A Holiday Temptation: A Holiday Novella

by Tiffany Patterson

My heart squeezes as if someone fisted it. It’s not pity I feel for him as I watch how practiced he is at maneuvering his chair around the shop. There’s a quiet confidence that drapes over him, surrounding his every move. He wears it well. Same as he did back in high school. Back then, however, he’d been full of teenage bravado. Now, I find myself staring at a man, who despite the differences physically, knows his place in this world. He takes up as much space as he needs and makes not one apology for it.

  “The hell are you doing here?” that same man growls at me as I step forward.

  I work to hide my flinch and my surprise. I didn’t even realize I moved closer. I got lost in my thoughts about Mark, caught between the past and the present, and somehow, he was like a magnet, drawing me closer.

  Shaking my shoulders, I look him in the eye and answer, “I’m looking for you.”

  He narrows his eyes, and a small, yet powerful shiver, moves through me. He doesn’t intend for the look to be sexy in any way. I know that. I can see the anger in those hazel lenses, yet somehow, that sentiment isn’t being relayed to my warming body.

  “For what?” he asks through gritted teeth.

  At that, I almost roll my eyes but catch myself. It’s better not to piss him off any more than he always is.

  “For work.”

  “Anything you need to tell me about work can be relayed through email or Suzette.”

  “That’s not possible, and you know it. As good as she is, Suzette doesn’t know the ins and outs of this merger the way I assume you do.”

  “You assume.” He gives me a measured look.

  Swallowing, I nod. “Yes. A man like Aaron Townsend wouldn’t have made you head of this merger if you weren’t well versed in all its particulars.”

  “I’m not the head of this merger. He is.”

  That time I do roll my eyes because I’m finding this conversation frustrating.

  “You know what I mean. He put you in charge of all the major communications and essentially has made you the project manager. You report directly to him. You know your stuff, and I need to work directly with you.”

  “Which we’ll do via email.” He turns back toward the door.

  I run ahead of him, stopping just between him and the front door. “You know that won’t work. It hasn’t been working well, and we’re only three days in.”

  “Move.”

  My body tenses at the menacing undertone of his voice. I step aside to give him space to vacate the door.

  Somehow, I find the strength to shake off the fear that overcomes me and follow him out the door. The sight of him rolling away from me causes my heart to sink.

  “When did you become so unbendable?” I demand, running to get in front of him again.

  He stops abruptly, and the storm clouds gathering in his eyes tell me that was precisely the wrong choice of words.

  “Probably the day I woke up in that fucking hospital.”

  My stomach clenches at the depth of emotion in those words. I press my hands against it to keep myself from falling to my knees.

  “Mark, I-I’m sorry.”

  “Save it. Save your I’m sorrys or whatever the fuck else you were about to say. I don’t need it. Not sixteen years later.”

  He’s right. It’s more than a decade and a half too late. And the truth is, it’s just as dangerous for me to be this close to Mark now as it was sixteen years ago. Yet my job hinges on it.

  “No apologies,” I say, shaking my head. “But you need this job as much as I do.”

  He angles his head to the side.

  “In that meeting, Townsend mentioned something about you wanting more responsibility. I’m betting a job done well here leads to career advancement for you. I’m new to Cypress and need to prove my value, so they’ll keep me on once this merger goes through.”

  He works his jaw as he stares at me for a minute. “Why the hell would I care about your career?”

  “You shouldn’t. I’m not asking you to. But you care about your career. Don’t let your anger at me get in the way of your dreams.”

  He blinks, looking baffled, but he recovers quickly. He glares for another minute as if his mind were volleying between the different possibilities.

  I hold my breath, waiting for whatever he decides. Eventually, he seems to come to the same conclusion I have.

  He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “You’re right. This fucking project is taking all of my damn energy, and I’m still not getting half the shit done that needs finishing.”

  I push out a breath, feeling relieved that he’s finally starting to make some sense on the matter.

  “We’ll meet.”

  “Great. I was thinking of a Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday schedule. And before you say no,” I insist, holding up my hand to stop him when he looks as if he’s about to interrupt, “a short thirty or forty-minute meeting by phone or once a week isn’t going to cut it. You know this. I’ve got at least three different lawyers calling me daily with new updates. And I’ve lost track of all the numbers accountants are throwing at me each day. That’s in between the calls and meetings I have with counselors on their specific needs and wants for improvement.”

  Mark sighs, staring off into the distance before his gaze returns to me. “Same on my end. Three days a week is probably the minimum.”

  “I can squeeze in weekends, too.”

  He eyes me. “Don’t push it.”

  I hold up my hands.

  “Call Suzette and have her put you in my schedule.”

  “Starting today.”

  He blinks.

  “We’ve only got weeks to see this thing through. We’ve already lost three days.”

  “Fine. Today. Whatever.”

  “Great. I’m already in your schedule.”

  “What? How?”

  “Same person who told me you stop at this coffee shop every Thursday morning. Suzette. She may not know the ins and outs of this merger, but she’s great at memorizing a schedule. I’ll see you at four. You should plan for this to be a long day.”

