Her Mistletoe Bachelor

by Carolyn Hector

  Donovan laughed. “Oh, okay, so what? They named your oldest brother after her country.”

  “I wish.” British gulped and resisted the disgusted shiver creeping under her skin. “Let’s just say we are all aware of each accent my dad used when they conceived us. For some people it’s a song that puts them in a mood. For my mom it was my dad’s accents.”

  It took him a moment to get what she meant. It took a minute and a half to stop laughing. “How did I miss this?”

  “Trust me,” she groaned, “I’ve gone through all types of attempts to forget it. As a kid it flew over my head, but as an adult, I understood and, for my sanity, I needed to leave the house.”

  Once Donovan sobered, he nodded. “I get it. I couldn’t wait to move out when I turned eighteen.”

  “Did you live on your own?”

  “For a few weeks I lived in the dorms and then I moved on to the frat house.”

  She rolled her eyes and headed into the kitchen. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Donovan sat at the bar, which separated the kitchen and the living room. A set of four wineglasses hung from the rack, blocking his view. He tilted his head and winked.

  “Don’t believe the hype from the movies,” he said. “It wasn’t all parties and sorority girls.”

  British shook her head. “I didn’t ask.”

  “We studied,” Donovan went on.

  “And partied,” British added for him.

  “Maybe a little, but you being all coupled up wouldn’t have understood.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t party,” British said. “Christian and I weren’t always together throughout college. I played my fair share of beer pong. In private, of course.”

  “Didn’t want word to get back to your boyfriend,” he chuckled.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I didn’t want to get caught by the pageant circuit’s morality clause.”

  “What?” Donovan laughed even harder. “What kind of...?”

  “I put a lot of time into becoming Miss Four Points,” British said. “I lost the Miss Southwood crown to my best friend, Kenzie. But considering she and her family have a Miss Southwood dynasty, I still did pretty good for second place.”

  “Beauty queen dynasty? Moral clauses?” Donovan let out a sigh in jest.

  “Don’t act like the Ravens were free of scandal,” British reminded him.

  “You won’t catch me in anything,” he replied and picked up a lesson plan left on the counter. “I learned to keep my business to myself.”

  “Too bad social media didn’t learn how to do the same for you.”

  Donovan clutched his heart. “Ouch.”

  British shrugged and teased him. “You can’t help being so fast.” She turned to the side-by-side fridge and opened it, trying to see what was in there. Anything left would be approaching at least a week old. “I have some frozen pizzas.”

  “Hey, I can’t believe I’m saying this after all the food we ate yesterday and at lunch, but I could eat a horse.”

  British widened her eyes. “I thought by now you’d be careful with saying things like that.”

  Donovan nodded. “I stand corrected. I am hungry. We could take away or get delivery.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you don’t want me cooking?”

  “I enjoyed your cooking. The meal you made last week was fantastic. You just don’t have to wait on me hand and foot. You’ve been out shopping with me just the same. And the reason we came over to your place was to crash since we’re both tired and you didn’t want me to drive.”

  “True,” she agreed with a nod. “But I don’t know if I can stay awake long enough for the food to get here. And you can’t tell me you’re not sleepy. You weaved in the road.”

  “It was your parents’ driveway,” Donovan explained, “and there was a football in the way.”

  Suddenly, British became nervous. It was one thing for a fling at a hotel where she wasn’t going to have to stay much longer. But it was a whole different ball game in her own quarters. What choice did she have? It wasn’t like she could let Donovan drive them down County Road 17 now. They were two mature adults. They’d be able to stay the night together and be responsible. They’d managed to do so last night.

  Donovan waved his hand toward the living room. “Come on, let’s sit.”

  “Fine, let me grab the menus from this drawer.” She fiddled with the utility drawer by her fridge and followed him into the other room. “Now we can figure out what we want to eat.”

  “I know what I want to eat,” Donovan said with a coy smile.

  Heat filled her cheeks, which she bit the inside of to keep from grinning. “You have a one-track mind.”

  “I think so when it comes to you.” Donovan motioned for her to sit. She did at one end of the couch while he sat on the other. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Huh?” She gulped and looked over at him with her eyes, not moving her head.

  Donovan adjusted himself into the corner of the couch. His left thigh was cocked on the cushions. “Are you nervous with me being here?”

  “No,” she lied. “Maybe a little.”

  “I can go back to the hotel, British. I meant it when I said I wanted to take things slow with you.”

  Yet she didn’t want to take things slow. “This is just awkward with you being here and, no, I don’t want you to leave. Deer season has picked up and with all the hunters out there searching for big game, I’d hate for a buck to run out on the road and cause you to swerve.”

  A passing car blared its horn in the street.

  “Like what happened to Christian?”

  A pinch of pain, a threat of tears rushed through British. “It’s not fair to talk about that with you.”

  Donovan leaned across the couch and took her hand in his. “It is absolutely fair. We’re together.”

  She cut her eyes at him and he nodded.

