by Lauren Runow
Someone put a Santa hat on his head, and to my surprise, he’s kept it there. By the time the coffee is served, the boxes of blankets and coats have come out, and another crew of volunteers is sifting through them, handing them out to the men who have formed two lines to receive their gifts.
Hunter is walking around a table, clearing the plates off into a trash bag, when I hand him two cups of coffee.
“Care for a break?” I ask.
He sees me, smiles, and puts the bag to the side. “Sure.”
As I sit down, he slides the Santa hat off his head. His normally disheveled hair is an upright mess, and it’s beyond sexy.
I put his coffee cup in front of him. It’s black with two sugars. He takes a sip.
“You know how I take my coffee,” he states, impressed.
“I notice things,” I recite a line he’s said to me more than once.
“Oh yeah?” He raises a brow. “Like what?”
I curve my hands around my cup and let the warmth seep through my palms. “You’re a good man, Hunter.”
“I wouldn’t go around, starting rumors like that, if I were you.”
I laugh. “You didn’t just come here to spy on me. It took some legwork to get hundreds of donations.”
“I might have asked the Advertising department for a contact at one of our sponsors to see if they had anything lying around.”
I reach across the table and lay my hand on top of his. “You went out of your way. It’s very admirable.”
He looks down to where I’m touching him and grins. His other hand rises and covers mine. “I’m glad you think so.”
We exchange bashful smiles, and I hide mine behind my coffee cup.
A clearing of a throat interrupts us. I turn around to see Sheryl standing behind me.
“The evening is almost done, and there’s only cleanup left to do. Why don’t you two head home?” she says.
I look up at her and shake my head. “I plan on staying until the very end.”
She smiles. “Your seven hours are up. Go home and get some rest.”
I’m about to argue again when Hunter squeezes my hand. I turn and see him leaning forward with a nod toward the front door.
I say good-bye to the people I volunteered with and give my contact information, so I can be called for more events. I know they can use as much help as they can get, and after today, I think this is something I can find great fulfillment in doing.
Hunter helps me slide my coat on, and together, we walk outside into the freezing December night. The normally crowded streets are vacant, which provides an unexpectedly peaceful moment as we stand under the streetlamp on the corner.
My phone vibrates in my bag, so I stop and take it out, seeing the incoming text message from Branson.
Waiting for you when you’re ready.
I don’t respond. Instead, I lock my phone and place it inside my coat pocket as I spy the car service I booked, parked idly across the street. Hunter is staring at me, waiting with a purposeful stance. I lean forward and raise his collar, pulling it tight to protect his neck.
His reddened cheeks rise slightly. “Walk me to my car.”
I’m surprised by his command but follow along anyway. The other two nights we were together, he walked me home or put me in a cab. It’s only courteous that I return the favor tonight.
We walk down the street, our steps silent in the puffy snow. When we get to his car, parked on the street, he stops just outside the passenger side and turns to me.
“Here’s the thing,” he says with his hands out, like he needs me to stop and pay attention to what he’s about to say. “When I told my mother that a beautiful woman I’m dating was spending Christmas alone, she demanded that I bring her home for the holiday.”
“Why did you tell your mother about me? It’s a faux relationship.” I try to say this nonchalantly, but something inside me flutters at the notion that he told his mother about me. “Tell her it’s sweet that she wants me there, but I’m good on my own. Besides, Branson asked me to go to a dinner with him tonight. I have somewhere to go.”
Hunter has a glazed-over expression as he stares at me. I know what he’s about to say.
“I know,” I start, not letting him say it first. “He’s out of my league. And I have to thank you. You’re a genius. Him thinking we’re together is making him see me as more than an assistant.”
His jaw tightens as he looks down at the snow. “How does that make you feel?”
“Good, I suppose.”
“It doesn’t bother you that he only wants you because someone else does?
He wastes no time in closing the gap between us and places a hand on my waist, pulling me into him.
