A Naughty Little Christmas

by Lili Valente

  Dean: I think so, too. I hope so, anyway. Now I just have to find her.

  Chapter 17

  Macy

  I walk without direction or intention, wandering through the ever-thickening snowfall in the hope that Olivia will call back with much-needed advice and perspective before I’m forced to make any big decisions.

  Do I bail on dinner with Dean and grab a cab to a hotel?

  Head to the Denver airport to wait for an outgoing flight?

  Book it to the closest bar to drink my problems away?

  Though, that last one will do nothing but make a bad situation worse. I learned that lesson the hard way after years of watching my father get black-out drunk only to wake up just as screwed up and out of options as he was when he picked up his glass of bourbon.

  I’m not a daddy’s girl. Never have been and never will be.

  “Oh no, the lawyer.” I come to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, thunking a fist to my forehead. I missed my appointment to pick up my father’s box this morning, which means I’ll have to reschedule and probably won’t be able to leave Lover’s Leap until Tuesday afternoon, at the earliest.

  “Or you could leave the memorabilia here and keep walking,” I mutter, my gaze skimming the snow-dusted landscape stretching away from the western edge of downtown. It’s a winter wonderland out here, with pine trees draped in white framing a view of the Rockies huddled protectively around Lover’s Leap Lake.

  I didn’t realize that I was bound for this part of town, but I’m not surprised to find myself here, at the place where I started to believe I might get a happily ever after, after all.

  Growing up, Dean had seemed like a different species—an older, cooler, funnier, way-less-messed-up-than-the-Clayton-family specimen best admired from afar. Yes, we’d played together as kids and exchanged homemade presents every Christmas, but I never dreamt he would return the feelings I started to feel the summer I turned fourteen, when suddenly his broad shoulders and crooked grin made my nerve endings hum in ways they never had before.

  I knew I was pretty, with my mother’s dark hair and my father’s bright blue eyes, but I was also the girl with the dead mom and the drunk dad. I was the kid who never had the right clothes or any clue what was cool. My family didn’t own a television, let alone a computer, and only my nerdiest girlfriends were charmed by my obsession with the fantasy novels I checked out from the library.

  I didn’t see a dentist until I was sixteen, for God’s sake. I didn’t even know flossing was a thing you were supposed to do every day until I moved in with my scandalized aunt, who made it clear I’d been doing a lot of hygiene-related things wrong.

  Taking all those not-quite-rights into account, I’d concluded early on that I wasn’t the kind of girl who ended up with a golden boy like football captain, president of the cool clubs, voted Best Personality three years running Dean Roberts. I hadn’t dared to think of him as anything more than the boy next door, a sweet person I was lucky to call a friend.

  And then in my sophomore year, he kissed me on his back porch after Thanksgiving Dinner at his mom’s place, and everything changed.

  I changed.

  I started to think that maybe I wasn’t the ugly stepsister. Maybe I was Cinderella, and all I’d needed was a Prince Charming capable of seeing past the ugliness in my life to the real me, a girl with a tender heart who desperately wanted to love and be loved.

  I come to a stop at the edge of the lake, where the partially frozen water laps at the ice clinging to the shore. It’s going to be a cold Polar Bear Plunge this year. Unless they’ve already made the run and I’ve missed it.

  I can’t remember how many days are left before Christmas. I knew yesterday, but then I wandered off the path and into the woods, where terrible, magical things can happen, and I fell back under Dean Roberts’s spell.

  Now, all I can think about is his smile, his laugh, and his voice husky in my ear as we made love.

  It’s always been making love with us. Always.

  The thought that I might never be with him again is so heartbreaking that for a moment I think I hear it again, that brittle creaking as soft things in my chest freeze and splinter. But it’s just the ice contracting, preparing to dig in and take over, covering the lake in a thick, still shell for the winter.

  It’s freezing out here, so cold I can’t feel my nose, and my fingers are going numb inside my borrowed mittens.

