Kitty Valentine Dates Santa

by Jillian Dodd

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to ask her.”

  He chokes a little but recovers quickly enough. “How much would you bet she’s already fielded at least one offer from another publisher?”

  That’s enough to stop me in my tracks. “You think so? No. No, that’s not true. She would tell me if it was true.”

  “Have you asked her?”

  “No.”

  “You should. I bet you’ll see how right I am. Yet again.”

  “Do you not know better by now than to mock me when I’m holding a knife?”

  He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Please. You’re all talk. If you intended to make good on your threats, you would’ve stabbed me a hundred times by now.”

  “How do you know I haven’t used up all my self-control, and now, there’s no telling the bloody rampage I’ll go on?” Light glints off the knife as I wave it around. “I have a hundred stabs saved up, babe. You’ve been warned.”

  His wicked grin tells me I’ve said something he can turn dirty. The man has a one-track mind. “I have something I could stab you with a hundred times.”

  “You make it sound so romantic.” Though I can’t lie. My heart flutters a little. Maybe one day, the fact that I have sex with him won’t seem like such a big deal, but this is not that day.

  The wickedness fades a little before he says, “I’ll make a bet with you.”

  “Okay. I think.”

  “Talk to Lois. Ask her if anybody’s reached out with an offer to speak with you or questions about whether you’re available to write for them instead.”

  “Fine. That sounds reasonable.” I bet he’s wrong. I bet nobody has. With that in mind, I’m fairly confident when I ask, “What’s at stake?”

  He gives me a grin. “Hmm. Good question. If I’m right, you have to … hmm …” His eyebrows move up and down.

  “Fine, fine. I get the idea. And if I’m right—”

  “Which you won’t be.”

  “You have to cook six more dinners like this for me.”

  “Wow. You want six dinners, and all I want is—”

  “Hey,” I offer with a shrug, spearing a few pieces of penne. “Not my fault you need to think bigger.”

  “Actually,” he says with a smirk, “I have been.”

  I give him a glare. “Why do you look so sneaky?”

  “Not sneaky. Just decisive. And I didn’t want to tell you about it until I was sure.”

  “Sure of what?”

  He stands up, and pulls me up. He leans in and kisses me. “I’m going to have to show you.”

  I think he’s talking about sex, so I’m not surprised when he takes me into his bedroom. But then I notice the big X on the wall.

  “Do I want to know what that’s for?” I say, trying to be sexy when I have no idea what is going on.

  “I think so. Remember when you mentioned living together, but you didn’t quite get the answer that I think you were looking for at the time?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about it. And acting upon it. I think us moving in together is a great idea, but I think because we both work from home that we need our separate spaces. So, I got approval from the co-op board, and this wall is coming down tomorrow.”

  “Coming down? Like, to combine our apartments?”

  “Exactly!” he says excitedly. Then, he grabs a rolled-up set of papers and unfurls them across his bed. “I had plans drawn up. As long as you approve, I’ve hired a contractor friend who will make us living together a reality. And he is going to work overtime with a large crew to get almost all of it done before Christmas. Well, most of it. Everything but the kitchen.”

  “We’re getting a new kitchen?” I say, suddenly dreaming of one like Kylie’s.

  “Yes, but not until later. Phase one, option one would include knocking down the wall joining our bedrooms and making one huge bedroom, expanding our his-and-hers closets and updating what would be his-and-hers bathrooms.” He switches to a different sheet. “This is option two—and honestly my vote. Big bedroom. One massive, luxurious shared bathroom. Look at this. A fireplace in front of the tub. Can you imagine how romantic that would be?”

  “I can. I like it. How did you come up with this all so fast?”

  “My friend is good at what he does. I gave him some ideas, and he brought this back the next day.”

  “What about finishes, colors, all that?”

  “His wife, Barbara, is a designer. All you have to do is call her, maybe show her your dream bath, and she’ll work with you to make it happen.”

  “I like the shared-bath idea,” I tell him.

  “It’s my favorite as well. We’d keep our separate offices as is, although if you wanted to paint or redecorate, now’s the time.”

  “What else?” I ask, looking down and trying not to practically cry at the thought of all this. “It’s like a dream come true.”

  “He thinks we should redo my kitchen and dining room, and then in that area in your place, I was thinking it would be cool to change it to kind of a hangout area. Maybe a pool table, big screen, bar. Like your grandmother’s billiards room. Classy, functional.”

  “That sounds amazing. It would be so fun to have people over. Family. Friends.”

  “And the best part,” he says, flipping a page and showing me a mock-up.

  “It’s like something out of my dreams!” I screech. “My very own library?”

  “Yes, it wouldn’t be your office. It’s more a place to relax. Read. Sit in with a cup of coffee and look out the window.”

  “You’re saying they can have all that done before Christmas?”

  “He says yes. He does those home shows where they bring a big crew in and redo it in a short time. He says it will be a piece of cake.”

  I throw my arms around his neck. “You’re amazing, Matt. The answer is yes. I want to combine our apartments. I want to live with you.” I don’t add and live happily ever after, but I think it.

