by Amy Andrews
“Let’s go see the gingerbread house entries and winners,” he said as his gloved hand grabbed her gloved hand and tugged her toward the boardwalk.
Viv would have liked nothing more—she’d been hearing all about the magnificent quality of the competition entries which, like the Stroll, was an annual event. But she really needed to go check on Robbie and Mackenzie. “Can’t, I’ve gotta get back.”
“Oh come on,” he cajoled. “Surely the Marietta queen of hot chocolate can play hooky for a minute or two? It’s practically on the way.”
Laughing, Viv let him pull her along. A small detour wouldn’t hurt.
People greeted them with smiles and words of congratulations as they walked and the sound of carolers singing “Come All Ye Faithful” serenaded them down the boardwalk but, just before they reached the extravagantly decorated windows of the bank where the gingerbread houses were on display, Reuben took a sharp right into an alley.
Viv frowned as she followed him. “Where are we going?”
“Here,” he said, his voice low and rumbly as he stopped and backed her gently against the wall, his green-gray eyes shining with a carnal intent even in the darkness of the alley.
“Officer Price,” she said, a smile shaping her lips. “Did you lure me into taking this walk with you under false pretenses?”
“Fuck yes, I did.” And then he kissed her and there was nothing gentle about that. It was all heat and spark from the second their lips touched, his tongue swiping and licking into hers. Viv curled her fingers into his lapels and kissed him back, heat springing everywhere.
“God,” he muttered when he finally broke away and they were both breathing hard. “You are hot when you’re being gracious.” His voice was rough as he pressed his forehead to hers.
Viv laughed, and it was as rough as Reuben’s voice. “My speech turned you on?”
“Everything about you turns me on.”
“So I see.” Viv pressed her knee against the impressive swelling in his sheriff department trousers.
He groaned again and went in for another kiss but Viv ducked it. She didn’t care that they were making out in an alley but, given he was still in his uniform—Reuben’s boss might.
And she really did have to get back. “I’ve gotta get back.”
“Yeah. Okay.” He grimaced but eased away, turning so his back was to the wall, expelling a long, foggy breath into the alley. “I’m probably going to need a minute.”
Viv grinned before leaning in to peck him on the cheek and, just because she wasn’t that gracious, she slid a hand down and groped him with thorough indecency. He sucked in a breath and his head thunked back against the brick wall. “Make that three minutes,” he said as she dropped her hand.
Smiling to herself, Viv turned, heading out of the alley. “I’m composing a speech to your penis in my head right now for when we get back to the cottage,” she threw over her shoulder.
She heard a muffled kind of oath. “Make it five.”
Chapter Nine
A few weeks later, on Christmas eve, Reuben sat in the elegant surroundings of the bar in the lobby of the Graff waiting for Vivian. He was surrounded by polished marble and gleaming light fixtures casting a low, intimate glow across rich wood paneling. To his right a massive fresh Christmas tree dominated the lobby festooned with baubles and bells, topped with a sparkly star and covered in myriad colored lights.
Rich silver and gold tinsel was strung around the reception desk and concierge station, caught up into loops by intermittent tartan bows. A strand of plump, dark green garland twisted around the handrail of the curved central staircase. An orchestral version of “Little Drummer Boy” was playing low over the sound system.
It sure was a far cry from that Bozeman bar. And Grey’s Saloon for that matter, where they’d met up with Stephen and Jess three nights ago. Jess had called it a double date but as she and Stephen were married and he and Vivian weren’t really dating, Reuben wasn’t sure it could be called that.
Vivian hadn’t seemed to mind the characterization but it had unsettled him because he was finding it more and more difficult to define them.
Which was his mother’s fault.
Well…not really. But he had been annoyed at his mom when Vivian had confessed what she’d said after Thanksgiving dinner. About getting his heart squashed. Thanks to Vivian’s insistence, he’d agreed not to tell his mother to butt out but he’d damn well wanted to and, had he not been able to assure Vivian it wasn’t the case, he sure as shit would have.
