”

  “No. Thank you.” He placed a credit card on the counter. Black American Express. Carol stared at it. She’d never seen one before, but she sure knew what it meant. Gabriel was more than okay. He was rich.

  “I’m in kind of a hurry,” he added. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Oh…of course.”

  She took the card and rang him up. Then, watched him sign the receipt. When she handed him back the Amex, their fingers brushed. His were warm and strong, and for a second, her skin tingled.

  “Nice to see you again, Carol,” he said, granting her one last cagey smile before he turned and headed for the door.

  She stared after him. The once lanky but Scary Cute dark-haired boy had become a man. An obviously successful man. A gorgeous, powerful, sexy man. And she couldn’t help feeling like a small part of her was responsible for that. She’d helped to get him away from those monsters. Clearly, he’d thrived.

  “Oh my God, oh my God!” Babs rushed the counter in her Mrs. Claus costume. “You know him? I had no idea…and I was throwing you a bone with the ‘I’m busy’ thing… Oh my God, Carol, he’s blisteringly hot.”

  Carol was still staring at the door. She could see him getting into a sleek, black town car. The driver was holding open the door.

  “You have to ask him out,” Babs continued. “Then you have to take him upstairs and put an end your nun-sense.” She grinned. Wide. A wicked Mrs. Claus. “Get it?” she pressed. “Nun-sense? Like nonsense but celibate, like a nun. Like you?”

  Carol felt like she was in a trance.

  “Tell me you get it,” Babs pressed.

  “I get it,” Carol said softly as she bent down to retrieve the Christmas tree skirts she’d been unpacking when…he had walked in.