A Naughty Little Christmas

by Lili Valente

  “Yeah? You really think so?”

  “Really.” I blink faster. “And Tillie will love them, too. Because she’ll know what they mean.”

  Macy looks up, fresh tears filling her eyes as she nods. “I hope she will. I don’t ever want to come between you and Tillie, or you and Miller. And I hope someday Miller and I can be friends, too.” Her voice hitches as she adds, “Because you realize there’s no way I’m going to be able to keep from loving your son, right? I mean, he’s a part of you, and that seals the deal for me.”

  Overcome by a wave of emotion stronger than anything I’ve experienced in years—maybe in my entire life—I thread my fingers into Macy’s hair and pull her in for a kiss. Our lips meet, and love, longing, and gratitude explode in my chest, tearing my heart wide open.

  And it hurts, the sudden wrenching shift as hope becomes certainty, but it’s the best kind of hurt.

  The kiss deepens, every brush of Macy’s lips against mine assuring me that I won’t need to look for an apartment in L.A. She’s not going anywhere. She’s home to stay, my girl, my Macy, my other half who’s been missing for way too long.

  Our public display is edging toward the naughtier side of acceptable, and I’m seriously considering asking Macy if she wants to make a break for my place before the weather gets worse—forget dinner, I’m too starved for her to care about food—when someone clears his throat pointedly on the other side of the table.

  We pull apart with matching laughs, Macy sniffing and reaching for her napkin as I look up to see Matty beaming down at us.

  He throws his arms open wide as he says, “It’s a Christmas miracle! How about a flight of seasonal beer to celebrate? On the house. My treat.”

  Macy laughs, and I grin. “Thanks, but I think we were just about to head out. Make sure we can get back to my place before the roads are too bad.”

  Matty wags his big head. “Nope. The roads are already too bad. I’m pulling out the cots, and anyone who is drinking here is sleeping here. No sense risking it when I’ve got beer, food, and a generator to keep us all warm if the power goes out.”

  Macy makes a softly dismayed sound. “That’s so sweet of you Matty, but I’ve been wearing the same clothes for two days, and Dean and I slept on the floor of the ranger’s station last night, so—”

  “That’s why you’re getting the keys to my guest apartment upstairs.” Matty pulls a key ring from his back pocket with a wink before bringing a finger to his lips. “But don’t tell anyone else. It’s a special treat to celebrate Macy moving back home.”

  “Thank you,” Macy says, voice thick with emotion. “I’m so excited to be coming back to a place with so many incredible people like you in it, Matty.”

  Matty’s already ruddy cheeks go a deeper shade of red as he drops the keys on the table and reaches over to give Macy’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “And I’m excited we’ve got one more keeper back in the valley.” He nods as he claps his hands. “Now! I’m going to bring those beers, and you’re going to drink ’em. And then I’m bringing cheeseburgers and fries and onion rings, and I don’t want to hear any complaints.”

  I salute him. “Yes, sir. And thank you, Matty.”

  As he turns, moving away through the packed house filled with familiar faces and priceless memories, I’m overcome with another wave of gratitude.

  Still, I have to ask Macy, “Are you sure? You’re not going to miss L.A.?”

  She shakes her head. “Not a bit. I’m a mountain girl, and I’m ready to come home.”

  I resist the urge to kiss her again, but just barely. Instead, I pull the spare key from my pocket and place it on the table near Miller’s new puppet friends. “Speaking of home, I had this made for you. It’s for my place. I understand if moving in together feels like too much, too soon, but I want you to know you’re welcome in my home any time. And if you’d like to move right in…” I let my words trail off, encouraged by Macy’s grin, but not ready to take anything for granted.

  “It is a little crazy, I guess, but so was everything that happened last night,” she says. “And that was one of the best nights of my life.”

  “Even with the rats?” I tease, lifting stuffed Meg.

  She laughs. “Even with the rats. Though, I would prefer that the only rats in our home be stuffed, if that’s all right.”

  “Anything you want, baby. As long as you’re sleeping next to me every night, I’m a happy man.”

