Christmas Is for Lovers: 6 Hot Holiday Romances

by Box Set

  Once the strands were draped across the roof, we called for Mandy and made her close her eyes. Tommy mimicked a drum roll while I plugged in the end of the strand. I swear I saw the lights in the neighborhood flicker from the power draw of the old bulbs, but they paled in comparison to what shined forth from Tommy’s expression.

  Mandy jumped up and down and pulled me to her side. She tiptoed up and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  Excited to be close to her, I held my tongue, hoping my silence would allow the moment to last. When she stepped away, my heart sank. “He says these are his first outside Christmas lights.”

  “It’s true. We live in a small apartment in the city. What about you? Do you put lights up every year?”

  “I never get around to it. Usually, I’m on the road.”

  Tommy tugged at Beau’s hand. “Thanks, Beau, for being my friend.”

  I bent down and picked him up. Seeing him so excited made my heart twist. This was what perfection looked like, and I’d tossed it away out of a sense of obligation to do right. I had to get Mandy to trust me, to trust that I could be a good man for her, a good man for Tommy. I couldn’t bear being away from her, from them. There had been too much distance already—ten years and thousands of miles.

  Tears ran down her cheek. Were they happy or sad? I couldn’t tell. She swiped at them.

  “You okay?”

  “There’s something in my eye, can you take Tommy in?”

  I thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “I’ve got him. I’ve got you too, if you’d let me.” Oh, how I wished she’d let me, but I already made too many decisions that hadn’t been good for either of us. Taking me back had to be her choice. I’d tease—I’d poke—I’d prod, but I wouldn’t force anything on her again.

  She leaned into my touch. “I wish I could.” She kissed my palm and ran to the door. When Tommy and I entered the house, she was already upstairs, and I could hear the soft muffles of her cry.

  “Hey, buddy, your mom is tired. How about you and I go across the street to get my guitar. I’ll give you your first lesson.” Tommy didn’t need much coaxing. He was back in his coat and hat and standing at the door in minutes.

  Normally, I would have marched him across the street without thinking, but I was trying to be more aware of my actions with regard to Mandy and her wishes. She asked me to take Tommy in, but that didn’t mean I had the right to abscond with him.

  “Will I be able to play something after my first lesson?” Tommy pulled on his gloves, getting two fingers stuck in one finger space.

  “Let’s make that our goal.” I tugged his glove off and put it back on, making sure only one finger took up residence for each space. “Stay here for a second, okay? I want to ask your mom if it’s okay for me to take you to my house.”

  “She’ll say yes. She trusts you.”

  If only that were true. “I’m working on her trust, Tommy, so I think it’s best if I ask. You can come with me or you can wait right here.”

  He leaned against the door and slid to the ground. “I’ll wait,” he said before he plopped his head on his knees. Oh, to be a child again. Waiting was the worst thing in the world. I remember ordering my first guitar and sitting by the door for a week hoping it would show up. To a kid, five minutes was a lifetime.

  “I’ll hurry.”

  I dashed up the stairs and tapped on the second door to my right. When there wasn’t an answer, I knocked a bit louder. “Mandy?” I turned the knob and stepped into her room. My girl was curled on her side under the pink canopy. She looked like a big kid in that bed.

  It didn’t seem so long ago that I’d crawled up the tree outside her window and snuck inside. It wasn’t that I had to sneak in; Annie was always very open-minded about our relationship. I snuck in because it seemed more romantic. One of my best-selling singles was called “Through Your Window,” and chronicled a boy’s love for a girl. I began to sing the lyrics, “I’d fall any day for you. Any way for you. You are the window to my soul.”

  “What time is it?” She shot up to a sitting position. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Shhh, you’ve only been asleep for a couple minutes.” I sat on the mattress next to her and stroked the strands of hair that had fallen in her face. “I just wanted to ask if I could take Tommy across the street for a guitar lesson?”

  She flopped down on the mattress, her hair fanned across the pillow. She looked so damn sexy. “Were you just singing?”

