Daddy.
One word that managed to hook his heart, tugging him as close as he could get to the two of them. Jonas cleared his throat. “Plates are next to the fridge,” he said, trying to regain composure.
Rachel reached the cupboard as easily as if she’d lived there for months. Or years. “Silverware down below. And cups—”
“Found them,” Rachel sang out, holding one up.
She and Scott went back and forth to the table until there were three place settings, one nudged closer to Rachel’s so she could feed the kid from her lap. A highchair and a crib would be the next items on his shopping list. But for tonight, they could take turns helping Scott, so they could both eat. It would be their first meal together, just the three of them.
“Sauce is ready.” Jonas was firmly resolved to live in this moment instead of fantasizing about the future. Rachel had agreed to stay for dinner, giving him a few extra hours with his son. And for this moment, he’d make it enough.
7
The dinner lasted longer than she expected, and Rachel didn’t hate it.
Scott had eaten so much that he’d been covered in sauce, in his hair, and in his ears, and everywhere. She’d given him a bath in Jonas’s huge tub and put him in PJs from the diaper bag. Not long after, he’d fallen asleep on the sofa. The two of them stood over his sleeping form, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he took even breaths.
“I hate to move him,” Rachel said in a low voice. It was cold outside, and she didn’t love the thought of waking him any time soon after he’d fallen asleep.
“Don’t, then,” Jonas said. “Have a glass of wine with me.”
“I shouldn’t,” she whispered.
“But you want to. Admit it.” Jonas kept his voice low, mindful of Scott. “If it’s a matter of getting back to the lodge, I’ll drive you when you’re ready.”
“After wine?” She reached out and pushed him lightly on the shoulder with her fingertips.
“It’s a stone’s throw away, but I’ll wait until it’s safe. Come choose your preference.”
“Okay, give me a second.” She grabbed a couple of pillows and laid them on the floor just in case Scott rolled.
“Good idea.” Jonas nodded and took her by the hand. He led her into a large pantry behind his kitchen, which had shelves full of baking supplies and shelf-stable items and a big wine rack.
“Oooh—there’s a good red.” Rachel pointed, and just like that, Jonas took the bottle, opened it, and poured two glasses. Back in the living room, they each took a seat on either side of the sleeping toddler.
An awkward silence fell. “What do you think of the holidays?” she asked. It was the first thing that came to mind.
Jonas laughed and took a sip of wine. “What do you mean?”
“Do you like them?” She was full of spaghetti, deliciously relaxed, and ready for some not-so-serious conversation. There would be plenty of the serious kind between them. “Some people don’t. I’m fifty-fifty. I like the traditions, but I don’t like the pressure.”
Jonas considered this. “I miss the holidays the way they were when we were growing up. Every few years, we’d take a vacation. That’s not as possible now.”
“No?” she asked, interested in his revelation about his past.
“No.” He took a deep breath. “I haven’t wanted to be away from the resort.”
Her phone rang and vibrated from the depths of her purse. Rachel jumped up, wine sloshing against the rim of the glass. “Oh—sorry, sorry. Nobody calls me this late, so it’s probably—”
She rushed to the foyer table and grabbed her phone. Her mother’s name flashed on the screen. Rachel’s stomach sank as she answered the call. “Hi, Mom. Is everything okay?”
“Of course it is,” her mother said in clipped tones. “Why aren’t you here, Rachel? Christmas came and went, and you never bothered to show up.”
Rachel blinked, one hand tight around her wine glass. “We weren’t there last Christmas either, and you already know why.”
A pause. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to this year’s celebration.”
“It’s relevant, Mom. It’s all relevant.” Anger flared, bright and hot. When Rachel had announced her pregnancy, her mother had launched into a high-pressure campaign to convince her daughter to get married to a “suitable” candidate, or really anyone in the vicinity of “acceptable.” The last thing her Senator mother wanted was for her daughter to have a baby out of wedlock. When Rachel refused, she’d been banned from the house. Nothing had changed since then.
Her mother sighed as if it were Rachel who was being pushy. “It’s in your best interests to at least visit for a few days.”
Rachel let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t think it is.”
“It is,” her mother insisted. “It’s time for you to get over our past disagreements and look to the future. I know of some nice young men who would overlook the baby, and you could enter a stable relationship.” The criticism still cut, even though Rachel tried to steel herself against it. “You could have more children, in time. And you could have a more serious job than that photography studio of yours.” Her mother paused, seeming to muse over something. She was more than likely thinking of her political campaigns, during which she ran on family values. Rachel being a stay-at-home mom would work well as a photo-op for that, too. She was surprised her mother hadn’t thought of it before.
“Thanks for sharing your thoughts,” Rachel said, struggling to keep her voice even. “But I’m perfectly happy with my studio.”
“Don’t be naïve, Rachel. Photography isn’t enough to sustain a family, and how are you supposed to care for Scott on such an unpredictable schedule? You can’t juggle it all. Parts of your life will start to slip through the cracks.” She’d heard the lecture before.
