Ask Her at Christmas

by Christi Barth

  “This better be one heck of an idea.”

  “Don’t worry, it is.” She gathered her coat, scarf and purse. “Follow me, and your proposal problem will be solved.”

  “I appreciate this, don’t get me wrong.” Kyle trailed behind her as she worked her way through bag-laden shoppers to the mall’s entrance. “And I’m not reneging on my early assertion about your brilliance.”

  “I should hope not.”

  “But when I asked for your help, I kind of thought you’d put some effort into it. A marriage proposal is a big deal.”

  “The biggest,” she agreed. And as soon as she figured out what to say, she planned to talk him out of it. She was still too much in shock from his announcement to put together a coherent argument. So until she pried out of him exactly why he’d decided to pull this crazy stunt, she’d play along.

  “Worthy of, oh, I don’t know, more than thirty seconds of thought? Perhaps you could’ve spared five whole minutes out of your day to ponder how to shape the make-or-break event that could change my life forever?”

  “When inspiration strikes, I never second-guess it. You’re too technical to appreciate the whimsical ebbs and flows of creativity.” Caitlin stopped a few steps through the door. The crisp winter night turned her breath into fog puffs. Jam-packed with bumper-to-bumper cars as always, Michigan Avenue looked especially festive with its blocks and blocks of lighted trees. To her native Chicago ears, the constant honking blurred into a sort of soothing white noise.

  Kyle looked around at the traffic, the parade of brightly colored hats and parkas strolling by, then spread his hands, palms up. “This is your big idea? What do you want me to do, stand on a sidewalk and hope a mugger doesn’t take the ring before I put it on her finger?”

  “You’re so literal.” Caitlin pointed across the street at the massive three-story high Christmas tree in front of the Water Tower. “That’s my idea. Ask her at Christmas.”

  Chapter Two

  Kyle yanked on his cashmere-lined leather gloves. When that didn’t do the trick, he crossed his arms and stuck his hands in his pits. “It’s freezing out here.”

  “Did you honestly expect a balmy ocean breeze in Chicago three weeks before Christmas?” Caitlin finished lacing her skates and pulled on orange mittens, a few shades brighter than her red hair. He’d given them to her for her birthday, after she complained about not being able to spot her coat in a pile of identical black ones at a party. Along with the matching scarf, she now stood out from the crowd like a fiery beacon.

  “Very funny.”

  “No, but I don’t see why we’re out here at night.” He looked around at the crowded Millennium Park ice rink, perfectly at home. Like many Midwestern boys, he’d gotten his first pair of hockey skates before he could walk. Kyle still played pickup games with some college kids up in Evanston when he needed to blow off stress. Nothing worked up a sweat and cleared out the mind like skating laps full out while being chased by five guys with sticks.

  “Because there’s nothing romantic about proposing during the day. High noon is the time for a shootout, not a declaration of eternal love.” Caitlin held out her open, fuzzy orange palm. “Let’s hit the ice.”

  Kyle ignored her hand and picked her up instead, fingers spread wide at her waist. She squealed and flung her arms around his neck, hanging on for dear life.

  “Don’t drop me!”

  He swung her in a wide circle as he skated onto the ice. He always got a kick out of how she pretended to be scared, but the sparkle in her cognac eyes told a different story. “You say that every time. We’ve come to this rink for how many years now? Have I ever dropped you?

  “You’d better not. I’d also recommend not doing any of your fancy lifts for Monica.” After he set her down on both feet, Caitlin grabbed for the anchor of his arm. “Sure, it shows off those slamming biceps you insist on hiding most of the time, but it scares the pants off your liftee.”

  “Quit complaining. We’ll skate a few slow and boring laps to get you comfortable.”

  “Perfect.” Caitlin pointed at the row of trees filled with twinkle lights bordering the rink. “See those? Romantic and holiday lighting, level one.” Then she pointed up at the dramatic illumination of the Chicago skyline. “There’s your second level of mood lighting.”

