An eternal five minutes later, the officer came to the driver’s side window and stuck his head in. He started to speak but then seemed to take in Juliet’s appearance. He swallowed visibly and said, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience. We’ll be taking your husband down to the station.”
“He’s not my husband,” she said without thinking.
The officer’s eye softened a little further when they searched out her left ring finger for verification. “Good. Right. Then if you’d like you can follow us there, or you can continue on to your Christmas party without that baggage. Which I’d recommend.” The officer cleared his throat. “Or, us guys have plans for drinks at the Tilted Kilt later. If you want to wait and join us.”
“You’re on duty, sir.”
He seemed to recollect himself. “Right.”
The cop left, his chest puffed out, and Juliet staggered around to the driver’s seat. Try as she might, she couldn’t see into the back of the cop car as it pulled away, couldn’t make out Tag’s face at all. What was going on? Well, she had to follow him. No way was he some criminal with warrants out. No.
The engine purred to life. Just touching the tip of her toe on the gas sent the RPMs revving. Kind of like when Tag had accidentally brushed his lips against Juliet’s mouth. Her RPMs had cranked to eight thousand. And they were almost that high now, just recalling it. But she hadn’t driven a stick shift in a long time. This could be a disaster. Wincing, she pulled into holiday traffic.
With halting progress, killing the engine twice at every stoplight, incurring three horn-honking incidents, and five bird fingers, she finally made her way to the West Covina police station. Thank goodness for GPS, because that cop car had left her in the dust ages back.
The whole thing at the station took forever. After an hour of sitting on an orange plastic chair, and enduring the lascivious glances of a few obvious drug addicts as they were hauled in, Juliet finally saw the arresting officer again.
“Miss Law?” He knew her name. Tag must have told him. “It will still be a few more minutes. Would you like to post bail?”
“Bail!” Her eyes popped open. “What are the charges?”
The officer smirked. “Just a little joke. Sorry. He’s free to go, as soon as the paperwork is done.”
She gave him a what-are-you-talking-about wince, and he waved his hand.
“Oh, it was all just a misunderstanding. Different guy used your friend’s name as an alias, committed a few ATM knockovers in town. But we have video surveillance, and he obviously isn’t a match.” The officer sniffed. “But the offer still stands for the Tilted Kilt. For you, I mean.”
“That’s very kind of you. Merry Christmas...” Her voice trailed off because at that moment, Tag reappeared, looking slightly rumpled and more handsome than ever.
Juliet flew to him. “Are you all right?” She melted against him, hoping the police hadn’t roughed him up in any way. They did that sometimes, right? His arms encircled her and pressed her torso to his. Wow, good fit. “If you think we should call it a night and try again some other time, I’m okay with that.” Sort of. She was sort of okay with that. But she definitely didn’t want to wait another ten years to finish this date. Despite the police, things did seem to be crackling between them. Like the way his hands felt against the small of her back. Something electric popped out of his fingertips and into her stomach cavity.
“No. Absolutely not.” He looked down at her. “We are going on our date.” Determination pressed around the edges of his eyes, and his jaw set. “We may have missed our dinner reservations, but we can still make it to the Ace concert.”
Ace! That was right. She was going to see Ace— up close!
Chapter Three
It amazed her that Tag remembered she’d loved Ace Bandage. That, or he’d done recon and asked her mother. Juliet had had one of those withering celebrity crushes on the smoky-voiced tenor all through high school, but she’d never seen him perform live. When his boy band broke up and Ace went solo, Juliet had written him a letter he hadn’t responded to— of course. The non-response extinguished her love’s flames, but she still lit up for his songs.
Her stomach growled. Snarled, actually.
Tag must have heard, because he looked over. “Dinner is shot. My little rendezvous with justice sealed that.” He looked at his watch. “If you’re starved, we could skip Ace and find somewhere to eat. Talking over a meal is good.”
Juliet would like that too. But saying so might make her seem ungrateful for the effort he’d gone to in order to get the tickets for the show. “Could we grab something afterward? Or drive through somewhere?”
