by Lisa Plumley
Wearing an aggrieved expression, Brad snatched his sunglasses. Holly felt too stunned to care. Dumbstruck, she sank on the porch swing. Her dress, still in its drycleaner’s bag, crinkled beneath her. She didn’t have the energy to care.
“You know I always hated this old house, Holly. We should start fresh. Start over in a new place, like my condo. Now that we’re together again—”
“No.”
“Huh?”
“No.” Oh, Lord. She’d been such a fool. How could she have been so blind?
She’d been so afraid of failing. So afraid of winding up alone. So certain the problems in their relationship could be—should be—fixed, if only she tried hard enough.
Holly shook her head. “No, Brad. We’re not together. I’m not sure we ever were.” She gazed steadily at him, her certainty building with every passing moment. “I tried everything to make things work between us. Everything. Do you know what I just realized?”
Cautiously, Brad shook his head. He was probably still reeling from the realization that he wasn’t taller than Holly after all.
“It’s not my fault.”
It was true. Her plan should have worked. Probably would have worked—on anyone who really cared for her. Anyone except Brad the Bad. Holly wasn’t the failure in their relationship. Brad was. Realizing the truth of that was like a shot of pure sunshine to her battered spirit.
It wasn’t her plan that had won him back. Her plan was only one big, ego-stroking joke to him. Brad’s need to save his own reputation had made him come back—not to mention his need for a part-time accountant.
Holly narrowed her eyes at him. She’d gotten what she wanted, all right—only to find out it wasn’t worth having.
“I think you should leave, Brad.”
“Be serious.” He gave her his most charming smile. “Don’t make more of this than it really is. You said it yourself. We belong together.”
Holly stood, then gathered up her dress. “Not anymore. Frankly, I’d rather be alone.”
He stared at her. “You will be alone,” he said meanly. “Even your handyman’s gone, thanks to the kiss-off you gave him at the jail this morning. And you won’t get a second chance with me. Not this time.”
He waited, probably expecting her to change her mind. To beg him for that second chance he’d preemptively refused. To revert to the old, desperate, do-the-right-thing Holly he remembered.
When she didn’t, he looked astonished. Then angry. Red-faced, Brad clomped awkwardly down the steps. Standing beside the lighted Santa-with-reindeer display Holly and Sam had erected on the lawn, Brad turned.
“How does it feel to be unwanted?” he asked snidely.
Holly didn’t want to hurt him. She really didn’t. So she only gazed at him for a long, thoughtful moment.
“Maybe you should ask yourself that question,” she said quietly. Then she turned, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. Alone.
“You’re crazy,” Clarissa said a few days later. Hands full of Christmas CDs, she plopped down on the floral-upholstered armchair beside Holly’s newly repaired fireplace. “You’ve got a man who loves you—Sam, in case you’re wondering—and you’re letting him get away.”
“It’s too late to stop him.” Holly poked glumly at the fire. “He’s already gone.”
She’d never been able to use the fireplace before. She’d never even seen it when it wasn’t boarded up. But somehow, whenever she laid a fire log, struck one of the special, extra-long matches, and hunkered down beside the resulting blaze, it made her feel closer to Sam.
It was absurd, but Holly experienced the same kind of cozy feeling whenever she used the new porcelain sink he’d installed in the kitchen. She felt it when she hung pictures on the freshly painted walls, and when she encountered the new hardwood kitchen floor on her bare feet instead of the old yellow linoleum.
She missed him.
“He’s only gone because he thinks you chose Brad,” Clarissa insisted for what had to be the hundredth time. “Call him. I gave you the number.”
Holly shook her head. “I can’t. What if Sam doesn’t want me anymore? What if he hates me? I couldn’t stand it if I called him and he hated me.”
She replaced the wrought iron fireplace poker in its holder, then curled up on the sofa. In its corner were the pink-fringed throw pillows she’d used to prop up Sam’s injured foot. Reminders of him were everywhere. Holly picked up a pillow and hugged it in her lap.