  It’s time to go home, to go back to the land of swimming pools and movie stars and friends and clients who have no idea where I come from. Who don’t know that I was ever the girl with the hand-me-down shoes or the starry-eyed teenager so in love with a boy that she plucked her heart out of her chest and placed it in his hands without a second thought.

  That girl didn’t realize that there are some gifts you can’t take back, some steps you can’t retrace, no matter how hard you try.

  Love transforms your heart. It can’t return to its innocent, pre-love state any more than you can un-bake a cake. There is no path back, and that glutton for punishment wouldn’t take it even if there were. Because the heart is a masochistic little beasty. She’d rather rock in the corner with her bittersweet memories of all the things she’s lost than simply walk away—free and clear, with nothing weighing her down.

  Hearts like baggage.

  Hearts are stupid.

  And hearts are the best parts of us, the parts that give me hope on days when humanity is doing its best to convince me we aren’t worth saving.

  But that little boy with the golden curls and Dean’s dark eyes is worth sparing whatever pain I can take off his plate. I know removing myself from the equation won’t ensure that Tillie and Dean get back together, but if I stay, I’m certain to come between them.

  Decision made, I clutch my cheap canvas bag of necessities to my chest and start toward the road, hoping to find a pickup truck headed out of town.

  I haven’t hitchhiked in years, but Lover’s Leap was always a safe place to catch a ride, with enough aging hippies wandering around that folks are used to seeing people they know hanging a thumb out to get from one edge of the valley to the other.

  Especially when it’s snowing.

  People here are kinder when it snows.

  As if spelled into being by my thoughts, an old Chevy pickup glides into the parking lot by the lake. I lift a hand as the window rolls down and shout, “Heading Denver way. Can I catch a ride as far as you’re going?”

  “Sure. I can give you a ride to the bus station,” a familiar feminine voice responds from the shadows inside the cab. “But I was hoping we could talk first.”

  Slowing my steps, I tilt my head to peer into the semi-darkness, throat going tight as I see Tillie’s worried face below her halo of blond curls. She’s still in her ranger uniform, but the back seat of the extended cab is filled with grocery bags.

  “It’s okay,” I say, motioning to the bags. “I don’t want your ice cream to melt.”

  “Nothing will melt. Come on. Get in and warm up.”

  I hesitate, dreading the “we’re both in love with the same man” talk I’m sure Tillie wants to have much more than continued exposure to the cold. “No, really, it’s fine. You’ve already saved me once today. You’ve done your part.”

  “I have not,” she insists, a stubbornness in her voice I haven’t heard before. “Now, get in and let me explain a few things before you make a mistake we’ll all regret.”

  This is not what I’m expecting.

  So not what I’m expecting that I climb meekly into the truck and roll up my window, settling in as Tillie turns up the heat and tells me a story about love and friendship and everyday miracles.

  Chapter 18

  Dean

  I’m making my third cruise through downtown in my old beater truck, pausing to glance into shops in hopes of spotting a head of glossy black hair and growing progressively more certain I’ve fucked things up with Macy all over again, when the text comes through from Til
lie—You’re back on for dinner at the Fish and Bicycle. I’m dropping Macy off on my way home. We had a good talk and sorted everything out.

  Shoulders sagging with relief, I pull into a parking spot across from the hardware store and text back—Thank God. And thank you, Tillie. Please tell Macy I can’t wait to see her.

  Tillie texts back—Will do—and I toss my phone into the passenger’s seat and bolt out of the truck, hustling across the snow-covered sidewalk just as Colton Brody is flipping the “Open” sign to “Closed.”

  Bringing my hands together in prayer position in front of my face, I shout, “Five minutes! One quick thing. Please, I’ll pay double.”

  Lips curving in a resigned smirk, Colton shoves open the door, “Get in here, man. You don’t have to pay double, but if you run into my sister when she gets back in town, don’t tell her you caught me closing early while I was filling in for her. She has no mercy, and no sympathy for the fact that I was on call at the firehouse until two a.m.”

