Tidings of Love

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “Mistletoe?” It’s all I could mutter.

  “Oh sure. Granted, it’s a bit ostentatious, but … ” His voice dripped with sex appeal and a roguishness that made my entire body light up in a smile. “The season of smooching starts early in this house.”

  “Oh.” A smile played on my lips. “Well, it never goes away in mine.”

  Joe’s eyes widened and for a moment he lost his hold on me. I nearly slipped from his arms before he quickly reclaimed me and cleared his throat.

  “So … ” His gaze shifted to my lips and then just as quickly shifted away. He slowly released me. “Um.” He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair that spiked naturally. No gel, no slick look—just this haphazard bristly mess that looked touchable. “You were considering a before-dinner drink. What can I pour you?”

  “Surprise me.”

  His eyes searched mine. “Haven’t I already?”

  Chapter 6

  I followed Joe into the kitchen for two reasons. One, it provided an excellent view of his jeans that cupped his ass and hugged his thighs. This man was seriously built. And two, I was trying to discreetly find the bathroom. After five hours of caffeine-induced driving and not enough pit stops, I was afraid that one more good giggle would be the end of me.

  But this search was going a lot like the one for the Christmas tree. “Your bathroom would be … ”

  Joe cocked his head toward the hallway. “Up ahead, first door on your right.”

  I fumbled for the light, shut the door, and glanced at the wall switch. I literally gasped. What the hell? I reached into my back jeans pocket for my cell phone to text Kris.

  No fan in bathroom?

  I’m not sure if it was a question or statement. I hit send. Any woman on a first or fiftieth date understood the necessity of a bathroom fan. It wasn’t a luxury, it was a necessity. Fans droned out sound—whatever happened in the bathroom stayed in the bathroom.

  Who doesn’t have a fan?

  I surveyed the closet-sized space and answered my own question. I could stretch my arms out and practically touch the adjacent wall. The size of the room and the vintage fixtures were apropos for the older house. The stand-alone tub had a shower attachment that didn’t look like it’d have enough power to rinse off soap, let alone shampoo. But when I stopped noticing what was missing, I saw the beauty.

  Charming, rose-colored tile covered the floor and inched up the backsplash. On the wall behind me, Victorian wallpaper lined the bathroom with scenes of men on horseback and women carrying parasols. I turned and my boot skidded on the tile. I almost lost my balance. Wowza, that’s slick.

  I carefully pivoted and studied the scenery on the wallpaper in greater detail. The men were on a hunt and the women were waiting for them. It was romantic in an old-fashioned, outdated kind of way.

  The entire room was quaint, save the fact that the bathroom door didn’t entirely close. I gently pressed against it. Nothing. There’s no way I’m leaving the door open. I pressed harder. The door remained slightly ajar. I should’ve stopped at another gas station. I finally bumped it with my hip and the white-washed door seemed to settle into place and seal shut. A smug smile crossed my face when my cell phone chimed with an incoming text.

  Things must b going well! Run water & relax! He’s not listening 2 u pee! LOL

  The faucet was a stand-alone basin with two antique brass handles. I’d placed my hand on the faucet handle when I heard Joe from the kitchen.

  “Oh, hey, the water comes out a little fast,” he said.

  Okay, I don’t need a parent explaining to me how to go to the bathroom. I barely cranked the knob when a geyser erupted from the archaic faucet and soaked the front of my jeans. Too late.

  I turned the water down to a slow trickle, unzipped my wet jeans, and sat on a very warm commode.

  “Heated seat, too.” Joe was suddenly running a play-by-play commentary of my bathroom experience.

  I giggled. If this wasn’t so pathetic and par for the course for my life, it’d be comical. When I was finished, I was about to flush the toilet but decided to wait until I was ready to leave. Once the toilet flushed, I knew my freshen-up, regroup, make-sure-I-still-looked-okay time would be limited.

  I carefully washed my hands and checked my appearance in the oval-shaped mirror that hung from a rusty nail. Instead of tired, hazel eyes staring back at me, a renewed purpose reflected in bright, actually shiny eyes. Huh. My unruly, curly, honey-blonde hair had actually behaved. I only slightly resembled Chewbacca. I tucked one side behind my ear and let my hidden gold hoop fall forward. Nice.

