All He Wants for Christmas

by Karen Booth

  She was relieved to know that someone else liked Andrew. She wasn’t imagining things. Great. And yes. We need to talk about Thanksgiving.

  I’ll call you this weekend.

  She tossed her phone back into her bag and walked inside. “Hello?” she called out into the house.

  “Up here in the nursery,” Andrew shouted back.

  She cast aside her purse and hurried down the hall and up the stairs. As soon as she reached the landing, she spotted Andrew wearing jeans, a T-shirt and a big smile, standing outside the baby’s room. He looked good enough to eat. And she needed to stop seeing him that way. She considered trying to convince him to wear baggier clothes, but she wasn’t sure that was going to help. Enjoy it while you can. He’s not here forever. “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “It’s done,” he announced with more than a hint of excitement in his voice.

  “It is?”

  “To be fair, your brother helped me.”

  She couldn’t ignore the way his shirt clung to his strong shoulders and sculpted chest. “I can’t wait to see it.” She tried to take a peek inside the nursery, but Andrew stopped her with both hands on her shoulders.

  “Hold on. You don’t get to look yet.”

  “Why not? My baby, my house, my rules.”

  Andrew shook his head with a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Indulge me. I’d like you to be surprised by my hard work.”

  “I thought my brother helped.”

  “Okay. I guess it’s our work. Now close your eyes.”

  She did as she was told, which made the anticipation of this moment that much more urgent. She was dying to see what the baby’s room was going to look like. She’d seen it in her mind’s eye many times, but it was all about to become that much more real. Andrew held on to one shoulder and she sensed him moving. Sure enough, there was a hand on her other shoulder a moment later. He was standing behind her, close enough that she could feel his body warmth.

  “I’m going to walk you inside. It’s just about three steps, straight ahead.” His voice was soft against her ear, sending tingles through her body.

  “Okay.” She took the first step and Andrew began to count.

  “One...”

  Another two steps.

  “Two. Three.”

  “Can I open my eyes?”

  “Yes. Go.”

  She did it slowly, the room coming into focus and then just as quickly going fuzzy from tears. Ahead sat the crib, in exactly the spot where she’d envisioned it, which was amazing considering she hadn’t told Andrew where it belonged. It was even more beautiful than she’d remembered from the catalog, painted white with scrolled sleigh ends and exquisite wood carving along the bottom.

  “You can’t cry,” he said, coming to her side. “This is supposed to be a happy moment.”

  “It is. I am happy.” She heard the trepidation in her own voice. The truth was that this was all happening at lightning speed, and even with her usually optimistic worldview, it was hard to not be overwhelmed by the weight of what was ahead. Motherhood was the great unknown and she was barreling toward it.

  “This is a good thing, isn’t it? A baby’s gotta have somewhere to sleep.”

  “Of course. I’m just surprised, that’s all. And things seem to be moving so fast. I’m starting to feel overwhelmed, just thinking about everything I have to do for the nursery and the holidays on the way. It’s a lot to think about.” She hated unloading on Andrew. Like he cared about all of her problems.

  “I don’t want you to worry. Just enjoy this moment, okay?”

  “Okay.” She turned and sought the comfort of his arms. It was such an appealing escape that she didn’t question the repercussions of what this physical closeness meant. He didn’t hesitate to wrap himself around her, pulling her close. He was so solid and firm, and she felt safe there, like nothing could ever hurt her or the baby.

  He caressed her back slowly, bringing up feelings that went beyond comfort. She fought back her own desires to touch him, to have him touch her. They were all alone in this big house with nothing less than an entire weekend stretching out before them. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss him, but she feared his response. Would he recoil? Push her away? Leave town? There was too much of a potential stigma standing between them—a widow and her husband’s brother should not become physically involved. Even if she wanted him badly.

  “Thank you so much for this. It’s wonderful.” She didn’t let go of him, resting her head on his chest and selfishly curling her fingers into his muscled back. “The fact that my brother helped you put it together really means so much to me. It makes the whole thing very special.”

  “I really like him a lot.” He continued his lazy passes up and down the channel of her spine with his fingers. It was putting her into a trance, one where she was lulled into thinking everything would be okay. Even if she decided to act on her impulses.

  “I’m so glad. He’s a wonderful person. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him over the years.”

  “He’s great. But I think the real reason I like him is because he reminds me of you.”

  For a moment, Andrew’s words hung in the air. At first, she thought that it was only natural that he would like her. Of course he did. She liked him, too. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

  “It’s the truth, Miranda. I know we’ve only been in the same house together for less than seven days, but it’s been one of the best weeks in recent memory. That’s all because of you.”

  “It’s not just me,” she said, finally lifting her head from his chest so she could look him in the eye. His face was painted with its usual serious expression, but she saw the vulnerability there, that he seemingly hid from other people. “You’re half of this equation. You’ve cooked for me this week and been my companion. It might sound silly, but it’s meant the world to me. I haven’t been this happy in a while.”

  “Since before Johnathon passed away?”

