by Dylann Crush
She laughed, hoping he didn’t catch the edge of wariness that had crept into her voice. Sometimes it got awkward when guys found out she worked in television. Actually, it almost always got awkward. It was a drawback of the job she hadn’t expected. But if Tiffany had to choose between her career and a guy, she would choose career every time.
“What made you decide to go into broadcasting?”
“The short answer? I wanted to be on TV.”
“What’s the long answer?”
“I know it might seem like a shallow goal, but ever since I was little, that’s what I wanted to do. Sure, tons of kids dream of being on television, but few actually go on to pursue it as a career. It’s a lot harder than most people realize.”
“I’m sure it is.” He nodded. “I imagine it’s a lot of work.”
Tiffany studied him, searching for sarcasm in his words. But all she sensed was genuine interest, so she decided to be honest. “It is. And the hours are long, especially now that I have my own featured spot. But I’m enjoying it more than ever. Some people think covering pop culture is fluff, but I love it and I think it’s important.”
When Nick didn’t contradict her or make a face to suggest he thought she was off her rocker, Tiffany continued. “Pop culture coverage lures a lot of viewers to tune in and catch news they otherwise would miss if they weren’t curious about celebrity babies and break-ups and that kind of thing. Besides, pop news is news and what is happening in movies and books and TV and music is a reflection of current events—a reflection of our world. I believe that’s just as important to discuss as anything else covered in a news broadcast.”
“Wow. I never really thought about it, but you’re right.” He stared down at her, blue eyes twinkling merrily.
The admiration in his gaze made her skin tingle and Tiffany couldn’t stop the idiotic grin that took over her face. Maybe the guy was a little like Saint Nick—if Saint Nick was a six-foot-plus nicely toned blond hottie with a killer smile. A wave of uncharacteristic shyness bubbled up and she glanced away, scrambling for a change of subject. “That’s enough about what I do. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You said you’re an occupational therapist. Tell me more about that, Doctor Nick.”
“It’s Dr. Santos.”
“Santos?” Tiffany teased. “You really are Saint Nick.”
He laughed. “My patients usually just call me Doc.” He set his wine glass down next to hers. “If we’re getting technical, I’m actually a hand therapist.”
“You’re making that up,” she accused.
“It’s a real thing. A highly specialized area in the field.” His tone had shifted, become more serious. Nick reached for her. “I treat all parts of the hand.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “Also the wrist,” he continued, fingers circling the delicate bones before stroking her forearm. “The elbow,” he cupped the curve in his palm, then slid his hand up farther, caressing the bare skin of her upper arm. “And the shoulder.”
“Fascinating,” she breathed. Her heart beat faster, pulse points fluttering in the places he’d touched.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” Hand still on her shoulder, Nick squeezed gently, sandy brows drawing together in concern.
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m fine?” Despite her protests, her head did feel a little woozy. She swallowed, swaying slightly. “I drank that glass of wine too fast on an almost empty stomach, that’s all.”
“I think we should get you some food. And some air.” He tugged on her arm, his tone brooking no argument. “Come with me.”
Tiffany decided the professional side of Nick might be even sexier than the fun one. She wasn’t concussed, she was tipsy. And horny. But if he wanted to get her out of here, she wasn’t about to complain. “Whatever you say, Doc.”
3
BABY IT’S NOT THAT COLD OUTSIDE
When Nick had collected their things from the coat check and bundled her out the door, Tiffany had been sure he would take her to one of the many high-end restaurants dotting this part of the Loop. Instead, he’d tucked her arm in his and walked three frigid blocks to Daley Plaza where Chicago’s annual Christkindlmarkt was in full swing.
“When you said fresh air, I thought you meant while on the walk to someplace else,” she muttered.
“We are someplace else.”
“Someplace else indoors,” she clarified.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” He waved an arm, indicating the brightly lit swaths of booths, crowds of people laughing and talking and drinking and eating under the watchful eyes of the Chicago Picasso sculpture. “This place is beautiful.”
