Romancing the Holidays: Twelve Christmas Romances - Benefits Breast Cancer Research

by Crista McHugh

  “Yes, please.”

  Maureen poured the rest of the tea into a stainless-steel travel tumbler and added the milk. “Here you go.”

  He didn’t take it right away. “I always find it fascinating that you can remember the precise way I like my tea.”

  “I know how you stuffy Brits feel about it, so I treat the matter with the utmost respect,” she teased. “Besides, after twenty years, it’s easy enough to remember a friend’s preferences.”

  Friend. The word twisted in his chest with the brutality of being drawn and quartered.

  He took the tumbler and thanked her again before turning toward the front door, Jasper following close behind. “I should get back to the office before Adam returns from his appointment. I’d hate for him to think I was doing something underhanded.”

  That conspiratorial grin returned as she fetched his coat. “Naturally. In the meantime, I’ll call the local alderman and see if we can speed up the process on having the greystone declared a historic site.”

  “Very good.” He donned his coat and braced himself for the icy winds that had become stronger during his short visit. “ ’Til Thursday, then.”

  “Agreed, and drive safely.” She grabbed Jasper by the collar to keep him from giving Rupert his own farewell that usually consisted of wet tongue and light covering of white fur, the modern-day equivalent to being tarred and feathered, but with affection.

  Thankfully, he always carried a lint roller in his car for his visits to Maureen. She loved that dog too much for him to mind the occasional shedding. He gave Jasper a scratch behind the ears before looking up and catching himself once again.

  One day, I’ll tell her how I feel.

  Just not today.

  He spent the entire drive back into the city berating himself for his cowardice.

  Chapter 2

  “Excuse me?” Adam Kelly asked in disbelief.

  Lia, his wife of more than two years, laced her fingers through his and gave him a comforting squeeze. The relief flooding her features was the exact opposite of the shock that had tightened every muscle in his body.

  The doctor sitting across from them appeared as equally relaxed. “I said your semen analysis revealed the cause of your difficulty conceiving. You have a low sperm count, Mr. Kelly.”

  “But-but-but…” He stammered the word over and over again as he came to terms with the news. After two years of trying to start a family, Lia had sought the advice of a fertility expert to find out why she hadn’t gotten pregnant. He’d always assumed it was due to her demanding work schedule or some other reason. He’d never suspected he was the cause. “But my father had seven sons.”

  “Yes, but you are not your father.” Dr. Upshaw, a middle-aged black woman who spoke with a mixture of intelligent confidence and no-nonsense bluntness, handed over a stack of papers with various lab results. “Mrs. Kelly is perfectly healthy. Her cycles are regular. Her hormone levels are as they should be for a woman her age. Her uterus and ovaries are normal by ultrasound. The only abnormality we found was with you.”

  He inwardly cringed at being referred to as an “abnormality.” His whole life, he’d wanted to have a large family like the one he’d grown up in. It had taken him a while, but he’d finally married the woman of his dreams, only to face that small twinge of disappointment each month when he learned his hopes had been postponed yet again.

  “As you can see, Mr. Kelly, a normal sperm count for a man your age is at least fifteen million per milliliter. Yours was nine million.”

  “So I’m just a little low, right?” Sweat prickled along the base of his skull. This whole time, he’d thought something was wrong with Lia. But he was the one at fault.

  “Low enough to cause a problem with conception.” She produced a stack of pamphlets. “The good news is that it’s still possible for you to have children. I’ve provided some information on the causes and treatment of low sperm count—”

  He winced every time she mentioned that diagnosis.

  “—along with some information on in-vitro fertilization, which is a very viable option for you two.”

  Now it was Lia’s turn to cringe. When they’d decided to seek the help of a fertility expert, she’d mentioned that she hoped they wouldn’t have to resort to that.

  “Is this temporary? Reversible?” he asked in desperation.

  “Yes, and yes.”

  “Then what do I have to do?”

