A Shifter for Christmas

by T. S. Joyce

  “But it’s delicious. Did you make it yourself?” She cackled. “Just kidding. I know Chef Jed made everything. Would you like some wine?” Tipsy Mom was way happier than Sober Mom.

  “One of your sister’s husbands went to fetch me some champagne.”

  Leslie scrunched up her face. “One of their husbands? You can say their names. I know them all. We play family bingo on the second Saturday of every month—”

  “Martha!” Mom exclaimed, holding her arms out to one of her oldest and snootiest friends. They did this fake-hug-air-kiss thing and Leslie gagged, then smiled big when Martha looked at her.

  “I heard the dry spell is finally over for you Leslie Ann.”

  “It’s just Leslie. Leslie the pottery maker—”

  “Shh!” Mom hushed her sharply.

  “I would love to introduce you to Kieran. Kieran Dunne. That’s my boyfriend. Uuuuuh, but he is probably fetching me some Christmas cookies…” She curtsied and walked backward, escaping slowly.

  “The Christmas cookies are right there,” Martha said, pointing to the end of the table.

  “From the front seat of our car because we made some cookies together. With sprinkles. And love. And we brought them. To share our love cookies…with all of you. But forgot them! In the car.”

  Mom and Martha were just staring at her like she’d lost her mind, but that was normal. Everything was normal and fine.

  Okay, no it wasn’t. She’d been hounded for an hour. She’d shaved her legs, shoved her sensitive feet into heels, worn a pushup bra, watched a video on how to do an updo with natural ringlet curls, and even pinned a sprig of holly at the hair gathered at her temple for a date that hadn’t even shown up.

  Now she was in Hell. She made her way through the crowded entryway, careful to avoid all eye contact with her three evil sisters, and made it to the door. “At least the cheese ball was good,” she said as she yanked it open.

  Kieran stood there with his hand up to knock. Clearly, she startled him as much as he had her because he jumped and took a few steps back.

  He looked her up and down, his eyes morphing from a dark brown to a glowing amber.

  “Leslie?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  “What the fuck?” he whispered to himself.

  “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

  He had a bottle of wine in one hand and wore a black button-up shirt that was rolled at the sleeves. Oh, geez, even his forearms were sexy. He wore black dress pants and shiny new shoes and, holy hell, he looked even hotter than she remembered him from a few hours ago.

  “You really showed up,” she uttered in shock.

  He snorted a laugh. “Of course, I did. Been kicking myself for not getting everything done sooner so I could drive you here, though. I had to go to two stores to find these stupid clothes, and the liquor store didn’t carry your mom’s favorite wine so I ended up just getting the most expensive one and calling it a night. Oh, and I got you something, too.” He reached in his back pocket and handed her a flask.

  A little tinge of hope fluttered through her chest. She lifted her chin and asked, “What’s in it?”

  “Your favorite liquor.”

  “And what’s my favorite liquor?”

  He offered her a devilish smile. “Vodka.”

  He’d listened. Prince Fuckin’ Charming had arrived. Roll out the welcome mat, family. We have a real one in our midst.

  “I don’t want your ego to get too big, but you just gave me butterflies.”

  “Why am I not shocked that a flask is the way to your heart?” he asked with a glint of wickedness in his striking eyes that she really, really liked. “And probably the butterflies in your stomach are an eye-scorching hot pink color and clumsy.”

  She dipped her head magnanimously. “You know me well.”

  “Ready to rock this?” he asked, looking past her into the party.

  “I already stress-ate a whole cheese ball.”

  “Thata girl.” He stepped inside and slid his hand to her waist, leaned into her, and whispered against her ear, “By the way, you look fuckin’ gorgeous.”

  And her bright pink butterflies went into more clumsy spasms.

  He grabbed her hand without even looking down, like he just knew where it was, and then he led her into the party. “Where’s your mom?” he asked as he nodded to the people in the entryway who stopped to stare.

  “Ten o’clock, looks like a bright red ornament, holding champagne, painted her eyebrows into a perpetual frown for this evening.”