  When I tried to gently open the bathroom door for a little air, the knob wouldn’t turn. I wiped my hands on the dry portion of my jeans, figuring the handle was just slippery. I tried again. It didn’t move.

  This isn’t good. I tried again. Nothing.

  I quickly texted Kris:

  Think I locked myself in bathroom.

  This time my cell phone rang. I swiftly answered it and lowered my voice. “Shh!” I snapped, and her laughter echoed in the small space, which only made me start to giggle. “This isn’t funny.”

  “Kind of is.”

  I shook my head and my hoop earring went flying into the air. “Oh, no!” I reached for it, but it landed in the toilet, which I still hadn’t yet flushed. I closed my eyes.

  “What happened?” Kris’s voice teetered on sincerity.

  “I just lost my earring in the toilet.”

  Now I could hear her howling, and I was sure she was holding her sides. “So not funny,” I said.

  She tried to stifle her laughter, but I could still hear her muffled amusement. “Can you reach it?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Sure, if I want to put my hand in a bowl full of pee.”

  I heard her slap something—I’m sure it was her knee or chest, I just wasn’t sure which one. She was barely breathing.

  Knuckles wrapped on the other side of the door. “Hey, you okay in there?”

  “Is that him?” She collected herself. “Is that Joe? He’s got a sexy voice.”

  I nodded into my cell phone. “Um … ” I said toward the door. “I think I may have locked myself in.”

  Kris’s laughter exploded over the phone.

  “I’ve gotta go,” I said in a hushed voice to her, only I wasn’t as quiet as I thought.

  “Good thing you’re in the bathroom,” Joe said in his unnervingly alluring, flirtatious tone.

  “Not you!” I bellowed toward him when really I could whisper—the thin, old walls carried my every sound. “I’ll call you later,” I said to Kris and hung up my cell phone. I put it back in my jeans pocket.

  “Joe.” I touched the handle. “I’m stuck. I can’t get the door open.”

  “It’s okay.” His voice was suddenly calm, reassuring. “You’re okay. The door’s old. It gets caught sometimes. Give me a second.”

  I nodded and then noticed my hoop earring floating on toilet paper. I cringed. So not worth it, but will it clog the toilet? Damn it! I rolled up the sleeve of my red sweater and fished it out. I flung it into the sink, flushed the toilet and, without thinking, turned the water on full blast. The faucet bombarded me again.

  I shrieked and tried to turn it off. My hand missed the handle and caught the stream of water. A fast and furious spray squirted me in the face.

  I held my hands up. Water gushed from the faucet and banked off the porcelain basin, drenching me and the tile floor. “Help!”

  Joe charged the door and barreled straight into the bathroom built for one. I quickly sidestepped, pressed against the sink, and he slipped right past me. Water was everywhere. He slid toward the shower. He reached for me, missed, and grabbed the shower curtain for balance. The curtain, shower rod, and my Thanksgiving Day chef came down with a thud in the tub.

  “Joe! Oh my gosh.” I extended my hand and fumbled forward. My boots lost all traction. I skidded toward him with my hands out in front of me. There was nothing to grab to stop my
momentum. With wet hair and mascara-streaked eyes, I’m sure I looked like Carrie on prom night. The shock on Joe’s face indicated I wasn’t too far off the mark. The tip of my boot caught the claw-footed tub, but my knee hit the lip and I bucked forward. I landed directly on top of him in the very small, tub.

  “And here I thought I was the one who was supposed to sweep you off your feet.”

  My cheeks tinged with heat and I buried my head in his shoulder. “This so didn’t happen.”

  Joe nuzzled his nose against my head, his breath hot on my ear. “It so did, and it’s one for the holiday scrapbook.”

  I kept my head down by his shoulder. His silky jersey was cool against my face. I subtly inhaled him. His fresh, clean-scented deodorant had a hint of spice that alone was an aphrodisiac. Oh, this is trouble. My body tingled against him. It’s been way too long since I’ve been this close to a man. Yet despite what I told myself, I didn’t pull away. I wasn’t entirely sure if it was the chemistry between us or the cramped quarters that made disentangling a challenge.

