Christmas Dinner (Crimson Romance) (8 page)

The moment really was over. Tate rose from the bed. “Um, Amanda, if you’re done with me, I think I’m going to take a shower.”
A cold one
.

“Quit it.” Amanda giggled and blocked her face with her hand. “Tate, cut it out. Someone might hear us.”

Her eyes popped open. It was daylight, and she was in her own bed—alone. Tate wasn’t showering her with kisses, but something was, and it had fur.

“Jingle Bells!” She sat up and hugged the rambunctious Jack Russell Terrier. The family dog continued to smother her with his wet tongue. “Jingles, I have missed you so much.” She rubbed his white belly.

The sound of water running in the adjoining bathroom signaled Tate must have jumped in the shower.

She thought back to the last twenty-four hours. Who could have predicted it would have started with Santa’s butt lodged in her car and ended with her straddling her co-anchor.

Tate certainly knew how to kiss. Wow! She hadn’t meant to go so over the top. Just enough for Brad’s benefit. But then, Tate had devoured her . . .

It was all for show, she rationalized. Still, when Tate had kissed her, her toes curled. She got caught up in the moment. Apparently, from her outburst in her sleep, she was still in it. What was wrong with her? This was Tate. He annoyed her on most days.

The warm aromas of coffee and maple syrup swirled in the air, causing her stomach to growl. Breakfast must be ready. It was nice to be home and in the room she spent so much of her time in growing up. Although, glancing around, she noticed her mother was now using the space primarily for holiday decoration storage.

To the left of her bed was a short alcove. It once held her desk and chair and was where she’d spent hours upon hours writing stories for her high school newspaper, dreaming of the day she would leave this town and become a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist.

Now, hundreds of square papier mâché boxes covered her beloved desk and the floor around it. The boxes were meticulously labeled and organized by “lights,” “tinsel,” “ornaments,” “bows and ribbons” and “angel tree toppers.” She got up and brought a box over to the bed then jumped back underneath the warm blankets. Opening it, she delicately pushed aside the red glittery tissue paper, revealing a beautiful angel in a glistening white satin dress.

She imagined a child gleefully placing the doll on the top of one of her father’s beautiful Christmas trees. She playfully touched the angel to Jingles’s wet nose before wrapping it back in the tissue paper and returning it to its box. With all the anxiety that this time of year gave her, she had to admit that this week always delivered magic and joy to many in this community, and her family played a big role in creating that magic.

Leaving her warm bed, she pushed back the red velvet drapes and peered through the glass. She could see her father on the south side of the front lawn inspecting the trees. He was, no doubt, preparing them for transport later this morning.

She grabbed a long pine green sweater that made her green eyes pop, along with black yoga pants and brown Ugg boots. She’d showered last night but could get changed and freshen up in an empty guest bathroom. She looked back at the dog, burried underneath a blanket, who was fast asleep on the bed. “Oh, no you don’t. We’re in this together.” She nudged him off the bed.

“Oh, wait.” She reached down and picked up the papier mâché box from the bed, gently returning it to where she had gotten it. “Heaven forbid Mom discovers a tampered box. I then would have no choice but to blame you, wouldn’t I?”

Jingles answered back with a highpitched bark.

“Let’s go.” She wanted to give Tate some privacy to finish in the shower. Leaning against the door, her thoughts went back to last night. After she’d kissed him silly, they’d fallen asleep. He’d been true to his word and slept above the covers.

Now hot water was drenching his naked body.
Really, Amanda. What’s wrong with you?
She couldn’t explain these new fantasies involving Tate that had hijacked her thoughts, but one thing was for sure: her weekend seemed to be looking up.

She dressed and brushed her teeth hurriedly in another upstairs bathroom and headed back to her room. The door was still closed, but she could hear Tate’s voice. He must be talking on the phone. Perhaps wishing his family a Merry Christmas. She smiled. Maybe he wasn’t the jerk she thought he was after all.

“Hey, Amanda.”

The smile on her face turned upside down. She turned around.

“Morning, Brad.” She forced the smile back.

He stood next to her. Gone was his police uniform. In its place, jeans and a dark blue flannel shirt that covered his broad shoulders. He was just as handsome as ever, wearing his Yankees baseball cap.