  Her fingers trail up my arm, leaving shivers of awareness in their wake. “Me, too. I can’t wait to start making up for lost time.”

  “We could get the burgers to go,” I say, making her laugh again.

  “No. We’ll eat at the table like civilized people and thank Matty profusely for the lovely meal.” She lowers her voice as she adds, “And then I’m taking you upstairs and showing you how much I’ve missed you in the four hours we’ve been apart.”

  “It’s been way too long,” I agree, capturing her lips again because I can’t wait for another taste of her.

  We’re still kissing when the waitress delivers our flight of beers, and we’re kissing again when more food than any two people could eat in one sitting arrives with Matty’s compliments.

  We manage to keep our hands to ourselves and our mouths on our food for the next twenty minutes. But by the time we sneak upstairs to the guest apartment, we’re so desperate for each other we stumble in with our lips fused and our hands wandering, coming together in the dark and fumbling our way to the bedroom without bothering to turn on the lights.

  And as I make love to Macy in a proper bed with the winter wind making the windows creak in their frames, I give thanks to the storm swirling outside, blessing every snowflake that brought her back to me.

  The next few days pass in a blur of plotting and planning, interwoven with breaks to celebrate the coming holiday with friends and family.

  It is by far the most chaotic lead up to Christmas in memory, but also the sweetest and the naughtiest and the very best. By the time we pick up Macy’s inheritance from the lawyer on Wednesday, we’ve hired a moving company to box and ship her things, found a real estate agent to list her condo in L.A., and made arrangements to transition her business into a retreat center based in Lover’s Leap.

  We’re both flying high, but still, I worry about the contents of the box, wondering what on earth her loser of an old man could have thought important enough to leave behind for his girls.

  I just hope it’s nothing that will make her sad.

  But when she lifts the cardboard lid, there’s nothing inside but old family scrapbooks, cards and letters their mother wrote to the sisters when they were little, and a note from her father scrawled on stained hotel stationary that simply reads—So glad you two turned out so much like your mama. Sorry I didn’t do better by you when I had the chance. Love, Dad.

  I look up from the missive to see Macy nodding slowly, a distant look in her eyes. “You okay?” I ask, resting a hand at the small of her back.

  “Yeah.” She nods again, a smile curving her lips. “I’m fine. Good. And I’m glad he saved these. Now I can find those pictures from the summer your mom gave you that horrible Tupperware-bowl haircut.”

  I groan. “No. We’re burning those.”

  “We are not,” she says, grinning wider. “We’re going to show them to Miller, and he’s going to laugh his head off. And then he can use them to make himself feel better if he ever goes through an awkward stage. Seeing that even his daddy, the finest man in Lover’s Leap, went through a rough patch might be an inspiration for him come age twelve or thirteen.”

  “I like that,” I say, drawing her closer.

  “Like what?”

  “That you’re thinking that far ahead and still seeing me in your life.”

  Her gaze softens. “Always, Roberts. You’re not getting rid of me again without a fight.”

  “I’ve already surrendered,” I say, bending for a kiss as she says, “Good.”

 
And it is good. Very good. And getting better every day.

  Epilogue

  Macy

  Three and a half years later…

  Love leaps.

  Love stumbles.

  But love keeps going because that’s what love does.

  It never gives up or gives in, because it knows there is always tomorrow. There is always sunshine after the storm and springtime after cold winter nights. There is new life, fresh opportunity even after the dreams you wanted so desperately have died.

  Because sometimes those dreams aren’t dead at all. They’re just sleeping under the snow, waiting for the sun and the rain and the right moment to burst into bloom.

  As I watch my daughter smear her first caramel sundae all over her Easter Sunday dress, I can’t think of anything more beautiful than this particular dream come true—this little girl with Dean’s wavy brown hair and my blue eyes and a smile that lights up the world.

  At eighteen months, Ellie Lynn Roberts is the apple of my eye, her daddy’s pride and joy, and her big brother’s best bud. She’s also stubborn as all get out and every bit as determined to have her way as I ever was.