“Katie,” he says. It stops my feigned indifference and has me staring up into his stone-cold, serious expression. “If you’d listened correctly, you would have heard that I said you’re out of his league. He never stood a chance.”
I have to catch my breath from the gasp that escapes my lips. “You did say that, didn’t you?”
He smiles that deliriously gorgeous grin, leans just a touch closer, and whispers into my ear, “I want you with me this Christmas.”
A genuine rush of elation courses through my body. “You do?” I ask wistfully, trying to maintain my composure. “I shouldn’t impose. Where would I sleep?”
The sides of his eyes crinkle with an air of mischief while he pushes a stray hair off my face. “We can think of something.”
I smash my lips together while I widen my eyes.
He gives a hearty laugh. “I’m kidding. Well, kind of.” He rests his forehead against mine, the warmth of him enveloping me. “Come home with me, Katie. Spend Christmas with me.”
I close my eyes and breathe him in.
Uptown, the man who I thought was the one I wanted is waiting for me to spend the evening with him, embarking on shenanigans that I once dreamed of partaking in.
In front of me is a man who wants to bring me home to his family, and that’s something I never thought I’d ever want to do.
And yet, as I look up at Hunter—the roguish man with a devilish expression and a carefree personality—and fall into his caramel eyes, which open into his soul and bear a goodness he keeps hidden beneath the surface, I know there’s nothing else I want this Christmas.
“Yes,” I say and feel my smile down to my toes.
“Let’s get you home, kid.”
Chapter Nine
I’m nervous, sitting here with Hunter, driving to his parents’ house. I’m a stranger, popping in on a family. And this isn’t any family dinner. It’s Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Tomorrow, I’ll sit around the tree and watch everyone open gifts as the outsider, awkwardly peering at them. My tummy rattles with nerves.
“Are you hungry?” Hunter asks from the driver’s side.
“Just a little jittery, I guess.”
His brows rise as he rubs his chin. “You should be. My mother is a heinous bitch who hates every woman I bring home. And my grandmother thinks girls who wear red lace thongs are floozies.”
I press my fingers to my temples, in complete distress of this news. “You can’t be serious.”
He pulls them away from my face and laughs. “I’m kidding. My mother will love you, and my grandmother will have no idea what kind of underwear you have on.”
I slap him on the arm, my palm ricocheting off the hardness. He pretends to rub his injured bicep as I scold him, “Don’t mess with an apprehensive woman like that.” I want to laugh at how proud he seems to be at his joke, and then it hits me. “Wait. How do you know what kind of panties I’m wearing?”
His laugh morphs into a smirk. “I might have sneaked a peek when you were on the ladder, hanging snowflakes.”
I hit him on the arm again. “Perv!” This time, I do let out a laugh.
“The little red fabric was trying to say hello. Trust me, if you were putting on a show, especially in that room, I would have said something.”
>
“Keeping an eye out for me?”
“Like a hawk.” The honesty in his voice has my insides flipping for a different reason. He clears his throat and then adds, “Anyway, they’re gonna think you’re adorable.”
“You probably say that to all the girls you bring home.”
He leans forward to adjust the radio to play a station of holiday hits. “I haven’t brought a woman home since college.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I say, almost in disbelief.
He grabs my hand and holds it, and I look at our conjoined fingers. This other side of him bewilders me. Nervous as I am, I’m excited to meet the people who helped mold this affectionate part of Hunter that he hides from the world.
We cross the border from New York to Connecticut and exit off the highway in Old Greenwich. I knew Connecticut was known for parts with wealth, but when he said we were heading here, I never imagined Hunter came from a town like this.
As we drive down the tree-lined roads, I notice each property is set back from the road with long driveways and ornate fixtures showing the way. Holiday lights decorate the peaked roofs of the stone mansions. Every shrub and tree is illuminated with twinkle lights. Some homes have giant nativities, wooden hay mangers included. Others have winter-wonderland themes of snowmen and reindeer that sway their heads gently from side to side.
