by Aria Ford
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” I said. She stared at me, surprised. It was only after I had gone up the stairs that I realized that I had called her sweetheart.
In the sitting room, I found marginally less chaos than before. The floor was still wet, but someone had cleared the newspaper off the floor and the tree was up.
“Mrs. Price?”
“I’m here.”
The voice was behind me, but it sounded as if it came from the bottom of a dark well. There was so much flat, cold despair in it that it made my heart stop. I turned around.
“Oh. Okay. I just fixed it.”
“How much?” The same flat voice asked me.
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
She frowned at me. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I mean, it’s for nothing.”
“What?” Now she sounded angry. “Mr. Robson. I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but I don’t like it. Now tell me seriously: How much does it cost?”
Now I felt angry. “Mrs. Price. Look,” I said, not wanting to raise my voice but not able to help it. “I’m not doing anything funny.”
Her eyes went wide and, to my horror, they dampened with tears. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. She went over to the wall and her shoulders shook silently.
“Oh, hell,” I said. “Listen, Mrs. Price,” I said, sighing. “It’s Christmas.” I shook my head. “It’s on me. A gift.”
She looked up at me. “Really?”
I sighed. “Yeah.”
“Thank you,” she said.
This close, I could see the tracks of tears down her pink cheeks and her lips glistened with wetness. My loins gave a tug and I wanted to pull her into my arms and put my tongue between those shiny, plump lips. Of course, I didn’t.
“It’s a pleasure.”
She sniffed. “I…” her voice trailed off. “At least let me give you some coffee,” she said shyly.
I nodded. “I could take that,” I said, with a grin.
She laughed. The sound of that high, tinkling laughter made every second worthwhile. Her brown eyes danced and I felt my heart glow.
“Mr. Price,” she said, voice teasing. “I’m glad to know my coffee is acceptable. “Now, let’s go down to the kitchen. This place is a mess.”
I nodded. “It is,” I said lightly.
She glared at me, then laughed. “Okay, I accept it. It’s a mess.”
“It’s not so bad,” I said. As she walked down the stairs ahead of me, I found myself patting her shoulder. She jumped, her eyes staring up into mine.
“Sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I understand.”
We went down to the kitchen together. The little girl was standing by the sink, trying to wash up. I went over and, while her mother busied herself with the kettle, I lifted one of the plates out of her hand.
“Let me do that,” I offered. She looked up at me with round, surprised eyes. Said nothing. But she turned and walked away.
“Parker?” her mother called from the depths of the cupboard. “Can you get some cookies out of the jar for me?”
“Okay, Mom,” she nodded. A moment later we heard her rummaging in the jar. She turned around to Mrs. Price a moment later. “I ate them all.”
She looked like she was about to cry. Mrs. Price caught my eye and her shoulders shook with mirth. I couldn’t help it. I laughed too. Soon we were both helpless with laughter, leaning on the table.
Parker—or so the little girl seemed to be named—looked from me to her mother and back again. The expression on her face turned from sad to bewildered to indignant.
“Okay, what’s so funny?” she asked.
That set us both off even worse.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Mrs. Price said, coming around the table and giving her daughter a hug. “We aren’t laughing at you, I promise.”
Parker looked up into her mother’s face and her indignation turned into a sunny smile. I looked abruptly away. I didn’t have kids of my own—Jess and I split long before that was even considered—but the tenderness between Mrs. Price and her daughter moved me deeply and made me feel my lack.
“Come on,” her mother said, wiping away a tear. “Let’s get the table set. Mr. Robson is staying for coffee.”
“Riley,” I corrected automatically, bending to put a plate in the dishwasher.
“Sorry?” she asked.
“Call me Riley,” I said quickly.
“Riley.”
The sound of my name on her sweet lips brought a surprising tingle to my body. I coughed. “Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Price.”
“Brooklyn.” She grinned.
“Brooklyn.”
