Wild Holiday Nights: Holiday RushPlaying GamesAll Night Long

by Samantha Hunter

  “They’re for you.”

  “Gideon, I—”

  He didn’t let her object, but tugged her forward and planted a kiss on her lips before she could. It had only been hours, but he missed her. Missed her touch, her voice and her kisses.

  Applause from the sidewalk had him backing away, keeping the kiss chaste. He had a mission, and this was only the first step.

  Calla’s cheeks were flushed, her lips rosy.

  “What’s with the suit?”

  “You’ll see. Why don’t you let me help you take the cake back and clean things up here? Then maybe we can get some dinner.”

  She looked as though she might object, but then nodded. “That would be nice. It’s been a long day.”

  He helped her lift the cake onto the cart, but not before presenting it and her to the waiting crowd, prompting their applause.

  “This cake is perfection, Calla. What you do is so special. I hope you realize that.”

  She bit her lip, looking a little misty, and didn’t say anything. They rolled the cake back and into the large refrigerator unit, closing it in securely for the night.

  Calla didn’t look at him for a moment, her hand planted on the refrigerator door.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, then turned to look at him, her eyes sad. “I’m sorry, Gideon, for being so harsh earlier. I didn’t mean to be, and I never want to hurt you. You’ve been wonderful, but I—”

  “I know. It’s okay,” he said, unbuttoning her chef’s jacket for her and releasing her hair from its confines under the hat she wore.

  When the long silky tresses fell around her face, he couldn’t resist the moment and slipped his hand into them, pulling her forward for a kiss.

  She melted under him as if she’d been as hungry for the contact as he was, and that made it very hard to pull away. He heard the front door shut, and, figuring things were set up, pulled away. There was a lot more left to this evening.

  “I’ll have to go home and change if where we’re going requires a suit like that. It’s gorgeous,” she said, running her hand over the lapel.

  “You’re perfect as you are, but here, this is for you,” he said, reaching for the gift box he’d put down by the entry to the back.

  “You bought me a gift? But it’s not even Christmas for one more day.”

  “Just open it and put it on, if you like it. I’ll meet you out front.”

  He left her without another word. After ten minutes, he considered going back after her. Then she walked out of the back room. His jaw dropped as he took in the sheath of red that wrapped around her body, accenting every beautiful inch of her. Her hair was still down, loose, and she kept looking down at the dress as if she couldn’t believe it, either.

  “You are so beautiful,” he managed, his throat tight.

  “The shoes are perfect,” she said, bending a knee as she looked down at the sparkling silver heel that the clerk had convinced him would be perfect with the dress. “How did you know what size?”

  “I know what your foot feels like in my hand, what size it was...I guessed from there.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” she said, as she saw the white worktable where she usually sat transformed by a lace tablecloth, china, silver, candles and the roses. A cart with silver trays of prepared foods waited for them. The lights in the shop had been dimmed, making it softer and more romantic.

  Calla’s hand went to her mouth, lips parted in shock, her eyes wide.

  “Gideon, did you do all of this?”

  “It was a group effort, you might say.” He smiled and led her to the table.

  She sat as he turned to the people on the sidewalk and nodded.

  One by one, they lifted candles and started singing “Joy to the World.”

  Calla smiled and let out a surprised laugh, applauding them as they finished and then started a new tune.

  “I can’t believe you did all of this.”

  “I wanted to let you know how special you are. And they think so, too.”

  Gideon uncovered a feast of goodies, and Calla’s eyes widened as she saw several of her favorites, some delicacies made by chefs she knew in the city.

  “How...?”

  “I asked Diego for some help. He put me in touch with the right people, and the caterer took care of the rest.”

  When she saw the bottle of wine he presented, her heart slammed in her chest. It cost a fortune.

  “Gideon, this is too much.”

  Was it because it was goodbye? A final romantic gesture?

  Calla found her eyes stinging at the prospect. But what other choice was there? They could try something long-distance, but with his work and hers, it was unlikely they could make it happen.

  He took his seat, though he seemed more focused on her than the food. Lifting his glass, he simply said, “Merry Christmas, Calla.”

  She lifted hers with a slightly shaking hand. “Merry Christmas, Gideon. This is lovely. Thank you.”

  No one had ever done anything so extravagant for her, and Calla could hardly take it in as they ate. The carolers sang several more songs and then moved on down the street, entertaining passersby. After they finished their dinner, Gideon pulled his phone from his pocket and popped it into a docking device on the counter; pretty strains of holiday guitar music filled the space.

  He held his hand out to her, and she took it, letting him pull her up close.

  Dancing. She was dancing in her store. With Gideon.

  It was like some kind of dream. The wonderful kind.

  Except that she was about to wake up, without him, when he left.

  As he tipped her face up for a kiss, she realized in sudden panic that she didn’t want that. But what else could he do?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, clearly sensing her tension. He frowned as he looked down into her eyes.

  “I—I... This is so wonderful. You’re so wonderful. I know I have no right to ask, and that I said this was a temporary thing, but—”

  He stilled, too, a strange expression on his face. Calla choked, unsure. She was being needy and clingy, which she hated, but he was leaving anyway, so what did she have to lose?

