The Wedding Date: A Christmas Novella (5 page)

“Uh huh. And I was prom queen.”

“You were?” He acted surprised. Squinted at her in the fading light. “I guess I can see it.”

She whacked his arm.

They turned right on Beacon Street. She stopped the driver at the corner of Walnut. “It’s easier to walk from here,” she told Cody. Then, when he dawdled around to watch the ice skaters at the rink on the Common, she gazed regretfully after the taillights. “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“Maybe you need to slow down.” He dragged out his drawl, tipped his head at the rink. “Never seen folks skate outdoors before.”

“Oh. Right.” She seemed to settle down, willing to give him his moment.

He took it. Soaked up the colored lights, the music. The snow had picked up while they rode in the cab. Even in this weather, people lined up to get on the ice.

He looked away from the skaters to lock eyes with Julie. Fat flakes settled on her hair, a glitter effect. A big one caught on her lashes, and his chest tightened again. It must be all this Christmas stuff that was making him maudlin. He had to clear his throat to speak.

“What’s the hurry, anyway?

“The hurry is that I’m trying to show you two condos in”—she broke eye contact first, checked her watch—“less than two hours.” She set off at a clip, crossing Beacon Street, heading up Walnut.

He took his time following. “How long can it take to look at two condos anyway?” he called ahead.

She stopped to wait. “At your pace, a week.”

He caught up. “You seem to know this neighborhood.”

“It’s my job to know neighborhoods. But you’re right, I know this one better than most. My place is a few streets over that way.”

“No shit?” That got his blood pumping. They could be neighbors. Friends.

Friends with benefits.

Suddenly he wanted to see where she lived. The place she called home. When she started moving in the other direction, he said, innocently, “You should get out of those damp clothes.”

Her step hitched. It had to be tempting. “You don’t want to get sick.” He did the smile. “Doctor’s orders.”

Whoa. She spun on him. “I don’t need a
doctor
telling me what to do. Stick your advice—” She bit off the rest, started to push on.

“Julie. Honey.” He picked up his pace, touched a hand to her arm. “Whatever I said, I take it back. I just thought you’d want to be comfortable.”

She shook off his hand, but she came to a stop, thought about it while her breath fogged the cold air. Then she nodded once. “Yes. I want to be comfortable.” She one-eightied. He trailed behind, deciding it was even harder keeping up with her brain than her body.

Her street was narrow, the sidewalks practically nonexistent. But the houses, they were beautiful. Brick, as old as any in the country. Hitching posts and boot scrapers by the front door. Some with a narrow drive leading back to a carriage house. To a Texas boy, it was as foreign as Mars.

“This is nice,” Cody said, knowing it for an understatement but hard pressed to describe how he felt. Like even though he’d never set foot here before, never imagined such a place, he was coming home.

Cutting between two red brick houses with wreaths on their doors, Julie led him down a driveway to the brick carriage house at the end. The downstairs had been converted to a one-car garage with an arched doorway and authentic-looking green wooden door. Beside it, the regular entry door had a glass pane, but no wreath.

She unlocked the door, left it open behind her. He took it as an invitation, stomping his boots on the mat inside. Stairs rose directly before him, bringing him to another door. She’d left that one ajar too. Leaving his snowy jacket on a hook, he toed off his boots and stepped into her personal space.

A hundred years ago, it was a hayloft, stinking of manure. Now, it smelled like gingerbread. And it was snug, with painted plaster walls, exposed beams, recessed lighting. Through large, modern windows he saw the snow falling outside, but in here it was all thick rugs and warm colors.

The room wasn’t huge, but it felt spacious, with a modern kitchen at one end, set off from the living area by an island topped with dark granite. At the other end of the room, a gas fireplace was framed in the same stone. A plush sofa reigned before it, calling to him. The long night dragged at his frame.

He heard drawers thumping in a room behind the kitchen, probably her bedroom. He’d like to see where she slept. If she had a king-sized bed. A fluffy down comforter. A drawer full of sex toys.

But moseying back there would get him thrown out on his ear, and since he never wanted to leave, he went for the sofa instead.

The upholstery was suede-y, just as soft as it looked. The pillowy cushions cradled him like a bosom. It took everything he had not to prop his feet on the coffee table.

