Winter Dreams

by Robyn Neeley

  She peered outside the window at the bare tree branches covered with snow. They were fortunate that the roads were clear.

  What a crazy twenty-four hours. The news story she’d get over, but Brad getting married?

  And now he and his fiancée were living with her parents. What the hell? According to her mother, their apartment building had caught on fire last weekend and they lost everything. Amanda knew that Quinn and Mark didn’t have the extra room in their one bedroom cottage behind her parents’ house. They were saving to build their own log cabin the spring.

  She fiddled with his satellite radio, landing on a nineties station. Much better than the alternative rock music Tate had made her listen to for the last three hours. Maybe a little Britney, Christina, or the Spice Girls would cheer her up. It usually did.

  It didn’t surprise her that her parents would extend the offer to stay with them to Brad. She suspected that they had long forgiven him for what he did to her. He was Quinn’s brother-in-law, after all.

  Who was he marrying? Her mom had been about to tell her when she had cut her off by blurting out that she was bringing a boyfriend home.

  She couldn’t believe she had done that. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but what did she really know about Tate? Could he play the part of the doting boyfriend?

  It was only this past January, not even a full year ago, that he was hired to co-anchor with her. She leaned her head on the passenger side window and pressed her cheek to the cool glass, remembering the first time she met him. That bus ride seemed so long ago . . .

  • • •

  “I really . . . hate . . . the . . . bus . . .” Amanda mumbled and took a seat. Her Nissan’s dead battery that morning forced her to take public transportation. “I’ll never get there.” She tapped her foot impatiently, watching fellow passengers slowly board. She should e-mail her new assistant, Lacy, and let her know she would be a few minutes late for the fourth of a series of unimpressive interviews for her new co-anchor. A stranger sat down in the empty seat next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the man buttoning up his shirt.

  “Morning,” he chirped.

  “Morning,” she mumbled back, looking out the window to avoid his gaze. He couldn’t seriously be getting dressed. She tapped on her phone, texting Lacy. “OMG . . . You will never believe what the man sitting next to me is doing.”

  “Let me guess,” the man said. “You’re probably typing ‘WTF’ to a friend right now.”

  “Assistant,” she corrected him, without looking up from her phone.

  “Sir, your tie is on the floor.” An older woman sitting behind them tapped the man’s shoulder and pointed toward the ground.

  “Oh, geez. Thank you, ma’am.” He picked it up and draped it around his neck. “I had to run to make the bus.” He studied Amanda. “Hey, do I know you from somewhere? You look really familiar.”

  She watched him put on his tie. It matched her royal blue suit perfectly. He was attractive with short black hair, blue eyes, and wire rimmed glasses. She also had to admit the suit he was piecing together made him even cuter. “No. I don’t think so.” She added, “Well, you may recognize me from television. I anchor the local NBC news. That is, if I ever get there.” She sighed impatiently.

  “Sure! That’s it. Say, you’re quite good. That piece you did earlier this week on the mayor’s inauguration was really something.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. She was currently working on another story on that elected official which was far less flattering. She began scrolling through her messages in hopes of avoiding any more chitchat.

  Five minutes later, the bus turned the corner onto her station’s street. “Well, this is my stop. Excuse me.” She jumped up. The stranger quickly stood and stepped backwards, allowing her to slide out. Her bag accidentally hit him. “Sorry. Nice to meet you . . . um . . .”

  “Tate.”

  “Tate,” she repeated. Where had she heard that name before? She didn’t know anyone with that name. “Well, have a good day.”

  “Thanks. I intend to. Hey, I’ll see you on the news,” he called out as she walked down the aisle.

  • • •

  Amanda laughed sarcastically. That had been the morning of Tate’s interview. He had known who she was all along on that bus ride and had been playing her. Typical.

  Since he’d become her co-anchor, they’d had a tolerate/hate relationship. Mostly he got on her nerves. Where she was genuinely passionate about the work she did and logged long hours, he seemed to breeze in every day—often just before they went on air—without much ambition.

  Despite this, their ratings skyrocketed shortly after he started. Viewers really liked and trusted him. She tried to not let his pompous indifference get to her, but yesterday’s humiliation set her back.

  The driver-side door swung open. Tate slid in. “Let’s sail, Vicki Vale.”

  A blast of cold air followed him, smacking Amanda straight in the face.

  She rolled her eyes at the latest of a long line of reporter nicknames he called her. She reached for the cup of coffee. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, you looked deep in thought. What are you thinking?”

  “I was just thinking about . . .” She glanced away. “Never mind.”

  “C’mon. You can tell your boyfriend.”

  “Well, if you must know, I was thinking about the first time we met.”

  “First time we met?”

  “You know. On the bus. Don’t you remember?”

  “Oh, right. The bus.”

  She studied Tate’s face. How odd. He almost looked relieved. “You were going to your interview and sat next to me and pretended you didn’t recognize me.”

  “I remember. What a great day.”

  She laughed. “For you, perhaps.”

  “Perhaps.” Tate started the car and turned up the heat, angling the vents toward Amanda. “Say, you should really try to cut down on the caffeine.”