  Something about his statement struck a chord, and that made her stomach sink. Yes, she had happy memories of Johnathon, but she couldn’t remember simply being happy on the days that were normal. There was always an air of discontent with Johnathon, a need to have more from life. Tara had once told Miranda that she’d felt like that the entire time she’d been married to Johnathon. Miranda hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now she got it, only because she’d seen a glimpse of what it was like to have more, even when there was no romance between her and Andrew.

  “I don’t think I could put a date on it,” Miranda said, deciding that was enough information. “I only know that I’m happy right now.”

  A smile played at the corners of his tempting mouth. She wanted nothing more than to kiss him right now—or even better, have him kiss her. Have him show her that he wanted her. She wasn’t sure he ever would. He might just be a fantasy right now. And perhaps that was for the best. Keep these crazy ideas of hers tucked up inside of her head.

  “I’m so glad.” He gripped her shoulders and pressed his lips to the top of her head. It felt like confirmation of the role in his life—sister-in-law or friend. “So, I wanted to tell you that I made a decision today while I was talking to your brother.”

  “Decision?”

  “Yes. You’d mentioned Thanksgiving the day I moved in and Clay told me how much it means to you. Since things aren’t quite wrapped up with Victor and Thanksgiving is next week, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be here for it. I’m happy to help with whatever you need.”

  Miranda was a lucky woman, and she needed to be grateful for the way things were. That meant she needed to stop making wishes about things that would never be. “Sounds perfect. I’m glad you decided to stay.”

  Five

  Thanksgiving had never been a big deal in the Sterling household when Andrew was growing up. Their fath
er had been injured at work when Johnathon and Andrew were young, which left their mom as the sole earner. Not a lot of money and a mother who was already pushing herself to the very limits of her abilities meant that big celebrations or big meals never took place. Often, Thanksgiving day meant burgers wrapped in paper from a drive-thru. Andrew couldn’t blame it on anyone. It was simply a confluence of bad circumstances. And now he was the only one left on earth who recalled any of it. As far as he was concerned, it might be time to make new memories, starting with today.

  Andrew and Miranda had spent most of the night before baking pies and planning out the Thanksgiving menu. Like all time he spent with her in that house, it brought him nothing less than pure happiness. They had forged a bond, especially since the day he put the crib together with Clay’s help. But Andrew was haunted a bit by the scene in the nursery after the big reveal. Having Miranda in his arms brought too many good feelings that he wasn’t sure he deserved. He’d wanted to give in to the cues his body was sending during those quiet moments, the ones that said he should cup her jaw and kiss her. That he should sweep her into his arms, carry her off to the bedroom and make love to her.

  What had stopped him? The overwhelming presence of his brother and the sense that he wasn’t entitled to someone as lovely and sweet as Miranda. So he’d kissed her on the head, made a promise to stay for Thanksgiving and taken thoughts of her to bed that night. He wasn’t proud of what had gone through his mind while he imagined her asleep right down the hall...the way he’d fantasized about touching her beautiful body and bringing her to her peak again and again. Even now, those thoughts were pervasive. They followed him wherever he went.

  “I think we’re all set,” Miranda said, adjusting one of the place settings at the table in her dining room.

  “Absolutely. It’s beautiful,” Andrew said. “Just like everything you do.” Just like you, period.

  The doorbell rang and Miranda jumped. “Somebody’s here.” She practically squealed like a little girl on Christmas morning. Her enthusiasm was infectious as she traipsed off down the hall and Andrew followed. “If Grant and Tara aren’t being nice, just ignore them,” she said before flinging open the door.

  Fortunately for Andrew, it was Astrid, Clay and his daughter, Delia.

  “Aunt Miranda!” the little girl exclaimed, then flattened herself against Miranda’s legs, wrapping her arms around her.

  Miranda leaned down and kissed Delia on top of the head. “Hi, sweetie. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Clay handed Andrew a bottle of wine. “Andrew, I’d like you to meet Astrid.”

  A former model, Astrid was just as stunning as the photographs Andrew had seen. One thing was indisputable—Johnathon had been a very lucky man. “It’s so nice to meet you, Andrew. It feels strange that you were once my brother-in-law, but we never met.”

  Of the many things that were going to be awkward today, that detail might be pretty high on the list. “Better late than never, right?”

  Clay slid Andrew a look of solidarity. He and Andrew had discussed the contentious nature of Andrew’s relationship with Johnathon. Clay seemed to understand that it had been messy and complicated.

  “Come on, everyone. Let me make some drinks,” Andrew said, waving everyone into the great room. Just as the five of them arrived, the doorbell rang again.

  “I’ll get it,” Miranda said, flitting off for the front door.

  Andrew went to work, pouring glasses of wine for Clay and Astrid, and making a Shirley Temple for Delia.

  “It’s so fancy with a cherry in it.” Delia eagerly sucked on the straw.

  “Not too fast,” Clay offered. “We don’t need you bouncing off the walls.”

  Delia rolled her eyes. “Okay, Daddy.”

  “Look who’s here,” Miranda said, entering the room with Tara and Grant in her wake.

