Oh, Christmas Night

by Jane Porter

What had happened to her life and her routine? What happened to her most basic rules, the ones she organized her life by? These weren’t new rules, but the ones that had guided her since college:

  1. Set high, but achievable, goals

  2. Work diligently toward goals

  3. Regularly evaluate expectations

  4. Weed out unrealistic expectations

  She hadn’t been vigilant about setting goals or maintaining realistic expectations since arriving in Montana, and because of that she’d not just fallen for Atticus, she’d set herself up for disappointment tonight, and tonight was nothing short of a disaster. Rachel blinked back tears, determined not to feel sorry for herself, but tonight’s failure stung. She’d been so excited about the open house, certain this would be the event that relaunched Paradise Books. Naively, she’d imagined everyone would come. She’d thought that was how small towns worked—community and support. Everyone being there for everyone else.

  She’d rushed into the party, and should have taken more time to prepare. She should have asked her few Marietta acquaintances to invite their friends. She should have taken an invite to the other businesses on Main, and made up a flyer for the library, not just for Taylor. Maybe she should have put a notice in the Copper Mountain Courier. The mistake was assuming people would come. The mistake was not having goals. The mistake was forgetting the importance of realistic expectations.

  Chapter Seven

  Rachel had just blown out the large cinnamon scented candle when the front door opened and Atticus stepped into the store carrying a shopping bag.

  “Cleaning up is always easier with a separate pair of hands,” he said, setting the paper bag on the counter.

  “I’m fine.”

  He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “I don’t think that’s actually true.”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  “For what?”

  “For cheering up, or pity, or positive thinking. I know tonight was a massive failure. Please don’t try to convince me it wasn’t.”

  “Tonight you had stiff competition. A band from Missoula was performing across the street at Grey’s. They’re pretty popular around here.” He emptied the shopping bags. “Plastic containers. We don’t want to waste all that food.”

  She blinked, eyes burning. “That wasn’t necessary.”

  “What were you going to put the food in?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Neither did I. So let me help. No one enjoys cleaning up after a party all by themselves.”

  The lump in her throat grew. She swallowed hard, fighting exhausted tears. “It wasn’t much of a party.”

  “I should have done more to get people here.”

  “It wasn’t your party. You don’t need to feel responsible.”

  “I know.”

  Her chin lifted and she met his gaze. “Atticus, don’t complicate things, please. We’re not on the same team.”

  “We’re not enemies, either,” he said quietly. “Just because I’m fighting for this spot, doesn’t mean I’m fighting you. I don’t like seeing you hurt. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  Her pride in tatters, she gave a short nod. “Okay.”

  “Where should I start?”

  Rachel turned to face the platters overflowing with cookies and cakes and cheese and crackers and fruit, and then there was the chafing dish of meatballs. “Maybe there?” she asked, nodding at the chafing dish.

  “You have a lot of meatballs.”

  “I went overboard.”

  “At least we know you commit. Commitment is a good thing.”

  “Unless you are committing to the wrong thing, and then it’s a problem.”

  “I don’t see that being something you would do. You’re pretty savvy.”

  “I wish I was. But the truth is, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know what I mean to do with the store. I have a really good job in California and there’s no way I can run Paradise Books from there. And, let’s face it, the store does not have enough revenue to pay for staff, not unless I get very creative very fast.”

  “You do have that apartment upstairs. You can always rent that out. It’d provide some income, and maybe pay for staffing for the store.”

  “So keep my real job and keep the bookstore?”

  “Why not? It’s doable, if you can get the mail-order business going.”

  She hated all the emotions washing through her. It was too much emotion. She felt like she was losing control. “I thought you wanted this place.”

  “I do, but I don’t want to get it by being underhanded. Far better to acquire the bookstore when you’re ready to sell than to push you into something you’ll later regret.”

  She sniffled. “You think I’ll regret selling the store?”

  “I think it matters more to you than you care to admit.”

  Her chest ached with emotion. Her eyes were hot and gritty. Something inside her felt slightly unhinged and she looked away, focused on the Christmas tree. At least it was a nice tree. “I’m glad you insisted on a big tree. It’s beautiful.”

  “Your party was beautiful.”

  “What about your next Galveston? Aren’t you starting to get a little impatient with this whole thing?”

  “The restaurants I have are doing quite well. My future doesn’t hinge on this one location.”

  “I don’t understand you,” she said after a long moment. “You should be making this harder for me, not easier.”

  “Is that what friends do?”

  Her heart thumped. Her throat ached. She wanted so many things just then that the need overwhelmed her. “You’re a good friend,” she answered huskily. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now let’s divide and conquer or we’ll be doing this all night.”

  It took them forty minutes to carry everything up and package the food. Her refrigerator and freezer were small so she could only store perishables like the fruit, the artichoke spinach dip and her meatballs, and so she stacked the plastic containers of baked goods in the corner on the counter. Atticus rolled up his shirt sleeves and washed the now empty dishes and platters while she dried. They didn’t speak but the silence only served to make it feel even more intimate. Rachel tried to think of something to say, but it wasn’t until they’d finished the last dish that she found her voice.