  I gather all of my nerves to give him one last look before I walk around him in the opposite direction, to where I parked my car. Though I don’t turn around to see, I feel as if he’s watching me walk away. The little tingle that moves up through my legs along my back body tells me as much.

  Part of me wants to pivot and stare him in the eyes again. The other part of me wants to break out into a run to hide behind something. I don’t want him to see me. To see all of me, the way he used to. Even in high school, he had a way of looking right through me to see what others couldn’t.

  Sighing as I slam my car door closed, I press my palm to my chest. Yep, my heartbeat is rapid enough to make one think I just sprinted that last block.

  I close my eyes and steady my breathing to slow it down. At the same time, I remind myself, Don’t get too close.

  It’s after seven o’clock at night when I pull into the driveway that evening. Another long day, but for the first time in a few days, I feel like I’m making some progress on this thing at work. And that’s only after my first one-on-one meeting with Mark this afternoon.

  He remained cold and distant during the meeting, which I expected. But he showed up ready, with notes, files, and paperwork in hand. As I suspected, he was more prepared and better equipped to handle my inquiries directly than Suzette ever could. Given the headway we made in a few short hours, I’m feeling at ease when my cell phone rings as I sit in the car.

  Smiling at the name displayed on my phone, I pick up with a, “Hey, Desiree.”

  “I can’t believe I got you and not your voicemail,” she responds.

  Desiree is my best friend. I was initially friends with her older sister, Deirdre. Deirdre and I became instant friends the moment we met in college in Seattle. She was fearless, opinionated, and spirited. She was everything I wasn’t, and for some reason, she took a liking to me.

  A year later, Desiree moved in with Deirdre to start sc
hool at the same university. We quickly became a trio of sorts. What I didn’t know, initially, was that Deirdre had a problem. Deirdre’s carefree ways got her hooked on alcohol and drugs. It didn’t take long for her to spiral down into the quicksand of addiction, making it impossible for either Desiree, her parents, or even me to pull her out.

  My friend spent years in and out of rehab, trying to kick her habit. She failed and died as a result of an overdose. At her funeral three years ago, it broke my heart to see how Desiree blamed herself for her sister’s downfall.

  Make sure you look out for her if something happens to me, Deirdre made me promise one night, out of the blue. We were sitting in my apartment, talking, and listening to music, and she asked me to look after her sister. So I did because it’s what I do. I look after people, even though I try my best to keep my distance because, for too many people, being around me hasn’t stopped them from getting hurt.

  But Desiree is more independent than Deirdre knew. She’s sweet in a way that most people aren’t. So sweet, she’s actually a baker. Mostly of cookies, but other treats, too. For now, it’s her side hustle, but I know she wants it to be her full-time job. I can see her owning a bakery someday.

  “You caught me at a good time,” I respond. “I just pulled in the driveway.” I glance up at the front of the house, my chest twisting at the thought of going inside.

  Your mother needs you, that tiny voice in my head reminds me.

  “It’s almost eight o’clock there, isn’t it?”

  I nod though she can’t see me. “Long hours at this place. Cypress is in a bit of a mess, and we’ve got some new things in the works. I’m working on getting up to speed on everything.”

  I don’t tell Desiree of everything happening at work. This deal with Townsend has to remain a secret until the announcement on New Year’s Eve, and Desiree doesn’t know anything about Mark.

  I’ve never shared with her the full details of my past. All she knows is that I’m originally from Williamsport and moved to Seattle to start college after attending boarding school to finish out high school. I’d told Deirdre a little more, but even she didn’t know the entire truth of my past with him.

  Sighing, I run my free hand through my curly hair, uncaring how I might cause it to frizz out.

  “How’s the second grade going?”

  She laughs. Desiree is a full-time elementary school teacher. “The kids are great.”

  I hear the solemness in her voice. “But …”

  She sighs. “Sometimes I’m there and wish I were in the kitchen. I’ll get an idea in the middle of class for a new recipe to try out and have to scribble it down somewhere quickly. I’m lucky if I can find the paper by the end of the day.”

  “Which is why you need to finally put in that notice at your job and open the bakery.”

  “You and Neil keep saying the same thing.”

  My ears perk up. “Neil? Really?” I smile at the little upbeat way she says his name.

  “Yeah, like you didn’t know what you were doing when you told me how much he enjoyed my cookies last year.”

  Neil McKenna is my former boss. I worked at McKenna Rehab Facility for five years, working my way up from assistant to Program Director. I worked directly with Neil McKenna for the last two years and rarely saw anything get under his drive to grow his facility and carry out its mission. He was like a dog with a bone sometimes. The few occasions I recall him being distracted were when Desiree was around.

  Deirdre spent time at McKenna for treatment, and Desiree had come during visiting hours or for family therapy sessions.

  I laugh. “And the year before that. The man’s been crushing on you for a while now. And I knew the feeling was mutual.”

  “Maybe.”

  “It’s going well between you two, huh?”

  “I think so. It’s early but … I like him. He’s different.”

  “Good. Anyway, when are you sending me my cookies? I tried to re-order those butterscotch ones this morning, and they’re sold out.”

