Christmas Affair

by Ginny Frost

  “Okay, no answer. I’ll talk to the chef, and if you still want to eat with me, I’ll meet you in the lounge.” Disappointment peppered his tone.

  His lack of fret spoke to her. None of her “mother hen” senses sparked. “No, I’m sorry. I… uh… I have a strict diet.”

  He looked her up and down. “You don’t need to diet. You look great. And the food here is pretty good.” His statement roused a cheer among the kitchen staff. Brett grinned over at them. He was funny, too. Nice.

  “No, I mean, I have to be careful what I eat. Allergies.” She slipped back into her seat, hoping she’d made up for her assumptions, hoping Brett might still join her… Hoping he’d see beyond her glass exterior.

  “Oh yeah? My dad is allergic to eggs and most nuts. We had an interesting childhood. My brothers and I binged on baked goods when Dad was away. Then we’d hide the evidence when he got back.”

  Jo’s shoulders fell as the embarrassment of her food issues dropped away. He understood that not everyone could eat everything.

  “So, what’s your poison?” He laughed. “That’s a loaded statement. They limit our choices, but if you tell the cook about your allergies, they’ll work around it.” Brett waved one guy over. The man grabbed a note pad and stood poised and ready to write the order.

  She ducked her head, hating to say the words that everyone overreacted to. “Okay, I need gluten-free, please.” She said them without meeting the eye of either the server or Brett. Bracing herself, she readied for the onslaught of nonsense advice that came next.

  She’d only had the celiac diagnosis for a short time and remained self-conscious about telling people. Learning about her disease had been pure luck.

  Her massage therapist caught it. Jo had never paid attention to the trending diets, gluten-free, paleo, and whatnot. But once, during a session, her masseuse, Grace, noticed a rough patch on her back.

  “Looks like one of those gluten rashes,” she’d said, holding up a mirror. Clumps of little red dots dotted Jo’s back. “I had another client with this. She went gluten-free, and her skin has been clear ever since.”

  The next day, Jo demanded tests from her GP for celiac disease. Since then, her life opened up. She felt so much better, her skin became flawless, and the migraines disappeared. Best of all, she’d started thinking about a real future and sent her resume to Ezgamez.

  But the universe didn’t always understand she had an allergy.

  Back in the kitchen, shoulders hunched, Jo waited for Brett’s armchair-doctor impression. It never arrived.

  Brett said nothing.

  The server smiled. “We have a large selection. Are you here for the big party? We have a ton of gluten-free options for it.”

  Jo let out a breath. Mom had listened for once. Perhaps sending the medical report opened her eyes. Once a doctor gave a diagnosis, Mom listened and followed it to the letter. “Yes, I’m here for the Lockwood party. My mother perhaps gave you the diet restrictions.”

  The server tapped his pencil on his chin before saying, “Most items are for tomorrow night, but we can whip up cheesesteak-stuffed peppers, or eggplant parmesan, or baked salmon with bacon butternut squash.”

  “They all sound wonderful. The salmon and squash, please.” Jo grinned, the relief flooding through her. What a difference when people treated you as an adult rather than a sick child.

  “Make it two, Javier, and a soda too, please,” Brett said.

  “Water for me,” Jo added, and the server headed to the prep area. She looked at Brett, wanting to explain. “About the diet,” she said, but he waved her off.

  “No worries. Tons of people do the gluten-free thing. Eat what you like.” He shrugged, taking a last sip of his beer.

  His off-handed, pleasant manner made her want to explain even more. “I can’t have it at all. I’m not just sensitive. I actually have celiac.”

  Brett raised his eyebrows, and embarrassment crushed her. Talk about too much information. Heat rose on her cheeks and neck.

  “Sorry. I’m over sharing. I thought I…” She shook her head, her face blazing. “I’m kinda awkward about food. I’ve always had issues.”

  “Wait.” He held up a hand. “You’re going a little too fast for me. Start with the disease thing. Do we need an epi-pen if they feed you wrong, or what?” His gray-brown eyes filled with concern. “No wonder you didn’t want to eat in here. Come on, we’ll hit the lounge.” He held out a hand.