  “Thank you,” she said, trying not to be flustered by the intimacy of their domestic tasks. Atticus was a good partner. He had a way of making her feel supported… even cherished. “I’m glad you insisted on helping. I would have been miserable doing this by myself.”

  He finished wiping down the counters before returning the sponge to the sink. “I wouldn’t have left you to do this on your own. It was a big job.”

  “My commitment to meatballs and all,” she said wryly.

  He flashed her a smile. “And I find your commitment commendable.”

  “You’re very good at this sort of thing.”

  He wiped his hands dry on a dish towel. “I have spent a lot of time in restaurant kitchens. You learn a thing or two over the years.”

  She shook her head, blushing. “I didn’t mean the tidying up, although you do that very well. I meant, dealing with me and all my emotions.”

  “You’re not hard to deal with, and you’re not that emotional.”

  “I was upset tonight.”

  “You were disappointed.”

  “I hate being disappointed.” She leaned against the counter and looked away. “I work very hard to make sure I’m not disappointed.”

  “You can’t escape disappointment. It’s just part of life.”

  The heaviness in her chest made her aware of all the emotions she was battling to suppress but the emotions were bubbling up, and it wasn’t just tonight that was undoing her, but the past month and how hurt she’d been after being passed over for the last promotion. What had happened to her sense of accomplishment? She felt horrifyingly fragile… vulnerable… and she di
dn’t like those feelings, at all.

  “Would you want a glass of wine?” she asked. “We have an awful lot.”

  “I’ll take a glass of the red that we’d opened earlier.”

  She grabbed two of the freshly washed glasses and the shiraz and hesitated, glancing to the couch in the small living area. It was a small area, and a small couch but it was the only furniture in the sitting area. “Do you mind if we sit? It’s a cozy couch.”

  “I’m ready to relax. It’s been a busy day.”

  “Yes, and my feet are killing me.”

  Once they sat, he did the honors of pouring and she squished herself into the farthest end of the couch and watched him. He was lovely to look at. Lovely to be near. This was a problem. “Do you cook?” she asked, trying to fill the silence.

  “I can do okay.”

  “Do you cook when you’re home?”

  “Not enough. I tend to eat out a lot. But then, I travel a lot. It doesn’t make sense to stock the fridge and then be gone for the next week.” He handed her a wineglass and then settled back in the couch, one muscular arm extended along the back of the couch, his fingers very close to her shoulder. “The travel is getting old, though. I’m starting to think I’m ready for a change.”

  “You don’t have a girlfriend or significant other back in Houston, do you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t really do serious relationships. The last woman I saw steadily was Nikki, and that was a year ago.”

  “What happened?” she asked, before grimacing. “You don’t have to answer that.”

  “My flight out of Chicago got canceled and I couldn’t make it back in time for her company’s holiday party. She was tired of going solo to places because I’m rarely home. We had a tense conversation and then broke up.”

  “Were you devastated?”

  He gave her an amused look. “I liked Nikki, but we weren’t going to settle down and have babies.”

  “Do you even want to have babies?”

  The corner of his mouth curved. “I note your sarcasm, Rachel, and yes, eventually I want a family. Don’t you?”

  She opened her mouth, closed it. To be honest, she didn’t ever think about marrying and having kids. She’d never met anyone who made her want to marry. “It’s not one of my goals.”

  “I don’t know that it has to be a goal.”

  “It’s not something I see, though.” She shrugged, embarrassed. “I’ve had a vision board since my senior year of high school, and it’s helped me focus and work toward my future. I never included marriage or family because those aren’t necessarily attainable goals—”

  “Why not?”

  “They depend on other people. I don’t like goals that hinge on others.”

  “So marriage is out.”

  She laughed at his expression. “I don’t know if it’s out, but it’s not important right now.”

  “What is important?”

  “I thought it was becoming Novak & Bartley’s first female director, and then their first female partner, but that is probably not going to be an option.”

  “Why?”

  Her desire to laugh faded. “It’s not a place where dreams come true.” Rachel cringed as she said the words. She’d meant to be flippant but it sounded hollow in her ears.

  He reached for the bottle and topped off her wineglass and then his own. “Why remain at a place that doesn’t make you happy?”

  Her shoulders twisted. “I’m paid well. There is security, as long as I don’t want too much.”

  “But obviously you want more.”

  She rotated her goblet, swirling the wine, watching it splash the sides of the glass. “I just don’t understand how, when I’ve done everything right, it feels all wrong.”

  “Tragically, life isn’t a math equation that can be solved.”

  She grimaced. “Can I tell you something that I’ve never told anyone?”

  “Please do.”

