One Christmas Eve

by Shannon Stacey

  Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink, but then she frowned and held up a hand. “Wait, you said especially the parts with the sticky notes. You didn’t actually read the whole book, did you?”

  “Of course I did. Random scenes with no context aren’t going to mean anything.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “Although, I must confess that the closer I got to a sticky note, the faster I read.”

  “Trust me, we all do.”

  “I felt bad for the guy’s brother, though. His wife taking off and leaving him with a baby like that.”

  “He’s the next book in the series,” she said with a chuckle. “Do you want to read it and find out what happens to him?”

  His cheeks heated in the cold air. “I kind of do want to know how his story goes.”

  “I’ll get you a copy, then.” She pulled the collar of her sweater up and then stood. “Okay, it’s officially cold out here. Let’s go inside.”

  When he held the door open for her, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to put his hand on the small of her back as she went by him. And he kept it there, the heat of her back warming his palm, as she looked around for Carly and Noah.

  They’d gotten a booth, so Zoe slid across the seat to the inside and once she was settled, he slid in next to her.

  “It’s definitely warmer in here,” he said.

  “And their buffalo sauce will take care of any lingering chill,” Carly said, and they all laughed.

  Good humor was the vibe of the night as they talked about random things and ate wings hot enough to make his eyes water. He was glad he’d come out tonight, and not just because he was spending time with Zoe. This was the kind of relaxing, stress-busting evening he never seemed to have time for working for the big city firm, and it was a big part of why he’d moved.

  Zoe shifted her weight on the seat, and her leg pressed against his. There had been a few accidental brushes that had heated his body as much as the wing sauce, but this time she didn’t move away.

  He savored the warm pressure, though he tried his best not to give any visual clues he was aware of it. The contact of their thighs through his khakis and her jeans drew his awareness, though, and made it a lot harder to focus on the conversation. It was tempting to do the old stretch and yawn routine and rest his arm on the back of the booth behind her, but he didn’t dare try it with Noah and Carly sitting across from them. If he blew it, they’d probably piss themselves laughing at him.

  When they’d settled the bill and it was time to leave, Preston stood up, and after she slid across the seat, he offered Zoe his hand to help her up. He would have held on to it as they walked out to the parking lot, but at some point she’d taken her sweater off and she needed both hands to put it back on.

  He was parked near her, so after saying goodnight to Noah and Carly, he walked her to her car.

  “I’ll leave first,” she said with a saucy grin. “I can’t cut you off if I’m already in front of you.”

  He laughed at the lighthearted reference to their first meeting. “I’ve figured out to just yield to you.”

  That suggestive half smile with arched eyebrow look of hers made his senses sizzle. “Oh, really?”

  But he had paid attention to the pages she’d marked with the sticky notes and he didn’t really think she’d have time for a guy who just threw up a white flag, no matter the contest. “No, not really.”

  Her laugh was almost musical in the still, cold air. “I didn’t think so. But I’m freezing, so I’m going home now.”

  “I have to go back to Boston for a few days and finalize a few things, so I won’t be around. You know, in case you wonder why the office is closed next week.” He was rewarded with what might have been a glimmer of disappointment in her expression, but it cleared so quickly, it was possible he’d imagined it.

  “I hear you’re coming to Thanksgiving dinner at Granddad’s,” she said.

  “I was invited.” He gave a little shrug. “And it was more like he told me to come when I said I wouldn’t be joining my family for the holiday.”

  “That’s kind of how he is.”

  “But I didn’t want to commit to accepting until I got a chance to talk to you. If you think it would be weird for me to be there, I won’t go.”

  Her lips tilted into a slight smile. “And will you post pictures on Instagram of your bowl of ramen soup you’re eating all alone?”

  He laughed. “Ramen soup? You don’t think I can do any better than that?”

  “I’m sure you can, but you don’t have to. Of course you’re welcome at Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He couldn’t really bring up the sexual tension simmering between them without introducing the possibility it was all in his head, so he didn’t really want to spell it out for her. “Just checking. I don’t want to intrude on family time.”

  She opened her door, but before sliding into her seat, she looked at him. “It’s not intruding. So...have fun in Boston, I guess. And if I don’t see you before Thanksgiving, I’ll see you at Granddad’s?”

  “Sounds good.” He really wanted to kiss her goodnight, but he figured if she was thinking the same thing, she wouldn’t have put her car door between them. “I’ll see you there.”

  Thanksgiving felt like forever away, and as he watched her drive away, he knew he’d be thinking about her the entire time, even though it didn’t make any sense. Wanting her so badly didn’t make sense. Not being able to keep her out of his thoughts didn’t make any sense.

  He couldn’t make sense of his attraction to Zoe Randall, but he could feel himself nearing the point he didn’t care anymore.

  To hell with sense.

  Chapter Five

  Zoe wasn’t surprised to see a gray BMW sedan parked next to Noah’s truck when she pulled down the long dirt drive to her grandfather’s house. Preston was probably painfully punctual and she was running a little late.