Her eyes met mine and I swear I felt a jolt like I had touched a live wire. Her eyes were a sort of chestnut brown with little gold sparkles in them. They were a shade darker than her hair and they pinioned me in place like I’d been stapled there.
She cleared her throat. “I guess I can’t offer you any cookies,” she murmured, setting the mugs of steaming hot coffee down on the kitchen table. I chuckled.
“I guess not.”
Just then, Parker cleared her throat. “If Mr. Riley can’t have cookies, maybe he can come for dinner? Auntie Sheena isn’t coming an’ so there’s lots of extra,” she informed me angelically.
I looked at Brooklyn—now I knew her name!—and she turned to Parker.
“Now, lovey,” she began warningly. I interrupted.
“It’s really sweet of you to offer to have me, Parker,” I said sincerely. I was surprised that my throat was raw. The offer really moved me. I would have been spending Christmas alone, and the prospect of even being offered an invitation somewhere else really moved me.
“Will you come?” Parker asked. She sounded excited, bless her heart. I looked at Brooklyn.
She shrugged helplessly. “Mr. Robson?”
“I would be honored to accept,” I said simply.
“Okay,” Brooklyn said stiffly. “I guess I just got outnumbered.”
“I really don’t want to intrude, Mrs. Price,” I said quickly. “If you’d rather I didn’t, I’ll say thank you for the coffee, and I’ll be on my way.” I lifted my coffee and drained it—it had cooled off while we were chatting—put the cup in the sink, and headed to the door. My hand was on its way to the latch when she spoke.
“Wait. Stay.”
I turned around. “I don’t want to be a nuisance,” I said softly.
“You aren’t,” she said.
We looked at each other and that feeling was back. The subtle electricity that seemed to hum from her body to mine. She was wearing tight jeans and a pink sweater and they clung to her sweet curves. I breathed in like I was drowning in treacle.
“Thanks,” I said.
We kept on looking at each other. I studied her surreptitiously. Her neck was long and the skin was soft and pale, and I found myself wishing I could take her in my arms and kiss my way down that pale, plush expanse and to those high, rounded breasts, taking the nipples in my mouth to suck. I imagined them to be reddish pink—she was a redhead and they usually had pink nipples—and I couldn’t help but lose myself in wondering what she looked like under there.
“I should get some things done in here,” she said, looking quickly away.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I should go.” My poor body was helplessly wanting her now and I was grateful for the cover of my overalls.
I went back to the door. She said something.
“Sorry?” I asked. My voice came out all raspy and I coughed aloud.
“See you tomorrow?” she said softly. “Twelve p.m.?”
“See you tomorrow,” I agreed.
She nodded and I turned around and left.
I went out to my van and packed it silently. Got in. Put the tools on the seat beside me and drove away. I felt so dazed that I barely found my way back to my garage. I arrived on autopilot and unpacked and then sat down heavily at my kitchen table.
/> “Whew,” I said.
The day had taken a route I would never have expected. I had woken up feeling kind of depressed and down, and now I had an invitation to Christmas dinner and, even better, I had met Mrs. Price.
“Oh, hell,” I thought, wiping a hand down my face. “How am I going to sit through Christmas dinner tomorrow?”
Being at a table with that woman would mean things were going to get hot. And it wouldn’t be because of the Christmas pudding.
I was distracted for the rest of the day. I tried to finish the month’s accounts, tried to make a log of my tools—something I’d been promising myself I’d do for ages. I even decided to go out and buy something to take with me. I picked up some chocolates and cookies for the kid and went home.
While I was sitting at the table, an idea occurred to me. I was barely ready to entertain it, even to myself. But when I had thought of it, I couldn’t exactly unthink it.
Come on, Riley, I told myself. That’s a dumb idea.
It was a dumb idea. Crazy, inane and completely mad. But maybe it was mad enough to work. The only way I was going to find out was if I asked her.
I decided I would have to do that tomorrow.