  Rachel took a sip of wine for liquid courage. “I took golf lessons.” She paused, thinking about those lessons. “For two years, I took private golf lessons so I’d be ready for the day I was invited to attend Novak & Bartley’s annual golf tournament. It’s their biggest client appreciation event—they do two a year, the big summer party, and the Holiday Classic—and they invite all their VIPs to attend, as well as their managers, directors and partners. I’ve been a manager for three years and still haven’t been invited. But at least I learned to play golf.”

  *

  Atticus hated the tightness in his chest.

  She had a way of making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. She presented complications that were completely unnecessary. And yet, if he were ready to settle down, and ready to find a wife, she would be exactly the kind of woman he’d want. A smart, no-nonsense woman like Rachel. A woman whose confessions were painfully honest, and painfully real.

  Normally such confessions would have him wanting distance, and yet with her, he wanted more closeness.

  More of her.

  “Did you buy your own clubs?” he asked, trying not to focus on her full soft mouth, or the wistful expression that made her lips curve. It wasn’t easy when her lower lip trembled and he wanted to haul her closer to him, and kiss that lovely quivering lip.

  She grimaced, nose wrinkling. “The clubhouse had a really good after Christmas sale.”

  That didn’t surprise him, either. She understood the value of money.

  He pictured her on the green with her clubs, long blonde hair in one of her high ponytails. “You’re disappointed in your management team,” he said, determined to keep the conversation moving so that he could ignore the impossible, uncomfortable emotion filling him. She was imperfectly perfect, or perfectly imperfect and she should be sitting at his side, his arm around her, her body tucked against his. She made him want to fight her battles for her, and yet it was also the last thing she’d tolerate.

  “I was sure I’d be given the chance,” she answered. “I knew what was required, and I did what was required. It didn’t cross my mind that two plus two would not equal four.”

  “See, you trusted your math facts.”

  She smiled crookedly but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I did, and what I learned is that it wasn’t numbers that let me down, but people.”

  “Not all people will disappoint you.”

  She didn’t answer but he could see from her expression she didn’t believe him, and actually, she was right. People made mistakes. People did disappoint. But it wasn’t always intentional. He thought of his last case, the one that had gone to trial, the one that had made him walk away from litigation forever. A day didn’t go by where he wished he could change the outcome, protect Manuel from a justice system that wasn’t always just.

  “Have you thought of interviewing elsewhere?” he asked.

  “I hadn’t, not until last week. But it’s something I’m thinking about now.”

  “You didn’t want to have to go somewhere else,” he said.

  “I didn’t. I thought I’d be there forever.”

  “And then in the middle of all this, you discover Lesley has given you Paradise Books. That must have seemed providential.”

  “Or a distracting temptation,” she answered, drawing her legs up under her and shifting to completely face him. “If I were a book enthusiast, or had nurtured a secret dream of one day owning my own business in an adorable small town, I would be in heaven. But my dream was to be a corporate accountant, with a big firm, doing big business.”

  “You are using past tense.”

  Shadows flickered in her eyes. “I’m confused.”

  “There are other big accounting firms. You’re not trapped at Novak.”

  “But leaving feels defeatist.”

  Again he thought of Manuel, and the sentencing, and how that one case had forced him to not just reevaluate his career, but his values and his sense of self-worth. He’d failed Manuel, and he’d failed Manuel’s family, and it had ta
ken him a long time to even want to practice law again. “Change is an inherent part of life. Sometimes we welcome it. Sometimes we resist it. But change happens, with or without our permission.”

  “My problem is that change isn’t happening.”

  “So create change. You be the one to change.” Then he did what he’d been wanting to do all night. He leaned toward her, closing the distance between them, and kissed her. It was a light kiss, tentative, giving her a chance to pull away. She didn’t, she leaned in, her lips softening against his. She tasted of the shiraz they were drinking and it was heady, making him want more. Reaching up, he brushed his knuckles across her warm cheek, her skin petal smooth. Desire rushed through him, and he deepened the kiss, parting her lips, to kiss her more thoroughly.

  *

  Rachel couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed like this—with hunger and heat, but also this lovely tenderness that made her feel wanted, and protected. She felt as if she couldn’t get close enough to him and leaned in to the kiss, loving the way his arm wrapped around her and pulled her tighter so that she was practically sprawling across his lap. Atticus was as strong and muscular as he looked, his body hard against hers, and she shuddered with pleasure as he stroked the length of her back, finding nerve endings that had been forgotten in oh, forever.

  Did kissing always feel this good, or was it just Atticus that made her want more? Because she did want more. Need and want washed through her and she placed a hand on his chest, his warmth and strength impossibly seductive.

  Atticus shifted her, drawing her more firmly across his lap, the pressure of his mouth more insistent, his teeth catching at her lower lip, sending darts of exquisite sensation throughout her. She stopped worrying about control and boundaries, wanting to be swept away, wanting to escape smart, sensible Rachel with her exhausting goals and endless plans.

  She was breathless and dazed when he finally lifted his head. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, even as she could feel the steady drumming of Atticus’s heart against the palm of her hand.

  His blue eyes burned brightly. He looked impossibly handsome as he smiled down at her. “You are full of surprises,” he said.