  She’d like to blame it on the glass casserole pan of baked macaroni and cheese that was probably melting her passenger-side floor mat at the moment, but preparing one of the few holiday dishes she made well had gone smoothly. Choosing what to wear, however, hadn’t.

  She’d gone through a lot of wardrobe changes for a casual Thanksgiving dinner, but as she parked on the other side of the BMW, she knew the driver of that particular car was the real reason her bedroom looked like a tornado had gone through it. The first outfit was a lot more night out at the club than family dinner, and she’d been so annoyed by her subconscious’s obvious desire to catch Preston’s eye that she’d taken it all off and tossed it on the bed.

  Unfortunately, she’d been annoyed to the point she went too far in the other direction. Maybe it was only a family dinner, but it was Thanksgiving and she wasn’t going to sit at her grandfather’s table in sweatpants and a slouchy sweatshirt. The quest for the perfect happy medium had left a path of destruction from her closet to the bed, and she might have to sleep on her couch when she got home.

  She hadn’t seen Preston since the Dock, as he’d been in Boston, and then, when she saw his car parked near the bookshop, she’d decided to stop by his office to say hi, but the Private Meeting in Session, Please Call for an Appointment sign had been hung in the window. By the time she had another chance to leave the bookshop, his office was closed and the BMW was gone. Their only communication had been him liking her Instagram photos. It wasn’t much, but she knew he didn’t follow the account, which meant every day he thought of her and checked the feed.

  And now she was going to see him again. And they’d eat together and then sit around, watching football they didn’t care about—but it was a tradition, according to Granddad—and moaning about how full they were, but not too full for pie. It was going to be a very comfortable, homey day and it made her anxious.

 
After walking around her car and pulling on her oven mitts, she lifted the casserole dish off the floor and bumped the door closed with her hip. She didn’t have long before the heat from the glass started burning through the mitts, so despite not feeling prepared to come face to face with Preston yet, she didn’t waste time walking to the front door. She kicked the old, thick wood door a few times with her toe, hoping Carly hurried up because the casserole dish was about to be too hot to hold.

  Thankfully, the door swung open almost immediately, but it wasn’t Carly who opened it. Of course it had to be Preston, and her heart did a little pitter-patter that wasn’t okay. A sexual response was totally cool. An emotional response was not.

  “Can I take that for you?”

  “Not with your bare hands,” she said, twisting away when he reached for the macaroni and cheese.

  “Good point.” He stepped back so she could pass by, and she inhaled the scent of him—just the lightest touch of something warm and spicy—before the aroma of roasting turkey overwhelmed it.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” she called out as she walked into the kitchen and made a beeline for one of the trivets already spread out across the old harvest table.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” everybody echoed back to her. Everybody consisted of her grandfather, Carly, Noah and Preston, which was a dynamic that made Zoe vaguely uncomfortable.

  Granddad would sit at the head of the table and nobody had sat at the foot of the table since her grandmother passed, which put Noah and Carly on one side of the table and Preston and Zoe on the other. It was very couple-y, she thought. She wasn’t part of a couple, and Carly didn’t need that kind of encouragement.

  “This is a lot of food,” Preston said as they started moving dishes from the stove to the table. “Are you expecting more guests?”

  “Nope.” Joe glanced up from the turkey he was carving. “It just happens that, by the time everybody has that one dish they can’t have Thanksgiving without, there’s this much food.”

  “Leftovers for days,” Carly added.

  “Except maybe that baked macaroni and cheese,” Granddad said with a sly smile. “Zoe makes it almost as good as her grandma did, Preston, and you’re in for a treat.”

  Zoe exchanged a really? look and an eye roll with Carly before going to the fridge for butter to set out and the cans of chilled cranberry sauce to open and slice.

  Preston cleared his throat. “What can I help with?”

  Zoe liked the way he phrased it. If he’d asked if he could help, of course they’d say no. That he was company and should have a seat. Instead, she set the can opener on the table next to the cranberry sauce cans.

  “You can open those and put them in the bowls there. And then slice them. I would just dump the cans and let people spoon chunks out, but Granddad likes slices, so we slice.”

  “At least it’s the jellied type,” he said, smiling as he picked up the can opener. “That whole berry stuff just isn’t the same.”

  “Good man,” Granddad said as he hefted the platter of carved turkey and carried it to the table.

  There was a lot of good-natured chatter and laughter as they passed dishes around the table and filled their plates. It didn’t take long for Zoe to relax as Preston made easy conversation with her family, and she noticed he took more of the macaroni and cheese than he did the mashed potatoes. Clearly the man’s culinary priorities were in order.

  But as the meal went on, Zoe quickly realized her grandfather’s motives in inviting Preston Wheeler to Thanksgiving dinner extended well beyond being neighborly as he asked a lot of pointed questions about his relationship status and sang Zoe’s praises to a ridiculous extent. Granddad not only appeared to be in the market for a new grandson-in-law, but he had his sights set on Preston.

  Unless he had a secret granddaughter somewhere that nobody knew about, her grandfather was probably going to be disappointed.