CHAPTER THREE
Brooklyn
I was scattered and distracted for all the rest of the day. I went up and finished decorating the tree with Parker. Her mood had improved greatly, and she sang under her breath as we hung up the decorations. I realized I hadn’t seen her quite this cheerful since we moved in. It made me feel at once happy and a bit guilty. I had been so sunk in my own misery that I hadn’t even noticed until now how quiet she had become.
“Mummy?” she asked me once we had finished and stepped back to admire the effect together.
“Mm, sweetie?”
“Is Mr. Riley a nice man?”
I frowned at her. “I guess,” I said. “Why do you ask, sweetie?”
“I mean, is he a nice nice man?” she asked, twisting and wringing her hands in her skirts. “Like, do you like him?”
I gave an astonished breath. “Parker!” I was blushing and had no idea how to hide it.
“What?” she asked.
“Parker Price,” I said sternly. “That is not a question I can answer.”
“Oh,” she said. She seemed to decide to accept that at face value—a fact for which I was grateful—and skipped off. “Can you come and sing to Bluesy with me?” she asked. “She’s sleepy.”
“Okay,” I said, dusting the fluff off the carpet off my jeans as we went to her room. I finished in there, snuggled her and breathed in the soft fragrance of her hair as I did so. I felt a catch in my throat.
“Parker, baby—you do know I love you?” I said tightly.
“I love you too, Mommy,” she said and kissed me.
It was only when I was upstairs wrapping her presents that I realized she hadn’t answered my question—not exactly. I hadn’t asked if she loved me. I had asked if she knew I loved her.
I sighed. “I will work harder on showing her I do.”
That was all I could do.
I finished the present-wrapping, went down to check I’d marinated the chicken—Parker didn’t like turkey—and then made supper for us.
Later, when I was in bed, I found myself thinking about him. Riley. The question Parker had asked me was by no means as trivial as I had made out. I did like Riley. I liked him a lot.
I thought about his face—lean, strong, with high cheekbones—and his body. Let’s face it, the last time I saw something that built was in HQ magazine. Yes, fine, I hadn’t seen him without his shirt on, but I’d seen his biceps and the way he moved and the swell of his pecs under the shirt. You can guess these things.
I found myself imagining what it would be like to lean on that chest and have his hard, warm arms around me, drawing me against his solid body. I imagined the bulge in his pants pressing against my thigh and rubbing my body against it, purring as I did so. My body warmed and I could feel wetness between my thighs.
Hell, woman, I told myself, surprised. You want him!
I shook my head. I did like him, but I wasn’t going to commit. Not again, Not to anyone. At least, not before I’d done a lot of thinking. There was no way I was ready for that. At least, that was what I thought.
The mere fact that thinking of him made my mind run down those tracks surprised me. Hell, this was the first time he’d been into my house, and I was already wondering if I was serious about him. This was all happening a bit fast! But then, recalling the way his eyes looked into mine, it wasn’t like any of that made sense.
He was looking at me with more than a friendly politeness. I felt my face flush remembering that look. He wants you too.
I snorted. That’s rubbish, Ms. Price, I told myself crossly. “He’s just friendly.”
He had given me a free roof repair. He was a nice man. Was he nice nice? Yes, he was. Very, very much so. But I wasn’t going to go there. Not yet.
I fell asleep with thoughts of Riley in my head and had tumbled, confused dreams. When I woke it was early morning. I could hear the birds singing in the trees. I strained to hear if Parker was awake, and sure enough, I heard the patter of little feet.
“Baby!” I yelled, bursting out of the door still in my pajamas.
“Whee! Mommy!” she yelled. She embraced me and I lifted her off the floor, surprising myself with the depth of my love.
“Happy Christmas!” I said and she echoed it almost at the same time. I sniffed, noting that I was crying again. She looked up at me quizzically but didn’t ask why I was crying, which was a good thing.
“Father Christmas came,” she informed me. “Come and see!”
“Ooh!” I said, excited. I had remembered to put the presents under the tree the previous night and the effort was well worth it when she led me in with such an expression of wonder it made my heart flip.