Tag drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You still a Taco Shack girl?”
“Always and forever.” Huh. He remembered her favorite restaurant too. “Give me the cheesy burrito and a pile of chicharones and I’m in heaven.”
“Remember when I filled your whole locker with chicharones right before graduation?”
Wait. Tag was the one who put grease spots on all her textbooks right before she had to turn them in? She about flung this at him, but he was still talking.
“I can’t believe you can eat deep fried pork rinds and still be as smoking hot as you are. You must have a killer metabolism.”
Double wait. Tag thought she was hot? Her temperature rose a few degrees. Smoking hot? Well, it took one to know one. With his hair all mussed and his necktie askew, he looked like he could spontaneously combust. Or make her do so.
“Here’s one.” He took the next exit and pulled into a Taco Shack. A huge lineup clogged the drive-through. As soon as they pulled between the tall cement guide curbs, a windowless van snuggled right up behind them. Another minivan with New Mexico plates spewed emissions-violations in front of them while little kids pounded on the back window and made faces at them.
Tag pointed a thumb in their direction. “No changing your mind now.” With the tall guide curbs they couldn’t even pull out in this low-slung car. “It’s tacos tonight!”
When he gave the order at the talking box, it crackled. At the first window, he whipped out a black credit card, and the clerk gazed down at him with a dream on her face for a moment before swiping it, never taking her eyes off Tag. They then inched toward the second window, which looked about an hour away.
“Drive-thru. Why do they have to spell it that way?” Juliet leaned her head against the window.
“This is America. People have a Constitutional right to misspell.” Tag inched the car forward. “Doughnut shop, d-o-n-u-t s-h-o-p-p-e. That’s a California special. And no one can stop them.”
“At least ‘shoppe’ has a spelling pedigree across the pond. The one that bugs me is light spelled l-i-t-e. Sure, it’s more intuitive. But please. It’s only one more letter to spell it right. Come on, people.”
“People are lazy. We Americans are soft spellers. Our forebears would be so ashamed.”
“Down with this weakness!”
The banter they used to share back in the day popped back to life, and she fell into it so comfortably that her thoughts of Newell faded another few steps into the background.
The window rolled down, and her stomach growled at the cumin and garlic and jalapeno of Taco Shack. Cheesy burrito coming through soon.
But the second window woman leaned out, clearly frustrated, yelling at someone inside— probably some poor, put-upon teen working a Friday night instead of going to the school Christmas dance. She handed Tag a too-small paper sack.
“Are you sure—” he started. But then the woman’s yelling went louder and included violent gestures toward the poor teen.
Juliet tugged on his shirt. “Whatever’s in there will be just fine.”
“But you need your cheesy burrito. We are here for a cheesy burrito, and you’ll have it.”
The yelling went louder. “I had a late lunch,” Juliet lied and checked inside the sack. “Oh, look. Vanilla. My favorite.” A single vanilla cone lay on its side at the bot
tom of the bag.
Just then the windowless van behind them started honking, and when Juliet looked back, she gasped.
“Uh, Tag? The dude behind us has some kind of weapon.” She whipped back around and sat hard against her seatback, slumping down. In the side view mirror she saw the driver had reached out his window and was brandishing a gun.
“But you need that burrito, Juje. Your stomach is going all hungry lion. We’re here, and I’m getting that food.” He reached out his window and started pounding on the glass of the drive-thru window.
“Tag! Come on!” Juliet reached across and pressed her hand down hard on his knee, shoving his foot onto the gas.
“Hey, hey. Fine. Okay, we’ll go,” he shouted over the incessant honking of the van behind him. He put the car in gear and pulled out of the line. “But you can keep your hand on my knee as long as you like.” His eye twinkled, and Juliet pulled her hand away, embarrassment flushing her face hot. Uh, touching his leg had not been in her plan.
Back on the freeway, she took the cone out. “Wanna share?” She held it out in front of him, almost in his line of sight, and unsheathed the ice cream. When she pulled it back toward her for a taste, his eyes followed. Mmm. The vanilla coldness was delicious. She might have moaned. “Here, have a taste.”