  “Got her.” Kieran dragged Leslie right through the living room of powerful people and squared up to her mother. To her terrifying mother!

  “Mrs. Wilson?” he asked.

  Mom gave Martha a snotty look and lifted her nose into the air. “Kieran Dunne, I suppose?”

  “Yes ma’am.” He handed her the bottle of wine. “I searched high and low for your favorite, but it seems this town is bought out of the good stuff.”

  She lowered her gaze primly to the bottle of red he offered. “This one isn’t terrible wine.” Mom dragged her gaze around the room and gave a thin-lipped smile as she took it from his hands, much too late to be polite. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. You have a beautiful home. I’ve been in it once before with your husband, but it sure does dress up well for the holidays.”

  “That’s right. You work for my husband. At the sawmill.” Her lips thinned even more.

  Leslie lifted her Band-Aid riddled hand. “Yep, and today he gave me lessons on loading trees.” She couldn’t find normal Band-Aids, so they all had SpongeBob SquarePants making silly faces all over them.

  “Lovely,” Mom muttered.

  “Nice,” Kieran murmured in that deep, sexy timbre of his. He even gave Leslie a nod of respect.

  “Have you met all of Leslie’s sisters and their husbands yet?” Mom asked.

  “I don’t want to subject him to too much…amazingness…at once,” Leslie said. Her manners were on point tonight.

  “Oh, Braden,” Mom called sweetly. “Braden, bring your wife and meet your sister’s new friend.” Mom lowered her voice. “Braden is a lawyer.”

  She thought Kieran would prickle up like a little badger but, nope, his eyes stayed a steady color somewhere between mud brown and gold. He gave Leslie a wink. Okay, he was prepared for this.

  Braden made his way through the crowd, dragging her sister Kimberly with her perfect black beach-waved hair, long, slender legs, and flat stomach. A rarer beauty had never existed in Missoula, Montana, according to her father’s speech he gave on Kimberly’s wedding day. Gag.

  “Hey, Sue,” Kimberly greeted her.

  “Sue?” Kieran asked.

  “Oh, it’s a nickname I gave Leslie when we were kids. It’s from this movie Curly Sue we used to watch.”

  Kieran smiled. “Her curls were the first thing I noticed about her. They got me hooked.”

  Kimberly and Mom looked as shocked as Leslie felt.

  “What happened, who got hooked, what did I miss?” Leslie asked.

  “First were your curls,” Kieran said, hypnotizing her with that eye contact. “And then your smile, laugh, vulnerability, uniqueness…” He dipped his eyes to her cleavage and back up to her face. “And the rest is just a big bonus.”

  He liked her curls and her boobies. Oh, God, he likes my curls and my boobies! Don’t say it out loud.

  Kimberly’s eyes narrowed. “I need a drink.” She did an about-face and walked off, stabbing the poor wooden floorboards with her stilettos.

  “I’m Braden.” Her sister’s husband introduced himself and offered a hand to Kieran. Actually, all her sisters’ dudes were pretty cool and put up with a lot just to be in this family. Leslie didn’t hate them. They were just pigeon-holed into being perfect to please the family. Looks above everything. Imperfections were unacceptable, and bla, bla, bla.

  “This is Braden the lawyer,” Mom corrected as they shook hands.

&n
bsp; Braden rolled his eyes heavenward.

  “Uuuh,” Kieran said, “I’m Kieran the lumberjack.”

  “The shifter lumberjack,” Mom muttered uncharitably.

  “Right on,” Braden said. “I think I’m gonna take this one to get a drink and get to know him a little better.” He clapped Kieran on the back, and they walked toward the full bar on the back wall of the huge living room.

  Shit, now Leslie was alone.

  “I don’t like him,” Mom enlightened her. Shocking.

  “Mom, your eyes are awfully squinty right now, and remember what you told me about getting wrinkles when you judge people?”

  “Babe?” Kieran called.

  Babe? “Yes, Honeynuggets?” God, someone muzzle her.

  Kieran threw his head back with a laugh and then shook his head. “Perfectly executed.” Everyone was watching.