  God, he loved this city. The way it speared out of the nothingness of the prairie like the crystalline pillars of Krypton always thrilled his inner sci-fi nerd. “Okay, it’s a terrific view. Are we done?”

  “Are you sold on the idea of a Christmas-y proposal here yet?”

  Kyle looked around. He saw clumps of teenagers in puffy pastel parkas, the girls all holding hands in a long chain. At the other end of the rink boys were racing sprints to half court and back. Adults in sedate overcoats were sprinkled throughout the groups, mostly couples holding hands. It looked like any typical night at an ice rink. “Not really.” His reward for his honest response was a swift elbow to the ribs.

  “Then let me finish, and stop interrupting. Remember, you came to me for help.”

  True. If he was going to do this, he didn’t want to half-ass it. Channeling his father’s officious boardroom tone, he said, “Continue your presentation, Miss McIntyre.”

  “Gladly, Mr. Lockhart.” She gave a brisk nod, but couldn’t keep her lips from twitching. It was one of the things about her he loved. Caitlin couldn’t go five minutes without finding some reason to smile. No matter how bad a day either of them had, she always made sure in their late night phone calls to get them laughing. She claimed going to bed in a bad mood caused nightmares. True or not, Kyle felt better after chatting with her. It’s why they made a point of talking right before going to sleep most nights.

  “You’ve got the Christmas carols playing in the background, and a whole crowd—” she waved her arm at the couples slowly gliding in the same wide circle, “—assembled to clap and make her feel like you've just crowned her queen."

  Brilliant. Definitely a proposal tailor-made for his intended. “Now you’ve sold me. Monica loves being the center of attention. When we went to a show at the Shubert last month, she walked out during the bows. Said she didn’t want to sit through other people hogging the limelight. I called her self-centered, but she laughed and claimed to just be self-aware. Crazy, huh?”

  Caitlin shocked him by taking her stare of concentration off the ice and risking a sidelong glance at him. “Yikes. Isn’t that a rather critical comment, coming from a man who’s supposed to be head over heels in love?”

  Shit. Here it came. The interrogation he’d been dreading since he popped the popping-the-question idea on her. “Is there a test I don’t know about? You must be at least this much,” Kyle extended his palm at shoulder height, “in love before proposing?”

  “There ought to be a test,” she said seriously. “Our divorce rate would probably be a lot lower. And yes, you should be completely in love when you think about marriage. Not a little bit, not even a lot, but all the way, one hundred percent committed.”

  Why did his best friend have to be a die-hard romantic? Why couldn’t he have a best friend who just wanted to talk about the Blackhawks latest trade, or the hottest game on Xbox? In other words, a guy? Having a female best friend came with some serious drawbacks. The biggest being that Caitlin constantly forced him to talk things to death. “I’m committed to the idea of marrying Monica. Can’t that be enough?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course not!”

  “Why not?”

  “Seriously? Because it’s sort of obvious you don’t love her at all. Which isn’t fair to either of you. I’ll drop the whole thing if you can answer, honestly, one simple question. Why are you doing this?”

  “Dad laid down the law. Said it’s time I do my part for LTS Industries, and right now, that means I’ve got to marry Monica Brooks.�
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  There was no warning tug on his arm. Caitlin didn’t yank at him. She simply let go and stopped skating. In the two seconds it took for him to cut a hard edge with his skates and turn back, her ankles caved in and she dropped to the ice.

  “You can’t be serious.” She sat with her legs splayed in front of her. Face upturned, he watched a couple of snowflakes dust her lashes until she blinked them away. “Your father ordered you to marry this woman to—what? Increase the profit margin at your family business?”

  “It’s more complicated than that.” He held out his hand, but she didn’t take it. Instead, she scissored her arms at her waist, shaking her head.

  “I don’t care. In fact, we’ll come back to the utter ridiculousness of that in a minute.” Now the fat snowflakes glistened on her hair. The lights gave her a halo effect, like she could be the decoration on top of a Christmas tree. “Bad enough your father even voiced this idea. But—I don’t get it—you said yes?”

