“Okay then,” April said, shooting me a smile before she wrapped her pretty pink lips around the end of her long straw. My mind drifted as I watched, and I had a sudden urge to get April alone, to kiss her until that pretty pink gloss was gone. I sipped my own drink, trying to maintain control of my racing mind.
The fries did come in a bucket, and they were liberally doused in Old Bay, which I decided I liked. “Kind of spicy, kind of salty,” I said, narrowing my gaze at the long spice-covered fry I held. April wrinkled her nose after her first bite.
“Check Old Bay off the list of things I need to try in life,” she said.
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s too confused for a spice,” she said, still making that adorable face.
“It’s a blend,” I suggested.
“I’m a simple girl, I guess.” April said this innocently enough, but suddenly everything she said and did struck me as intensely suggestive. I was thankful when Jeff came back to take our crab cake order, breaking the odd sexual tension that I thought might be only in my mind.
"This might actually kill me," April said, after taking a long sip of her punch.
"Do you want something else?" I asked as April stared into the huge drink.
"I don't back down from a challenge," she told me, her voice taking on an indignant tone.
"That right?" I asked, liking the fire in her eyes and remembering her determination the first day she'd come to my house.
She paused, tilting her head to one side and looking at me through narrowed eyes. “It is,” she said. "So are we going to talk about the contract or not?"
The contract. The show. Right. That was why we’d come to dinner. "Yeah. We should." I already knew I was going to say yes. But I didn't want to give April a reason to say good night. Sitting here, across from this beautiful woman, was the first time in months that I’d felt like myself and not some shell of the guy I once was.
"Okay," she said.
"After dinner," I suggested.
April sighed and crossed her arms, but a tiny smile lifted one side of her mouth. "Which way are you leaning, Callan? Can you at least give me a hint?"
"Right now?" I said, taking a chance. "Toward you." My mind raced. The alcohol and the rampant attraction pulling me toward April had me feeling a little bit unhinged. I didn’t have much to lose, and I was speaking almost before I’d decided to do so.
April's brows lifted in surprise, but she recovered quickly. "Okay, sports star, listen. This charming act might have worked for you in the past, but I've got a job to do. A bowl of moonshine and some fries coated in crap are not enough to make me forget that you are singlehandedly standing in the way of me getting it done."
"Best place I've stood in a while." I couldn't help it. April Hall was beautiful, but April Hall getting worked up and determined? She was fucking gorgeous.
She rolled her eyes, but a little pink blush was climbing her neck, and I wondered suddenly if that gorgeous shade of pink covered her smooth perfect chest. I could see the hollow at the base of her throat, thanks to the V-neck sweater she wore, and the faintly beating pulse there made me want to touch it, trace it with my tongue, maybe. I forced my mind back to the table, to my drink, to April's face. Other parts of my body continued considering what April's skin might feel like.
"Look," I said, keeping my voice low. "I'm sorry. I honestly didn't plan to drag you out to dinner and waste your time if you need to get back and focus on work. I know you're not here on vacation, and I don't mean to distract you. It's only that …" I ducked my head for a second, gathering my nerve. I took a big swallow of my punch. "It's just, I haven't really been myself in a long time. And I don't know why, but when I'm around you, I feel more like myself than I have in a while." Maybe ever, I added mentally.
April had that look on her face again, the narrowed eye, head-tilted expression that she seemed to use when she was trying to figure something out. She pressed her lips firmly together, opened them as if to respond, and then pressed them together again. Finally, after what felt like years to me, she responded. "I have no idea what to say to that."
Great. I dropped her eyes, staring into my enormous bowl. Making myself vulnerable with women wasn't something I’d done a lot of before, and now I understood why. It would have been less humiliating to strip naked in the middle of this shack than to have April reject me after I’d basically just told her I was interested in her.
But she hadn't finished speaking, it seemed.
"I'm not really accustomed to things like this," she said, and I lifted my eyes in time to see her motioning between us, or maybe at the table in general.
"To things like Sam's Shack? Or bowls full of moonshine?" I hoped humor might distract her from the fact I’d basically just laid as much of myself bare as I was able to and she'd ignored me.
She cleared her throat and the beautiful pink blush climbed higher on her cheeks. "No, I mean … to having honest conversations about whatever might be going on."
I realized she was talking about us. About whatever might be going on with us. Which meant there might actually be something going on. But I’d already thrown himself out there and didn't have the strength to do it again. Not so boldly, at least. "Oh," I said, as if I’d just understood her meaning. "Right. Well, so there's this show you produce, see? And I won't let you film in my house. So we're talking about that, and you're going to try to convince me."
She slumped back in her chair slightly, as if realizing I was not going to be straightforward at this point. "Right."
"So when are you going to start?" I asked, grinning at her.
"Start what?"
"Trying to convince me."
"Callan, I've been trying since I met you. You're evidently the most impossible and stubborn man to ever slurp punch from a bowl inside a shack."
I laughed at that. "Maybe I am." I ate a few fries, watching her, and decided to try one more time. "You done trying to convince me, then?" God, I hoped she wasn’t done.