  Shoot me.

  “You want a drink?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and twitched his head toward the bar. Okay, judge all they wanted, but he was the sexiest man in this room by far, and he was smiling at her. At. Her. This was awesome.

  “I would love one.” She nodded demurely to Mom and the crowd that had gathered behind her. “Have an excellent evening, everyone.”

  “We still have three hours of the party left,” her sister Beth pointed out. “We’ll see you again in, like, four minutes.”

  “Right. Have a festive four minutes. I have to go spend quality time with the love of my life. Thank you and goodbye.” Well done, self. That wasn’t weird at all. You are improving.

  She tried to float to Kieran like one of her graceful sisters in heels, but hers got stuck in a divot in the barnwood floors and her ankle went sideways and then she had to make sure her boobs were still in her dress when she righted herself.

  “You are by far the most interesting girl in this room,” Kieran assured her. “It’s entertaining as hell to watch you stick out like a sore thumb.”

  She bowed slightly. “I aim to please.”

  “No, you don’t. It’s one of the things I like about you. Braden is getting us shots.”

  “Wait, what? Braden never does shots.”

  “False,” Braden said as they found him at the bar. “Braden doesn’t do obvious shots, but I’ve got to get through these shit-show parties somehow.” He handed Leslie a full shot glass. “Your mouth is hanging open.”

  “But you’re good at these parties.”

  “No one is good at these parties. Tell me if Kimberly heads this way. I can’t handle another disapproving lecture today.”

  Huh.

  Kieran and Braden took their shots and began chatting easily. How in the world had Kieran sniffed out an ally within five minutes of being in the room? She hadn’t managed that in three and a half decades. Her pretend-boyfriend was a magician.

  As Dad clinked a knife against the side of his glass and announced dinner was served, Kieran slipped his hand around her waist and dragged her closer into his side. The man who didn’t like touching did that. He didn’t seem disgusted or annoyed by her at all right now. Just content and easily talking to her brother-in-law as he drew little circles on her hip with his thumb.

  Oh, he was very good at this. Very very good at pretending.

  She slipped her arm around his waist and rested her cheek against his shoulder, and for the first time in her adult life at one of these parties, she felt safe.

  Something brushed the top of her hair, and she thought it was a light kiss from Kieran, but when she looked up, he was still in the middle of a conversation with Braden. She must’ve imagined it. She looked to Braden, and his blue eyes had gone all soft. He smiled and winked at her.

  Okay. Everything was okay.

  Kieran was easing tensions and making tonight kind of fun.

  Chapter Seven

  “Well,” Leslie said over the sound of caroling that wafted from the house. “You survived a Wilson Family holiday party.”

  She looked so pretty out here, all cuddled up in her fitted peacoat, her hair and makeup all done, that easy smile on her face. She smiled a lot. He liked that about her.

  “It was actually kind of nice,” he admitted.

  She screwed up her face. “You absorbed fifty-two insults in there. I counted.”

  He laughed and turned to lean against her little red Honda Accord with her. It was cold, and snow was beginning to fall, so he crossed his arms over his chest to preserve warmth. “The insults I expected. I’m comfortable with who I am and what I do for a living. That didn’t bother me really. I mean, the holiday decorations and eggnog and huge Christmas tree, and that thing where Santa came in at the end and read Twas the Night Before Christmas… It’s been a while since I celebrated the holiday big.”

  “Your parents don’t do parties?” she asked.

  Kieran didn’t talk about this. Not to Burke, not to his friends at the sawmill, not to anyone. But Leslie had shared so much today about her life with him, and he’d gotten to see these layers of her that he wouldn’t have if she hadn’t been so determined to let him in.

  He was learning there was value in letting people in.

  He cleared his throat. “My parents aren’t with me anymore, but when they were alive, they did love the holiday season.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” she whispered, her pretty steel-blue eyes filling with sorrow. “I’m so sorry. We don’t have to talk about this.”