  “Are you kidding? If I could, I would have it injected intravenously. It’s my lifeline.” She took a large gulp, gave a smug smile, and shifted the vents toward him. She hated heat blowing directly on her.

  “Have it your way.”

  “I will.”

  He had changed out of his suit into casual clothes. He now wore a maroon half-zipped sweater decorated with Christmas trees. A white t-shirt poked out underneath.

  “Seriously?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Your sweater.”

  Tate glanced down at his chest. “What? My Aunt Bridgette gave me this sweater last year for Christmas. You don’t like it?”

  “No. It’s not that. It’s just the Christmas trees. Let’s just say you’ll fit right in with my . . . Forget it. It’s fine. I guess I’m just not used to seeing you in anything but a suit and tie is all.”

  “There’s a lot of things you haven’t seen me in.” Tate winked. “Or out of.”

  Amanda snorted. “Ha, ha. Can we just go, please? I’d like us to see my family before Easter.”

  Tate backed out of the parking lot. “So, tell me how are you going to explain your bringing home a boyfriend you’ve never even mentioned?”

  Amanda ran her hand up and down her coffee cup, her fingers absorbing its warmth. “I’ve been thinking about that while you were putting on your Santa’s helper sweater,” she teased. “We’ve got to get a few facts straight.”

  “Facts straight?”

  “About us, silly.”

  “You mean about our courtship? Say, have we slept together?” He chuckled.

  She ignored him. “There are just a few details about you that we need to agree on.”

  “About me? Okay, so what did you have in mind? Won’t they just be happy that you brought a man home and are not pining away for Brad?” He reached over and pushed number two on his radio, sending it back to the alternative rock station.

  “Let’s start with the rules. You will no longer refer to me as Nancy Drew
, Katie Couric, or any of the women from The View. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Tate took a sip of his coffee. “No silly nicknames.”

  “Beyond maybe—and let me stress maybe—a little hand holding, there will be no other public displays of affection. Keep your hands to yourself.”

  “So, will we be sharing a room this weekend?”

  Of course he would go there. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She hated to admit it, but their relationship would probably be more believable if they shared a room. She shrugged. “I guess we have to, but you get the floor.”

  “You’d really put me on the floor?”

  “I’d give you a pillow.” She laughed. “Maybe a blanket.” She turned and glanced out the window. Yesterday she’d wanted to strangle him and tonight they would be sleeping in the same room. What was wrong with this picture?

  “Why are Brad and his fiancée staying with your parents?

  “My mom said their apartment caught on fire. They had nowhere else to go.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yes, it does.” For me, too.

  A few awkward seconds ticked by. Tate broke the silence. “Okay so back to the public displays of affection. What happens if, say, you just happen to be standing under the mistletoe—then can I kiss you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “But wouldn’t it look strange for us not to kiss? I mean, we wouldn’t want to arouse suspicion.”

  “Fine,” she relented. “If for some odd reason you find me under mistletoe you may kiss me, but quickly.”

  “Let me get this straight. No hand-holding and no kissing, except under the mistletoe? Why am I pretending to be your boyfriend again?”

  “This was your idea.”

  “Yes, but wouldn’t you just love to make Brad jealous? We could really take this faux relationship over the top.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I don’t know. Something big though. Maybe I do something incredibly romantic at Christmas dinner.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

  He smiled mischievously and patted her knee. “That’s for me to know.” He pulled back. “Sorry. No touching. Got it.”

  She looked down at her knee that was oddly now tingling. Did his touch do that? “Well, just don’t embarrass me. Now where was I? Oh, yes. In any conversation regarding us, I will always take the lead. You can then follow and add to the conversation, but you can only make comments that back up what I’ve already shared.”

  “Easy enough.”

  “Let’s practice. So say my brother asks you what we are doing for New Year’s—”

  “I say that we’ll be out of town skiing with friends,” Tate said confidently.

  “No. Wrong answer.” Amanda shook her head. “I don’t ski anymore, and they know I don’t. Not since I twisted my ankle going down a slope when I was sixteen. Haven’t been on the slopes since. Wait for me to interrupt and respond with something like, ‘Oh, it will be low key this year. Because we took this weekend off to come here, we’re working New Year’s Eve.’ Then you can follow with . . .” She motioned for him to finish her sentence.

  “We’ll probably ring in the New Year with Ryan Seacrest and a bottle of bubbly.” He looked at her for approval.

  “Perfect,” she said. A picture of her snuggled up next to him on a couch entered her mind. She mentally swatted it away.

  “So how long have we been dating?”

  Amanda set her cup down. “Hmm . . . let’s say, six months. Any longer, my family might question why the secrecy.”

  “Okay, six months it is. All right, anything else I should know?”

  “Why, yes, as a matter of fact.” She took another sip of her coffee. “My family is going to grill me more than you on what you’re like. So, here are your hobbies. Listen carefully.”

  “Wait. Am I hearing this correctly? You are going to tell me what my interests are? Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask me questions and get to know me? We’ve got at least five more hours before we get there.”