  I hold up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  He waves me in. “So, what can I get you?”

  “You make keys, right?” I move inside, and Colt locks the door behind us.

  “We do.” He nods toward the rear of the store. “The machine’s old and slow, but it’ll get the job done. How many do you need?”

  “Just one. A copy of my house key.” I start working they key off the ring.

  He glances over his shoulder. “Yeah? Things getting serious with someone? More important question, does she know that you’re a sex worker?”

  “I’m not a sex worker,” I say with a laugh. “But yeah, she knows.”

  “And she doesn’t mind you fulfilling other women’s kinky Santa fantasies?” Colton grunts. “Must be some woman.”

  “She is. It’s Macy, actually. Macy Clayton. We ran into each other yesterday.”

  Colton’s brows shoot up. “No shit? And you’re giving her a key today? You don’t think you might be moving a little fast?”

  I shake my head as I hand over the key. “Nope. I wasn’t moving fast enough.”

  “I don’t follow,” he says, frowning as he fits the key into the machine and fiddles with the various knobs and gears.

  “I was holding back, keeping things to myself that she needed to know. I’m not going to make that mistake again. I’m going to fix it. Tonight.”

  Colt glances up, his expression serious for once. “You’re still in love with her, huh? After all this time?”

  I nod. “I am. And if she isn’t interested in a key to my place and building a life together in Lover’s Leap, then I’m moving to L.A.”

  “Shit.” Colton blinks, his eyes so wide I can’t help but laugh.

  A former Marine and present-day firefighter, Colt is tough as nails, a guy who has faced down death more times than I’ve cast a line into the river running through town. But even a whiff of commitment is enough to send him running. He hasn’t had a relationship that lasted more than three weeks since he came back to town almost two years ago, and clearly, the thought of moving across the country for a woman is crazy talk as far as he’s concerned.

  “You’ll get it someday,” I say as he hands over my new key and starts working the old one free from the frame. “One of these days you’re going to meet a girl you can’t walk away from. One you won’t want to walk away from, one you’ll chase after, no matter how far you have to run or how rough the road gets on the way.”

  His forehead furrows doubtfully, but he’s smiling as he sets my old key on the counter between us. “Maybe. Maybe not, but I’m rooting for you, brother, either way.”

  I collect my original and tuck both keys safely into my jeans pocket. “Thanks. Appreciate it. How much do I owe you?”

  Colt waves a hand. “Nothing. It’s on the house, and I hope you can convince Macy to take it. It’d be nice to have her back in town. She and my sister were tight when they were kids. I’m sure Daisy would be psyched to have her home to stay.”

  Home to stay.

  It sounds damned good, but I meant every word I said to Colt. If I have to move to L.A. to make this work with Macy, I’ll do it. I’ll make trips back to Lover’s Leap to manage my business and visit Miller, and I’ll find a way to make it all work. I’m not letting Macy slip away from me again. I lost her once, and that was more than enough to convince me she’s worth any sacrifice to keep us together.

  Even leaving the town and everyone else I love behind.

  Chapter 19

  Dean

  I expect the Fish and the Bicycle to be deserted—the next storm system has arrived with a vengeance, pummeling downtown with snow—but when I push through the doors into the barbeque-and-fresh-bread-scented air, the place is packed.

  Guess everyone is tired of hiding inside and figured they might as well weather the next blizzard together with beer, homemade soup, and baskets of hot wings.

  The bar is standing room only, and the wait for a table is an estimated fifteen to twenty minutes. Just as I’m about to head outside to meet Macy at the curb and suggest we head somewhere more private, I catch sight of her in my peripheral vision, waving from the corner table by the window. Outside, the snow is coming down like parmesan cheese spraying from an overeager waiter’s shredder.