  “I know it’s crazy, British,” he said softly. “I can’t say what the future holds for us, but as of right now, I’m here with you. We’re together. If you’re in pain, I want to know why and what to do to solve it.”

  “I’m not in pain,” she replied with a shaky voice. “I’m just. Afraid.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to lose you.” And then she realized eventually he would leave...and that was what she wanted, right? “I mean like that. In a tragic accident because of me.”

  “Christian’s accident wasn’t because of you, either,” he said.

  “What do you think we ought to eat?” British changed the subject and Donovan went along with it. They decided to order in Chinese food and watch some TV as they waited.

  MET stayed true to its brand, airing several multicultural Christmas romance films. Halfway through the movie based on a Brenda Jackson book, their food arrived. Donovan straightened up her coffee table while she fixed a couple glasses of wine. They set their cartons of beef and broccoli, General Tso’s chicken, spicy noodles, crispy honey wings, eggrolls, crab rangoon and Chinese doughnuts in front of them and sat with their legs crisscrossed on the floor. Donovan attempted to impress her with his use of chopsticks until he dropped a piece of broccoli on the table.

  “I never would have pegged you as a romance fan,” British teased him once the movie ended.

  Donovan pulled himself up from the floor and sat with his back against his side of the couch. “It’s Brenda Jackson,” he said simply.

  “One of your many girlfriends must have left her romance books behind,” British mumbled and immediately regretted saying so. “Geez, I’m sorry. I must sound like a jealous girlfriend.”

  Donovan wiggled his brows at her. “Girlfriend.”

  It was hard to do anything but smile when around him. British instead rolled her eyes. She stood and gathered their empty containers.
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  “You can’t believe everything you’ve read about me, British.” Donovan stood to help, taking the containers into his hand.

  “I didn’t read it,” she clarified. “I saw it all on social media.”

  “When did you look me up?”

  “I did not.” British pressed her hand against her heart. “But the girls did. And they showed me every single model you’ve dated in the last three years.”

  “Define ‘dated.’”

  “I don’t have to define anything. I saw plenty of pictures.”

  “I can’t help what’s out there, British.”

  “No, but considering you gave Stephanie a pep talk about men learning how to respect women, you’re a pig,” she snarled and pushed past him. She was jealous. Damn it. “I only let them show me the PG-13 pictures. But don’t get me started on the images that were highly inappropriate for girls to see on the internet without being eighteen.”

  Donovan held on to her elbow. “Wait a minute, now.”

  “You know what,” she said with a sigh, “you really don’t have to explain your past to me, Donovan.”

  “I do if your opinion of me drops.” His voice softened and so did her stance. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a while.”

  They did not need to have this conversation. This conversation led to promises and relationships. The most she could ask of him now was just for him to be himself.

  “Donovannn,” British drawled and pulled away from his firm hold.

  “I work in the beauty industry, British,” he said over her plea. British melted into his dark eyes. “You can’t think I am sleeping with every single model I’ve been photographed with.”

  Silence built between them.

  The television screen flickered to a commercial and a deep voice-over announced next Wednesday’s installment.

  “As you’re finishing up the Thanksgiving weekend, don’t forget to tune in to our inside look at Ravens Cosmetics as we break down the levels of the family.”

  Donovan let go of British’s arm and searched through the empty containers and crab rangoon wrappers. “Not now, damn it,” he groaned.

  The voice-over continued. “We’ve followed the whirlwind romance between the CEO, Will Ravens, and his Creative Design Director, Zoe Baldwin. We’ve caught up with the twin sisters running public relations. Tomorrow night we’ll take an inside look at their playboy brother. No, not Marcus Ravens, but the elusive Donovan Ravens, the one who only lets his picture be taken when he’s with a mod—”

  The screen went blank. Donovan breathed heavily in satisfaction with the remote control in his hand. “Television is overrated.”

  “Nice save.” British laughed and turned back toward the kitchen. Donovan followed close behind. “I can do these dishes.”

  “I know you can, but I want to help.”

  “Fine.” She blew out a sigh.

  “But first, dessert.”

  Donovan dipped his head low and captured her mouth with his.

  British forgot her thoughts. She only reacted. The moment his tongue touched hers, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She tried not to moan but, like a starving woman, a growl escaped her throat. How was it possible to have missed his touch?

  “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” Donovan asked, breaking the kiss.

  British wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I have an idea.”

  The empty cartons dropped to the floor when Donovan scooped her up into his arms. “Where is your bedroom?”

  She inclined her head and in no time they reached the closed door. “Wait, I need to prepare you for something,” she said, holding on to the crystal doorknob.

  With an easy smile, Donovan winked and covered the knob with his hand. “It’s okay, British. I expect to see a photograph of you and Christian. It’s natural.”

  “No, wait!”

  Donovan crossed the threshold with her in his arms. He stopped walking any farther and craned his neck to take in the panoramic view of the posters. All one-hundred-plus photos of her New Edition collection over the years.