  “Calla? What is it?”

  She took a deep breath.

  “I don’t want you to go. I mean, I know you have to, you can’t just stay here, you have a life back in Houston, but...if you wanted... If you were interested...in more...” She took a nervous breath. “Maybe we could work something out. Visit, talk online, maybe. I could try to get away, to come to see you...or something.”

  “Oh, Calla,” he said on a sigh, chuckling and pulling her deep into a hug.

  Calla wrapped her arms around him, too, but she wasn’t sure what Oh, Calla meant.

  Oh, Calla, don’t be silly?

  Oh, Calla, stop dreaming?

  Oh, Calla, I want that, too?

  Wait.

  “What did you say?” she asked, pulling back a little to look up into his face.

  “I want that, too.”

  “You do?”

  She’d thought she’d imagined it.

  “I do.”

  “Just for the holiday,” she offered hopefully. “I mean, if you could take off a little more time from work, and you could stay with me, instead of at the hotel, to save some of the cost.”

  He ran his fingers through her hair in that way he did, making her lose track of everything for a moment.

  “That would be nice. Would you mind if I stayed longer?”

  “How long?”

  “Until I got a place of my own?”

  Was her mind playing tricks again?

  “A place of your own? Here?”

  “That’s the point, right? I want to
be with you, to give this a shot...and since I’m pretty sure I’m more than half in love with you already, I don’t think occasional visits are going to suffice.”

  No one had ever made the word suffice sound so earthy, so sexy that it ran along her skin like a silk ribbon—but maybe that was because he’d said it as his lips were brushing over her ear.

  Her brain caught up with the rest a few seconds later.

  “You...love me?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  Those wonderful lips were on her neck now.

  “What do you need to be absolutely sure?”

  “As much time and opportunity as you’ll give me.”

  “Oh. I think that makes sense. I’m more than half in love with you, too, and more time to...oh...explore that sounds good.”

  “We definitely need to explore the idea, in great detail.”

  “What about your job?” she asked more seriously, fighting for clarity.

  This was a fantasy moment, but reality waited at the edge.

  “I already talked about that with Nathan. I think he’d rather I stay here, too. Keep an eye on his sister.”

  Calla’s eyes widened. “He said that?”

  “He more or less ordered me to do it, and you know I can’t let my partner down.”

  Happiness welled in Calla’s heart. Suddenly, the uncertainty that had plagued her was replaced with a suffusing sense of everything being okay. Everything was going to be okay. She was sure of it.

  “Well, the city is a dangerous place. It would be nice to have someone watching my back,” she said as she ran her hands over his.

  “I can do that,” he murmured, his fingers playing with the zipper at the back of her dress.

  “Hold that thought,” she said with a grin, pulling away and walking to the windows, waving to the people passing by and the few who’d stopped to watch as she closed the shades, one by one, until they were alone.

  Returning to his arms, she looked up into the face of the man she was going to spend the holiday with, and every day after.

  “Now, where were we?”

  He remembered perfectly, his lips finding hers, his fingers going back to the dress with more purpose, and Calla smiled into his kiss, thinking it was absolutely going to be the best Christmas ever.

  * * * * *

  PLAYING GAMES

  Meg Maguire

  For my husband—copilot for all my best road trips, bedmate in sketchy, spiderful honeymoon suites.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  1

  CARRIE LEANED TO one side, stealing a glance at the line’s progression—or lack thereof. Seemed as if it hadn’t moved in ten minutes or more.

  One of the clerks behind the rental car counter boomed, “Again, any customers with reservations, please move to the right-hand line. Everyone else, please stay to the left, and we’ll do our best to accommodate you.”

  Carrie willed her heart to slow, but it was looking grim. Her Sacramento–Portland flight wasn’t the only one to get canceled. The unusual ice-and-wind storm that had hit western Oregon was laughable by Midwest standards, but it was more than enough to grind the under-prepared region to a halt. Everyone in this line had the same idea—screw waiting for the next available flight north. That could take a day or more. Instead, rent a car and drive an all-nighter, whatever it took to get home for Christmas morning.

  There were businessmen in the queue, ones who probably had kids looking forward to their arrival as much as they did any gift from Santa. There were families, too, like the young mom a couple spots ahead of Carrie, with a toddler flopped unconscious on her chest, chubby cheek on her shoulder. There was Carrie, who didn’t have kids to see, but whose younger brother, Shawn, was due to pull into the Grafton Amtrak station the following lunchtime. She wasn’t going to miss greeting him for the world, waving from the platform beside their mom and dad. She hadn’t seen Shawn in over two years. Not since she’d hugged him goodbye before he’d shipped out for his second tour in Afghanistan. Normally, sure, she’d defer to the people with kids to get home to. But she needed this car as badly as any of them.