  “Look, you can’t sit on the ice arguing with me for the rest of the night. Your pants will get soaked, you’ll get a cold, and then I’ll have to drive all the way to Greektown for your favorite chicken soup.” Kyle hauled her to her feet. “Hang on,” he ordered. She put her hands on his shoulders, and he dropped into a squat. Reaching around, he gently brushed off the backs of her legs. Caitlin shivered, and he pulled closer to steady her. Now her legs were tight to his chest, and as he slowly moved up her body, dusting ice along the way, he remembered one of the other huge drawbacks to a female best friend. The female part.

  All of her parts, to be specific, pressed right up against all of his male parts. It took every ounce of self-control not to linger over the sweet, round curve of her ass. The one he’d accidentally brushed against a thousand times over the years. Kyle had learned to immediately run lines of computer code in his head in order to prevent a very unfriend-like reaction from tenting the front of his pants. Because his best friend had one heck of a body. He never mentioned it, and tried like hell never even to acknowledge it to himself. But times like this, it was impossible to ignore.

  The cold and wet must’ve seeped through her jeans fast, because she shivered again. Kyle picked her up, her legs draping over one arm. It pulled his balance off center, but he didn’t need to skate with good form. He just needed to get her off the ice fast and get her warm.

  “This ice rink proposal idea of yours has merit, but you just proved it’s too risky. Monica can’t say yes if her teeth are chattering, or if she falls down and twists her ankle.” He clomped off the ice and set her on a bench directly beneath a heat lamp. “I’ll grab you a hot chocolate. Be right back.” Maybe half-freezing to death would distract her from the marriage issue.

  As Kyle stood in line at the coffee stand, he compiled a list of possible new topics. Next week they were going to a comedy show at Second City. Their latest alum had come back after a few successful months on SNL, and he and Caitlin were both looking forward to it. Or he could tell her about the new security protocol he’d been testing at LTS. Caitlin always urged him to discuss his work projects. Although she claimed to never understand a word, her comments and questions were a nice sounding board. And even when he bored her silly, she’d wrap things up with some kind of encouragement. Caitlin made one hell of a personal cheerleader.

  He trudged back through dirty slush piles. Thanks to the heat lamps, the ground around Caitlin was a miniature lake. “Here you go. One mocha chocolate swirl with extra chocolate syrup on top.”

  Caitlin whipped off her wet mittens and cradled the steaming cup between her hands. “I knew you weren’t in love with that woman. Why are you going along with something as archaic as an arranged marriage?”

  “Hey, I paid for that cocoa. Don’t I get a thank you?”

  “If I give you the slightest opening, you’ll change the topic.”

  Damn straight he would. Kyle sighed and sat down next to her. “Any chance you’ll let this drop?”

  “Sure.”

  That was easy. But why look a gift horse in the mouth? “Terrific.”

  “Just as soon as we discuss it to death right here, right now.”

  Pretty much what he’d expected her to say. If he wanted Caitlin to continue helping—and quit harassing—he’d have to suck it up and tell her everything. “You know that the hotel chain Monica’s family created has tripled in size over the past few years. People like to feel special, so they’re flocking to upscale boutique hotels instead of interchangeable mega hotels.”

  “Yes, but LTS Industries is an airplane and security conglomerate. Since when does your family company care about hotels?”

  Kyle blew across the top of his triple shot espresso. “We provide private jets to a select clientele. In addition, we provide a wide range of security services to the same subsection of the upper echelons of society. Those are the same clientele who stay in the Selford Chambers all across the country. Merging with them is a logical fit.”

  “The upper echelons of society?” Caitlin snorted and shook her head so hard her fuzzy cap slipped over one ear. “You don’t talk like that. Your father made this speech to you, didn’t he?”

  At least now she sounded worked up about business, instead of his love life. “Since I usually avoid the board meetings, yes, I got a private rehash from Dad of the new direction LTS is taking.”

  “What does this have to do with Monica?”