  “Yep, I wrote, ‘Through Your Window’ about us. In fact, all of the songs I’ve ever written are about you or us. You have always been my muse, Mandy.” This would have been the perfect time to lean in and kiss her, but I didn’t. Instead, I pulled the bedspread over her body and tucked it under her chin. “You rest while Tommy and I hang out.”

  “You don’t have to babysit.” She tried to push up, but I laid my hand on her shoulder and pressed her back to the mattress.

  “I want to hang out with him. It’s not like he’s a bother, and he wants to play guitar. I couldn’t ask for a better afternoon. Let me do this,” I pleaded.

  What little fight she had left inside of her disappeared. Her tense muscles relaxed into the bed. She looked exhausted, and why wouldn’t she be. She was dealing with a time change, the stress with me, a small boy who I’m sure could wear out the Energizer Bunny, and the Sweet Shop. It was a lot to take in.

  “Make sure he behaves. Don’t spoil him. No sweets.” She reached out and pulled my hand to her lips. “I’ve always loved that song, by the way.”

  “I’ve always loved you.” It took everything in me to get up and leave, but there was a six-year-old waiting downstairs, and I was sure his patience was wearing thin.

  Chapter 11

  Mandy

  How was I supposed to process his statement? “I’ve always loved you?” Well, he sure had a fine way of showing it. Years of nothing, not even a call, and now he’s back, and he tells me he loves me. Heat rushed to my face, but it wasn’t from anger. It was from desire. The way he looked at me. The way he sang that song—a song I’d played every day for years. His smell. His gentle touch. Those damn blue eyes. Beau Tinsel was killing me cell by cell, starting in my heart.

  I searched beneath my mattress until I came up with the binder I’d spent months compiling. Every article or picture I could find was cut and pasted into a scrapbook of sorts. I’d kissed his pictures and ex’ed out the faces of anyone near. It didn’t matter if it was a waiter, a waitress, or a hot blonde model. My eyes only had room for him.

  As I flipped the pages, I revisited every victory and every defeat from the day he left to the day he called and said he wasn’t coming home. I’d written his words on the last page between the two halves of my favorite picture of us. My fingers traced the words that sliced straight through my heart.

  I know I promised to come back for you, but I can’t right now. Things are complicated. Nothing is like I thought it would be. I want it to be more. I don’t want you in this life. Those were his words but did I listen to the message?

  What I heard was, I’m not coming back. I’m having too much fun being single. I want more of this, and you would only ruin things for me. I don’t want you to be in my life.

  With love, I ran my fingers over the words. Years of maturity had changed their meaning. Clarity was an amazing thing. I know I promised to come back for you, but I can’t right now, translated into, I love you too much to allow you to follow me. Things are complicated. Nothing is like I thought it would be, was actually, I’m not sure if I’m making the right decision, but I have to think of you first. I want it to be more, I don’t want you in this life could only mean, chase your dreams, I want more for you.

  With a groan, I flopped back onto my bed. God, I was an idiot. All these years, I’d avoided home and him because he talked in lyrical truths. I wanted to choke him and kiss him at the same time. Maybe I’d choke him first and then kiss him, or maybe I’d just kiss him.

  I jumped from my be
d and looked at myself in the mirror. Oh, God, look at me. There would be no kisses until I straightened my shit out. I’d been living in a Chef’s coat and jeans for years. My hair had a permanent band mark from the ponytail I always wore. Shit, shit, shit.

  With few options, I rummaged through my closet, and in the back corner, I found the perfect outfit to let Beau Tinsel know I still cared. After I showered, I unearthed the blow dryer that was purchased my freshman year of high school. I said a silent prayer the minute I plugged it in, that the house wouldn’t erupt into flames.

  Naked in front of the mirror, I analyzed my body while I styled my hair. My breasts were heavy, my hips were wide, and my stomach bore the scars of motherhood. Beau had left a taut teenager with perky tits and a flat stomach. Could he want me in my lesser state, or more accurately, my more state? Oh hell, did it matter? All that mattered was for us to bury the past. I didn’t have any wild dreams of becoming Mrs. Tinsel, but I did want to be his friend. I wanted him to like me again, really like me.