“Look, Mommy!” she said in delight. “He brought me lots of things!”
“He did,” I nodded. “Are you going to unwrap them?”
“Can I?”
Her reticence stabbed at my heart. How had I not noticed how, since Richard and I started fighting so often, she had turned from a lively, fun-loving child into a cautious, wounded individual, perpetually worried?
“Of course you can,” I said. She nodded. She went over and retrieved one and started unwrapping with, I noticed thankfully, more enthusiasm than she let on. I fiddled with the CD player and put on Christmas music.
The morning passed surprisingly quickly, and before long it was time to get ready for dinner. As I dressed, I found myself thinking about Riley.
“Should I wear the usual sweater?” I asked myself. “Or the red dress?”
The thought surprised me. I hadn’t thought about the red dress for years. Not since Richard told me that I was showing myself off to other men. Now, I stood in front of the closet with a frown on my face. The red dress hung there, unused. I took it out and let it slide smoothly off the hanger into my hand.
“You know what? I’m going to do it.”
With a sudden stab of rebellious joy, I slid the dress over my undies and stood back from the mirror.
Yes. I thought. That’s me.
A red-haired woman of medium height looked back at me. Her curvaceous body was draped in burgundy velvet that clung to her breasts and draped her hips. Her face was defiant. Triumphant. She was alive. Sexy, sassy and alive. I turned, watching the fabric shimmer and swirl. I grinned over my shoulder and then wafted downstairs.
I found myself looking into a pair of brown eyes.
“Oh…” I covered my mouth with my hands. I had forgotten it was twelve o’ clock. I stepped down the last step and into the hallway opposite Riley Robson.
“Mrs. Price?” he said. He was looking at me with a sort of wonderment on his face. I blushed, then shrugged.
Probably wasn’t expecting me to just appear like that.
“Brooklyn,” I said automatically. “Happy Christma
s.”
“Oh. Yes. Happy Christmas!” He said with a big slightly nervous grin. I smiled up at him—I couldn’t help it. He looked at once eager and a little goofy at the same time.
“Well,” I said with a slightly helpless shrug. “Here you are. Shall we sit down.”
“Uh. Yeah. Thanks,” he added. He followed me into the kitchen. He looked really uncomfortable, and I wondered why. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t dressed up much.
On reflection, actually he had. He was wearing a khaki shirt and dark-brown trousers that fit his legs perfectly. It was a mix of casual and smart that made him look sizzling. I went over to the oven and distracted myself checking the roast.
“Okay,” I said. “We can eat.”
I found myself addressing an empty kitchen. Which was a bit annoying, really, considering that I had taken the trouble to set the table and decorate with streamers and a plastic wreath I bought last week at Aldi.
“Guys?” I called.
I went out into the hall and found Riley and Parker sitting on the floor. Parker was showing him the Barbie car I had bought her for Christmas.
“An’ look, Mister Riley…it can fit two people in tha’ front, an’ a baby seat in tha’ back.”
“It’s a good car,” Riley observed, sounding as if he was discussing a real car with an adult buyer. “Nice, solid wheels on the thing…look how nicely it goes.”
She chuckled as he pushed the car forward with a “whoosh” noise. I found myself blinking rapidly. Richard would never have done that. He would have been too busy trying to make Parker prefer the gifts he had chosen.
“Guys?” I asked softly. They looked up.
“Oh, sorry,” Riley grinned, dusting off his trouser legs. “Got distracted. Cars do that to me.”
“Well, dinner’s ready,” I offered.
“Dinner!” Riley grinned. I felt the warmth of that grin tingle right through me, all the way down to my toes. “Now that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”
“Yay!” Parker exclaimed, and dashed into the kitchen ahead of him, climbing into her seat. She looked so pretty in the little blue dress I’d bought her—a small blond Christmas angel.
We all sat down to dinner. Riley ate the first course—cream of pea soup—with such relish that it made me smile. His eyes met mine.