Of course, houses are decorated in my hometown as well, but these are more. Where my parents’ block can borderline on cheesy, these homes look like they were professionally decorated. Come to think of it, they probably were.
Hunter pulls up the driveway of a large brick home. Every window has an electric candle on the sill, simulating the days of yore. The eaves are lined with white lights, and a lamppost in the center of the circular drive is decorated with more lights, garland, and an elaborate display of poinsettia plants.
He stops the car in front of a four-car garage and puts it in park. I glance his way and don’t miss how he’s fidgeting with the gearshift.
When his eyes meet mine, he inhales. “Well, here goes nothing.”
This entire time, I was thinking about me not being jittery, but I never considered the thought of him being off.
“Hey, what happened to having nothing to be nervous about?”
He drops his head back against the headrest. “Like I said, you’re the first girl I’ve brought home in years.”
“Okay,” I draw out. “So, they’re probably going to be a little curious.”
He laughs to himself. His eyes find mine, and he grins. “Look over my shoulder at the window to the left of the front door. Tell me if you see anyone there.”
I glance around his shoulder to the window in question. The drapes are moved on both sides, and what looks like four faces are gawking out the window. “They’re spying on us.”
Hunter shakes his head with a laugh. As he turns around to see for himself, the curtains suddenly close, swaying with how abruptly they were dropped.
“Come on. I’m sure they’re dying to meet you,” he says.
Sure. No reason to be nervous. Liar!
I unbuckle my seat belt and meet Hunter at the trunk. Before we left the city, we stopped by my house, so I could pack a weekend bag. After seeing the opulence of this place, I’m wondering if I packed a fancy enough outfit for tomorrow.
Hunter grabs both bags with his left hand, closes the lid, and then entangles his fingers with mine.
Before we make our way to the front door, a little girl comes barreling outside. She runs down the front steps and straight to Hunter’s arms.
“Uncle Hunty!” she yells as he drops my hand and the bags on the ground so he can pick her up to swing her around.
“Ella Bear! Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” Hunter envelops her.
She giggles in his arms.
He puts his overcoat around her shoulders to keep her warm. “This little tyke, who ran outside without a coat,” he scolds her in a loving tone, “is my niece, Ella. Or as I call her, Ella Bear.”
“Can you guess why?” the tiny girl asks me as she fights away a tickle from her uncle.
I place a finger on my mouth and take a guess. “Because you’re cuddly like a teddy bear?”
“Nope! Because I love honey and can sleep the day away!” she says in a shout because Hunter is really tickling her, to the point that she falls to the side.
He rights her in his arms and then tells her in a mock serious voice, “Ella, I’d like you to meet my friend Katie.”
I reach out my hand to her, and she shakes it.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
She smiles sweetly at me and then turns to Hunter. “I heard Grandma and Mom talking about you bringing someone home. Grandma said she’s your girlfriend, but Mom said there’s no way and that she’ll be gone by New Year’s.”
Talk about being put on the spot. Hunter and I have exchanged a few kisses and a very affectionate request to spend Christmas together. We haven’t exactly declared titles.
Hunter turns to me and raises his brows.
He runs his hand over her head, messing up her hair. “Oh, did she now? Well, Ella, when you’re old enough to have this talk, we will. Why don’t you run along and tell your mom that we’re coming in and to watch her words before she says something else she’ll regret?” He puts her down placing his hand on her back, urging her to run inside, out of the cold.
As he picks up our bags, he looks my way to assess my reaction.
“Gone by New Year’s, huh?” I try to make light of the situation.
“Ready or not, here we go.”
We walk up the stairs to meet his mom standing at the entrance.
“Katie,” she sings out, holding her arms open wide to give me a hug. “I’m Nancy. We’re so excited you’re joining us.”