  Sure, she was attracted to Preston. And he was attracted to her. Only an idiot would deny there was a lot of zing between them and she wouldn’t mind exploring that a little more, but the last thing Zoe wanted was another husband.

  She wasn’t anti-marriage, by any means. She’d come through her divorce very anti-Ben, but she’d seen too many happy marriages in her life not to know it was the man, not the institution. But she’d worked too hard building this new life and finding her own happiness to risk having her heart and sense of self broken down by another man right now.

  As if she could feel the weight of his gaze, Zoe looked up to find her grandfather staring at her with an expectant expression. And when he arched an eyebrow and tipped his head slightly in Preston’s direction, she knew what he wanted.

  Time to make small talk with their guest. Just because she wasn’t going to marry the man didn’t mean she could be rude at her grandfather’s table.

  “So, Preston...” She mentally flailed for a safe topic of conversation. “Where are you from?”

  “I was born in Virginia, but we were Air Force and left there before I could walk. We lived a lot of places, but when my dad retired from the military, he took a job in Boston and we stayed there. He decided to take an early retirement, since my mom’s a freelance travel writer, and now he travels with her.”

  “That sounds fascinating,” Zoe said. “Do they go really exciting places?”

  “Not really,” he said, and they all chuckled. “She tends to write articles that are more about traveling in the US with a family on a budget, but she finds fun and quirky things that aren’t in the states’ tourism brochures.”

  “Sounds exciting enough to me,” Granddad said, and then he launched into a story about an accidental road trip he and Grandma had taken back in the seventies, before everybody had a computer to navigate for them.

  Zoe had heard the story a time or twelve, so she only half listened and instead pondered the fact Preston seemed to fit in so well with her family. She wouldn’t have expected it, based on their early interactions, but it was just one more way the man surprised her.

  She wondered what else he was hiding behind those buttoned-up shirts and perfectly knotted ties.

  * * *

  Don’t be disgusting, Zoe.

  Preston still couldn’t get those words out of his head. And the reason for that varied depending on the time of day it was.

  During daylight hours—even when he’d been handling meetings and finalizing some real estate things in Boston—he’d mull over the statement because it might help explain why Zoe had been so prickly when he reacted badly to the sexy window display. His disapproval had been strictly for the actual display, but she’d obviously been deeply hurt by a man who’d been judgmental about her sexuality.

  At night, when he should be sleeping, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering what exactly Zoe Randall wanted to do that could be classified as disgusting.

  If anybody ever asked him, he would say he’d never had an overly active imagination. But when it came to Zoe and sex and picturing doing all manner of things with her, he’d found out his imagination was capable of being not only overly active, but extremely creative.

  It made sitting around the small living room with her family on Thanksgiving Day pretty awkward for him, and the discomfort wasn’t just from the third helping of macaroni and cheese and sampling four different pies, or not having an idea what was happening in the football game on TV. He tried to focus on the sports, to get his mind off her, but he was so lost he couldn’t invest in either team.

  During a break in the play, everybody got up to refill their drinks and pick at the desserts, and Preston used the guest bathroom off the back hall. When he came back to the kitchen, Zoe was alone, covering the desserts with plastic wrap.

  “Need some help?” he asked, walking over to the table to stand next to her.

  “I’m about done.” She licked apple filling off her finger, which ma
de every muscle in his body tense in response, and then turned to face him. They were so close, she had to tip her head up to look up at him and everything but the urge to kiss her faded away.

  She reached up and tucked her finger into the opening at his shirt collar, so her fingertip touched his throat, making him swallow hard. “No tie. Top button unbuttoned. Is this your casual look?”

  He nodded, not sure he could actually speak until he cleared this throat. “I figured the suit was a bit much for Thanksgiving.”

  When she tugged a little at the button her finger was hooked over, he closed the gap between them, putting his hands on her hips. His brain was short-circuiting and he wanted to make sure they were on the same page. “What are we doing right now?”

  “Surrendering to the inevitable?”

  “Yes.” He barely had time to whisper the word before their lips met and the world shifted under his feet.

  As his mouth devoured hers, his hands skimmed over her back and pressed her even closer before he went back to the delicious curve of her hips. She tasted like sweet apple pie and he dipped his tongue between her lips, needing more.

  Her hand cupped the back of his neck, and he kissed her until she was on her toes, her body arched against his. Her breasts against his chest. His knee sliding between her legs. But as he shifted one hand up her side toward the curve of her breast, the kiss ended.

  He wasn’t sure which of them had remembered where they were and broken it off, but he knew he was damn sorry they weren’t alone right now. And judging by the way Zoe rested her forehead against his shoulder and sighed, he thought she agreed.

  “I feel kind of weird kissing you in my grandparents’ kitchen,” she whispered.

  “Probably not my smoothest move,” he agreed, and she chuckled against his shoulder.

  Then she backed away and he felt the loss of her body against his so strongly, he had to exert all of his willpower not to pull her back to him. He wanted her in his arms and he wanted to kiss her again, until everything disappeared except the two of them.