"I already know money won't work, and legal threats don't work either," she said. "Common decency doesn't seem to be your thing, since you don't care if I lose my job …" she trailed off, and then, out of nowhere, a huge hiccup flew from her lips. Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes widened in surprise. "'Scuse me!" The blush deepened.
Oh, this was good. She was completely adorable embarrassed.
My head had begun to swim a bit as I found the bottom of my punchbowl, and he looked across the table, realizing April's own drink was already gone. Jeff arrived just then, sweeping in with two more drinks and two plates of crab cakes on a platter, which he set down next to the table.
"Oh god, no more punch," April said in a half moan, followed by another loud hiccup.
"Courtesy of the women at the end of the bar," Jeff told us, and I peered down to see two older women giggling to one another and waving. One of them wore a very trendy track suit with a few gold chains around her neck, and the other was dressed in a simple sweater.
"Who are they?" I asked.
"That's Helen and Lottie," April said, waving a hand. "Lottie's house is on the show. Helen is just trying to see what will happen if I drink another one of these, I think."
"Huh," I said. "Well, you don't have to drink it."
April hiccupped again. "I told you, I don't back down from a challenge." She hiccupped again and then began eating, just as the Shack's sound system cranked into a higher volume, blasting “Jingle Bell Rock” throughout the small space.
"Oh god," April moaned, covering her face with her hands. "I hate Christmas music."
I stared at her. "What? No one hates Christmas music."
"They do. People totally do. I do."
"You're in charge of a Christmas-themed show. Your job is to make sure houses are decorated to within an inch of their lives with all things red and green and glittery and magical. You can't hate Christmas music."
"I hate everything about Christmas," she moaned, finally m
oving her hands and giving me a look so miserable and sad I had no choice but to believe her words.
"I've never met anyone who hates the holidays," I said, thinking back and coming up blank. "April, why?"
She shook her head. "Don't ask."
I thought back to the strange look April had gotten when we decorated the tree, and her comments in Target. She didn’t just hate the holidays—something about Christmas must have really affected her. I wanted to know, but I didn’t want the evening to end, and I wasn’t going to push. "You don't have to tell me."
"Good. I don't talk about it."
"Okay." Now my curiosity was piqued. We ate and drank, the blaring Christmas music making it tough to talk anyway. April plowed through both her food and her drink, and though I had been worried that another drink might put her over the edge, the food seemed to have sobered April up a little. I felt better too, as I paid and helped her into her coat.
11
Thrasher, the Hard-Partying Reindeer
April
The night was brisk and bright as I pulled my coat closer around me. We stepped out onto the square, which was more crowded than I would have expected. Something about the milling crowd of townsfolk combined with two punchbowls full of god only knew what had me leaning into Callan’s side slightly as we walked, and he put his arm around me, keeping me there. Warmth grew between us, a cocoon of comfort even in the cold night air, and I stayed there, tucked against his side as we drew closer to the huge tree and the shiny red sleigh in the middle of the square.
I knew I should step away. I should thank him for dinner and head back to the inn, back to my quiet room. At least then I would be in control. This situation—this warmth and nearness to Callan’s firm hard body, the feeling I had that somehow we were closer in other ways too—this was a recipe for disaster. I’d been here before, kind of, though I hadn’t had this same sense of security at any point with the bachelor on my last show. With him it had been illicit excitement. The thrill of something taboo. This was not that. I didn’t know quite what this was, only that I didn’t have the strength to separate myself from it, at least not after two punchbowls full of moonshine.
"Thanks for dinner," I said.
"Sure," Callan said, tightening his arm around my waist just a little.
"Maybe we could just sit a minute?" I asked, nearly tripping as we approached the wonky reindeer once again.
Callan’s arm tightened around me more, keeping me upright, and we both looked around the square for somewhere to sit. There were people on all the benches, and no low walls or other obvious seating.
An idea flew into my head—an idea that probably wouldn’t rank high on the good idea meter. I moved toward the sleigh, and despite Callan’s quiet protests, I climbed into the back, making myself comfortable on the low cushioned bench.
“Come on,” I coaxed, stifling a hiccup. I wasn’t drunk, not exactly. But I was fuzzy enough that the little voice that would have told me what a terrible idea this was had been significantly muted.
“April,” Callan hissed from the ground outside. “Come out.”
I peeked back up over the side, loving the way he looked standing there staring up at me, his forehead furrowed, his dark eyes glittering in the dim light. “Come in,” I suggested.
Something in my voice must have changed his mind, because his face cleared and a moment later, he was clambering up the steps and climbing in next to me. Luckily, the bench was so low that our heads weren’t visible over the tall sides of the bright red sleigh, and we were hidden from the world inside it.
Inside the sleigh it was darker and quieter than it had been on the square, and it felt a little bit like we’d entered another world, a private space that was only ours.
We sat side by side, not saying anything, until I scooted close, right up next to Callan. Our thighs were touching and Callan put his arm over my shoulders, and I was suddenly conscious of every inch of him, every firm hard inch of his body.
"This is nice," I said in a soft voice, leaning into him and willing my mind to stay quiet, to let me enjoy the moment, even if it was happening in a sleigh.