  Macy still wears the same soft blue sweater I was lucky enough to pull off of her several times last night, but now she has her hair plaited into two braids that remind me of when we were kids playing in the backyard, and her lips are glossy and begging to be kissed.

  And she’s smiling, which is definitely a good sign.

  But as I start across the room toward the table, I see that her eyes are shining, too.

  She’s smiling and maybe about to cry, and the combination makes me so nervous that I barely wait to sit down before blurting out, “I’m sorry, Macy. I’m a fucking idiot. I should have told you about Miller. I should have told you about Tillie asking me to be her donor and the whole process and—”

  “No, it’s my fault.” Macy covers my hand, her warm skin on my chilled fingers sending a rush of relief into my bloodstream. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions this morning. Just like I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions ten years ago. Ever since Tillie and I finished talking, I’ve been thinking…and I keep coming back to one question.”

  “What’s that?”

  Her lips press together for a moment before she adds in a softer voice, “Why didn’t I write to you? Or call you? Why did I sit in L.A., stewing and brooding and secretly wishing you would reach out to me just so I could yell at you when you did?”

  “You were angry,” I say, threading my fingers through hers. “And you had every right to be.”

  “Maybe.” She shakes her head, her eyes shining brighter. “I’m not so sure about that anymore, but I do know this—I should have let you know how I felt. I should have been brave enough to tell you how hurt I was. If I had, we would have found out ten years ago there’d been a terrible misunderstanding.”

  I wince a little. I can’t help it.

  I hadn’t thought about it that way before.

  “But deep down, I—” She breaks off, her throat working as she swallows. “I thought you didn’t care.”

  I grip her hand tighter. “Of course I cared. You meant everything to me, Macy. Hell, you still do. I’m still in love with you. I’m always going to be in love with you.”

  “Me, too.” Her lips curve up even as the tears in her eyes spill down her cheeks. “And I’m not a fifteen-year-old girl who isn’t sure she’s worth loving anymore. I’m a grown woman who knows how to communicate, and there’s no excuse for the way I almost ran off today.”

  I blink. “You almost what?”

  “I almost left. Tillie showed up right when I’d decided to hitch a ride to Denver.” Macy’s forehead furrows. “I’m sorry. I know that’s crazy. I shouldn’t have gone down the rabbit hole. I should have called you to talk about what I was afraid of.”

  I hold her trou
bled gaze. “And what were you afraid of? That I was in love with Tillie?”

  Her shoulders bob. “Maybe. A little. But I was more afraid of being the woman who messed up your kid’s life.”

  “Miller’s life is never going to be messed up,” I say without a trace of doubt. “Tillie is an incredible mother. And this arrangement might not seem normal to other people, but Miller has never known anything different. All he knows is that he’s a loved little boy whose parents are the best of friends. The fact that Tillie and I don’t live in the same house or kiss each other good night has zero impact on his health or happiness.”

  I sigh, wishing I’d had more time to sort out what I wanted to say about this. I struggle with foot-in-mouth disease at the best of times, let alone when I’m on edge and so desperately wanting to say the right thing.

  “And Tillie explained why we made this decision, right?” I ask. “How she was running out of time? Even though she was so young?”

  Macy nods. “She told me about her fertility issues. She told me everything. She was so open and honest and wonderful that I…” She laughs nervously as she releases my hand and reaches under the table. “Well, I was so grateful that I wanted to do something for her. But I don’t really know what she likes or what she needs, so I just followed my gut.” She draws a white Toy Emporium bag onto her lap and pulls out a white ball of fluff with big ears and a pink felt nose.

  “It’s a rat puppet,” Macy says. “For Miller. I thought he could call this one Meg.” She pauses, bringing a second ball of fluff—this one brown—to perch on the table beside the first. “And this one Tom. That way he can have at least one version of Meg and Tom with him all the time, even when the real ones are back at the ranger station.”

  Fighting a wave of emotion, I nod. “He’ll love them.”