Marry-Me Christmas

by Shirley Jump

  He walked through the displays, tasting the pretzels, riding on a few of the rides, with Sam by his side, telling himself he should be asking her questions, probing deeper for his article, but he kept getting distracted…by the one thing he’d never thought he’d find in this town.

  A good time.

  They paused by the Joyful Creations booth, manned by Sam’s Aunt Ginny. “Well, hello there. Are you two having a good time?”

  “We are,” Sam answered, sparing Flynn.

  “Would you like to try some cookies?” her aunt asked, holding up a platter. “The shop’s specialty, perhaps?”

  Sam shot her a glare.

  “No, I’m good. Thank you.” After interviewing that couple earlier, Flynn wasn’t taking any chances on having those cherry chocolate chunk cookies. Not that he believed the rumors, but—

  Just in case.

  Turning his life upside down by falling in love would be completely insane. So he’d stick to the story, and avoid the desserts. Yep. That was the plan. Except…

  He wasn’t doing so well in that department thus far. He couldn’t help but admire Sam’s curves, the way her hair danced around her shoulders as he followed her away from the booth and over to the carousel, where they stood and watched some children ride wooden ponies in a circle.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Sam said.

  “Shoot.”

  “Boston’s really far from Indiana. Did you really drive all the way out here, just to interview me?”

  “Well…not exactly.”

  “What do you mean?” They started walking again, weaving in and out among the crowds, the scents of hot chocolate, peppermint and popcorn wrapping around them like a blanket.

  “I drove so I had the freedom to make another stop.” Assuming, that was, that he was welcome.

  “To visit family?”

  Flynn shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “Do you have much family back home in Boston?”

  The fun moments they’d been having dissolved as quickly as snow under direct sunlight. “No.” He paused. “Yes.”

  Why hadn’t he stopped at no? Where had that compulsion to qualify his answer come from? Now he was opening a door he had kept shut for years. A door he had never opened to anyone else.

  “Yes and no?” She smiled. “Now, that’s an interesting family.”

  “My brother used to live there…but we don’t talk.” That was an understatement and a half. Flynn could have said more, but he didn’t. Why and how he and Liam had drifted apart required starting at the beginning, and Flynn refused to go back there. For anyone.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah.”

  Whoa, there was an answer, Flynn. He could see the question marks in Sam’s eyes, the inevitable “why” lingering in her gaze, but she didn’t voice the question, and he didn’t volunteer the answer.

  He paused beside a hayride station, watching the children in line, thinking Sam would let the conversation go. Hoping she would. But when he racked his brain for another topic, he came up with…nothing.

  “Older or younger?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is your brother older or younger? I’m an only child, so I’ve never had a sibling.” She sighed. “I always wondered what it would be like, though I had cousins around a lot when I was a kid. They were sort of like brothers and sisters.”

  “He’s younger. In his last year of college.”

  “Wow. A lot younger, huh?”

  “Just four years. He got a late start on going to Purdue.” What was this, show-and-tell? He’d never told anyone this much about Liam—ever. Yet, Sam’s openness, her friendly, easy questions, made talking about his brother seem like the most natural thing in the world. Like he had a normal background. A normal family. A normal personal story to tell. Like so many of the ones surrounding them.

  When the truth was completely the opposite.

  “He’s at Purdue? But, that’s not far from here.”

  “I know.”

  “You could stop and see him for the holidays. The drive isn’t too bad, maybe an hour and a half…” Her voice trailed off as she read his face, which must have said he wasn’t going to go down that conversational road, because he’d already visited it and turned around. “You probably know that, too.”

  “I do.”

  Let the topic drop, he thought. Don’t press it. He didn’t want to talk about Liam, because doing that would lead to a conversation about his past. And that wasn’t a door he wanted to open.

  But Sam apparently didn’t possess mind-reading skills.