  “No, it’s fine. They passed away in a car accident five years ago. I was lucky. I got a lot of time with them. Not enough, but a lot. I made it to adulthood before I had to lose them. Anyway, they left their house to me, and that’s where I live now. My mom used to decorate it to the nines. Tinsel and a big tree that we cut down together as a family. She would set out these snowman snow globes she used to collect in every open space of the house for display at Christmas. She was always baking at the holidays so the house smelled like cookies and sugar. I just remember it being the best time of year.”

  “And then they passed.”

  “Yeah, but the change happened even before that. My brother, Burke, and I grew up. Or grew out of the season maybe. We got entrenched with life outside of my parents’ home. That’s natural, I suppose, but looking back, I wish the change hadn’t happened. I wish we’d made the holiday a big deal every year until we lost them. The last few years, I remember bailing on family traditions to do other stuff. Work overtime, take a girl out, hang with friends, sit at home doing jack-shit. I just didn’t have that interest anymore. But this?” He jerked his chin toward the house. “Even if a lot of the conversation was shallow, it was still a good night. Still good for the soul.”

  She had a faraway look in her eyes as she stared through the window at the partygoers standing around a piano, singing Christmas songs. Only half the party had left. The lingerers had spiked eggnog in their systems, and it had relaxed the stuffy atmosphere.

  “Were your parents otters, too? And Burke?”

  Confused, he asked, “Otters? Oh!” He swallowed hard and tried to remember his lies. “Otters. Right. Yep, the whole family are shifters. Now it’s just me and Burke…left to carry on the…otter genetics.”

  “When can I see your animal? Or is that too personal? Are you quiet when you change? Do you need privacy?”

  God, she was cute. And sexy. And inquisitive and non-judgmental and fun, and she really was the best of the Wilsons. Maybe she was the best woman he’d met in all of Missoula.

  “Maybe I’ll let you see him someday. Not tonight, though.” He pushed off her car. “You’re starting to shiver, and I think I’ve had enough watching you freeze your ass off for one day.”

  She giggled and nodded. “Next time it’s bring-your-pretend-girlfriend-to-work day, I promise to dress much warmer.”

  She was parked on the curb, right out in front of the mansion, and his truck was down the street a ways since he’d been running late. That was his big regret of the night. He wished he was driving her home right now so he didn’t have to worry
about her getting back safe on the icy roads.

  Kieran opened the door for her, and she lingered near him. “Thank you for tonight. You are the right choice for this job.”

  This job. Right.

  “Can you text me when you get home?”

  “Worried about my safety, pretend-boyfriend?”

  “A little. I’ve seen you walk, and it’s not pretty. I can’t imagine how bad you drive.”

  Her cute laugh echoed through the street. She swatted his arm. “Turd.”

  He wanted to kiss her. There was this moment where she was right there, so close he could feel her warmth and hear her racing heartbeat, and he wanted to lean in and press his lips to hers and see if she smiled then.

  But he hesitated. This was a job. This was a job. She’d said no romance, and if he kissed her, he would complicate something that was a beautiful distraction from the monotony of his life. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun with another person.

  A kiss would ruin that. He knew it, which is why he hesitated. She seemed to wait for him, looking up at his face, searching his eyes. And then she broke the moment with her awkwardness.

  “Righty-oh. I’m getting in my car now.” She climbed in, not gracefully, and waited for him to close her door. She rolled down her window. “Goodnight, Pretend Boyfriend.”

  Kieran shoved his hands deep in his pockets and stepped back so she could pull out of the parking space. He lifted his chin and took one last mental picture of her all dolled up with her hair done. Pretty girl. Sweet girl.

  “Goodnight, Pretend Girlfriend.”

  Chapter Eight

  Who is the turd now? Kieran texted Leslie. You said you would text when you got home safe, and now I’m wide awake wondering if I need to come scrape you off the side of the highway. Stop stressing me out and tell me you’re home. Send.

  After a few minutes of restlessness in his bed, his phone dinged with a text message.

  Dear Kieran, I forgot to text you, which probably didn’t surprise you. No need to scrape me off the highway. I’m in my tiny house all nestled up with a facemask and a very sexy pair of pajamas.