“It’s cold,” she countered.
“It’s not that cold.” Nick unwound the thick scarf from his neck, the same shade of blue as his eyes, and wrapped it around her. “There.” He knotted the scarf and kissed the tip of her nose. “Better?”
“A little,” she acquiesced, warmed by his attention as much as his scarf.
He pulled her down one of the long rows of food stalls, stopping at a beverage cart and ordering two hot chocolates.
As Tiffany sipped the sweet steaming liquid and walked alongside Nick, browsing the myriad shops packed with holiday baubles, she was surprised to realize she was falling under the market’s charming spell.
“Well?” he asked after they’d been walking for a few minutes. “What do you think?”
“It’s magical,” she admitted, captivated by the golden glow of twinkling lights, the heavenly smells, and even the cold snap in the air, which made the rich burst of heat on her tongue every time she sipped her cocoa even more delicious.
“Is this your first time?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been here a bunch of times to do features for work. But it was always during the day.” She glanced around. “This is different. I feel like I’m in one of those winter snowglobes. Or a holiday movie. Where everything is charming and perfect.” Tiffany turned to Nick. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome.” He reached for her hand, his leather glove sliding over her knit one. “For someone who claims she hates Christmas, you seem to be pretty happy right now.”
“Maybe it’s the company.” She paused, grinning wickedly. “Or maybe it’s the hot chocolate.” She took another sip, cooing with contentment as the liquid curled in her belly, warming her from the inside out.
“Is that all it takes to convert you? A cup of cocoa?”
“Convert me?” Tiffany narrowed her eyes. “Did you bring me here as part of some nefarious plot?”
“Yes,” he said, totally deadpan. “I intend to make you fall in love.” He paused, eyes twinkling. “With Christmas.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but while this is all very nice, I’m never going to love this time of year.”
“What’s not to love?”
They passed another shop, shelves loaded with cheap touristy trinkets. “This crap, for one. All the over-hyped, sugar-coated, extra happy, super fake winter wonderland bullshit.”
“Whoa, who pooped in your hot cocoa?”
She ignored him. “Not to mention all the parties.”
“You don’t like parties?”
“I don’t like holiday parties.” Actually, it was probably true that she didn’t like most parties, but Tiffany was trying to stay on topic. “No, I will not attend your trying-to-be-ironic-but-failing-miserably X-mas party. No, I will not be bringing a dish to pass at your holiday botulism buffet. No, I will not wear some dumbass itchy thrift shop sweater that makes my tits look like ornaments.”
“Do you really have a sweater like that?” Nick asked, gaze drifting to her cleavage.
“Have you been listening? I hate it! I hate all this stuff!” she shouted, not caring that people were turning to stare. “I am a terrible horrible person and I hate Christmas!”
Nick blinked. Without a word, he leaned forward and kissed her. Not on the nose
this time, but full on the mouth. And not a peck, but a kiss kiss. Lips pressed hard against hers, tongue seeking, invading, conquering.
More people stopped to stare, but Tiffany ignored them as she surrendered to the kiss, moaning into his mouth. The kiss seemed to go on forever, yet it was over too soon. He released her and she gasped. “What was that for?”
He pointed.
Directly above them, hanging from an archway lit with hundreds of fairy lights, was a beribboned plant. “Is that…”
“Mistletoe?” His grin was sly. “It sure is.”
“Well.” She eyed the cluster of leaves and berries again. “I don’t hate that.”
He chuckled and took her hand again. “That’s a start.”
Was it? What she’d told him was true. She was a Scrooge. She didn’t like all the holiday hoopla and usually the more cheerful someone was, the grumpier she got. But for some reason, Nick was the exception. He was like the freaking sun, a ball of warmth and light and energy. Tiffany could feel herself getting pulled into his orbit.