  After I applied the mascara I rarely wore, I smiled at the girl who had been hidden for so long. It had been a while since I’d seen her staring back at me from the mirror. She’d disappeared in a relentless work schedule, thousands of diaper changes, and sleepless nights. But today, my eyes were bright and happy-looking. Beau used to tell me my eyes were flawless emeralds. We used to joke about how our babies would look with one sapphire blue eye from him, and one emerald eye from me. In the end, we decided our children would be born with topaz-colored eyes because ruby eyes and multiple-colored eyes would be too freaky. That was before we really considered DNA and dominant genes.

  Dressed in what used to be Beau’s football jersey, I took one last look in the mirror. The white numbers were like hands squeezing my breasts. Number ten had been my lucky number for years. The irony of the number didn’t escape me either.

  Mom and Sarah were entering the front door as I trotted down the stairs. Both of them took in my outfit, my make-up, and my demeanor. It was obvious they were pleased by their grins.

  “Wow, you look great,” said Sarah. “So…things are going well with Beau?” I could feel her hope, it danced in the air like electricity.

  “We don’t hate each other anymore.” I tugged at the jersey, feeling naked under the scrutiny. Was it too much to be wearing his number again?

  Speak of the devil himself. Beau and Tommy burst through the door. In Beau’s hand was his old guitar—covered with stickers of all kinds. I’d put half of them on myself. My favorite was the “girls rule” sticker. I’d scribbled out “girls” and written in “Mandy.” It was still there, taking up prime real estate.

  The Grandmas directed Tommy into the kitchen. When they said they were going to teach him how to make spaghetti, he said, “I charge five dollars for my cooking services.”

  “Tommy,” I warned in my don’t-be-a-brat voice.

  “Okay, half-price for you both.” I kneeled down and gave him a kiss. It didn’t matter how long he was gone, be it five minutes or five hours, I always missed him.

  “Go help your grandmothers.” I looked up at Beau when I included his mother in the mix. He was right; it didn’t take DNA to make a family. With a gentle swat to his bottom, I sent Tommy on his way.

  Beau looked at his jersey and smiled. I’d worn it with pride for every game of every season. “You still look as good as ever, Mandy.” When his tongue slid out to wet his lips, my knees grew week.

  “I am extremely limited on stuff to wear.” I played it off like I hadn’t done laundry in weeks, which wasn’t far from the truth, but those piles were still in the corner of my apartment. When mom had called, I’d packed what was clean and we ran out the door.

  “And I thought you were sending a message.”

  “Maybe I am.” Yes, I still had it. That flirty girl was fighting her way back out.

  “I always loved you in my jersey, but I loved you out of it more.” He stalked toward me, step by slow step, until I was forced to look up to him.

  I grabbed hold of the banister for balance. My knees shook under my faded blue jeans. I may be able to flirt a bit, but I was way out of my element here. Beau had been with probably hundreds of women, I’d been with one man since he’d left. This wasn’t high school, and Beau was in a totally different league.

  “I can’t do this.” I whipped around to head up the stairs, but he stopped me. He pulled me close, burying his nose in that sensitive place on my shoulder. He didn’t kiss me, he just held me for a long minute.

  “Don’t go.” His breath whispered against my neck, making the hairs on my arms tingle and stand. “Let’s talk about what you think you can’t do.” He sat on the first step and tugged me down beside him. His fingers skimmed the sleeve of the jersey.

  With a huff of frustration, I spilled out my first concern. “I feel inadequate. I’m not rail thin, I’m not model beautiful.” It was out. I’d never considered my looks before. It had always been Beau and me, so jealousy never bled from me like it did each time I saw him with another beauty.

  He pulled his guitar from where he’d leaned it on the wall minutes before and began to strum a few chords of his hit single, “You Never Forget Your First.”