  “I want that too,” he says with a grin as he kisses me. But then he stops and says, “But I was just thinking, since you’re done with your book, are you planning to spin again?”

  I scrunch up my face. “I thought we didn’t want that?”

  “We don’t want you dating, but I was thinking since the Santa book practically wrote itself that, well”—he goes over to a drawer and pulls out a piece of paper—“what do you say we do another trope?”

  “Um …”

  He studies the paper. “I was doing a little research and wrote down a bunch. Let’s see what’s on here—oh, Flight Attendant.” He sidles up to me and says, “Well, Kitty, I most certainly can give you a good layover.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You’re funny.”

  “What else do we have? Oh, here’s an easy one: Single Dog Dad. Too bad you haven’t done that one yet. Hello, doggy style!”

  “Matt!” I let out a girlie screech as he grabs my ass.

  “Fine. We meet at the park.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, you don’t have to stop writing tropes just because we’re together. Miss Valentine, my life is about research. Researching companies to see if they will be investment worthy. There’s no reason you can’t choose a trope, let me know, and I can do a little research. Hell, I’ll even figure out a meet-cute for us. That’s what they call it, right?”

  I nod my head.

  “You know how people go out separately and pretend to be strangers who meet at a bar to spice up their sex life? Not that ours will need spicing up—ever.”

  “Ever?” I wonder aloud.

  “Never. And I was just thinking that I have no problem being, what shall we call me? Your research assistant. No, your trope whore.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “I’d do that for us,” he says before leading me to bed.

  After an extremely good layover, I’m lying in bed, next to a sleeping Matt, staring at the X on the wall and having a mi
ni freak-out.

  “What if we don’t work out?” I say out loud. “We put the wall back up?”

  He rolls over and pulls me close to him. “Fine, but if we do, I get the side with the kitchen.”

  “Which means I’d be at your place all the time, so I could eat.”

  “And we’d be right back where we are now,” he says. “I love you, Kitty.”

  “I love you too, Matt.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “So, Matt, have you given any thought to making an honest woman out of my granddaughter?”

  “Well, so long, happy family dinner.”

  We literally just took off our coats, and already, I’m going back to the rack to pull them down. It has to be a record. The woman couldn’t even wait until we had pre-dinner drinks or took a seat, for Pete’s sake.

  “Come on now.” Peter manages to hold me back before I can bolt out the door. He leans in and whispers in my ear, “She told me she was going to do that as soon as you came in. Don’t pay her any mind. She wants to tease Matt to see how well he handles himself.”

  I should’ve known she would do something like that. I mean, I know the woman well enough by now.

  Meanwhile, Matt’s handling things like a champ. He basically ignored my reaction in favor of addressing my grandmother’s little remark. “Do you think your granddaughter is dishonest? Have I done something to make her that way?”

  Maybe it’s the way he said it or the bottle of her favorite wine he’s carrying in one hand. Maybe it’s his charm. Goodness knows, I’ve fallen victim to it. The man is dangerous when he wants to be.

  Either way, she laughs. “If you’ve been doing your job properly, you have.”

  “Oh my God.” I cover my eyes with my hand while Peter pats me on the back, the two of us still standing just outside the dining room.

  “She likes him. Very much. So do I, for what it’s worth. He seems like a good man.”

  “He is.” I look at him with a smile. “I guess it takes one to know one, huh?”

  “I’m another story.” He winks and then tips his head toward the room, where my grandmother is practically giggling over something Matt told her. I mean, the woman is giggling like a teenager.

  “What are you two talking about?” I wind my arm around Matt’s and stare at the woman who clearly considers it her life’s mission to humiliate me.

  “Oh, nothing very important.” But another giggle bubbles up from her just the same.

  When she turns away to hand the bottle of wine to Frank, her newish butler, Matt murmurs, “I told her I don’t care much for honest women, but if it makes her happy, I’ll think about it. She said she’s never cared much for them either, so it’s a good thing she isn’t one.”

  “She’s in a real mood tonight.”

  “I think she’s happy; that’s all. And glad to have you here.”

  The woman finally gets around to kissing my cheek, which she didn’t have a chance to do before deliberately embarrassing me. “You look wonderful, dear.”

  I swear on all that’s holy and otherwise, if she makes a remark about it being because I’m getting laid on the regular, I will cancel the entire holiday. But she doesn’t. She leaves the compliment where it is.

  “Thank you. So do you.” I touch a finger to the sleeve of her deep purple cashmere sweater, which, for some people, would be super dressy, but for her, it’s downright casual. “Is this a new holiday look for you? I agree with it.”

  “I thought I would dress more comfortably tonight. Wouldn’t want to intimidate your young man.”

  “That was obvious from the way you flat-out told him he’d better marry me. No pressure there at all.”

  “Oh, that.” She waves a hand. “That’s a grandmother’s privilege.”

  “Embarrassing her granddaughter?”

  She nods, solemn. “You’ll understand one day—if the two of you get down to business, that is.”