  “You know, if you wanted to get me in the tub, all you had to do was ask,” he said. “I have bubbles and scented soap. We could have made it a party.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously, I could get the bubbles … ”

  I swatted his arm and our eyes connected and our lips were inches apart. Don’t rush this. I waited for his next move—hell, for anything that would unstick me from a position I was enjoying far too much.

  He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “How ’bout we go check on the turkey?”

  I hoped a smile dominated my face. “Sure, sounds like a great idea.”

  “Now,” he said, pushing wet hair off my face. “I can’t guarantee it’ll be as fun as getting stuck in my bathroom, but, we’ve got to eat—Thanksgiving and all.”

  In that moment I realized that, no matter the season, no matter the holiday, I would always be wearing a smile when Joe was around. But Mark made me smile, too. The familiar pang of comparing my future with my past rose its ugly head and reminded me how slippery a slope it was to even consider Joe as anything more than a friend. When I disentangled myself from him, my feet were on more solid ground.

  Chapter 7

  My shoulders felt dislocated from my neck and my neck from my body and my body from pain.

  “Oh, that’s it,” I said. Joe’s grip on my shoulders released every locked nerve in my body. “That feels so good. I hold so much tension all through here.” I whirled my finger over my shoulder and circled the stressful region that was suddenly free from stiffness.

  His fingers now danced across my shoulder blade. His touch sent a warm rush down my spine that spread across my body like a heated blanket. I was pain-free. My entire body reveled in pleasure.

  If his hands can do this to my neck and shoulders, imagine what he could do to the rest of me.

  But then the pain seemed to hop shoulders. I tried to turn my head to the right and quickly stopped.

  “This shoulder now, huh?”

  I gingerly nodded.

  It all started after my abrupt fall on Joe in the bathroom. When we dislodged ourselves, a sharp pain shot through my left shoulder and made it impossible to turn my head to the left. Then we discovered I couldn’t turn my head to the right when I attempted to glance at the oven timer to report how much cooking time remained on the turkey. Instead of relaying the time, I winced in agony. That’s when Joe ushered me back into his living room and onto the couch.

  Now I sat between his legs, and it was as if my body belonged there. We melded perfectly. His massively strong hands kneaded my tight muscles.

  “Writers get shoulder tension all the time. It’s from the computer keyboard, or laptop, taking notes—it all seems to make us hunch forward like we’re neck-less,” he said.

  I chuckled. It was true. My posture at my desk was pure Quasimodo. And as my hair dried into a curl bomb, I even now resembled the badly coiffed hunchback. I pushed the thought of a headful of tossed knots out of my mind and focused on Joe’s fingers.

  “The drive probably didn’t help either,” he said. His voice softly drifted around me while his hands continued to lull me into a state of bliss.

  I closed my eyes.

  He casually dipped his hand inside the collar of my sweater. Skin-on-skin contact. It was a toss-up which I savored more—the tantalizing aroma of a turkey near completion or Joe’s hands exploring my back. My senses were on overload. His breath on my neck and then the stubble from the shadow of a beard that had inched across his face as afternoon turned to evening. My skin prickled with pleasure. I leaned my head against his cheek and started to turn into the kiss that was forming on both our lips when the front door abruptly opened.

  Startled, I jerked my head and collided with Joe’s forehead.

  Dazed, I thought I saw stars.

  “Wow. That’s one helluva header.” Joe rubbed his brow. “Ever think of playing soccer?”

  I shook my head and wished I hadn’t.

  “Maybe I should’ve knocked?” An innocent teenage voice asked from the doorway. I massaged my temples and glanced at the doorway without moving my head. A dark, shaggy-haired, younger version of Joe stood with his hands tucked in his jeans pockets. “Sorry, Dad.”

  Joe was literally beaming toward his son. “This is Janey,” he said, his blue eyes dancing in delight.

  “Hi.” The teen kicked the door shut with the back of his foot, walked toward me, and extended his hand. “I’m Sam.”

  “I’m Janey.” A firm handshake followed. “But I guess you already know that.”

  “It’s all my dad’s talked about.”