  What a one-track mind. Too bad Caitlin loved art so much. That sort of laser sharp focus would fit in great on his team. “Negotiations have been tough. We’re not the only one courting the Selfords. So my dad thinks the best way to finalize the merger is by cementing it with a marriage.”

  “This isn’t feudal Europe. So I’m going to keep repeating myself and ask again, why are you going along with this scheme?”

  He stalled for a minute, sipping his drink. The loudspeaker behind their heads blared out carols by the latest teen sensation. With Christmas only a few weeks away, he needed to carve out a weekday morning for shopping. It helped him avoid the hordes of overexcited children who took over the mall on weekends. Was it possible candy canes were laced with uppers? He couldn’t think of any other explanation for twenty-four straight days of manic behavior.

  Crap. Now he was mind-babbling. Caitlin would support him, because she always did. Just spit it out. “Monica and I, we’ve been dating for a while—”

  Caitlin held up a finger to stop him. “Casually. You’ve given me the play-by-play after every date, remember? She’s rarely in Chicago. A couple shows, a couple galas, always big snazzy events. Never a simple pizza at home on the couch.”

  Another problem with having a female best friend? Her mind was like a steel trap for every personal detail he every spilled. The guys he hung out with never remembered that crap. “Monica prefers to be out and about. And she only flies back here when she has social and business obligations. With such a full calendar, she needs an escort more than she needs movie night in sweatpants.”

  “You’ve seen her maybe a dozen times in six months. Wait a minute. Didn’t you meet her at some charity gala with your dad? Was this whole thing a setup from the start?”

  Maybe. Probably. That thought had bumped around his head for a few days now. It pissed him off to be treated like a pawn, but didn’t change the end result. “The point is, I know she’s not an axe murderer, or a raging alcoholic. She’s beautiful, and we enjoy spending evenings together. Monica travels so much for her family’s business I’ll barely notice we’re married. Nothing much will change.”

  “That isn’t a marriage. You practically sound like a gigolo.”

  Even though he sort of felt like one, Kyle didn’t like Caitlin drawing the comparison. “Hey, I haven’t done more than peck her on the cheek.” He didn’t think Monica was a prude. And he sure liked sex as much as the next guy. Her hotness was unquestiona
ble. But they’d never clicked on that level. Probably because every date with her did feel more like a networking event.

  “And again, I ask why? Why do it?”

  He set down his coffee and scooped up a handful of snow. The art of packing the perfect snowball would distract him from all the churned-up mishmash of feelings that erupted whenever he thought about his decision to propose.

  “You know about Dad’s lung cancer diagnosis. Sure, he’s getting chemo and radiation, but it isn’t a cure. It means instead of dying in two months, we might get a whopping two years with him. He wants me to do this. He expects me to step up and finally do my part for LTS Industries.” The lump in his throat made it hard to talk, so he tossed back a burning gulp of coffee to wash it down. “It would finally make him proud of me.”

  Caitlin tipped her head sideways to rest against his. A few soft-as-a-cloud strands of hair brushed against his cheek. “Oh, Kyle.”

  So much empathy weighed down those two words he literally felt them press against his heart like a hug. She knew how he’d striven for his father’s approval for years, to no avail. So far, he’d had about as much luck in that department as he would trying to hold back the entire defensive line of the Chicago Bears with his pinkie.

  “Yeah. Think about it. For my entire life, he’s called me a disappointment. Even once I joined the company, he called me a brainiac desk jockey. And that was on a good day.”

  Righteous wrath popped her head back up and sparked her eyes. “For goodness’ sake, you are the brains. The security side of LTS practically folded before you came along and rejuvenated it. You head up the whole department.”

  The security division had come into LTS via his dad’s third marriage, or rather, thanks to the machinations of his dad’s divorce lawyer. Dad saw it as payment due for putting up with a wife who left him after only a year for her personal trainer. But it left a bad taste in Kyle’s mouth that continued to this day. “Yeah, well, ex-fighter pilots respect gumption and action. If a job doesn’t rev your adrenaline, it isn’t worth doing. Writing lines of computer code to make a security system unbreakable doesn’t impress Dad.”