Because he had meant what he’d said that day.
Prior to his mother’s ridiculous assertion, Reuben had deliberately not thought about the future or even examined his feelings beyond their attraction. Vivian had been very clear about what she wanted, about the parameters, and he’d been happy to stay within them because as long as they were both here, he wanted to be with her.
And he was a thirty-year-old man who could handle a short-term fling for fuck’s sake.
For damn sure he’d known right at the beginning if he’d wanted anything more, she’d have passed altogether and that just seemed unimaginable now. Hell, it had seemed unimaginable from the second they’d crossed paths again no matter how much she’d tried to pretend they could overlook their chemistry.
But then his mother had set off some niggles in the back of his brain about what happened after and they’d been niggling ever since. And Jess with her double-dating quips had added to them.
Which was all weighing on his mind as he sat waiting for Vivian who was—he checked his watch—fifteen minutes late.
She, Robbie and Mackenzie had a scheduled online staff meeting with head office half an hour after closing today. Vivian had said they’d be done by seven so she’d arranged to meet him at the Graff at seven thirty but it was now just on quarter to eight. He hoped everything was okay and checked his phone inside his jacket pocket. He noticed a text from her eight minutes ago informing him the meeting had run over but that she was on her way.
Which meant she’d be here soon and the usual anticipatory flutter in his belly kicked off.
The bartender who wasn’t familiar to Reuben, put down the beer he’d ordered five minutes ago murmuring, “Enjoy, sir,” before moving away and Reuben picked it up and took a sip before placing it back down again next to the small gift bag with a wreath on the front that was sitting on the bar top in front of him.
He’d spied the trinket inside the bag in the window of an antique shop in Bozeman this morning and it had made Reuben think of Vivian. On a complete impulse, he’d gone in and handed over his money. But the longer he sat here, the more it felt like a ticking time bomb.
No Christmas presents they’d said. Vivian had been quite adamant and Reuben had agreed. Frankly he wasn’t the greatest at choosing gifts, especially picking out something for a woman, so he’d been relived. And then he’d seen the music box and…hadn’t been able to resist.
But it was just a this made me think of you gesture—that was all. Definitely not a Christmas present. Hell, if he’d spotted it three weeks ago or a month from now he’d still have bought it and presented it to her because he thought it’d be a nice memento of her time in Marietta and…it had been just too lovely not to.
Maybe putting it in a bag with a wreath on the front and bringing it with him tonight had been a mistake, though. Maybe it was giving it more import than he’d meant? Would she read too much into it? Would she see it as a sign that his mother had been right about Reuben having feelings for her?
Because that wasn’t true. It wasn’t.
The only gift bags in the shops at the moment were Christmas ones and it was just a coincidence that today was Christmas Eve. Whatever day he’d bought it for her he’d have given it to her straight away. Hell, he’d have given it to her tonight regardless of whether they’d stayed in or gone out.
She’d know that, right?
A tapping noise broke into Reuben’s turbulent thoughts and it took a be
at or two to realize it was from stilettos on marble and he turned in his stool to find Vivian walking toward him in a black dress that clung to all her curves and a pair of deep-purple, spiky-heeled, suede fuck me boots. Her blond hair hung loose around her face and over her shoulders and his loins heated and his breath cut out and his heart went thunk and he thought oh hell.
“Hey,” she said, as she got nearer, “sorry, the meeting went longer than I’d expected.”
Reuben, his nervous system fritzing out just looking at her, almost fell off his stool in his haste to stand up. His arms and legs and tongue felt numb and rubbery but he forced all of them to work as she slid her arms around his waist and went in for the kiss.
It was brief and perfectly decent given they were in a public place. “Your lips are cold,” he said absently because apparently the fritzing was continuing.
She laughed. “And I bet you have just the thing for that, right?” she teased.