He nodded, obedient, and tasted the proffered food, never taking his eyes off her mouth.
“The road?” Juliet said, and Tag jerked the car back into their lane.
“Whoa. Better not get pulled over a second time. Maybe I’d better not watch you eat that. Getting in a fiery wreck is really the only way this date could be worse than our first.” He took the cone from her hand. “In fact—” He rolled down his window and tossed it against the cement barrier in the median. “Better hungry than dead.”
“A timeless truth.” Juliet’s stomach grumped, but a smirk of satisfaction pulled the left side of her slightly sticky mouth. Who’d have thought she could have this kind of effect on Tag McClintock? A tingling decorated the backs of her thighs like strung lights on all the suburban houses they were passing. “I’ve never been to the The Pantages before.”
“Did I tell you?” Traffic hit a sudden snag, and Tag pulled to a slowing semi-halt. “It’s stuff from his Christmas album. The old one. And our seats are down front.” From his jacket pocket he produced tickets and handed them to her.
“Front row? How did you—?”
Tag lifted a shoulder. Either he had connections or he bought the tickets the second they went on sale— and had been planning this night for months.
Warmth poured through her like her cups of hot cocoa. Wow. He had thought of her. She had the sudden urge to kiss him. “Oh, Tag.” She leaned over and pressed her lips to where his cheek divided clean skin from stubble. Her bottom lip got the prickles, and her top lip got the smoothness of Tag’s face.
His hand slid from the gear shift up across her shoulder and to the back of her head. He pressed her to him while he turned to face her, Juliet’s lips scuffing across his cheek and halting when their lips met. “You taste like vanilla.”
Juliet’s pulse pressed hot blood through her veins. She wasn’t sure how long the horns behind them had been honking when they finally came up for air. But Tag hiccupped as he tore his face from hers and eased the car into motion again. Juliet had to catch her breath.
“You have no idea...” Tag murmured as they resumed speed and the bottleneck opened up.
Oh, yes, she did. She had every idea. She knew how long a person could want that kiss. That very kiss. The kind that turned every other previous kiss out into the cold night and said don’t come back, you’re not worthy and never will be. The kind that made her put Newell out to permanent pasture.
Poor Newell. How could she ever kiss that guy again? It just wouldn’t be fair to him— since he could never compare, and she’d always be comparing.
Sayonara, Newell. Go back to your girlfriend.
Tag reached over and ran his knuckles down the side of her face just as their exit loomed up. “We’ll still make it for the concert if we use valet parking.”
Naturally, the main artery of Hollywood Boulevard, which sat a stone’s throw from the mansions of Beverly Hills, was jammed with cars and tourists drifting over the stars’ names on the Walk of Fame. Tag whizzed around a corner and took a side street, planting them in front of The Pantages with just minutes to spare. He tossed the valet his keys and helped Juliet from the car. They dashed in the front doors.
From their super close seats, Juliet could see the chicken pox scar below Ace’s right eye. She’d seen it once before in a rare, un-airbrushed photo of the former boy-band front-man. Even though he’d gone solo and turned from bubble gum pop to R&B years ago, he still had that boyish charm and spiked hair.
There was no opening act, just Ace and his acoustic guitar, Christmas wreaths, and some flickering candles. The Pantages piped in pine scent, kind of like California Adventure did with orange blossom scent on that hang glider ride, and Juliet relaxed against Tag’s arm for the nanosecond he waited before reaching around and resting it on her shoulder.
The ghost of their kiss still danced on her lips to the rhythm of Ace’s silken voice. She reached up to touch them, in hopes of quelling their reverberations, but the ghost wouldn’t be exorcised, as if demanding to be conjured again and again.
Well, the ghost would have to wait. Possibly forever. Because Juliet had no idea whether that car kiss was a fluke or a prelude. Tag’s You have no idea... line might not have meant what she’d assumed— that he’d been waiting a long time to kiss her. It might have meant, You have no idea how off-base you are in throwing yourself at me. I’m only here to keep my word. Nothing more.