  “If your brother is still in school, then he’s probably not married, is he?” Then she paused, and a blush filled her face. “I never thought to ask if you were. I just assumed, because you kissed me…”

  “I’m not married.” They stopped at a snack stand and ordered two coffees to go. “Not now. Not then, and not ever. I’m not a marrying kind of guy.”

  She cocked an elbow on the counter and tossed him a grin. “What’s the matter? Are you scared of the big, bad altar?”

  “No. It’s just…” This time, he did have the sense to cut himself off before he started opening any more painful doors. He handed her a foam cup, then took his and started walking again.

  “Just what?”

  He took a long gulp of the coffee. The hot caffeine nearly seared his throat. “Some of us are meant for settling down, and some aren’t.”

  “The nomadic freelancer?”

  “Something like that.”

  Sam tipped her head and studied him, apparently not put off by his short answers. “Funny, it’s hard to see you as a nomad.”

  He snorted. “You think I’m some two-point-five kids, German-shepherd-in-the-suburbs guy?”

  “I think…you’d fit into a town like this better than you think.” Her green eyes pierced through the shell that Flynn thought had been like steel-plated armor, but apparently, around her, had a few unprotected areas. “And that you’re secretly more of a golden retriever guy.”

  “You have the golden retriever part right.” He got to his feet. “But I’d never fit into a place like this. And I know that from personal experience.”

  He knew the truth. And knew he couldn’t keep on walking around this Winterfest and pretend he was part of that world. That he could be some normal family guy, like all the others he saw. Sipping cocoa, laughing, singing. Acting like this was just another merry Christmas, one more out of dozens.

  Whereas Flynn had never learned to have one in the first place. He tossed his half-full coffee into a nearby trash can.

  “I have to go. I have work to do,” Flynn said. “Sorry.”

  She pivoted toward him. The tease was still in her eyes, because she didn’t understand, didn’t see what this would cost him. How he couldn’t experience this, and then walk away from it at the end.

  It would have been better not to go at all.

  “Not so fast, mister,” she said. “There’s more to this than just you not wanting to play pin-the-nose-on-Rudolph, isn’t there?”

  Flynn glanced over his shoulder at the Christmas paradise. The music and the scents streamed outward, calling to him like a siren. “I’m just not in the mood for holly jolly right now. I have work to do.”

  Then he left, before he could be tempted into something he knew he’d regret, by a woman who was surrounded by a cloud of cinnamon and vanilla. A woman who made all of that seem so possible—when Flynn knew the truth.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SAM HAD TO BE CRAZY.

  Here she was, walking the streets of Riverbend long after the Winterfest had ended. Her breath escaped her in bursts of white clouds, and though she had her hood up and her coat zipped all the way to the neck, the cold still managed to seep through the thick fabric. If she was smart, she’d go home and go to sleep. After all, she had to be up bright and early tomorrow morning to start baking, and begin the whole vicious work
cycle all over again.

  Just as she had every day of her life for the past umpteen years.

  But after leaving the Winterfest, still confused about Flynn’s early exit, she’d headed back to the house where she’d grown up. Once there, a restlessness had invaded her, and she’d been unable to sleep. She’d paced for half an hour, then finally given up, slipped back into her coat and boots and headed out into the cold.

  The bracing winter air stung her cheeks like icy mosquitoes, while the dryness sucked the moisture from her lips, but she kept walking, increasing her stride. Silence blanketed Riverbend, with all the residents snug in their proverbial beds. Sam loved this time of day, when she could be alone, with her thoughts, her town, herself. Her steps faltered when she noticed a familiar figure outlined under the warm glow of a porch light.

  Flynn.

  Apparently she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep.

  Sam hesitated, then strode up the walkway of Betsy’s Bed and Breakfast. “I thought a good night’s sleep was guaranteed.”

  He scoffed. “Guess I better ask Betsy for a refund.”

  “Well,” Sam began, suddenly uncomfortable under his piercing blue gaze, “I suppose I should get back to my walk.”