  “We can start by doing a survey of your anatomy to make sure there isn’t a physical blockage that’s driving your numbers down.”

  Adam resisted the urge to cover his zipper. He had no idea what that survey entailed, but he knew the anatomy that would be poked and prodded in the process.

  “After that, here are a few more things to consider.” Dr. Upshaw listed each suggestion by counting on her fingers. “Stress less. Sit less. Stay out of saunas and hot tubs. Keep the laptop off of your lap. Cut back on alcohol. And finally, try wearing boxers.”

  He was still hung up on the idea of them doing more studies on him.

  Lia appeared to sense his anxiety and took the pamphlets. “Thank you very much, Dr. Upshaw. It looks like we have a lot of reading to do and a few things to discuss.”

  “Of course. Just let me know what you’d like to do next.” The doctor shook their hands and ushered them to the door.

  Adam didn’t speak until they were inside the car. “I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s fine, Adam.”

  “No, it’s not.” Deep inside, he knew it was pure machismo taking control of him, but he somehow felt like he’d been emasculated in that office. Low sperm count. What was next? Low testosterone?

  “So what if you’re short a few swimmers?” Lisa said in a nonchalant manner.

  Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the defective one.

  “Like she said, it can be reversed, and you have been hanging out in the sauna at the gym recently. Just avoid hot places and switch to boxers for a few weeks. After that, I’m sure your numbers will be higher.”

  She made it sound so simple, so easy. But it did little to ease the root of his anxiety. “What if it doesn’t?”

  Lia sighed and looked out the window. “Then I guess we’ll just have to try IVF.”

  Her tone told him that was the last thing she wanted. “If it’s too much of a bother—”

  “It’s not. It’s finding time to do it. I mean, you have the easy part. All you have to do is jack off into a cup. I’m the one whose body will be invaded multiple times, who’ll have to take hormones that will make me moody, who’ll have to carry a child while trying to run La Arietta and open the new restaurant in Lincoln Park.”

  He let her words sink in and realized he was asking a lot of her. If she was willing to go through all that for him, then he could go through with the anatomy survey Dr. Upshaw had recommended and settle for boxers and no saunas for a few months. “Let me do my part first before we jump to all that.”

  Her smile revealed her gratitude. “Thank you, Adam. If we can just wait until the new place has opened…”

  “We’ve waited this long to start a family. A few more months shouldn’t matter.” But even as he said the words, a sinking feeling filled the hollows of his chest. His brothers were having children, and out of all of them, he’d been the one who wanted children the most.

  And as Murphy’s Law would have it, he was the one who was having the hardest time starting a family.

  He pulled into the parking garage of his building on Michigan Avenue. La Arietta, Lia’s award-winning restaurant, was on the top floor. Three and a half years ago, he’d walked into it determined to kick her out and make way for a celebrity chef, never knowing he’d fall head over heels for the owner. Now, he couldn’t imagine a day without her.

  “What’s the special today?” he asked in an attempt to change the subject. He always enjoyed getting a taste of her cooking before anyone else.

  She flashed him a wicked grin and replied in fl
awless Italian, “Linguine ai frutti di mare.”

  “It has shrimp, doesn’t it?”

  She laughed and nodded. “No leftovers for you, I’m afraid,” she teased, referring his allergy to shellfish, “but I think I have a nice rib eye with your name on it aging in the fridge.”

  “Sounds delicious.” He leaned over to kiss her. “What time should I pick you up?”

  “A little after ten.” She leaned a little closer and whispered, “I might just have something special for dessert.”

  Her seductive hint shook away the last of his moping. She still desired him, even though he was “short a few swimmers.”

  “See you in a few hours.” Lia got out of the car and blew him a kiss before ringing for the elevator that would take her to the back entrance of La Arietta.