“I still have my memories. At least this way I can still dream of what might have happened.” She shuddered. “I can’t call Sam. I was so mean to him at the end! How could he ever forgive me?”
“You’re right. He never will,” Clarissa deadpanned. “He’s probably sticking pins in a Holly Aldridge voodoo doll right now. He’s probably telling total strangers how lucky he was to get away from you.”
Holly covered her face with the pillow. Clarissa was right. She felt horrible.
“You know, I even ordered a pizza from Angelo’s last night. And Kung Pao chicken the night before,” she confessed forlornly, her voice muffled by the pillow. She looked up. “My throat burned like crazy, but it wasn’t the same without Sam.”
She’d taken to sleeping in Sam’s bed in the guest bedroom, too. Worse, she hadn’t even changed the sheets first. She imagined they smelled vaguely, but wonderfully, like Sam. She was turning into a real basket case.
“I was kidding!” Clarissa shrieked. “Geez. Get it through your head, Holly Berry. Sam. Loves. You. He’s not going to stop. You should have seen his face when he left.”
Holly dared to lower the pillow. “Really?”
Her friend threw her hands in the air. “Yes. What do you think I’ve been trying to pound into that thick head of yours for the past three days?”
“I still can’t call him. I just can’t take a chance like that.”
“Do it.”
Holly shook her head. “I can’t.”
“You can. Do it.”
Trying to ignore Clarissa, Holly pulled a fresh tissue from the supply she taken to keeping in her pocket. She blew her nose.
“You know, I haven’t even been in to work since last Friday,” she admitted.
“I know. I work there too, remember?” Clarissa gave her a sympathetic look. “Anyway, you’ve probably accrued about a thousand sick days. You deserve it.” She got up and sat beside Holly on the couch, then gave her a hug. “That only proves my point, hon. For you, missing work is like breaking the law.”
Holly sniffled. Clarissa had a point. This was serious.
“This is a chance you can’t afford not to take,” Clarissa said. “Isn’t true love worth it?”
Holly took a deep, quivery breath. Then she voiced her greatest fear. “What if Sam doesn’t want me anymore?”
Clarissa looked solemnly at her. She gave her a squeeze. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“You sure about this?” Sam’s landlord pushed the lease agreement across the kitchen table for Sam to sign.
“Yeah.” He scanned the document, then scrawled his name at the bottom and handed it over. It was a done deal.
Beside him sat Jiggly Jillian Hall. Her two toddlers—a boy and a girl, both with identical curly, pale blond hair—played noisily in his apartment living room. He could hear their toys banging, and the sound of their babyish laughter.
Jillie gave him a worried look. “I hope they won’t break anything.”
“Nah.” Sam grinned at his landlord. “The furniture comes with the place, and I’m sure it’s been through worse. It would take a jackhammer to make a dent in any of it.”
“Hey, you’re making me look bad,” his landlord protested. “There’s nothing wrong with that stuff.” He peered semi-suspiciously at Sam. “You sure about this deal? Maybe you’re having second thoughts about losing a nice, cheap apartment like this.”
“I already told you. I’m not.” Sam got up and shook hands with his landlord. “Thanks for everything. Ju
st don’t go raising the rent on Jillie, here. She’s got a lease, remember?”
“Yeah, okay.”
His landlord picked up the lease, took a copy for himself, then headed for the front door. He was still muttering something about, “never had no kids here before,” when he left. Sam didn’t think it would be a problem. The day he’d first moved in, the landlord had gone on at length about “never had no college students here before.”
Besides, Sam had already overhead him telling Jillie what nice little rugrats she had. Despite his bluster, the guy was a softie at heart.
Picking up his last moving box, Sam went in the living room to say goodbye to the kids. Jillie followed him.
“It’s a great place,” he told her. “I hope you’ll be happy here. With two bedrooms it was always too big for me, anyway.”
She smiled. “Oh, we will be, professor! This is the best Christmas present anybody ever had. The kids never had their own room before. They’ll be just tickled.”