  “No, I’m fine. I’m allergic to gluten. It makes me ill, but I don’t go into anaphylactic shock.” His eyebrows knitted. “No epi-pen necessary. Only a bathroom and bed rest.”

  He scrubbed his chin as the server placed salads in front of them. “So, eating bread stuff makes you sick?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, it took a long time to figure out my problem. I was sick most of my childhood. Celiac was rare, so they treated my migraines and seizures…”

  “Seizures? Damn.”

  “Yeah, but once I received a diagnosis and good medical advice, I improved almost immediately. As long as I watch what I eat.” She smiled, relief flooding her. Usually, she didn’t share so much, but usually, she didn’t eat with strangers. Most of her meals out comprised Mom hovering over her and barking orders at the wait staff. Blurting out her personal story warmed her all over. Hopefully, Brett didn’t mind listening.

  “So,” he said, considering “Good thing I didn’t ask you out for a beer.”

  “Coffee works better.” She smiled, a genuine one that stretched to her toes. He considered asking me for a drink? Yes!

  What if she brought him to the dinner party tomorrow night? She imagined them huddling together at a back table and making fun of Mom’s friends.

  They ate their salads in comfortable silence, no desire to fill the space with mindless chatter. He didn’t seem like a small talk kind of guy, anyway.

  After they’d eaten most of their dinners, Brett spoke up. “You told me something about yourself, and I’ve been trying to find something to share. But I’m boring. No stories to tell.” He chewed his food and considered. “I’m here at the Excelsior to renovate old bathrooms. Stanley, the manager, and I are old buddies from way back. I’m not the regular handyman here.”

  “Oh,” she said, feeling silly for her assumption, and then embarrassed she’d thought he was hotel staff.

  “I thought I’d mention it.” He paused. “I’m here till Saturday before I head back to my family’s business in Stonewater. I live between there and Iverton. It’s a nice place, small. I, uh… I guess that’s it.”

  Unable to help herself, Jo laughed aloud. “Aren’t we a pair? Now the conversation turns to our favorite movies, colors, and breakfast food, right?”

  He laughed. “Well, it’s weird. You practically froze to death today, and I almost saw you naked. I thought I’d share something, too.”

  “Brett, you are a breath of fresh air.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Why? ’Cause I’m blue collar and you’re… not?”

  She shook her head. “Because I don’t have to be anyone but myself around you. It’s nice.”

  “Well, that’s good,” he said with a grin. “I’d hate to eat dinner with you and find out later you were fake. Drinks tomorrow night wouldn’t be as interesting.”

  “Drinks? Sounds wonderful. I have to go to my mother’s party tomorrow, but I can sneak out.”

  He grinned. “I’ll show you the work I’ve done to the old rooms. They need a total overhaul, but Stan wants the basics for now. So, we’re focusing on the bathrooms.”

  “Do you do a lot of work like that?” Fascinating. Someone who works with his hands rather than everyone doing it for him. She loved the idea. Her gaze dropped to his hands. They were large and calloused. What they would feel like running over her skin? She shivered.

  “Jo?” Brett asked, concern in his voice. Great, he was worried she’d eaten something bad.

  “I’m fine. Just a chill.”

  “No, I asked about
your work. You wandered off to dreamland for a second.” He paused, his cheeks slightly pink. “Sooooo…” He drew out the syllable, “What do you do for a living?”

  “Well, nothing right now.” Except for the demo game she put all her hopes and dreams on. No one else knew. And how could she share when she hardly knew him? Better to hedge. “I’m working on a project I hope to sell.” Almost the truth.

  “Oh, man,” he said, “That’s tough. Nothing harder than trying to sell an idea to someone else. I have ideas for the family business, but getting Dad or my brother to listen is like pulling teeth. Maybe you could give me some pointers for talking to them.” He finished the salmon on his plate while Jo stared at him.

  Someone asked her help, her opinion on something? She could like this Brett guy. Perhaps more bold moves were in her future.