Her laughter cut through the fog in his head and Reuben’s brain come back online. That hadn’t been where he was going with the cold lips thing, it had been more a statement of fact and a side effect of the fritzing but yeah…he could think of a couple of ways to warm up that mouth.
“Why don’t we try the PG version first,” he said, pressing another kiss to her temple. “Red wine?”
She smiled and said, “Sounds good,” as she slipped onto the stool next to him. “Wow.” She looked around her as Reuben also sat and gestured the bartender over. “This place is kinda posh for us.”
It was merely an observation not a criticism, Reuben knew that—he could hear it in the matter-of-fact tone of her voice. But it put him on the defensive. He supposed she had guys take her to these kind of establishments in the cities she’d lived all the time. Vivian was one classy woman and in that dress and those boots it looked like she belonged here—not at Grey’s Saloon or the diner.
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
The bartender arrived and Vivian gave him her order before turning back to Reuben, her knees brushing his, her gaze falling on the gift bag for the first time. She stared at it for a beat or two with confusion then what looked like trepidation before carefully schooling her expression and raising her eyes to meet his. “I thought we said no Christmas gifts.”
Reuben picked it up by the red raffia handles and placed it in front of her. “It’s not a Christmas present,” he said with a nothing-to-see-here smile. “I swear. I just…saw it today and…thought of you.”
She looked from him to it and back to him again. “You did, huh?”
“Yep.” He nodded. “You’ll understand when you open it.”
If she opened it… She was looking at it like it was a ticking bomb and he wouldn’t be surprised if she refused. The thought irritated him suddenly. He was allowed to fuck her but not buy her something pretty?
“I…” She glanced down then back up again. “I didn’t get you anything.”
Reuben gave a half laugh, a half sigh. “Vivian…I didn’t expect you to get me anything; it was just an impulse thing. It’s not for Christmas, I promise.” He nudged it toward her because now he really wanted her to open it. “But I think you’ll like it.”
The bartender interrupted by putting Vivian’s wine down and she thanked him and took a sip before returning her attention to the gift bag, putting her hand inside and withdrawing the box that was a couple of inches across the base and about four inches high.
It was the original box which, given it was almost eighty years old, had seen better days but he was pleased he hadn’t wrapped it in the Santa paper he’d almost bought for the occasion. She was freaked out enough as it was without getting Santa involved.
Placing the box down on the bar, she opened the top flap, glancing at him as she reached inside to pull the object out before looking back at the music box. Reuben glanced at it again because it was impossible not to. It was quite unlike anything he’d ever seen and here, in the understated elegance of the Graff, the music box with its old-fashioned craftsmanship and well…whimsy, looked perfectly at home.
Returning his attention to Vivian, he watched as she examined it, her frown of irritation softening and then dissolving as her expression morphed to one of utter delight. “Ohhh, Reuben,” she murmured breathily. “It’s…enchanting.”
It was. Just like her.
The inch-high, round base was made from milky mother-of-pearl and embellished with swirly clusters of fine silver filigree. Nestling it in her palm, she brought it closer to study it, turning her hand this way and that as her gaze roved over the myriad decorative details.
Atop the base protruding from its outer circular edge were four exquisite mother-of-pearl panels abutted to form a semi-circular screen. On the outside they had the same swirly silver filigree embellishments. On the inside a glossy hand-painted scene of a snowy wood graced the panels. Dark green pine trees, their branches and tops laden with snow, formed the perfect backdrop as they towered over the two, inch-high figures, placed in the center of the piece on a mirrored floor that was tarnished in a spot or two.
It was a man and a woman dressed in old-fashioned clothes similar to what the carolers had worn at the Stroll. They were standing in a waltzing position but they weren’t dancing. Ice skates were on their feet and their scarves and her hair and dress blew out behind them to indicate movement.
They were skating. On a lake. Surrounded by woods.
“There’s a winder on the bottom.” Reuben reached for it. “May I?”