  Adam drove the few blocks that separated the Michigan Avenue building from their condo overlooking the lake. Part of him wanted to bury himself in work to forget about the news he’d received, but in the end, he decided to try to follow the doctor’s advice and stress less. Maybe all this trying to have a baby contributed to his low count. He eyed the pamphlets in the empty seat next to him and wondered how many answers they might hold.

  An hour later, he’d read through everything and done as much of a Google search as he could before finally breaking down and pouring a glass of the Montepulciano that Lia had opened the night before. But when he found himself nursing a second glass, he broke down and called the one person he could turn to for advice.

  His mom.

  She answered on the second ring. “Hello, Adam. Did you hear the news? Sarah’s expecting.”

  Instead of being happy for his youngest brother and his wife, the news hit him like a punch in the gut. “That’s great,” he struggled to say after a few heartbeats.

  His mom immediately picked up on his reaction. “What’s wrong, dear?”

  “I—” His voice broke on him, and he took a long drink of wine before trying to speak again. “Lia and I met with a fertility specialist today to find out why we haven’t been able to conceive.”

  His mom remained silent for a few seconds. “And?”

  “Lia’s perfectly fine. Healthy and fertile. The problem is me.”

  “Nonsense, Adam.”

  “No, Mom, it’s true.” He sank onto the sofa and confessed the embarrassing truth. “She said I had a low sperm count.”

  “So?” she replied. “You remember middle school biology. All it takes is one.”

  “Maybe so, but that doesn’t explain the two years of trying.” He leaned back and considered pouring a third glass of wine. If he didn’t have to pick Lia up from work in a few hours, he would’ve been tempted to finish the whole bottle.

  “Both of you are so stressed out. No wonder you’re having a hard time conceiving. What you two need is a little getaway.”

  “The timing is bad. Lia’s restaurant is so busy during the holidays, and she’s working on getting the new one ready to open next month, and then I have to get things rolling on a few sites…”

  “You can always make time for your wife. And if I remember correctly, Lia’s birthday is coming up.”

  He bolted up from the sofa. Shit! He’d been so busy with work, he’d completely forgotten about Lia’s birthday. He flipped to the calendar on his phone. Monday. He still had time.

  “Maybe you should kidnap her for a little romantic getaway this weekend,” his mom continued. “I hear the waters in Maui are magical, and Tom Murphy has a place in Kapalua I’m sure you could stay at if I asked him.”

  It sounded so simple, but the more he thought about it, the more perfect it seemed. “But what about a suitcase?”

  “You can buy everything you need there. Just enjoy your time together before you start having children.”

  He drew in a deep breath and finally found some semblance of peace as he released it. Yes, he and Lia should enjoy their time alone together. Children would come soon enough, and once they did, it would be at least eighteen years before he had a chance to have his lovely wife all to himself again. “You think Tom will let us stay there?”

  “Of course he will. He and Susan are such dear friends, and I know they aren’t planning on going over there until after the holidays. I think you’ll like it, too. Susan has such elegant taste.”

  He couldn’t care less about the décor. All he wanted was a few days alone with Lia. He opened a search page on his laptop and started looking at airline tickets. “If not, I suppose we can always find a place—”

  “You handle the tickets and leave the accommodations to me.”

  He was already one step ahead of her. “There’s a flight Thursday morning that would have us there by four in the afternoon, and we can come back on Tuesday.”

  “Perfect! Book it, and have a great time. I’ll email you directions to Tom’s house after I talk to him.”

  She hung up, and he bought the tickets in a matter of minutes. Afterward, he texted Lia’s sous chef, Julie, and asked if she’d be willing to manage the kitchen duties at La Arietta for the weekend so he could take Lia on a surprise getaway. There was no one Lia trusted more with her restaurant.

  Once Julie texted back that she was in, Adam grinned.

  Everything would work out in the end.

  Chapter 3

  Maureen pulled into the driveway of the historic three-story neoclassical greystone in Humboldt Park and parked behind Rupert’s shiny black Mercedes. From the outside, it looked well kept. The bare bushes looked a little overgrown, but the snow had been recently shoveled from the sidewalks and driveway. Part of her hoped the inside wasn’t as bad as the pictures suggested.