“I’m not marrying somebody you’ve hand-picked just to be respectable, and so that I can come back into the family fold and stop being an embarrassment to your senatorial campaign.” It was an old argument, and Rachel was tired of it. Too tired. She pushed away all her arguments and hurt feelings and the old cycles she found herself trapped in so often. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”
She ended the call and tossed the phone back in her purse, her hand trembling on her wine glass.
“Are you okay?”
Rachel turned to find Jonas standing behind her. How long had he been so close? From the expression on his face, he’d heard the entire conversation.
* * *
Rachel flushed red as she looked down into her glass to avoid eye contact, her shoulders slumped. Jonas’s heart raced at the sight of her this way—almost resigned. What had she meant about marrying someone respectable? She drew in a deep breath and gazed up at him, forcing a smile to her lips. “I’ll be okay.”
“Your mother seems to have some strong opinions.”
“Ha. You could say that.” She shook her head, glancing over at the sofa to check on Scott, but not before he’d noticed the hurt reflected in her eyes. “I don’t know why I let her upset me so much. She’s been saying the same things for years.”
“About getting married?” He frowned, gesturing for her to move back into the living room.
“About everything.” This time she sat on the loveseat, and Jonas used the opportunity to sit next to her. He relished the heat of her body so close to his. It would be infinitely better if she wasn’t upset, but then again, he wanted to comfort her—somehow.
“She didn’t like my major in college. She didn’t like the one guy I dated in high school. Everything has always been about her ambitions.”
It was easy, Jonas knew, to go along with what your family wanted. The thought of her marrying someone else made his stomach turn. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t have any claim on her. It was only that he’d lost her once already. Tension soaked into his skin. Jonas could lose her again before he even had a chance to try. That was reality.
Rachel stared straight ahead. He watched as tears gathe
red at the corners of her eyes. She took in a deep, shuddering breath, then blinked them away. “I can’t believe I let her get to me. I only answered because I thought there might be some kind of emergency,” she said, agonizing over the decision.
“And there wasn’t?”
“The emergency was that I’m not married yet.” She let her head fall against the back of the sofa. “She wanted me home for Christmas to meet men. And—more of the same. The photography studio isn’t good enough. It’s not enough for Scott. And we both know what she means by that.”
“I don’t,” he admitted.
“She means that I’m not good enough for Scott.”
He put his fingertips on her chin and turned her face toward his. “You are good enough for Scott. You are such a good mom.” It took the breath out of him to say it, but it was true. “You’re amazing and strong and resilient, and I believe in you.”
Rachel searched his eyes as if she could find proof there. “That means a lot to me.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “It’s just that I know how quickly people can go from saying they believe in you, to saying that they don’t think you can handle a situation. Until they want to make the decisions for you.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, there was no sign of her tears.
“You’re astonishing,” he said, blown away by her self-control.
This earned him a slow smile. “I am?”
“Yes.” In a hundred different ways. He’d seen it before, but only a glimpse of it, and now regret drilled into him. How had he let her walk away from that hotel room? What an incredible oversight. “The both of you are.”
This swung their attention back to Scott, who slept peacefully on his belly on the sofa, a light blanket curling around his waist. He had one fist tucked up by his face, and his chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm that calmed Jonas. He’d missed a lot of moments like this with Scott—just watching him be in the world. Two years’ worth.
“He is amazing,” Rachel agreed.
Something shimmered in the air between them. Was it all the lost time, or a glimpse of a potential future? Jonas felt blinded by it, overtaken, and he took a deep breath to clear his mind.
She couldn’t trust him yet. Too much had happened, judging by her comment. If people went from believing in Rachel to putting her down, if everyone in her life had been like her mother, then Jonas would have to work at earning her trust.
“More wine?”
Rachel glanced over to him at the offer, pressing her lips together in a hint of a smile. “I want more wine,” she said, laughing a little. “But I think this little guy needs to go back to my suite and his own bed.”
“I’ll start the car.”
“Wait—” He was up from the sofa, but Rachel frowned at him. “Do you have a car seat?”
“I had someone from the lodge bring one by earlier today.” Why did he feel mildly embarrassed about this? It had all been for Scott. He wasn’t going to take him to his place and stay for hours with no way to leave. “In case of emergencies. It’s already installed.”
Rachel’s lips parted like she was going to say more.
Jonas found himself craving it like he occasionally craved fresh-baked bread. He didn’t always let himself indulge in baking it or even requesting it from the kitchen, but when he did, it was because he had a gnawing pit in his stomach that nothing else could fill. That same pit appeared now, only he wanted her voice. He wanted the conversation that had to happen one day, about what they were going to do, and where and when. If.
“You thought of everything,” she said finally, rising from the sofa. Rachel padded into the kitchen and rinsed out her glass, then bent down to put it in the dishwasher. Easily, like she’d done it a hundred times. He wanted her to watch her do it a hundred times. No—he didn’t want her to have to do the dishes at all. That wasn’t it. He just wanted her to be in the kitchen.
“It’ll be warm in a few minutes,” he answered, his hands aching to touch her. “And then I’ll take you back.”
I’ll take you back, and I’ll keep working, he thought. I’ll earn trust from you. I have to.
8
Rachel looked up as Jonas entered the suite, the afternoon chill still clinging to his jacket as he drew near.