  She sucks her teeth. “You get on my nerves. You know you can just call me with what you want.”

  I shake my head adamantly. “Hmhm, that’s not how I do things. I want to support you in your endeavors, which means I pay like everyone else. How much?”

  “Nothing. Those butterscotch, pumpkin spice, and the vanilla bean ones you said your mama liked will be in the mail tomorrow.”

  “Desiree, I—"

  “Gotta go. Talk soon. Bye.”

  “Little wench,” I grumble as I stare at the phone, seeing she hung up on me. She may not let me pay directly for the cookies and the shipping, but I make a note to send her some money via my online account to take care of the costs and then some.

  With that, I head inside of the house. The lights are on, but the place is silent, which it usually is these days when I get in. Carefully, I heel-toe off my shoes, leaving them by the front door, and pad my way through the entranceway to come to a stop at the living room.

  “Mama, you’re up,” I say, feeling hopeful that maybe she’s starting to come around. “Desiree just said she’s sending more of those vanilla cookies you liked.” I step into the living room as she turns around.

  For the first time, I realize she’s on the phone.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, covering my mouth with my finger apologetically.

  “Jackie, no, don’t leave,” she stops me. “It’s your Uncle Will. He was calling to see how I was doing and if you were home.”

  My stomach plummets. I have to fight hard to keep my face neutral at the mention of my father’s brother. A man I hate almost as much as my father.

  “Well, I’m home. I’m going to head upstairs,” I say, but before I can turn to exit, my mother stops me.

  “He wants to speak with you.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “It’s been a long day.” I shake my head and give her a sad look as she holds the phone out to me.

  Her gaze lowers, and she moves the phone to her ear, telling my uncle what I said.

  “He says he just wants to check on you.”

  I sigh, feeling guilty enough for putting my mother in the middle of this. I should’ve known better. The same way she could never stand up to my father is how she behaves with my uncle.

  “Hey, Uncle Will.” I give my mother a false smile, which seems to placate her. Her shoulders slump a little as she moves to the couch, wrapping her arms around her body as she sits. She looks like a lost little bird.

  “Is your mother still there?”

  No pleasantries. Not that I expected them.

  “Yes.”

  “Great. Then keep smiling. I don’t think she’s doing so well.”

  “Yeah, me either. Wonder why that is,” I snap, more angrily than I mean to.

  “Watch your tone of voice. Hank always said what a disrespectful little thing you were. I see much hasn’t changed.”

  Biting my bottom lip, I hold on to the fuck off that wants to spill out.

  “Uncle Will, it has been a long day, and I don’t think Mama has eaten.”

  “I won’t take much more of your time. Solely checking in to make sure everything is going as expected over there. She says you’ve been spending a lot of time out of the house lately.”

  Rolling my eyes, I answer with, “My new job has me working on a big project which is taking up a lot of my free time.” Not a lie there.

  “Good. Which means you’re staying away from anything or anyone you don’t need to be around, correct?”

  My toes curl in anger into the carpet of the living room as I ignore the note of warning that passes through my stomach.

  “Absolutely,” I lie. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Yes, please go right ahead. Attend to your mother. That’s what you returned to Williamsport for, isn’t it?”

  Choosing not to answer his question, I respond with, “Have a good night, Uncle Will,” before hanging up.

  I place my mother’s cel
l down on the coffee table. She peers up at me with a small smile.

  “Have you had dinner?”

  “Is it time for dinner?” she questions, looking around.

  I move to the couch, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “Mama, I’m worried about you.”

  Another smile. I’m sure she means to comfort me and stem my worry, but the way it refuses to reach the chocolate-chip-colored eyes of hers only aids in amplifying my concerns.

  “Don’t be. I’ll be fine.”

  “Let me order something for us to eat, okay?”

  She nods, and I pull out my phone and look through one of the many delivery service apps, choosing one to pick us up yet another meal from a local restaurant. My mother was the cook of the family, and these days it barely looks as if she can boil eggs.

  My specialties in the kitchen consist of making a pot of coffee or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Without delivery, I would have starved a long time ago.

  “Food will be here in thirty minutes,” I confirm.

  She lifts her gaze from the floor, another one of those ghosted smiles on her face. The move is so rehearsed I wonder if she even realizes she’s doing it. She always had to appear as if things were great when my father was around, even when they weren’t. Especially when they weren’t.

  “Did you have a good talk with your Uncle Will?” she asks as if she weren’t seated here for the entirety of it.

  I realize that though she’d been physically present, mentally she was probably miles away.

  Clearing my throat, I take a seat on the couch next to her and grab for the remote. I can’t look her in the eyes as I lie.

  “Yeah, good.”

  “That’s good. He’s been good to us since H-Hank—” She breaks off, her voice quivering, but she doesn’t break out into a full-on cry. She doesn’t do that in front of people, not even me.

  She refuses to let that wall down, and I refuse to inform her that Uncle Will was more so checking up on me to make sure I follow my father’s strict orders to stay away from the one man I have to work with these days.

  The same man, once a sixteen-year-old boy, whose life I changed forever by paralyzing him.

  Chapter 6