Jillie looked pretty happy herself. Sam grinned back at her. The movement felt strange. He hadn’t been feeling much like smiling lately. Losing Holly made everything look gray.
He wished Jillie good luck. After they said their goodbyes, he hefted his box again and carried it outside to his truck. Sam shoved it in place atop the rest and tied the whole mess down. He’d be on his way in no time.
Honk! Honk! At the sound, Sam turned, shading his eyes to peer down the street. A little white convertible, horn blaring with as much enthusiasm as its tiny size could muster, zoomed straight toward him. Holly was at the wheel.
Holly was going to run him down, judging by the speed she was traveling. Maybe three days with Brad had sent her over the edge. Sam figured a guy like Brad could do that to a person.
She wrenched the car to a gravel-crunching stop a few feet away and leaped out without opening the door. Sam rubbed his eyes. He had to be hallucinating. Either that, or dreaming. Holly had way too much decorum to jump out of a car, especially when she had on that sexy white dress of hers—which she did.
“Sam!”
“Holly?”
“I can’t believe I found you.”
She threw herself in his arms and clamped herself to him so tightly it would take a crowbar to pry her away. She was real, all right. Sam would have recognized the feel of Holly in his arms no matter how it happened.
“I drove straight here,” she said, the words rushing out, “but I went to the University first and you weren’t there. So then I went looking for your apartment, but I got lost. I was driving around in circles, then I saw your truck. And here I am!” Holly paused for breath then plunged ahead. He couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “Sam, Brad and I are through. For good this time. I was a complete idiot. Can you forgive me? Please forgive me! I’m so sorry for everything.”
At that moment, she noticed his truck bed, piled high with moving boxes and the rest of his things.
She stared. “Where are you going?”
“I—”
“Is it because of me?” she babbled before he could answer. “Were you trying to get away before I got here? You were, weren’t you? I’ll kill Clarissa if she’s the one who called to warn you.”
She sagged in his arms, close to tears, looking desolate. And gorgeous. And like everything he’d ever wanted.
Sam pulled Holly close and kissed her. When he raised his head again, she looked slightly dazed. Sam took advantage of the opportunity to explain.
“Clarissa didn’t call me. I—”
Holly gasped. “Oh, no. You lost your ethics hearing, didn’t you? I can’t believe it! Those—”
She squinted, probably trying to think up something really vile to call the university faculty.
Sam grinned down at her. “No. I didn’t lose. In fact, Malcolm’s ridiculous charge got thrown out. Laughed out, actually.”
In fact, Malcolm’s complaint hadn’t even reached the stage of a formal ethics hearing. But because of Sam’s moves from Tucson to his parent’s house, then to Holly’s, the corresponding notices hadn’t reached him. He hadn’t found out about it until he arrived.
“I quit. I took another job, one where I wouldn’t have to deal with somebody like Malcolm Jeffries. Life’s too short to spend your days working with a jerk like him.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
“What, no lecture about job responsibilities? No warnings about the dangers of unemployment? No speeches about the necessity of planning ahead?” Sam pressed his hand to her forehead. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
They both laughed.
“I’m feeling fine,” Holly said, obviously recovering from her surprise. She nearly purred with the certainty of her statement. “And you don’t need a plan, because I’ve already got one for both of us.”
“You do?” He kissed her shoulder, then her neck.
“Yes.”
She pressed a slip of paper in his hand, folding his fingers tightly around it. “You were right all along. I was falling in love with you. I was just too stubborn and too dumb to admit it.”
Sam unfolded the paper. In his hand was the fortune-cookie fortune from their Kung Pao chicken dinner. Your present plans are going to succeed.
“I love you, Sam,” Holly whispered. “And I never want to lose you again.”
He held her close, his lips against her hair. “You never will.” Sam considered turning a few happy cartwheels on the lawn, then dismissed the idea. He’d have to let Holly go in order to do that. “Damn, I missed you. There’s no way I’ll lose you again.”
“Well,” she said, sounding businesslike despite the fact that her face was squashed against his chest, “I want to make sure of that.”