  “Can we not talk about me getting down to business, please? And I swear, if you say anything to him about any such thing”—I hold a finger up in her face and do my best to look menacing—“I will leave. And I’ll take the wine and maybe a pie with me.”

  She nods slowly, and anybody who knows her could tell she’s pretending to be serious and intimidated. “Of course, dear. Whatever you say.”

  I mean, what did I expect?

  “I assume you finished your book?” Grandmother directs me to my seat at the table, which has the leaf removed so we can all sit closer to each other.

  The table is set impeccably, as always, but there’s something different about it. Something homier, warmer. Less silver and crystal, more flowers and gourds.

  Though we’ll still be eating off the good china. The woman hasn’t lowered her standards that much.

  “Yes. I wrote this one quite quickly.”

  “Well, I’m sure some sexy inspiration helped in that matter,” Grandmother says.

  My eyes go wide.

  Matt clears his throat as he takes his seat across from me. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about work tonight?”

  “She might have made that promise to you, young man, but I have made no such vow.” Grandmother takes her seat before ringing the small silver bell positioned in front of her plate, and when Frank pokes his head into the room, she asks for the soup to be served.

  “Honestly, there isn’t much to talk about anyway. I finished the book, and now”—I shrug, looking around the table—“we’ll see how this surprise-release thing does.”

  “I don’t know much about the publishing business, I admit, but it seems to me you won’t have much trouble with that after the publicity you’ve received.” Peter offers a faint smile. “I realize it hasn’t done you any favors in your personal life, but it might mean a great deal more success in other areas.”

  Matt’s right though. I don’t want to talk about work tonight. I’m tired of talking about myself as a whole. Which is why I ask, “Are you two planning on doing any more traveling? Since you had so much fun on your honeymoon.”

  “We’ve been discussing that now that you mention it. Peter has a list of places he’d like to visit.” Grandmother’s eyes twinkle when she grins across the table.

  “Oh? Like where?”

  He shrugs with a shy little chuckle. “I’ve been an avid fan of travel shows for years now. I used to love the chef who visited various countries and sampled their food and spoke about culture and political history. I watched that show religiously.”

  “Which means he created a list of places he liked best.”

  Peter lowers his brow. “I did no such thing.”

  “But you have ideas. There’s nothing wrong with that. We have all the time in the world to explore. I want you to have what you want, darling.”

  Matt and I exchange a look. I can tell he finds this just as cute as I do.

  Peter makes a gruff sort of throat-clearing sound. “As you can see, we’ve had this discussion already.”

  “I think it’s a great idea. You should explore the world together. Have fun, get in a little trouble, eat … I don’t know … brains or something.”

  Frank stumbles a little as he comes around, collecting the soup bowls. I shoot him an apologetic look. It seems I have a habit of shocking servers and servants.

  “Sorry,” I whisper when he reaches me.

  Grandmother chuckles wryly. “I can’t say that’s a notion I’ve ever entertained. Though I would be willing to visit a place where they serve them. Perhaps.”

  The idea of my Chanel-clad, pearl-wearing grandmother sitting in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in some remote town doesn’t want to form itself into an actual mental image. Certain things just don’t compute.

  The fact that she’s willing to entertain the idea tells me how she’s grown. How her relationship with Peter has changed her, softened her, left her open to greater possibilities than dining at The Plaza with her so-called friends and attending one charity function after another.
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  Who am I kidding—attending? She planned them. Ruled over her social circle.

  Now, she wants something new. Something better. I, for one, am fully behind her. If it means talking Peter into allowing her to take him around the world, so be it.

  The food is delicious, as usual.

  “Frank, this looks incredible,” I say.

  “Thank you. Though I can’t take full credit.” He slides a look toward Peter before going back to the kitchen to grab more food.

  I turn to him with my brows raised. “And what does that mean?”

  “I might have shared a few tips.” He lifts his shoulders. “Well? Do you know how many of these dinners I’ve prepared? He doesn’t even do the cooking himself. Has other people come in to help him.” The sourness in his voice tells me all I need to know about his opinions on this.

  Matt bites back a grin. “Old habits are hard to break.”

  Grandmother arches an eyebrow. “What of your old habits, Matt? Is there anything I should know about?”

  “Cecile.” Peter shakes his head while I fight the urge to slide down in my chair.

  “Well? I have a right to know who my granddaughter is seriously involved with. It was one thing to know she was casually dating those young men, but this is something different.”

  Matt’s much better at this than I am. Rather than shrinking or cringing or rolling his eyes, he answers straight out, “I don’t have a lot of bad habits. I don’t smoke. I rarely drink. No drugs. I’m fairly disciplined.”

  “I can tell that much.” She winks at him and basically makes me want to die.

  A glance at Peter tells me he knows her well enough by now to take this in stride.

  Matt clears his throat—and is that a flush on his cheeks? I’ll never let him live it down—yes, I know that makes me a lot more like my grandmother than I want to admit. So, sue me.

  “He’s the real deal,” I assure her. “He’s a good one. He makes me look downright lazy and slovenly.”

  “You’re not so bad,” Matt offers.