  I waited for some protest, but Joe continued to wear a grin. His emails tended to be staccato and direct. And even while his voice was sexy on the phone, there was no way to determine that he was this optimistically happy guy. No complaints here.

  “When’s dinner?” Sam stared at his father.

  Joe shrugged. “Not sure. We were in the process of checking on the turkey and got sidetracked.”

  “Gross.” Sam shook his head.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. We have a guest.”

  “So, dinner? It is soon?” Sam asked.

  “I thought you were eating a feast at your mom’s.”

  “She had appetizers.”

  Joe slowly nodded. “Well, dinner should be ready shortly.”

  “Should I pull out the TV trays?” Sam asked.

  Joe’s cheeks flushed. “No, this isn’t our regular father-son dinner thing. It’s Thanksgiving. We’re eating at the kitchen table.”

  “We have a kitchen table?” The look on Sam’s face was a cross between playfulness and innocence. The kid could really sell both.

  Joe swatted the air. “You know we have a kitchen table. It’s where you dump all your crap.”

  I chuckled. “I actually brought some fudge and divinity. It’s in my car. Maybe we could nibble on that before dinner?”

  “Dessert before dinner?” Joe wore a solemn expression and then clapped his hands. “I knew I was going to like you!”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re so embarrassing.”

  Joe shrugged. “Parental prerogative.” He leaned toward me and his voice lowered. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Better. How’s your head?” I asked.

  “Nothing a little Scotch won’t cure.”

  Sam laughed.

  “May I have your car keys?” Joe asked.

  You may have anything you want at this point. I nodded. “They’re in my coat pocket.”

  “Go get Janey’s … ” Joe softly whispered in my ear, “Did you bring luggage? Or anything to maybe stay the night?”

  My body temperature felt like it spiked by a hundred degrees. I turned my head toward him and spoke in a soft undertone. “Um, I did, but I thought I’d get a hotel room. I knew the paper couldn’t swing one but I wasn’t sure … ”

  “How things were going to go?”

  I coyly raised an
eyebrow.

  “I have a spare bedroom you’re welcome to enjoy,” he mouthed into my ear. “And I offer a pretty mean turndown service.”

  Again my body flushed.

  “May I have my son bring your luggage inside?”

  “Yes.” For a moment, I thought Joe was going to finish the kiss we never started. He looked at me and my gaze shifted to his lips. Then Joe cocked his head forward, and I realized I had trapped him on the couch.

  That’s embarrassing.

  I shifted away from his outstretched legs. Joe swiftly maneuvered his way off the couch and stood before his son.

  “Boy! Go get Janey’s luggage and the dessert she made.” Joe pushed his thermal sleeves back up his muscular arms. “I’ll check the turkey.”

  “What can I do?” My voice seemed small compared to Joe’s authoritative command.

  “Your jeans are still wet and that looks uncomfortable,” he said without apology. “Why don’t you let me draw you a bath so you can warm up and I can throw your jeans in the wash?”

  “Draw a bath?” Sam’s brow furrowed along with his face. “Who are you?”

  Joe shot a look that quieted his son.

  Crap. I don’t have any other jeans. I have sweats, a tank for bed, a new sweater for tomorrow, and a lot of panties. I glanced at Joe’s teenaged son and gritted a smile. I brought more of what I won’t need and less of what I will. Awesome.

  “If you’re low on clothes, I have a shelf full of t-shirts and sweats.” Joe seemed to read my mind or my face, I wasn’t sure which. “They’d swim on you, but they’d work while we got you out of your jeans … uh … ” He cleared his throat. “Rather, washed. Got your jeans washed.”

  Sam patted his dad on the back. “Nice save. Where are the keys? I’m starving.”

  “Coat pocket and thank you,” I said to Sam. I then shifted my focus to Joe. He stood in front of me and his scent wafted around me. Tangy, sweet—he smelled better than the fudge and divinity combined. What is it about this guy? He’s my boss, but he’s like this yummy cocktail I can’t wait to taste. I waved my hand as if I were about to say something grand when really I was trying to diffuse the air and the pheromones I’m sure my body was releasing. “Yeah, if I could borrow something to wear, that’d be great.”