  “At this hour? Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

  She laughed. “In Riverbend? Our crime rate is so low, it’s not even a number.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t think places like that existed.”

  “Walk with me, and you can see for yourself.”

  What had made her offer that? She’d gone out with the express intention of being alone. And here she’d gone and invited Flynn MacGregor along. The more time she spent with this man, the more she revealed about herself. Too much time, and she’d be exposing secrets she didn’t want in print.

  He was in town for one reason—for a story, and nothing more. Tonight, after she’d gone home, she’d unearthed some back issues of Food Lovers that had sat in her den, unread for months and months. Sam had skimmed them and found exactly what Aunt Ginny had said—most of the articles were more focused on the personal lives of their subjects than their products or business.

  Sam’s heart had sunk. Even as she knew better, she’d hoped for something different. Many of the articles had had Flynn MacGregor’s byline. The worst ones, in fact. The ones that were the harshest, the ones that had the most blaring headlines about businesses rocked by divorces, by deaths of a partner or a hidden bankruptcy.

  And now, she knew, she’d end up the same way.

  He wasn’t really interested in her. How could she think anything different? He was using the kisses, using his charm, for one reason only.

  To get the story.

  He was a reporter.

  Not a friend.

  Just because he’d kissed her, and she’d kissed him back, didn’t change anything.

  Except…it did. She found herself liking him, even despite knowing all this. She sensed something about him, a vulnerability. It pulled at Sam, and told her there was a story beneath him, too. The problem was whether she was willing to take the risk of getting close to him to find out what that story was.

  “A walk sounds good,” Flynn said, ending Sam’s internal debate. “It’ll let me see the town with new eyes.”

  Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. Perhaps if she showed him a softer, quieter side of town, he’d feature Riverbend in his article—and not her.

  Uh-huh. And maybe she was just some naive country bumpkin, after all.

  Flynn rose, buttoned his coat tighter against the cold, then hurried down the stairs. “Promise not to drag me to any hometown festivals? Or force me to ooh and ahh over the decorations?”

  Sam crossed her heart. “Scout’s honor.”

  A slight smile played on his lips. “Were you ever a Girl Scout?”

  “Four years. I had to drop out because I needed to help in the bakery after school.” They began to walk, falling into stride together. The town was silent, save for the occasional car or barking dog. Beneath their feet, snow crunched like cornflakes in a cereal bowl. “How about you? Were you ever in Boy Scouts?”

  “No. I never…had time.”

  The pause in the middle of the sentence made her wonder. What was he leaving out? But he didn’t seem inclined to share, and she couldn’t badger him when she didn’t want him to do the same to her, so she let it go.

  Just as he had at the Winterfest, Flynn’s hand dropped down and sought hers again, and he held onto her as they walked. It seemed so normal, so wonderful, and yet, she tried not to enjoy the feeling, tried to remind herself that he wasn’t staying and she didn’t have time for a relationship.

  And most of all, that Flynn had ulterior motives for getting close to her.

  Above them, heavy snow creaked in the branches of the trees, threatening to break under the extra weight. An SUV passed them, its tires crunching on the icy roads, red lights winking when the car turned right.

  “I love the houses when they’re decorated for the holidays.” Sam sighed. “It looks so…magical.”

  Flynn glanced up at the cascade of lights around them. Had he ever taken the time to notice Christmas lights before? The way they twinkled in the ebony darkness? The play of white and red against shrubs and siding, the dancing rainbow of bulbs running along gutters, edging the houses with an almost mystical brilliance? “They’re…nice. I guess.”

  Okay, they were very nice, but he kept that to himself. He refused to fall in love with this town, because places like this—seasons like this—didn’t last.