  Rupert got out of the car in time to open the door for her. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning to you, too.” She gave him a warm smile. Rupert always had impeccable manners. “It doesn’t look as bad as I was expecting.”

  “Snow covers up a multitude of sins.” He pulled a key ring out of his pocket and made his way to the front door.

  She followed him, taking in the exquisite details in architecture. The stone arches. The three stories of bow windows. The massive front porch. “This looks like it was built by a Freemason,” she said, pointing to the two globes on the front porch.

  “One more thing to add to your arsenal, I suppose?” he replied in a dry tone while he unlocked the door. “And I suppose it was more than coincidence that Adam decided to take his wife on a surprise vacation this morning?”

  “Are you suggesting I’d talk my son into leaving town so I can go behind his back and have this property declared a historic site so he can’t tear it down?” She did her best impression of innocence.

  Rupert, however, wasn’t falling for it. “I always knew you were a clever woman.”

  “I have to be, after raising seven boys. Now, let’s take a look inside.”

  The stench nearly knocked her out when he opened the door. Her stomach threatened to return the small breakfast she’d eaten that morning. “What kind of people lived here?”

  “Ones who apparently lacked basic cleaning skills.” Worry creased his face. “If you wish to leave, Maureen, I would understand.”

  She shook her head. “I need to see how bad it truly is.”

  Thankfully, the smell eased once they opened the front windows and aired the place out. Now she could focus on the rest of the mess. Trash left behind by the former tenants lay piled up in the corners, the likely source of the stench. Easy enough to clear out. A thick coating of dust and dirt lay over the scratches and scrapes that marred the original hardwood floors. She peered closer at them. “Is this bird’s-eye maple?”

  Rupert nodded without looking. “Yes, along with the trims and the upstairs mantels. All original to the home and in desperate need of refinishing.”

  “This inset appears original, too.” She wiped the dust away to reveal the leafy, fern-like branches adorned with fuzzy flowers. “This looks like acacia.”

  “Another Masonic symbol, I p
resume?”

  “I believe so, along with the fact the house faces east. But Mike was the Freemason, not me.” She stood up and moved toward the back of the house, forming a mental to-do list.

  The chimneys needed to be inspected and cleaned.

  The downstairs bathroom was hopelessly dated by the dusky pink tile.

  The kitchen was cramped and equally as dated, not to mention as filthy as the rest of the house.

  But it all had potential.

  She knocked on a wall. “What’s on the other side of this?”

  “A small room that was probably intended as a bedroom.”

  “Can we tear it down to expand the kitchen?”

  Rupert pulled out a small tablet and typed in a note. “I can speak with a structural engineer about it.”

  “Thank you. Open-room concepts sell homes, and I think if we open up the kitchen and have it flow into the dining room and front parlor, we could attract more buyers. We can update the bathroom and leave the extra room as a possible office.” She glanced around the room one more time, envisioning her changes. “Yes, that might just work. Now, on to the next two levels.”

  The upstairs revealed much of the same—dirt and grime and rooms in need of modernization. Rupert said nothing as they assessed the rooms, preferring instead to deal with something on his tablet.

  “Here is one proposal I’ve quickly drawn up,” Rupert said, handing her his tablet. “This property has always been a single-family home, but many of the people moving to this neighborhood are young professionals who don’t need such a massive house. It’s one of the reasons Adam wanted to build condominiums here.”

  The drawings on the computer showed a set of three single-level flats and a basement that had been divided into storage units. Each unit had the open kitchen-dining-family room concept, along with two bedrooms that shared a full bath.

  Maureen studied it. “Are you suggesting a compromise?”

  Rupert nodded. “This way, we can cater to the needs of the community, increasing our potential profits by splitting it into three properties instead of one, while still protecting a historic building.”