"It is," he answered softly.
My mind was turning in slow motion, like the wheels in my head were moving through a landscape filled with cotton candy—or maybe the gears had gotten jammed up thanks to all the glitter they’d been exposed to recently. I knew the way my hand had fallen on Callan’s leg wasn’t quite innocent, and I knew the buzzing anticipation I felt humming through my blood was definitely not innocent.
When I turned my face up to look at him, my body reacted, unused and abandoned parts of me humming back to life at the connection I felt to those sad dark eyes. I ached to run my fingers along the hard planes of his chest, to trace that angular jaw. He was exotic and familiar, having been a part of my life for a long time in a way, standing guard over me on that billboard and playing in some of my fantasies, even before I’d known the actual man. Now here he was, and I could feel an opportunity arising between us, I just didn’t know what it was an opportunity for, exactly.
My gut was pressing me toward him, telling me to act on the fuzzy warm feelings I was developing for this lonely pained man. It was telling me that life and work were two separate things, and that I could keep them apart, compartmentalize if necessary. My head, on the other hand, was telling me completely different things, tossing out warnings and reminders of the last time I’d gotten too close to someone on a show. But those alarms were muted by my time in the shack with a bowl in front of me, and by the way I sat pressed up against Callan, our bodies forming a bubble of warmth in the cold night air.
I took a deep breath. "So," I said. "This is the part where I'm going to try to convince you."
Callan raised an eyebrow, his chin angling down toward me. "Oh yeah?"
I turned my face up to his and met his eyes with my own. "Yeah." I stretched up, and as gently as a whisper, pressed my lips to his. It was a brief touch, a test maybe. But it was also an invitation, and Callan accepted. His arms went around me, and he leaned down, taking my mouth with his own as the removed din of the square and the faint Christmas music in the distance faded, and a soft, welcome pleasure filled my mind.
Callan’s mouth was hot and insistent, and his tongue traced the seam of my lips until I parted them, and then pressed forward, teasing my own, and made me press myself nearer still. My body was lighting up, parts of me that had been in hibernation, draped in a blanket of self-doubt, stress and worry, pushed off the covers and sat up, looking around eagerly at this new situation.
A little moan escaped my lips, and Callan immediately pulled me closer, his arms tightening. Callan’s hand slipped beneath my coat, sliding up my back beneath my sweater, his firm warm palm hard against my back, and my mind reeled. I wanted him to touch me, to trace the lines of me, to kiss me like this and never stop. I didn’t care if there were consequences, I only cared that Callan Whitewood made me feel something I’d never felt before—not only when he kissed me, but just by being next to me.
I slid a leg over his lap so I was facing him, my hot center pressed against the erection I felt straining at the seam of his jeans, and I moved slowly, increasing the friction and feeling my breath coming faster. Callan’s hands were both on my back now, and my body was beginning to flare up as if it had been waiting for something, for this exact moment. With anticipation banishing all my doubts, I pressed my breasts against Callan’s hard chest, kissing him deeper, and light exploded against my closed eyelids.
Which was strange. I was close, but I wasn’t that close. I wondered for a split second if I was having a cardiac event or something. My heart was definitely racing. Was it just the kiss? The amazing connection?
Then I realized with horror that it was an actual light.
A spotlight, to be precise.
Callan reacted immediately, pulling me down to the bottom of the deep sleigh interior just as a voice boomed somewhere nearby over a microphone. "Welcome Singlet
ree! Thanks for coming out to our annual tree lighting ceremony!" A blast of “Deck the Halls” followed this announcement as we exchanged a horrified look and my stomach twisted, churning over crab cakes and punchbowls and dread. "Please help me welcome Singletree's most honored resident …" there was a long pause and a drum roll as the sounds of a crowd roared into the once-quiet space of the sleigh. "Santa Claus!"
I sincerely hoped Santa didn't need his sleigh tonight. Callan and I climbed up to the edge of the door opening and peered out, and I was horrified to see the entire town gathered around the tree and the sleigh, and a huge man in a Santa suit striding directly toward us. "Incoming," Callan whispered as we both shrank back down to the floor of the sleigh, side by side.
"Welcome to Singletree, Santa," the announcer called out as a loud "ho ho ho" blared through the speakers. "If you'll just take your spot in the sleigh, you can light up our tree!"
"Oh god," I moaned from my huddle at the foot of the sleigh's interior. "God, I hate Christmas," I added.
This was it. My heart was in my throat as I realized I had done it again—made the exact same mistake all over again, this time in shades of red and green and coated with glitter instead of on a tropical island. But it was like I was acting in my very own version of Groundhog Day, doomed to keep losing my job, doomed to keep making the same mistakes. My life was a disaster. I held my breath and waited for the moment to unspool, for my life to implode.
The entire sleigh rocked then with the weight of a very large man climbing the steps to get in. A moment later, Santa's face appeared, looking down at the couple doing our best to sink into the floorboards of the sleigh. "Ho ho ho!" Santa called out, grinning at us. "What have we here?" He asked this last part under his breath, and winked at us, and then turned his head up to face the crowd.
Shaking the Sleigh: Seasons in Singletree Page 10