As he sank into the couch, every minute of his twelve-hour shift settled into his bones. He stared blindly at his reflection in the fireplace glass. His lids weighed a thousand pounds each.

“The fireplace remote’s on the end table.” Julie’s voice seemed to come from a long way away. With a hand as heavy as a brick, he found it. A faint beep, then the flames leapt to life.

The next minute, it seemed, she was peering down at him, wearing jeans and a snuggly sweater the same moss green as her eyes. He blinked. Slowly and with great effort.

She made a tsking sound.

He tried to smile, but his head fell back. A groan slipped out.

He quit fighting and let himself go.

J
ULIE GLARED AT
Cody as a snore issued forth.

“Hey.” She rocked his shoulder. “Hey. Cody. Wake up.”

No response, just another snore. He was out cold. Dead to the world.

What was she supposed to do now?

She tiptoed to the kitchen. Paced a circle. Chewed her nails. His masculine presence threw her whole space out of whack. It threw
her
out of whack. Testosterone wafted off him like the aroma of bacon.

Who could say no to bacon?

She had to get rid of him before she did something stupid. But how? She couldn’t carry him down to a cab. He weighed two hundred pounds if he weighed an ounce.

Besides, she felt sorry for him. Sort of. He’d worked all night . . .

No. This was
his
fault. She fisted her hips. If he hadn’t pestered her, he’d be in bed at the Plaza and she’d be wrapped in seaweed at the spa.

Vowing to wake him, she marched to the sofa, then froze up at the sight of his big body, relaxed and defenseless. The intimacy of it tore at her heart. She hadn’t seen a man sleep since David closed his eyes in her arms.

She retreated to the kitchen to hyperventilate.

Maybe she’d let him sleep for a while. Just a catnap while she kept her distance. Pouring Cap’n Crunch, she parked on a stool at the island to eat it, then realized she was chewing quietly, and kicked herself. Damn it, she hadn’t asked him to cork off on her sofa!

Deliberately, she clanked her spoon on her bowl.

Then she felt bad about it. After all, he was her guest.

And so it went for an hour, as she seesawed between outrage and empathy. She knew very well she was being ridiculous, overreacting to having a man in her space. But it unsettled her on a cellular level.

After David died, she’d sold their dream house—through another Realtor—and moved into this carriage house directly behind it. The renovations had taken six months. Since then, no man had set foot in this space. It was hers. Her refuge.

Here, she could torture herself in peace, watching from the front window as another couple enjoyed what should have been her happy home. They didn’t seem to realize it wasn’t their dream house. They were too busy outfitting the nursery for the baby.

Now, as the minutes stretched and the man on her sofa snored peacefully, the knots inside her tied tighter. She stewed and she paced. She damn near wrung her hands. And yet she felt powerless to act. Powerless to wake him and chase him out; powerless to stop wanting to jump him; powerless to forget about him and go watch
Dr. Phil
.

She was considering a Valium when her doorbell chimed. She jumped a foot. Leaping to the door, she opened it soundlessly and sprinted down the steps in her socks.

Night had fallen. Her outside lamps had come on, and through the glass she saw Amelia waiting in the falling snow, a cookie tin in her mittened hands.

Swearing, Julie flattened herself to the wall. She couldn’t let her sister inside. If Amelia saw Cody, she’d get all kinds of ideas. Julie would never hear the end of it.

Could she pretend she wasn’t home?

She peeked out again. Amelia was studying the upstairs windows. She’d never give up as long as the lights were on.

Sure enough, she reached for the bell again. Julie whipped the door open. “Hi. I was napping.” She faked a yawn.

Amelia barged past her, not taking the hint. “I thought you might be. I’ve been calling your cell.”

“Sorry, I muted it for the closing.” Julie got in front of her before she hit the stairs. “I was just going out.”

Amelia’s brows shot up. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Well, I was resting up to go out. Now.”

Amelia grinned. “With Leo? You’re going out again already?” She elbowed past Julie, steamed up the stairs. “I was hoping you’d like him. His sister’s a doll.”

Julie sprinted past to cut her off at the landing. Lowered her voice to a whisper. “Shh, I’ve got a soufflé in the oven. The slightest noise can make it drop. Even a change in air pressure. We shouldn’t open the door.”

Amelia put a hand on her hip. “What’s going on, Jules? Why don’t you want me inside?” Then her eyes lit up. “My present’s in there, isn’t it? It’s too big to wrap!”