They drifted further down the row of stalls. “Where are we going?”
“I promised you food, right?” Nick nodded toward a brightly painted tent at the end of the row, filled with wooden picnic tables that had been painted red and green. “I’m making good on that promise.”
Tiffany eyed the tent warily. “Hot pretzels?”
“These aren’t just any hot pretzels,” Nick assured her. “Trust me.”
If Nick’s promise wasn’t enough to convince her, the incredible smells wafting toward her lured Tiffany in. She followed him into the tent and secured a table while he ordered.
A few minutes later, faster than she expected considering the length of the line, Nick made his way toward her, tray piled high. Tiffany’s stomach grumbled in anticipation.
He set the food on the picnic table and slid in beside her.
She noticed he’d chosen to sit next to her on the bench, rather than across from her. It was a small detail, yet to Tiffany, it felt significant. She liked that he’d done that. Liked the way his leg pressed up against hers. Liked how he waited for her to have first pick of the food. Tiffany realized she liked Nick, period.
She watched him from beneath her lashes as he described the different pretzels he’d ordered. From sweet to savory, there was a smorgasbord of flavors. Pretzels stuffed with apple pie filling, pumpkin, and hazelnut. There was even a pizza pretzel, Chicago deep dish style, of course. As well as a grilled cheese pretzel that Tiffany intended to do some serious damage to. She opened a napkin and placed it on her lap. Even though the tent was open to the elements, with all the bodies and pretzel ovens, the area was quite warm. She slipped off Nick’s scarf and unzipped her coat, glancing down at her designer dress.
It seemed surreal that only a few hours ago, she’d put this dress on, dreading the evening ahead. A few hours ago, she hadn’t known how her night would go. She hadn’t known Nick.
They dug in, chewing in contended silence together, the murmur of conversation from other tables a pleasant buzz in the background. It was only after Tiffany had finished off most of the grilled cheese pretzel and was starting on the apple pie one that she noticed Nick was humming.
She paused, watching him curiously.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re humming.”
“Sorry.” He grinned sheepishly. “It’s a habit. I only do it when I’m eating something really delicious.” He popped another bite of pumpkin pretzel into his mouth. Eyes closed, he swayed on the bench, humming softly as he chewed.
Tiffany smiled to herself, enjoying this new little tidbit she’d learned about him. They’d only known each other a few hours, but she felt like she was really getting to know Nick, gathering each new piece of information he revealed about himself and hoarding it close. “How did you end up in an a cappella group?” she asked, eager to know more.
“It was the logical step after my boy band career ended.”
He delivered his answer with such a straight face it took Tiffany a moment to realize he was messing with her. “You’re hilarious,” she snarked.
“So I’ve been told.” He grinned and swallowed another bite of pretzel. “The truth is, I fell into the group by accident. Freshman year of college. I was singing in the shower and one of the other guys on my dorm floor heard me and insisted I audition. He wouldn’t let me leave the bathroom until I agreed.”
“What did he do, hold your clothes hostage?”
“How’d you know?”
“I think the boy band story might be more believable.” Tiffany giggled.
“It’s the truth.” He shrugged. “Not the boy band story, but the bathroom one. I guess it was serendipitous because joining that group was one of the best decisions of my life. Some of my closest friends came out of that group—including Geoff—he’s the reason we performed tonight.”
“He convinced your group to do fundraisers?”
Nick shook his head. “The Bucking Hams have always done charity work, but we started performing at the Jingle Ball after Geoff was diagnosed with testicular cancer a few years ago.”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry,” Tiffany said.
Nick waved a hand. “He’s fine now. Performed with the group tonight, in fact. Little guy with a deep voice. No one ever believes he’s a bass.”
“I’m glad he’s okay.”