I lean into her embrace and am surprised by how tight she wraps her arms around me. She’s one of those long huggers. Holds on to you for a beat after most would let go.
“I knew he’d find you. I just knew it,” she whispers in my ear.
I’m shocked, not sure what to say, so I just lean back and smile a little too brightly. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“You’re welcome in our home anytime. Please come in.”
She shows me the way in and then reaches out to Hunter. When I turn around, I see her holding his face within her hands. Hunter’s face lights up in return.
“Don’t smother the boy. Let him enter the house first,” a deep male voice says from behind me.
I turn and see a man with the same wavy hair as Hunter stand up from his chair in the living room and head toward us. His square jawline and light-caramel eyes are definitely Hunter’s, but the gray hair that lines his face sets him apart.
He holds his hand out to me. “I’m Randy. Nice to meet you.”
I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you too.”
Then, Hunter steps to his father, and they embrace in a hug with large pats on each of their backs. “Good to see you, Dad.”
“Have you eaten yet?” he asks.
“Even if they did, it doesn’t matter. It’s Christmas Eve, and we have a seafood tradition.” His mom claps her hands in front of her. “We kept some things in the warmer. Here, I’ll make you each a plate before we cut the pies.”
“Finally!” Ella says in the most overdramatic way. “I feel like we’ve been waiting forever to have dessert!”
“Oh, really now?” Hunter chases her in a fit of giggles.
Nancy wraps her arm around mine and leads me down the hall in the opposite direction of where Hunter disappeared. “I can’t tell you how thrilled we are to have you here. You can imagine my surprise when Hunter said he had a girlfriend and that he was going to volunteer like that.”
Real girlfriend, pretend girlfriend. The line is a bit blurry.
We enter a kitchen that’s almost as big as my first studio apartment. A stove sits as the centerpiece in the massive room with a stainless steel hood towering over it. Cream-c
olored cabinets with dark accents line the walls, and a granite-covered island is in the middle with barstools all around it.
The instant aroma of a home-cooked meal meets my senses as Nancy takes two plates and starts filling them with food.
“Does your family make a fish dinner on Christmas Eve?” Nancy asks as she lifts the top from a pot, steam rolling out.
I shake my head. “Beef tenderloin and lasagna.”
“That’s how my husband grew up. He had prime rib and lasagna. My mother’s family was Italian, so we always did the Feast of the Seven Fishes. Randy doesn’t like fish, so we’ve improvised over the years.” She pulls items out of the pot and puts them on the plate. “Lobster tails, coconut shrimp, and fried calamari.”
Her whimsical way of delivering her words has me laughing.
“That’s a pretty good compromise.”
“Hunter will eat anything I put on his plate. His sister is the picky one. Do you cook?”
“Unfortunately not much, but yes, I can cook,” I say, watching Nancy lift the Saran Wrap off a platter on the counter.
“Potatoes and asparagus?” she asks with her spoon in the air.
“Yes, please.”
She finishes making the two plates and then tops them with a sprig of oregano. “Has Hunter made his homemade gnocchi for you yet? It’s my favorite thing. My grandmother’s recipe actually.”
I blush at the thought of Hunter cooking. Both at the sight of what he’d look like in my kitchen, preparing a romantic meal, and for the fact that his mother thinks he would do such a thing. “No, he hasn’t.”
Her brows lower, and she nods her head softly. “Wait until you try it. Then, you’ll know.”
“Know what?” I ask just as Hunter walks into the kitchen with Ella on his back.
“Mom’s coconut shrimp!” He steals one off the plate. “I look forward to this every year.”
“Mind your manners. Eat in the dining room like a civilized man,” Nancy says with her hands full of our dinner.
Hunter shakes his head while putting Ella down on the floor. “You already cleaned up. Katie and I can sit at the island.”
Nancy lowers her eyes at her son. “Hunter Randall Johnstone, it’s a holiday. You can’t eat in the kitchen.”