  “You were my first everything, Mandy. I wrote that song for you. I’ve written every song for you. Do you know what the second verse is?”

  I nodded and sang the words. “Beginning, middle and end, you are the one I’ll always love. You’re my forever love.” I’ll be damned if I wasn’t going to have to listen to every one of his songs again with fresh ears.

  “That’s right. Who do you think is my forever love?”

  I scrunched my nose and groaned. “Piper Williams?” She was another model who had decorated his arm several times.

  “Come here, you.” He leaned his guitar against the wall and pulled my head into his chest where he proceeded to knuckle my hair. “Let me tell you about Piper Williams. Her name is Elle Waterhouse, and she’s my agent’s niece. She needed more exposure, so I accompanied her to a few fashion shows. Most boring time of my life.”

  “Did you kiss her?”

  “No, she’s like eighteen. Give me some credit, Mandy. She’s a baby.”

  “She’s legal, which is more than I can say for half the groupies. Look what happened to you at the Sweet Shop. You’re a teenager’s dream.”

  “You know why? It’s because I sing about teenage love. The kind of love that when it goes wrong wrings out your heart. I sing about us.”

  “Every song is about us?”

  “Yes, name a song and I’ll tell you the history.”

  I sat back so I could see his eyes. Everything was always in his eyes. Right now, they were filled with optimism and longing. “Reckless.” I crossed my hands over my chest and waited.

  He tossed his head and gave me a that’s-easy look. “Do you know the verse that begins with, So wrong for the right reasons? Right after I heard you were pregnant, I reevaluated my decisions. My heart had been in the right place, but I’d been so wrong, and I’d lost you. I’d been reckless.”

  “I was pregnant, not married.”

  “Mandy, you were always the marrying kind. I couldn’t imagine you with a child and not a husband. You wanted the house, the picket fence, and the two-point-five kids. I got a wallop the other night from my mom when I brought up the subject of you being married. I was filling in the blanks with my own story, not the real story.”

  “It would seem we both have been doing a lot of assuming.”

  I went over the lyrics to “Sideline Girl” in my head. “Oh, my God, ‘Sideline Girl’ was about football, not a girl on the side.”

  “No, it was about you in the stands wearing my number.” He sang the first line of the chorus, “she’s a ten in everyway, And you are. You were then, but now…”

  I held my breath waiting for his report card. What was his grading system like these days? “I’m what?” I wanted to blurt out, a high five on a scale of ten? But I no
longer wanted to make assumptions.

  “You’re an eleven and when you beg me to kiss you, you’ll be a twelve.” He rolled forward and stood up. “Should we go save Tommy from the Grandmas?”

  I wanted to pull him back down and kiss him, but I wasn’t ready to beg—yet. I was still processing everything he said. So, he’d always loved me; I’d always loved him. That hadn’t changed, but so many other things had.

  Chapter 12

  Beau

  “He’s a natural,” my voice boomed with pride. “He can already play G, C, and D, which means he can just about play any song unless they’re angsty and require a maudlin minor chord.” I passed the bowl of meatballs to Tommy who was sporting his own pride by way of a wide smile.

  “We wrote a song together.” A piece of spaghetti hung from his chin until I plucked it away.

  “You little stinker, that was supposed to be a surprise.”

  His bright smile fell to a frown. “Oh no, I forgot.”

  Every eye looked to me to see how I would handle this situation. Hell, it didn’t take Einstein to know that Tommy felt bad, and I didn’t want that at all. Tommy was a little boy, and little boys needed to feel good. It was part of confidence building.

  “It’s all right, champ. Some surprises are so exciting they bubble out before we can pull the words back. Tell them about your song.” I gave him a pat on the back for encouragement.

  He bounced in his seat. “It’s called ‘Peppermint Kisses’ and it’s about a boy and a girl having a fight over which is better.”

  Mandy laughed. “Peppermint of course.”

  “No, Mommy, that’s not how the song goes. It says they’re better together.”