  “In my defense—” she began to cringe, hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder “—when I moved here, I didn’t want to start a new beginning with old photographs of me and Christian. So my high school friends and I got a little creative one day.”

  “A little drunk and creative?”

  “Maybe just a little,” British admitted. The morning after she and the Tiara Squad had finished decorating, British thought she’d gone back in time.

  “Have you ever met them?” Donovan asked.

  “No. I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself.” She lifted her head to find his eyes filled with amusement.

  “The next time they’re in town, I’m flying you in,” he said before continuing their route to the bed.

  The words played over in British’s head. Not the exciting news about possibly meeting her all-time favorite boy band but the idea that Donovan was going to leave her. But this was what she’d wanted. Right?

  Chapter 9

  “You’ve got this,” Stephanie said, closing her eyes and reaching for the hand beside her.

  “We’re all supporting each other,” added Lacey.

  Kathleen cleared her throat and nodded. “Ms. B told us we can do this. You can do this.”

  Touched by being mentioned in this pep talk slash motivational speech the Saturday morning after Thanksgiving, British placed her hand over her heart. Screams of excitement from the unexpected crowd rose from beyond the red curtain of the Christmas Wonderland scene created in the town center in Southwood. A line of eager children stretched down Main Street. The girls, dressed in red and green elf costumes, decided to pray for Donovan before he made his debut as this year’s Southwood Santa.

  “Let’s bow our heads,” Natasha nicely ordered everyone. “Dear Lord, we ask you to take time out of Your busy schedule today and make today as successful as possible.”

  Everyone ended with a soft amen, except for one in the prayer circle.

  “Amen,” Donovan shouted and clapped his white-gloved hands together.

  The white beard of the Santa suit he wore billowed with his breath. Despite the heaving padding against the eight-pack abs she’d caressed this morning, Donovan made playing Santa look sexy. Every visitor to sit on Santa’s lap was allowed to do so if they donated a can or nonperishable item to help the Winter Harvest food bank. The event made sure everyone in Four Points had a holiday meal. British thought it was a great idea and even better with her STEM for GRITS team here now.

  “I feel stupid,” said Donovan.

  Natasha squared off with Donovan, grabbing him by the shoulders. “You get out there and you be the best damn Santa Southwood has ever seen.”

  “’Tasha,” British warned softly.

  “Sorry,” said Natasha. “You’re going to be great.”

  The other girls, dressed in various combinations of elf outfits, rallied around the hot Santa and patted his red coat. The bells on the top of their pointy crescent-shaped hats jingled.

  Donovan took a deep breath. “How did I get myself into this mess?” he asked British.

  “You fell for my mother’s charm,” British explained.

  Laughing, Donovan couldn’t do anything but nod. “She can sell anything.”

  An emcee out front hyped the crowd a little more and brought in a roar of cheer and applause. British patted Donovan’s back with her gloved hand. Like Donovan, she, too, had been manipulated by Joan, which explained why she stood behind the curtain ready to be called out to meet the waiting children.

  To help sell the Winter Wonderland scene, British had recruited the girls to act as elves. Some of the fellows from the middle school’s team built the set and created a spectacular snowy scene kids and adults would vi
sit. The girls stepped out first and egged on the crowd, leaving Donovan and British alone for a brief moment. Their hands touched and even through the fabric, the heat rose.

  “I really can’t believe you’re going through with this,” British teased. She straightened the black rims of the glasses hanging low from Donovan’s ears. He reached to wrap his arms around her waist but the padding prevented it.

  “Damn this suit,” he growled. “Can I get an IOU on the kiss?”

  The emcee announced the arrival of Mrs. Claus. British patted Donovan’s belly. “Let’s see how you do with the kids today.”

  Before he could agree or not, British stepped out onto the stage for a warm welcome from the locals and visitors alike. She spotted her parents in the front with the grandkids and began to wave before realizing she didn’t want to spoil the magic of Christmas for the little ones. The high school band played “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” and at the drum solo, Donovan burst through the opening in the curtains. Everyone went wild.

  The morning went by in a blur. Kids of all sizes came to sit on Santa’s lap to tell him what they wanted. Stephanie walked the kids from the red, licorice-like path lined with giant red-and-white candy canes up to Santa’s throne, where she handed British a card with the child’s name so she could introduce Santa.

  By noon she and Donovan were able to communicate well enough that she only needed to whisper the child’s name to gain the element of surprise. Once the child said what he or she wanted, British wrote it down and gave it to Natasha, who handed it to the waiting parents on the other side of the line. A few cranky kids tugged at Santa’s beard, exposing his face. The single mothers—and a few of the not-so-single mothers—all sighed at the sight of Donovan’s dreamy smile.

  The lunchtime crowd of kids was a bit stronger. A lot of them did not want to leave Santa’s side without telling him exactly everything they wanted. Donovan let them sit a little longer, though Lacey did not mind huffing out her irritation. At least Donovan practiced patience when a few of the children gripped his biceps—which the lurking moms did not mind.