  I tried to intervene with a bib before the sundae-eating on the church lawn got completely out of hand, but Ellie decided she was having nothing to do with that business. She ripped the offending fabric from around her neck as fast as her chubby hands could manage and got down to sticky business before I could snatch it off the grass.

  Now her frilly new dress with the yellow ducks on the hem is covered in streaks of caramel and melted ice cream, as is her matching yellow sweater. But she’s also glowing with happiness as she scoops goopy spoonfuls of sundae into her mouth.

  The extra time spent spot-treating will be completely worth it. At least as far as I’m concerned.

  Hopefully, Dean will agree, since chances are he’s going to end up covered in ice cream, too. Half the kids on the lawn are a mess, and there’s nowhere to wash hands before they run to hug the Easter Bunny.

  And what kid can resist hugging the Easter Bunny?

  Well, lots of them probably, now that I think about it. A six-foot tall man dressed as a giant rabbit is probably going to scare the crap out of some of the younger kids, but Ellie won’t be one of them. She’s fearless, this one.

  As predicted, the moment Dean circles around the side of the church, dressed in his bunny outfit and carrying a basket full of candy and snacks for the kids, Ellie squeals, “Bunny! Bunny! Bunny,” drops what’s left of her sundae on the grass, and makes a beeline for the giant rabbit as fast as her legs can carry her.

  Easter Bunny Dean kneels, scooping Ellie into his arms and giving her a big hug, while Ellie beams at his furry face and puts a hand to his nose with an aura of wonder.

  “Thank goodness they went in for a new suit this year,” Olivia says, coming to stand beside me as we watch the kids surround Dean, their hands extended for treats. “The old one had the creepiest eyes. This one is actually kind of cute. I like the nose.”

  “Dean bought it himself,” I confess, my heart melting as Ellie wraps her arms around Dean’s bunny leg, holding on tight as he begins handing out candy to the rest of the kids. “He demands excellence in his costuming.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Olivia teases. “So I’ve heard…”

  “Oh, stop.” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “That was almost four years ago! Am I destined to be Mrs. Sexy Santa for the rest of my life?”

  “Likely so,” Olivia says, without a trace of apology. “But it’s cute that Dean thought he could keep his part-time stripper gig a secret from everyone. I mean, the man was born and raised in Lover’s Leap. Doesn’t he know that in a town this small, nothing juicy stays a secret for long?”

  “I guess there are worse things than being married to the town stripper.”

  “About that…” Olivia eases closer, checking over her shoulder to make sure we’re alone before she asked softly, “Is it true that he still strips for you every Christmas Eve?” She lifts her small hands, palms facing out. “I don’t mean to pry, but someone I know might have been trying to convince her husband to do a little show for her on her next birthday. It would be good to know my—ahem—‘friend’ isn’t the only one asking for those kinds of favors.”

  “You can’t tell me Colton is too shy to strip for you,” I say, arching a wry brow. “As far as I can tell, that man has no shame.”

  Olivia’s lips pucker to one side. “Well, I may have also asked to photograph the show. For posterity, of course.”

  “For posterior,” I joke, unable to help myself.

  Liv laughs. “Yes, that too, but I think it’s a reasonable request. When I’m eighty years old and my memory is starting to go, I want to be able to recall exactly what my man’s backside looked like when we were young and crazy.”

  “I agree. Tell Colton to lighten up and be a good model for you.”

  “So, can I tell him he’s not the only man whose wife enjoys a little creative costuming now and then?” Olivia asks, wiggling her brows.

  I shake my head. “Sorry, Liv, but I can’t answer that question. I’m trying to get on Santa’s good list this year, and that means no kissing and telling. Santa is very anti-kiss-and-tell.”

  “Oh, is he?” Olivia laughs.

  “Very. And while I can confirm that it’s a lot of fun being on Santa’s naughty list, I’m really gunning for a ‘good’ slot this year.”

  “That’s okay,” Olivia says, her eyes sparkling. “You answered my question already. So, can I start calling you Miss Naughty List?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “How about the Bunny’s Honey?” she suggests. “I’m sure you’re going to have some fun with Mr. Rabbit later, right?”