“Hi.”

“Did you sleep well last night? I, um . . .” she stammered. “I mean, we did.” She pointed to the bedroom door. “We were out like a light.”

“Listen, I know this is really awkward.”

“What? You and me?” She waved her hand. “That’s history. Water under the bridge. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

She studied Brad. He sounded truly sincere. He’d moved on. It was probably time for her to do the same.

Besides, the butterflies she would usually get every time Brad entered a room hadn’t arrived. That had to mean something. Maybe her heart had finally caught up with her head and realized he wasn’t the one.

“Melanie seems nice,” she offered.

“Yeah, she’s great.”

“Congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thanks.” He adjusted his cap. “You seem happy.”

“I am. With Tate,” she added quickly. “We’re really happy.”

“So we saw.” Brad headed down the staircase. “I should go help your father.”

Amanda’s stood, mouth agape. What was he implying? “Wait. Hold up.” She chased him down the stairs, lunging for his arm. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

Brad smirked. “Might want to close the drapes next time.” He opened the front door and paused. “Tell your mom I enjoyed our talk last night.”

She stood in horror. Oh, God. Had there been someone outside with him? She couldn’t recall seeing anyone, let alone her mother. Her mom had to have been fast asleep by then. There’s no way her mother would have been standing outside in the dead of winter after midnight. He had to be messing with her.

She paced back and forth in the foyer. But what if someone else did see? What would she say? How would she explain?

She was pretty sure appearing in front of the guest bedroom window half naked while straddling an equally half-dressed man for all to see would put her on the naughty list.

• • •

Tate stepped out of shower and whipped a towel around his hips. He swooped his hand over the foggy mirror and cleared the mist that had collected—all the while singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” It didn’t go unnoticed that the song had special meaning for him this year.

Last night’s impromptu make out session was still fresh in his mind.
Thank you, Brad, for being a voyeur.
Even if it meant nothing to Amanda and had been merely an attempt on her part to piss off her ex-boyfriend, he had to admit kissing her was everything he had dreamed of and then some.

If only she felt the same way about him. Still, the way she responded to his touch . . . He’d been around the block a time or two. He thought he could tell when a woman wasn’t really into it. Her equally engaged lips suggested she’d enjoyed their charade every bit as much as he did. If she was completely faking it, she deserved an Oscar.

Pretending or not, he hoped today involved more kisses.

He dressed and headed downstairs where he found Amanda pacing in the foyer. This couldn’t be good. “Good morning. Everything okay?”

She stopped pacing. “Oh, hi. Yes . . . Er, no,” she stammered and then said, “Maybe.”

“Sounds like you’ve had quite a morning. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Did Alex say something?

“No.” She sighed. “But Brad did. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he repeated and smiled down at her. What had Brad said that had her so worried?

“How did you sleep?”

“Out like a light. I didn’t kick you, did I?”

“No, you stayed on your side.” She looked away.

Was she turning red?

“Are you ready to meet my family?”

“Let’s do it.” Tate followed her into the warm, country style kitchen. Woven baskets, vintage canisters, and pictures in old frames gave the room a cozy charm. Tate took it all in. It instantly reminded him of his mother. She had loved the country.

A plump, middle-aged woman with medium length silver hair dressed in a long red sweater and mom jeans was flipping pancakes on the stove. This had to be Diane Turner.

When she turned around to greet them, he saw a bright Christmas tree in the middle of her sweater. He stifled the urge to laugh. The Turners certainly loved their Christmas trees.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. Breakfast is on the stove.” She motioned to empty plates on the counter.

“Morning, Mom.” Amanda gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

Diane turned to Tate. “You must be the man my mother-in-law has been going on and on about meeting last night.”

“Guilty as charged. I’m Tate. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Turner. Amanda has told me so much about you, but she failed to mention the source of her beautiful looks.”

Diane chuckled. “Aren’t you a charmer. It’s nice to meet you, too. We’ve heard so . . . so little about you, but welcome. How did you sleep?”

“Like a light.”

“I bet you did. You and my daughter had quite an evening.” She raised her eyebrow at Amanda.