“Don’t get me wrong, there were a few years of hell for the guy. It was a scary time. For all of us. But his doctors caught it early and fully expect Geoff will live a nice long healthy life.” Nick wiped his hands on a napkin. “Early detection is key to survivor rates, so it was a no-brainer to support the nonprofit for testicular cancer and do what we can to help raise awareness.” He began gathering up the wrappers. “Are you done?”
Tiffany nodded. “I feel like a stuffed pretzel myself,” she groaned.
“I hope you can find a little more room because there’s one final treat you need to have on our date.”
“Date?” Her stomach fluttered. Full as she was, apparently there was still room for butterflies.
“Sure. We talked, we laughed, we shared a meal. We even shared a kiss.” Nick stood, offering her his hand. “I’d call that a date, wouldn’t you?”
“I suppose.” She accepted his hand and got to her feet, eyeing him. “I thought this outing was all for my well-being, Dr. Santos. Out of concern for my health.”
“Dr. Santos is an excellent multi-tasker.” His mouth curved in a roguish grin. “Besides, our last stop is medicinal.”
The ‘medicinal’ last item on Nick’s list turned out to be mulled wine served piping hot in a collector’s mug.
Nick scouted out a bench and they settled in for a bit of people watching until their wassail cooled enough to drink. Tiffany held the boot-shaped mug up to her face and inhaled deeply, appreciating how the aromatic spices seemed to open her senses.
She sighed. “Can we stay right here forever?”
“I thought you said it was too cold to be outside,” he reminded her.
“It’s not that cold.” Tiffany snuggled closer to him. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
“It’s not over yet,” he assured her. “I plan to make sure you get home safe.”
She tilted her chin to look at him. “Are you still worried I might have a concussion?”
“No,” he admitted, hesitating a moment before adding, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m happy I coldcocked you with my candy cane.”
“I don’t recommend making a habit of coldcocking women,” she teased.
“I promise, I would never make a habit of coldcocking women.”
Tiffany groaned at the innuendo. “I don’t think that word means what you’re implying it means.”
“What do you think I’m implying?” he asked, all innocence.
She shifted on the bench so she could see his face. “Something to do with your…” her gaze dropped to his crotch.
He tiske
d like a scandalized church lady. “For someone who thought dick ornaments were elf hats, you sure have a naughty mind.”
Tiffany’s mouth twitched. “What did you mean then?”
“Well, the word coldcocked has several meanings.”
She decided to play along. “Like what?”
“Aside from getting knocked out, another meaning of coldcocked involves leaving a giant snow, ah, appendage on someone’s lawn.”
She tapped her lips thoughtfully, suppressing a bubble of laughter. “What you’re saying is, instead of a snowman, you make a snow penis?”
He nodded. “And if you’re really committed, you can rig it with a hose so that it can, um, spurt.”
Tiffany lost the battle of maturity and burst into giggles. “This sounds like something my co-worker’s husband would do. He has his own prank show.” A shadow passed across her heart. She’d once been friends with that co-worker, but ambition and jealousy and her tendency to be petty had ruined everything. It had even almost cost Tiffany her job. It was her own fault, but she was working on it. One day she hoped to make amends, and possibly even restore the friendship she’d lost.
Never one to wallow, Tiffany shook off her sad thoughts. “I’m not sure I believe you about this snow penis thing.” She pulled her phone out of her purse.
“Are you looking it up?”
She nodded.
His eyebrows rose. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Why not?”
“All I’m saying is if you type the words ‘snow’ and ‘penis’ into a search bar, be prepared for some interesting results.”
“I’m not typing snow penis. I’m typing cold cocked.”
“Oh, well, that’s so much better.”
Tiffany grinned at his patronizing tone. “Stop clutching your pearls, I’m not doing a general search, I’m going to a website specially designed for searching slang.” The website finished loading on her phone and she entered the search. “Looks like there’s four results for coldcocked.”
She scrolled past the first one, which was the usual definition. Next came Nick’s description. “Well, you were right about the snow penis,” she said. “There’s even pictures.”