  Chapter Five

  Brett tried hard not to stare at the cutie across from him. He loved that she babbled as much as he, the whole situation awkward. She never mentioned the tub. In fact, she appeared to be fully recovered and warm. He’d used every ounce of his self-control not to climb in there with her.

  Not that she was drop-dead gorgeous, but she had an air about her. Like spider silk. Delicate and beautiful, but stronger than steel. He wanted to know everything about her. So, the babbling benefitted him. He’d have to hit Google later to research gluten-free stuff. Hopefully, food was her sole restriction.

  When the server offered dessert, she declined. Brett pouted. Dessert was the best part of the meals here. Plus, they had a full gym to work off the extra food after.

  Or there were always other activities.

  He’d behaved so far, stopped being a man-ho for the entire job, acting professional and focusing on work. It wasn’t easy.

  The place overflowed with choice women interested in spending the night with the handyman. One woman showed up at his room in only a bathrobe. Stanley would’ve killed him. The manager mentioned more work at the Excelsior if the renovation went well, but Brett’s heart remained with the business at home in Stonewater.

  The words Kramer and Sons warmed his heart. He enjoyed working for Dad and Ted. Too bad little brother, Ryan, didn’t understand the joy of running the business as a family. Maybe someday he would. He'd returned to town and was employed by the city. Brett planned to take him out for a beer and give him the straight shit. Ryan’d come around, eventually. Then he’d work on Ted after the deal was done.

  The three of them could take their little contracting business to fresh places, creating contacts in Albany, Utica, Schenectady. Hire some punk-ass kids and teach them how to build things instead of destroying themselves.

  But tonight was about the nice young woman sitting in front of him. Her presence sent new thoughts through his head about settling down and starting his own family. He’d never experienced "The Whammy," as his father called it. But this might be it.

  “You sure I can’t interest you in dessert? Or at least a cup of coffee?” he asked, wanting the dinner to last a little while longer. He rarely shared a meal with a woman who actually ate and held up her end of the conversation. He felt like a grown-up.

  Her cheeks flushed pink. Maybe she didn’t want to go either. “I should get back to my project. I’m sure my mother won’t give me much time to work on it this weekend.”

  Ah, an in. “Tell me more about your project. Is that why you were on a laptop? Are you some corporate mogul making huge business deals on the internet? Buying and selling the world with a click of the mouse?” He waggled his eyebrows. But hell, she could be doing exactly that.

  She waved his words away. “Nothing like that. It’s a programming project.”

  He blinked at her, waiting for more information, trying not to seem stupid about computery things. Computers weren’t his forte, but he knew how essential they were for business. Some days he felt he’d been born in the wrong century. Dad still did everything by paper, but Brett hoped to break him of that habit soon.

  She glanced around the room as if she were about to bare her soul in confession. “Nothing like that. I’m programming a sample piece for an online gaming company.” She waved away her words, and something about her dismissive gesture hit him in the gut.

  “That sounds awesome. What it’s about?” Games were not his thing. After long hours using his body to work, playing on a computer or game system didn’t appeal to him even slightly. Usually, he found a paperback—a western or spy novel. And in the fall, televised football cured all that ailed him. He’d played a little in high school, nothing serious. He didn’t have the bulk to play defense the way he wanted. But a cold beer, a bag of chips, and the Giants constituted the perfect evening.

  “It’s a demo three-match game for adults, but I gave it a role-playing backstory. Choose your character and totems… like that.”

  “Oh?” He raised his eyebrows, his glass poised at his lips. Visions of X-rated computer games with sex, violence, and loud music rolled through his brain. But it didn’t seem her style at all.

  “Not ‘adult’ adult,” she said, as if reading his mind. “I wanted to impress the company by designing fun for grownups, not kids. Role-playing, kinda. Anyway, it’s complicated, and I just finished the workable version to submit as a sample of my abilities.”

  Serious businesswoman after all. He grinned. “Sounds great. Teach me to play sometime?”

  Her head rose and her gaze met his. Her mouth hung open, and it seemed as if he’d put his foot in it. She never really invited him, but he’d walked right through that door anyway. Embarrassed, he glanced away, heat on his neck.