She nodded and Reuben took it, surprised all over again at how heavy it was for such a small object. Flipping it over, he turned the winder, and set it down on the bar. Irving Berlin’s classic tune “White Christmas” wafted into the air clear and high with a crinkly, timeless quality that harked back to the days of pianolas and smoky saloons.
The couple in the middle turned around and around, skating in circles, and Reuben watched Vivian, watched the myriad expressions flit across her face as she smiled. “It reminded me of ice-skating on Miracle Lake with you,” he said. “I thought it’d be a nice memento of your time here in Marietta.”
“Oh yes.” She dragged her eyes off the music box as the winder wound down and the couple slowed. “It’s the most perfect thing.” She slid her hand on top of his, her brown eyes dancing with pleasure. “Thank you, Reuben.” She leaned in and kissed him, her hand sliding onto his face, her fingers pushing into his hair. “It’s so…thoughtful. I will treasure it.”
Which was exactly what he’d hoped for when he’d bought it.
“Then my work here is done,” he said, keeping his voice light and teasing because his heart was filling with something heavier and more serious and they didn’t need that.
“Sir? Madam?” The bartender interrupted. “Your table is ready?”
*
Viv was eating the most divine huckleberry pie compliments of Edwin who’d found out she and Reuben were dining with them and had insisted they try his latest recipe. It hadn’t taken a lot to twist her arm and it was heavenly. Nothing but huckleberries and the most exquisite pastry.
Between the food, the company and the music box, it was shaping up to be a Christmas Eve to remember.
It was fair to say Reuben’s gift had taken her by surprise. Not what it was, although that had been an utter delight, but the fact that he’d bought her something at all. They’d talked about no Christmas presents because that kind of thing was for relationships—permanent relationships—and Viv, who knew how easy it would be to let this thing with Reuben get out of hand, needed to keep it in the neat little box they’d already established.
She’d thought they’d been on the same page.
And then the gift bag had been sitting there—the small gift bag—and she’d had this horrible feeling it was going to be jewelry, which was not okay. Anxiety had tightened her throat. A man giving a woman jewelry was loaded no matter what the status of the relationship. It had connotations—exp
ectations—invisible strings and, for a brief moment, Viv had wanted to flee as thoughts of that other guy at her first store crowded her brain.
Not to mention how foolish she’d felt being empty-handed in the face of his gift.
But his assurances that she’d like it, his confidence that she would, had called her off the ledge. Reuben wasn’t a clueless guy so his promise that it wasn’t a Christmas gift, that he’d picked it up purely on impulse, had appeased her enough to relent.
She was glad she had because the music box was delightful. There’d been no need to fake her reaction, the craftsmanship was exquisite and she’d fallen in love with it instantly. She hadn’t lied when she’d said she’d treasure it. Watching the figures turn around and around had transported her to Miracle Lake and she knew every time she saw it in the future she’d be back to that morning on that lake with Reuben.
The fact that he’d bought it because it reminded him of the same thing gave her a funny little ache in her chest.
“You’re quiet.”
“Oh.” Viv blinked at the intrusion of Reuben’s faintly amused voice. “Sorry.” She shook her head and scraped the last morsel of the pie from the bowl into her mouth. “I was just wondering…how huckleberry hot chocolate stirrers would work for Delish?”
He chuckled. “I love how you eat, sleep, breathe chocolate.”
“Sorry,” she said with a sheepish grin, “it’s hard to turn off sometimes.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I get that.”
There was no inflection in his voice but his statement seemed loaded to Viv and, given what he did, she understood. She slid her hand across the table and placed it on his forearm. He was wearing a long-sleeved navy button-down with red stitching on the cuffs and pockets and around the buttonholes for detail.
“There are worse things to have in your head I imagine,” she murmured.
He smiled at her as he placed his hand over top of hers and for long moments they just stared at each other, the peppy tune of “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” playing low in the background.