  “When I was little, my father hated hanging the lights, or at least that’s what he always said. I think it’s because he took them down so fast at the end of the year, they were a jumbled mess every December. My mother would be out there, helping him, reminding him that he shouldn’t curse in front of his daughter.” Sam laughed softly. “But once they were up, he’d hoist me onto his shoulders and take me outside, even if I was already in my pajamas, to see them. And that’s when I got to make a wish.”

  “A wish?”

  “Yep. The first time the lights are turned on, my father said, was the most magical time, and he told me it was like birthday candles. Make a wish for Christmas and it would come true. I was a kid, so I was always wishing for a toy.” Sam’s smile faltered. “If I’d known…I would have wished for something else.”

  “Known what?”

  “Known I wouldn’t have had that many Christmases with him.” She let out a breath, which became a cloud, framing her face in a soft mist. “I wish they were still alive.”

  “I’m sorry.” And he was, because he knew her feelings.

  She shrugged, as if she was over the loss, but Flynn saw a glistening in her eyes. “It’s okay. My grandparents were there, and they were wonderful. The best substitute I could have asked for. What about your family? Did they hang lights every year? And curse their way through the process?”

  “No.”

  They paused at a stop sign, even though there was no traffic. Sam turned to look at him, clearly surprised by his single-word answer. Flynn stepped off the curb and continued the walk. “Did you live in an apartment? Is that why you didn’t hang lights?”

  What was with this woman? She was like a terrier with a new bone. She refused to give up on a topic. “No, that wasn’t it. I just didn’t celebrate Christmas much as a kid.”

  Sam halted on the sidewalk. “Really? Why?”

  Flynn scowled. “I thought we were taking a walk. Not writing my biography.”

  The winter wind slithered between them, building an icy wall faster than a colony of ants could invade a picnic. Sam’s hand slipped out of his and she stepped to the left, not a noticeable difference, but enough to send a signal.

  He’d stopped getting personal, and she’d stopped connecting. He should be glad. He didn’t want any kind of personal connection, anything that took him from the controlled path he’d always carefully maintained.

  Th
en why did the bitter taste of disappointment pool in his gut?

  “So, you said earlier you had some more questions to ask me,” Sam said. “Did you remember what else you needed to know?”

  Now that the time was here, and Sam was looking at him, waiting for him to ask the questions he knew he should—the kind he’d asked a hundred times before—

  Flynn hesitated.

  “Let’s not talk business tonight. Let’s just enjoy the walk.”

  She laughed, the sound as refreshing as lemonade on a hot summer day. “The intrepid reporter, getting sentimental? Dare I think the Winterfest actually got to you?”

  No. She’d gotten to him. Every time he should be thinking about his job, he thought about kissing her. Every time he thought he was focused, he got distracted. And right now, when he was supposed to be taking the actions that would put his career back on top, everything within him started to rebel. For a man like Flynn, who lived life on a leash, that could only mean trouble.

  “We have time anyway. It turns out my car won’t be ready for another day or two.” He thumbed in the general direction of Earl’s shop. “So it looks like I’m stuck here.”

  She let out another little laugh. “You make it sound like you’ve been sentenced to a chain gang.”

  “Nah. Just Alcatraz.”

  She pressed a hand to her chest. “Flynn MacGregor, did you just make another joke?”

  He grinned. “Not on purpose.”

  Flynn didn’t know how they had done it, but their path had taken them to the park where the Winterfest had been held. On purpose? By accident?

  He paused at the entrance. The lighted displays—gingerbread men, snowmen, Christmas trees, teddy bears—had all been left on, layering the grounds with silent, twinkling enchantment. The people were gone, Santa and Mrs. Claus back at home, the stands and games shut up for the night. Only the reindeer remained, chomping on some hay in his pen. The blanket of night gave everything a spirit of magic, as if anything could happen, as if, on this night, wishes could come true.

  What would he have given to have gone to something like this as a kid? To have been able to bring Liam to Santa’s Workshop, to let him sit on Santa’s lap, and tell Santa what he wanted—