And shoving the cookies at Julie, she pushed her aside and charged in.

A
MELIA TURNED IN
a circle, scanning for her present. The treadmill she wanted? The antique bureau she’d been hemming and hawing over since her birthday?

Nope. Everything looked like it always did. No presents in sight. Not a single Christmas decoration.

And then—wait a minute—she zeroed in on a tawny mop of hair poking over the sofa. Adding one and one, she got two, and shooting Julie a wide-eyed look, she zoomed over to see who it was.

Julie caught up to her before she could blare out a greeting. “He’s sleeping!” she hissed, and tried to drag Amelia away. But Amelia didn’t budge.

Instead, she stared, rapt, at the long-legged Adonis sprawled on her sister’s sofa. His arms had fallen open; so had his knees. His lashes fanned out on tanned cheekbones. She raked her eyes from his messy hair to his white gym socks and back up again for good measure.

Whoa.

“This is
Leo
?” she whispered, hardly believing her eyes. He was sex-dream material, tall and rangy, with snug jeans that left nothing to the imagination. Hardcore erotica on the hoof.

“Believe me, it’s not Leo,” Julie whispered back.

“Then who is he?” she hissed. “I want deets!”

“There
are
no deets.” Julie’s beet-red face gave the lie to her words. “He’s a client. Looking at places in Beacon Hill.”

“Baloney. He’s looking at the inside of his eyelids.” Amelia bore in. “What’s going on? You never bring clients here. And where’s his wife?” She sucked a breath, her whisper rising. “Are you having an affair with a client?”

“Will you
stop
?” Julie hauled her away from the sofa.

Amelia went along with her as far as the kitchen. Then she dug in her heels, worry sharpening her tone. “Julie, tell me right now. Is he married?”

“For God’s sake, he’s single, all right? We stopped here so I could change out of my wet clothes. He fell asleep while I was in the bedroom.” She fisted her hair. “I’ve been angsting for an hour, wondering if I should wake him up, or let him sleep, or what the hell else I should do with him.”

Amelia homed in on the operative fact. “He’s single? You never work with singles.”

Julie rolled her eyes. “There’s a first time for everything.”

“And your first time happens to be Mr. Six-Foot Tenderloin?” She grinned at Julie. “Did you do it yet?”

“Do what?” Julie truly looked confused, but she could be faking it.

“Have sex, dummy.”

Julie’s fair skin went redder. “I can’t believe you.”

Amelia sighed, disappointed. She’d never asked outright, but she was pretty sure Julie hadn’t been with another man in three years. David’s illness, his death, all of it was a tragedy, and her heart bled for her sister. But it was past time for her to move on. And this guy seemed like he might be the ticket.

One way to find out.

Reaching out, she took the cookie tin from Julie’s hand, held it at arm’s length. And let go.

It clanged like a bell when it hit the floor. The hunk shot to his feet and spun around to face them, obviously befuddled. His single-malt eyes blinked, trying to focus. Then one hand plowed his hair, the other went to his fly, and Amelia broke into a grin. Did he really think they’d taken advantage of him?

Well, he
had
looked delicious snoozing on the sofa.

On his feet, he shaped up even better. Broad shoulders, narrow hips. Amelia considered herself a connoisseur; she’d taken years to settle down. And this guy was all that, and more.

Then he smiled. Oh lord. The world tilted on its axis. The moon and the sun rose at once. She looked at Julie. Her sister stared at him like a deer in the headlights.

At last,
she thought.
Oh Julie, at last.

Crushing gingerbread under her feet, she crossed the room at warp speed. “I’m Julie’s sister, Amelia,” she said, reaching for his hand.

“Cody Brown,” he said, and she nearly swooned at his drawl. Could he possibly get any hotter?

She smiled her friendliest smile. “It sounds like you’re a long way from home, Cody.”

“About two thousand miles.”

Julie popped up beside her, clamped a hand on her arm. Amelia sensed her rising panic. Julie knew what she was up to.

“I’ll bet you’d like a home-cooked meal,” Amelia rushed on. “And it just so happens that I’m doing lasagna tomorrow.” She ignored the fingers drilling her biceps. “It’s a family thing. We get together every weekend. We’d love it if you’d join us.”