Stepping back, she sucked in a deep breath. “Marry me. I’ve already got the dress. See?” She held out both hands and turned in a circle. “You said it was perfect for a wedding.”
“Wow.” Shaking his head, Sam admired the woman he loved. “When you make a decision, you really take it all the way.”
“Are you kidding me? I don’t do anything halfway.” She smiled. “Is that a yes?”
Sam picked her up. He twirled her around in a circle, and now he was smiling, too. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!”
Chapter Eleven
It was going to be a perfectly romantic Christmas. The tree was lit, the holiday music was cheerful, the eggnog was cold. Even the weather had cooperated, in the form of a rare desert cold front that made snuggling up together in front of a toasty fire an absolute necessity.
Things started going uphill from the moment Holly’s husband Sam came home, carrying her holiday favorite—poinsettias. Juggling the flowers, he shucked off his shoes, stripped off his wet jacket, and came toward her in the soft glow of the Christmas lights.
“Power go out?” he asked.
“Nooo.” Smiling, Holly patted the sofa cushion.
Sam placed the flowers on the coffee table. “I’m kidding. I recognize a romantic Christmas Eve when I see one.”
Gently, he pushed his wife backward against the cushions. His fingers delved in her hair, stroking. His mouth found hers, and their bodies settled familiarly—exquisitely—together.
“Where’s the pizza from Angelo’s?” He grinned. “You can’t perform a cheap pizza-and-wine seduction routine without it. Not even at Christmas. I’m not easy, you know.”
Holly rubbed her cheek against his, then nuzzled his neck. She loved him more every day. “The pizza is in the kitchen, as usual. But I’ve got other plans for you. And they’re happening right here.”
“I love them already,” Sam said, bringing her close for another kiss. “As it happens, I’ve got a few plans of my own.”
Holly noticed the sprig of mistletoe in his hand. She smiled and dropped the matching sprig she’d been hiding. As far as romantic Christmases went, this one was starting out…perfectly. She had a feeling it would end that way, too—happily ever after.
“Ho, ho, ho,” she murm
ured, and kissed him back.
CHRISTMAS HONEYMOON
by
Lisa Plumley
Chapter One
It wasn’t every day a girl checked into the honeymoon suite of a posh hotel.
Especially alone.
Sucking in a deep breath, Stacey Ames paused beneath the neon-studded entrance of the Atmosphere Hotel. Like everything else on the Las Vegas Strip, the hotel’s massive porte-cochere popped with thousands of flashing lights. Never mind that it was only four o’clock on an ordinary Friday afternoon in December. The illusion of glamour, she supposed, had to be maintained constantly.
Maybe all that va-va-voom lighting would perk up her sun-starved complexion and wilted hairstyle. Something sure had to. After more than five hours spent driving from her cousin Janie’s wedding to the hotel, Stacey felt about as glamorous as a wrung-out washcloth.
Behind her, tires squealed on the pavement. She glanced backward long enough to glimpse her red rented Honda Accord skidding around the corner toward the hotel’s hundred-acre parking lot. The poor car all but spun on two wheels, thanks to the valet’s energetic driving.
She’d have to check her rental car agreement’s insurance provisions, just in case Mario Andretti, Jr. got too carried away. Making a mental note to do that when she got safely to the honeymoon suite, Stacey picked up her two hastily packed suitcases. She shrugged her purse higher on her shoulder and girded her courage.
Time to get on with the charade.
It’ll be fun, she told herself as she pushed through the hotel’s heavy glass doors. A three-day weekend of sun, fun, and fulfilling family obligations. Every girl’s dream getaway.
Good thing they had free cocktails at these places.
The instant she stepped into the hotel’s futuristic-themed lobby, a cacophony of jangling slot machines blasted her. So did the sound of murmured voices and a Muzak version of “Santa Baby.” She hoped a similarly orchestrated “One Hundred Greatest Romantic Hits For Lovers” wasn’t featured in the honeymoon suite. That just might be the thing to make her end this sham, promise or no.