The ghost of the kiss had been joined by the ghost of her insecurities.
Ace finished a set, told a few stories about growing up in rural Indiana in a family that made Christmas like Disneyland. The audience sighed, charmed. Tag reached over and took Juliet’s hand. It fit— and Juliet felt like she was six years old and at Disneyland for the first time. Her insecurities lifted a little.
Then Ace looked out into the audience. “If it’s all right with y’all, I’d like to do something special with this next song.” At this, Ace descended the stairs and walked among the crowd, letting them reach out and touch his outstretched fingers. “A lot of you know, I don’t really like to sing alone.” His voice went sultry. Women shrieked.
Juliet laughed a little and bent her head toward Tag. “I bet girls shriek when you talk about singing.”
Tag shrugged. “I’m sure they would as soon as they heard me sing. But in pain, not—”
Suddenly, a spotlight seared between them, and when Juliet looked up, there stood Ace Bandage, reaching his hand out to her. Juliet stared at it a second, and then she heard what he was saying.
Ace had pulled back his mic and whispered to her, “Do you sing? Even a little?”
She nodded dumbly.
“Do you know the words to ‘First Christmas Date?’”
Again, the dumb nod. Yeah, she knew it— better than she’d like to admit. In return he gave her a reassuring nod. “Come on, then. Come sing with me? Will you?”
Juliet’s mouth went dry. Sure, she’d had her days of singing— even performed more than her share of solos at school and church functions. But this was in front of strangers, a whole Toys-R-Us holiday truckload of them.
But Ace took her elbow and lifted her to her feet. To her surprise, in the heels she stood an inch taller than he did. She slipped them off, in case he’d be more comfortable that way, and walked up the cold metal steps barefoot behind him.
“What’s your name, gorgeous?” He asked in his husky voice. She told him, and he pulled his microphone back to his mouth while a tech crew member in a black T-shirt reading Rex hustled out and handed Juliet her own mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, Juliet Law!”
The audience cheered politely. Was it possible applause could be tinged with jealousy? Because if s
o, this one was more than tinged. It was positively saturation-point-dyed green. But Juliet’s embarrassment had stained her face red, and she had on the Red Dress. So, yeah. Red and green. The colors of Christmas. Her stomach clenched. This could be bad. Very, very bad.
Her eyes searched for Tag but were blinded by the spotlight. But then she touched her collarbone and felt the red necklace from Tag. It might not be instant death here.
Then Ace strummed his guitar, and the song poured into her. Every time she’d listened to the Christmas album, which was pretty much a kabillion times, she sang Sarah Karnes’s part as closely as she could, picturing herself sitting beside Ace, their foreheads touching as they serenaded each other.
This song was a well-trodden path, but it still might have potholes.
“I took your warm hand.” She started a little wobbly— but on key. Yes!
“Our first Christmas date.” Ace countered her with perfect rhythm, taking her elbow and giving her a reassuring nod.
“You warmed my cold heart.” Her voice steadied more, getting stronger.
“Our first Christmas date.” Ace’s voice rumbled through the whole theater. He came around and stood in front of Juliet, taking her hand in his. She was glad she’d taken off the heels. Looking up into his face wasn’t half bad.
“We skated the ice,” she sang, holding the note until he joined her on “Of future dreams.” He squeezed her hand and pressed it to his warm chest.
The song’s back-and-forth banter progressed. “We meet again now,” she sang, and the audience at last warmed to them both. He sang, “I savor your kiss,” and pulled Juliet into his lap. He leaned his forehead against hers, running a hand through her long hair and down her arm. At this she laughed a little and missed her “I bask in the holiday glow of your smile” line, but he covered for her, and soon she was back on track, and the audience was eating it up.
When the final combined line of “Last Christmas date, my love” arrived, she hit the harmony just right, and the crowd erupted. Juliet smiled down at where she thought Tag would be sitting, relief swishing away all the heaviness of terror that had accompanied her through most of the notes.
Under the Mistletoe Collection Page 25