“The print shop is getting tired of me,” he joked, putting the bag down on the couch.
Scott was sleeping in the bedroom, his daily nap a good opportunity for her to work on the scrapbook. “Hopefully, they won’t have to deal with you too many more times. I’m leaving room at the back of the album for the rest of the photos, and we can be smarter about choosing them before they get printed for the next round.”
Jonas had already been by three times this morning for more photos they’d decided to add to the book. The Elk Lodge had a printer, of course, but the photo paper hadn’t been archival quality. Once Rachel had pointed that out, Jonas had volunteered to go into town. He wasn’t going to give his grandmother anything less than the best.
“What do you think?” She held up the spread she’d been working on. It was a good thing Rachel had been into scrapbooking since about high school—it made the layouts easier. The plan was to provide them with a printed book after the holidays—two versions, one handmade and one bound. The shipping times on the coffee table photo books were too long to have it done by New Year’s. Part of her was glad for the chance to have one final interaction with Jonas and his family after all this was done.
But right now, she didn’t want to think about this project ending.
Jonas kicked off his boots and moved to stand beside her at the desk where she was working. His hand came down on her shoulder, gentle and strong, and it took everything she had not to lean into it and lean into him. It must be the holidays getting to her head. Everyone wanted closeness and warmth this time of year, so it was only natural. It had nothing to do with how ridiculously attractive he was, or the hard fall of his muscles beneath a gray sweater that brought out his blue eyes.
“It looks great,” he commented, after a long look at the pages. “She’s going to love it.”
It seemed like Jonas wasn’t saying everything he wanted to say. He went over to the sofa and sank down into it, and Rachel swiveled to face him. “What’s on your mind?”
“There’s been a change of plans for the photos tonight,” he said lightly, but the way he watched her left her thinking it wasn’t such an easy decision. “I thought we’d have the portraits taken at dinner instead of in the lounge.”
“At dinner?” Her nerves fired up. Rachel had taken many pictures at formal meals before. So why the prickling sensation at the back of her neck? “I’m happy to take the photos wherever you want.”
Jonas pushed a hand through his hair. “I’d actually like you to come to dinner with the family.”
Oh. “How will I take photos if I’m eating?” This wasn’t at all what she expected.
“We can take them beforehand, or after. Probably before, so everyone doesn’t feel overfull while we’re arranging ourselves for portraits.” A smile flashed across his face, so intensely beautiful that Rachel’s knees went weak even though she was sitting. She had to get a grip. Her ex-fiancé’s treatment of her was a constant reminder that rich men like Jonas weren’t to be trusted. People weren’t to be trusted.
“Scott might have a tough time sitting through dinner,” she pointed out. “And I thought you didn’t want them to see much of him?”
“I thought he could stay with Lisa. There’s no need to make a big announcement about Scott or us just yet. Don’t you think?”
Rachel swallowed hard, emotion coming to grip her throat. But which emotion? Part of her was reassured—there wouldn’t be any awkward discussions while she was working. And part of her was disappointed. The way things had gone last night had been good. Easy. She’d been comfortable at Jonas’s table and in his house. After she’d put Scott in his crib and crawled into bed, she’d been filled with a warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“We could do that,” she agreed.
“You don’t seem convinced.” Jonas’s eyes swept over hers. “If this plan doesn’t work for you, then tell me—I’ll change it.”
That made her breath catch. Jonas was a client, but obviously, he was more than that—and obviously, it was complicated. Way more complicated. “There’s nothing you need to change,” she insisted. “Whatever works best for your family is what we’ll do.”
“You’re my family, in a way.”
Rachel’s heart stopped, then stuttered to a start again. Of all the things she’d expected when she signed on for a rush holiday job like this, an intense conversation of this nature hadn’t been one of them.
Jonas looked away. “Maybe that was going too far. What I meant is that I want what’s comfortable for you, too. And Scott. We’re still working on this project together—and it won’t be done for a few days, right?” He was trying to back out of the unexpected admission.
“That’s correct. We still haven’t taken all the photos. This is supposed to go through New Year’s. You wanted those too if I remember correctly.”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “I want all of them.”
“Okay,” she said, trying to regain some equilibrium. It was as if he were saying one thing and thinking another. “Okay. Photos at dinner tonight. More photos tomorrow, and I’ll keep working on the book until New Year’s.” Those words were tougher than others. “You’ll have the whole holiday season captured and in the book by the time I leave.”
“Perfect,” Jonas said.
“Perfect,” she echoed.
“Dadadada,” Scott called out from the bedroom, letting the grown-ups know he was awake.
“Oh,” Jonas started upright, joy bright in his eyes. “I know he’s not calling me, but it sure sounds like it.”
“Maybe he is,” she said, smiling. “Go and get him.” She waved Jonas off and turned back to the scrapbook, her heart beating fast. If she wanted Jonas to make some announcement about Scott, would he do it? That was what it sounded like. But the last thing she wanted was to put fractures in the middle of what could be their last family holiday together.
The Billionaire’s Christmas Son: Elkin Brothers Christmas Book Three Page 5