  “Anyway—” he blustered…

  …at the same time she said, “Really?” in a breathy gasp.

  He looked at her sideways, a goofy grin on her face. “Uh, sure. I’m not much of a gamer. So if you can teach me, you’ve made a major accomplishment.”

  She bounced in her seat. “I’d love to show it to you some time. It’s on my laptop, but…”

  “Whoa,” he said with a laugh. “I’m here until at least Saturday. Guess we’ll have to plan another meet-up to try the game.”

  Red colored her cheeks. “Oh, yeah. I guess so. But I can show you now… if you want. You don’t have to. We don’t have to go upstairs. I have it with me.” She slowed as she said the last sentence, realization crossing her expression. “I’m not inviting you to my room for anything…”

  Brett laughed aloud, her innocence adorable. He couldn’t tell if she was trying to pick him up or not. With her cute mannerisms, babbling conversation, and over sharing, he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

  This is the sort of woman he should be with. Not running around with ladies who only wanted him for sex. None of his relationships ever lasted longer than a month or two. But this girl… This woman made the boring world of Upstate fun and exciting. He grinned at her bright red face.

  “How about we grab some coffee out in the lounge and check out your game?”

  Jo grinned. “Okay.” She grabbed her laptop bag and dashed out of the kitchen, the door swinging in her wake.

  Okay, then.

  Guess he’d get to spend a few more minutes with the woman of his dreams.

  ***

  Jo searched the lounge for a free table near an outlet. She’d never shown anyone the work in progress except the development team. She kept the project to herself, loving the independence of the secret. An open table sat in a corner, away from the riot of holiday decorations.

  Perfect.

  As she set up her machine, her brain whirled. Would he understand it? Was he being polite? Discovering someone, anyone, interested in her work warmed her heart. She’d willingly show him her baby.

  Once the laptop was ready, she glanced up. Brett wasn’t there. She scanned the room. Brett wasn’t anywhere. Her stomach dropped.

  Idiot.

  She slapped her forehead. She’d dashed off without him. Tentatively, she stepped toward the kitchen, but leaving the computer alone on the table twisted h
er insides. She couldn’t abandon it.

  Brett exited the staff door a minute later, and guilt flooded through her.

  The check.

  She’d totally left him with the bill. In her universe, bills were never an issue. Mom handled everything, or her driver, or the nursemaid of the week.

  Tonight had held infinite possibilities of fun and adventure—a meal with someone not on Mom’s list, a conversation with someone interested in her and her work. There’d be no one hovering on Mom’s every word or waiting for her permission. Pure bliss.

  And she’d blown off the handsome handyman.

  She bit her lip, unsure of what to do. Her mother would know the correct response to the situation, but she’d never let Jo talk to, much less hang out with, Brett in the first place.

  He entered the lounge from the dining room, his head down as he examined his cell. He crossed the room as if on autopilot, stuffing his phone in his pocket. At her table, he put his hands out, palm up. “Hey, uh, Jo…” he began.

  Against her will, words poured out. She didn’t want to act like a child, like in the kitchen, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I’m so sorry, Brett. I was so excited, and…”

  He held up a hand to stop her—a large, calloused hand.

  Focus.

  “I gotta go,” he said, his mouth in a straight line, grim. “I got a text I need to deal with. Sorry. I’ll catch you later.”

  Her heart sunk as he left the room in a flash, his phone to his ear before he even made it out the door.

  Gone.

  No game, no conversation, no inviting him to her room later. No nothing.

  Jo stepped back to her table, her fingers automatically reaching for the laptop, for comfort. A dark voice sounded in her head.

  Mom.

  Chapter Six

  The plastic on the cellphone case creaked as Brett squeezed the device tighter.

  Son of a bitch.

  He couldn’t leave town for one day without the universe blowing up. And to get it by text… Everything was going to pot. First, Ted was still a basket case, though Cheryl dumped him a year ago. Second, the serious lack of jobs in the fall and winter, and now…