  Tara went to hug Astrid while Grant shook Clay’s hand. Andrew felt like the odd man out here, and it was no surprise. The last time he’d seen Grant and Tara, it had been at a party in downtown San Diego a few weeks after Johnathon’s death. That had been Andrew’s first attempt to stop the plan to sabotage Sterling Enterprises. It was also when Grant and Tara confronted him about the fact that he hadn’t been to the funeral. That ultimately led to Andrew’s visit to see Miranda and apologize. If he had to admit it, it was also when his fascination with Miranda had started. But he would keep that to himself forever.

  “Andrew,” Grant said. He offered his hand, but everything in his tone was clipped and curt.

  “Grant,” Andrew countered. “Nice to see you.”

  The look on Tara’s face said she wasn’t really buying it. “I see you decided to stay for Thanksgiving,” she said. The subtext, of course, was that Andrew had no business being there.

  “Miranda asked me to stay. It’s her first Thanksgiving without Johnathon.”

  “And are you thinking you’re a substitute?” Tara asked.

  Andrew’s stomach lurched. He so greatly disliked the suggestion. “No. I’m not.”

  Thankfully, Miranda appeared, which made both Tara and Grant relax. Apparently, they were saving their contention for only him. “Andrew, it’s about time to take the turkey out of the oven.”

  He consulted his watch. “So it is.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Miranda said.

  Andrew had never looked more forward to a trip to the kitchen. At least he and Miranda could be alone. “Tara and Grant aren’t happy I’m here,” he said as he read the temperature readout on the digital thermometer. He grabbed the oven mitts and turned off the oven, then opened the door. The aroma of roast turkey filled the room, reminding him of what he was really here for—not to please Tara and Grant, but to make Miranda happy.

  “I hope you know that I don’t care what they think,” Miranda said as she got out the carving knife and large cutting board.

  “But I think you do care. You’re so thoughtful. You care about everyone.”

  “Not at the sake of someone else’s feelings.” She turned to Andrew and grasped his forearm. “You’re here because I want you here. This is one of my most favorite days of the year and I can’t imagine it without you right now, okay? So let’s just get a few glasses of wine into Grant and Tara, sit down to a fabulous meal, and try to forget everything else.”

  She had such a way of calming him. It was incredible. “Sounds perfect.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the temple. It was only a peck, but how he wished he could have lingered longer with his lips. He wanted a touch that was more than fleeting, a whiff of her intoxicating fragrance that lasted longer than a heartbeat. Those unfulfilled desires left a hot ache in the center of his chest that echoed the regret he felt at not being able to clutch her nape, raise her chin, and deliver a real kiss.

  The pair were soon joined by Astrid, who helped them ferry dishes of decadent mashed potatoes, green beans with crispy shallots, and herb stuffing to the sideboard in the dining room. Buttery dinner rolls, sweet potato casserole, turkey and gravy soon followed. It was quite a production, but you never would have known it was any work at all judging by Miranda’s sunny mood. Andrew had suggested days ago that she consider hiring some help for the occasion, but she’d been strictly opposed to the idea. She wanted this to be about family.

  As they sat down to the table, with Miranda at the head of the table and Clay at the opposite end, Andrew was struck by two things. First, it was sad that this was such an unfamiliar setting for him. He’d seen it in movies and, yes, he’d been to a few fancy Thanksgiving celebrations, but nothing as family-oriented as this. Second, he still felt like the interloper. Miranda may have said she wanted him here, but Johnathon’s absence was omnipresent. It was all around them. And the logical deduction from that fact was that if Johnathon had still been alive, Andrew wouldn’t have been sitting at this table at all.

  The meal was wonderful, and everyon
e seemed to enjoy themselves, even Tara and Grant. Perhaps Miranda had been right. Maybe they’d just needed some wine to smooth away their rougher edges. After dessert, which was an array of pies—pumpkin, pecan, and apple—Clay and Astrid went to play with Delia in the backyard, leaving Andrew and Miranda with Tara and Grant.

  “So, Andrew, how long do you think you’ll be staying?” Tara asked.

  “As long as he wants,” Miranda quickly answered. “It’s great to have someone here at the house with me.”

  “But the plan is to go back to Seattle, right? After you sort things out with the problem you created?” Grant asked.

  “Yes. I have made Victor an offer to stop with what he’s doing. I’m just not sure he’s received it. That’s been the hard part. Getting a hold of him.”

  Grant nodded but seemed entirely unconvinced. “You know what’s interesting?”

  “What?” Andrew replied, sensing something bad was about to be lobbed in his direction.

  “Things at Sterling have been remarkably quieter since you arrived. We’ve had zero problems.” Grant sat back in his chair and crossed his legs.

  “Maybe that means Victor is backing off,” Miranda said.

  Tara shook her head. “Or maybe it means that there is no Victor.”

  Andrew drew a deep cleansing breath through his nose. He would not lose his cool. He deserved this. He’d created the problem in the first place and he was going to have to fix his own mess. “If I could prove to you that he exists, I would. But for the time being, you’re just going to have to take me at my word.”

  * * *

  Miranda’s heart was in her throat as she listened to the back-and-forth between Andrew, Grant and Tara. He explained that Victor was a man who did as much of his work as he could off the books, using offshore accounts and holding companies. Victor liked being invisible and that would make him much harder to stop.