Amanda shifted restlessly. “Mom!”

Was he missing something?

Amanda sat at the kitchen’s center island. “It was a long trip. We can recap it later. We’re looking forward to helping out today. Did I tell you Tate lived in Hammondsport when he was a kid?”

“You didn’t really tell me anything about Tate, now did you?” Diane grinned. “Tate, does your family still live there?”

“No, my mom and I moved away when I was thirteen.”.”

“Well, it’s a lovely town. Can I get you some breakfast?”

“Only if it’s not too much trouble, and I can help you later decorate those Christmas cookies you’re baking.” He pointed to the mixing bowl. “I could smell the batter as soon as I entered the kitchen. Say, do you put eggnog in your cookies by any chance?”

Diane’s face lit up. “Why, yes. Yes, I do. Would you like a little sample?” She rummaged through the silverware drawer and pulled out a spoon. She scooped a large dollop of batter and handed it to Tate. “Not many people can guess that eggnog is my secret ingredient.”

Tate closed his eyes and tasted the batter. He grinned. “Just like I remembered.” His gaze rested on Amanda. It wasn’t the first time he’d tasted Diane Turner’s cookies. A fact he longed to share with his co-anchor. He handed the spoon to Diane. “Amazing, thank you.”

Diane patted his shoulder. “Amanda, why don’t you pour Tate a cup of coffee? Tate, did your mom use eggnog in her recipe?”

“No, she wasn’t much of a baker.”

“Where is she now?” Diane began to scoop the batter onto a cookie tray. “Is she disappointed you aren’t home this weekend?”

“She died when I was sixteen.” He glanced over at Amanda, her face full of concern. His heart melted.

“My dear boy. I’m so sorry. Pull up a stool and have some breakfast.”

Tate watched Mrs. Turner bustle around, fixing him a plate. How could he share the story of his mom passing when those memories inevitably led back to these very Christmas cookies and Amanda?

“Are you sure I can’t help you with those Christmas cookies, Mrs. Turner? Maybe roll out the batter for you?” Tate called from the foyer. He smirked at Amanda. “She loves me.”

Diane poked her head out of the kitchen’s doorway. “No, no. Mr. Turner and Alex could use your help lifting the trees into the trucks. When you get back tonight, I’ll be sure there are cookies and warm cocoa waiting for you.”

“I can’t wait,” Tate said.

Diane pointed to Amanda. “Dear, go introduce Tate to your father and then come help me welcome the volunteers. We’ll be loading the decorations soon.”

“Sure thing, Mom.”

“Chop, chop. We’ve got lots of families to visit.” Diane clapped her hands and disappeared.

Amanda pulled out their jackets from the closet. She was thinking about the conversation Tate just had with her mother. He had lost his mother at an early age. And where was his father? She shouldn’t have teased him yesterday that his family didn’t invite him home for Christmas.

“Here you go.” She handed him his jacket.

“Thanks.” He yanked his zipper halfway up.

“Say, um . . . I’m sorry to hear about your mom.” She looked at him and then down at her Uggs. She was never good at these kinds of conversations.

“It was a long time ago. It’s just—those cookies take me back. Way back. It’s the eggnog, you know.” He rubbed his hands together. “Is this the part where I spend the day outside helping your father?”

She brightened. “Yes, and Alex. Think your southern blood can handle being outside all day?” She opened the door. It was chilly but the sun was shining.

Tate zipped his jacket all the way up to his neck. “I think I can handle it. Remember, I did live here for a bit.”

“Hey, I wonder if we ever ran into each other at the mall or movies or something? How funny would that be?”

He gazed past her up at the snowy hills. “So how many trees are we delivering today?”

Why was he changing the subject? For some reason, he didn’t seem to want to talk about his past.
Amanda, let it go.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen my father’s list.”

“He keeps a list, huh? Checks it twice.”

“Very funny. My guess is around fifty. A tree is delivered complete with a tree stand, decorations, and angel or star for its top.”

“And your parents donate all the decorations?”

“Yep, with the help of local businesses.”

“How in the world do they get fifty trees delivered and decorated in one day?”

Amanda patted his shoulder. “You’ll see.”