  “Ew, no.” I pull a face. “The only thing I’ll be doing with that costume is washing the ice cream stains off of it before I store it away for next year.”

  Olivia giggles again. “All right, all right. Talk to you soon. I got some great shots of Ellie today. I’ll text them to you later, assuming I survive Easter dinner at the Brody house. Daisy is on the warpath about the ham again. She insists we should have roast beef, instead. Last update, she’d hidden the ham somewhere on the farm, and Sarah couldn’t find it anywhere.”

  “Daisy has an unnatural hatred of ham,” I observe.

  Liv nods. “She really does. Poor ham. It can’t help being pink and slimy.”

  I grin. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in on the ham-hiding. Doesn’t sound like you’re a fan.”

  “Could be,” Olivia says with a wink. “But don’t tell anyone, I’m trying to get on Santa’s good list, too.”

  I mime locking my lips and throwing away the key then wave goodbye to Liv as I head over to snap some photos of my own, documenting the cuteness of my husband and baby girl.

  As usual, they are adorable, giving me plenty of choices for Ellie’s baby book and to send to Tillie and Miller later.

  Tillie always spends Easter in Denver with her parents, but she hates to miss a moment of Ellie’s babyhood. Since the day she saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life, Tillie and I have become dear friends. Miller comes over for dinner at our house at least twice a week, and I can always count on Tillie to come through with veteran mom advice when I’m battling a bad night of teething or wondering how on earth to get my stubborn daughter to try vegetable-based baby foods as well as the fruit ones.

  I know some people in town think it’s odd that I have such a close relationship with the woman Dean donated his sperm to years ago, but I don’t care what those people think. I’m grateful for Tillie and the love and light she and Miller bring into our lives.

  And it’s not like that’s the most scandalous gossip about Dean’s and my relationship, as Olivia’s probing questions made abundantly clear.

  I don’t care about that, either, but that won’t stop me from teasing Dean about it.

  Later, after we’ve made our way home through the cr
owded downtown streets, and Ellie has been bathed and settled down for her nap, I fill Dean in on the rumors still circling about our raunchy holiday traditions.

  “How do they know I strip for you every year?” He leans against the island in the kitchen, still a bunny from the neck down, though he took his head off as soon as we tucked Ellie into bed. She’d been ridiculously thrilled that the Easter Bunny was coming home to tuck her in for her nap before he hopped off to hand out candy to the rest of the children of the world. “I’ve never told anyone. Have you?”

  “No. Never.” I wrinkle my nose as a hazy memory drifts through my head. “Well, I don’t think I did. There was that one book club night when I had a few too many glasses of wine and we started playing Truth or Dare. Some of the confessions from that particular evening are a little blurry.”

  Dean sets his glass of orange juice down with a shrug. “Oh, well. I don’t care if you don’t.”

  I shake my head with a grin. “Nah. It makes me feel like I’m part of the legend.”

  “The Legend of Sexy Santa.” Dean eases closer, heat creeping into his eyes. “That’s a good one. But I’m thinking we need to add to our repertoire. I mean, didn’t you ask me, once upon a time, if I had plans to be a dirty dancing bunny?”

  My eyes go wide, and a laugh bubbles up in my chest. “No! No way. That outfit is way too fluffy and pink.”

  Dean scoffs. “I can make that sexy, woman. Are you saying I’m not man enough to pull off fluffy and pink?’

  “No,” I insist. “I’m saying I would feel like a pervert. One of those weird people who have fantasies about sleeping with giant stuffed animals.”

  “No, you won’t. Not when I take it all off…” His hands go to the zipper hidden at his neck, as his hips begin to swivel.

  I laugh harder as I back toward the bedroom. “No! Stop it right now, Dean. Our daughter was hugging your leg in that suit.”

  “This leg?” He lifts said leg into the air, turning the motion into a dance move that swings him in a circle, granting me a view from the rear as he wiggles his ass, sending the suit’s fluffy white tail bobbing up and down.