  One person who didn’t need a car so badly, she imagined, was the guy in front of her. She hadn’t seen his face, but he was probably her age—thirtyish—and he was single or at least childless. She knew because she’d listened to his phone call when she’d gotten in line half an hour earlier. He’d greeted his mother, explained that his flight had been nixed and that he’d call when he had an update. That was that. No, “Tell the kids I’ll get there as soon as I can.” No follow-up call to the wife. If anything, he’d sounded tired and cranky, his entire aura transmitting that his trip was one-hundred-percent obligatory.

  You, Carrie thought, glaring at his neck above his smoky-smelling black hoodie, should spend the night in the airport if they run out of cars. Let the people who want to get home be on their merry way.

  She studied his short dark hair, trying to find fault with it. No luck. Or with the olive duffel bag slung over his shoulder, but that reminded her of her brother, so no criticism there. With his butt in those jeans... Damn, no issues with that, either.

  Finally, the line progressed a space. The mother and comatose toddler stepped up to the counter, which put Carrie within striking distance right after the grump. Thank God. She couldn’t stand keeping still. It was a wonder she hadn’t been labeled ADHD in grade school. Instead, her mom had diagnosed her with a severe case of ants-in-the-pants and signed her up for peewee athletics. She’d gone to the state championships for track and field her junior and senior years, and had gotten a scholarship for it, too. So, hey, good as medication. What she’d give for a jog bra right now... Though, God knew what the TSA would do with random women caught running laps through the terminal to save their sanity.

  “Next,” called the clerk, and the grump stepped to the counter.

  “Whatever you’ve got,” the man said.

  “What we’ve got is exactly one car,” the clerk replied, typing.

  Carrie’s heart stopped.

  “Hope you like subcompacts,” the clerk added with a smile, and Carrie surged forward on a wave of desperation.

  “Wait! Hi, sorry,” she said, half to the clerk and half to the grump. “There’s only one car left?”

  Murmurs rose behind her from the dozen or more people still trapped in line.

  Seeming to steel herself, the clerk told the crowd firmly, “That’s correct. There is only one car left. I suggest you all try the Avis counter. They may still have vehicles.”

  “When is the next car due to be returned?” someone called.

  “The Avis counter,” repeated the clerk gruffly. “I’m sorry. The cancellations have created a volume we’re not equipped to deal with.”

  This invited more grumbling, but also the scuffing of shoes as many hurried away to try their luck in the other rental car queue. Carrie didn’t bother. She had line fatigue. She was punchy. She was righteous, and this guy did not deserve the last car.

  “Can you check again?” she asked, standing right beside him as if they were a couple. She didn’t look at his face, but she could guess he was miffed. “Please,” she said. “I have to get home by tomorrow morning.”

  “Don’t we all,” muttered the clerk, and she swiveled the computer monitor, tapping a little box in the upper corner that read, Vehicles in reserve: 0. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re all out.”

  Carrie turned to the grump and was met by hazel eyes—brownish gold—and black stubble. She was zapped by a weird recognitio
n, one she couldn’t place. He was freaky handsome, though. Was she bickering with someone famous? Right now, she couldn’t manage to care.

  “I’ll give you a hundred dollars,” she told him. “Please. A hundred bucks for that car.”

  “Ma’am,” began the clerk, probably about to point out some bribery law Carrie was trying to violate. But whatever the woman said next went unheard, as the grump’s brows drew together and he said, “Carrie?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Carrie Baxter.”

  She blinked. “Yes. Do I know you?”

  Something went dark in his eyes at that, and he probably would have frowned if his expression wasn’t already thoroughly sour. She studied him, and there was that spark of familiarity again. She definitely hadn’t slept with him. She’d remember sleeping with someone this handsome. With those cheekbones and black brows, and intense eyes. Oh, shit. Wait. Those eyes.

  A surprised “Daniel” fell from her lips.

  Daniel Barber. Oh Lord, her high school boyfriend’s best friend. Her line-up mate for much of school until Andrea Batagglia had moved to town their sophomore year and wedged herself between them alphabetically. Jesus, he looked as broody and annoyed as he had as a teenager. And as unapologetic as the day he’d destroyed her relationship.

  “Are you going home?” he asked. “To Grafton?”

  “Yeah.” Oh, hey... “Are you?”

  “Yep.”

  Oh—hey! Oh, no. Eight hours in a car with Daniel Barber, probably longer if the roads were icy.

  “Two hundred dollars?” she ventured.

  “Let’s just...carpool.” He said it stiffly, his tone suggesting that had there been extra cars, there was no way in hell he’d have made the offer.

  And did she have a choice, really? Hours in a car with the grown-up version of the ill-tempered boy who’d intimidated her in high school, scowling every time she interrupted him and her ex when they’d been talking about dude crap. Who’d smiled at her maybe twice in their entire twelve years of overlapping, small-town education. Who’d smoked beneath the bleachers during her track practices, those hazel eyes finding her through the steps and beaming the coldest mix of judgment and ambivalence. He’d played bass in her ex’s awful band, too, shooting her dirty looks when she sat in on their practices. Figured. The attitudinally challenged burnout and the overachieving jock girl—different species back then. Back when he’d dismantled her relationship, ostensibly for the sport of it.