  “I don’t know. I kind of like what I came up with for you. Brad will hate you. Plus, it will be easier for me to remember on the spot.” She sighed. “You know how I am on thinking on my feet.”

  “All right,” Tate relented. “Lay it on me.”

  “You love to cook. Brad can’t boil water. You’re ambitious and would consider moving to a higher media market to further your career. You want to get married and have kids. Wanting kids is a must. Brad was never sure if he wanted kids.”

  “That’s cool. All of it is true, by the way.”

  “Now for your hobbies. You like to hike, play tennis, and golf on occasion. You love coffee, of course.” She picked up her cup and toasted the air. “You like talking politics and especially love political humor shows. You also enjoy watching old-time classic movies. Any song from the nineties makes you smile.” Amanda hit the first button on the radio, putting it back on the nineties channel. “Oh, and you like dogs, but you’re really a cat person.”

  “Negative, Ace,” Tate said, switching back to the alternative rock station. “I’m allergic to felines.”

  “Well, just say you like them.” She sighed. They had some work to do before she was ready to flaunt him in front of Brad. “It’s not like we’re adopting one this weekend.”

  “But I don’t. Why do I have to like them?” he asked.

  “Because I do,” she replied. “And Brad doesn’t.”

  “Okay, fine. I love cats. But Amanda, you do realize who you are bringing home with you?”

  “No, who?”

  Tate reach over and changed the radio back to the nineties channel and turned the volume up. “You.”

  Twenty minutes later, Amanda was still stewing in her seat. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and he drives too slow. Who under the age of sixty uses cruise control? Even her eighty-five-year-old grandmother with double knee replacements could have gotten them home faster. She smiled thinking about her grandmother. She couldn’t wait to see her. Her eyes rested on a shiny small object in the middle console.

  “What’s that?” She pointed to the crystal rock.

  Tate’s eyes followed hers. “It’s my good luck charm.”

  “Good luck charm?” she repeated. “I wouldn’t peg you as the superstitious type.”

  Tate shrugged. “I’m not. Someone gave it to me a long time ago. She told me my luck was about to change.”

  “Oh, really? Who? Ms. Hot Pink Dress?”

  “Why, jealous?”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”

  “Well, for your information, it wasn’t a girlfriend. Here, hold out your hand,” he instructed.

  “No.” She defiantly made a tight fist.

  “Seriously, hold it out.”

  “Why?”

  “Ace, you do realize you’re going to have to trust me at some point? It would probably make our dating more believable if you did. Here, let’s practice,” he said, mocking her exact words from earlier.

  Amanda reluctantly opened up her hand. “Fine.”

  He placed the soft shiny stone in her palm. “Consider this now your lucky charm.”

  “You’re giving me your rock?” She peered at the tiny object.

  “Sure am. I’m guessing that you might need a little luck on your side this weekend, facing Brad and all.”

  “Hmmm. Thanks. You’re probably right.” Amanda slumped down in her seat and turned away, looking out the window. Was she ready to face Brad and meet his fiancée?

  She eyed a group of outlet shops. It would be nice to get out and stretch for a bit. “Let’s pull off at the next exit,” she said, tugging on Tate’s sweater. “I need to pick up a few more comfy outfits for this weekend.”

  “You didn’t pack enough?”

  “I was kind of in a rush. It will be good to get out of the Jeep. Maybe grab something to eat.”

  Tate dutifully swerved off the highway onto the exit ramp and luckil
y found an empty parking space not too far from the stores. The main entrance was crowded with holiday shoppers racing in every direction.

  Amanda jumped out and shouted over the festive holiday music blasting from the outdoor speakers. “Okay, I’m going to find some jeans and sweaters. You . . .” Amanda reached inside Tate’s unzipped jacket and yanked on his sweater.

  “Do me a favor and buy a new one. Oh, and you probably should look for some warm gloves and boots. You’ll be spending a lot of time outside with my father and brother this weekend. We’ll meet in thirty minutes for a quick bite.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Tate saluted. “Hey, why will I be spending a lot of time outside?”

  “You’ll see.” Amanda grinned, pushing him in the direction of the stores. “Soon, my dear boyfriend, you are going to experience first-hand what it’s like to be one of Santa’s elves.

  • • •

  Tate sat in the dressing room chair waiting for Amanda to emerge from her dressing room. She was probably right. He wasn’t so good in the romantic department.

  He thought back to their earlier conversation. She’d caught him off guard by bringing up the bus. It was best to let her continue thinking that was the first time they’d met—for now. When he told her the truth, he wanted it to be perfect.

  “Hey, Ace. You about done in there?” He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his e-mail. Since breaking the story, he had dozens of e-mails for follow-up interviews. He decided all of that could wait until after Christmas. He’d probably hand them over to Amanda, anyway. It was the right thing to do.

  “Almost.” Amanda stepped out of the dressing room wearing a black knit turtleneck sweater that hugged her body along with dark blue jeans. She surveyed herself in the three way mirror. “These jeans will do.”

  “That they will,” he muttered.

  She looked over shoulder. “Did you say something?”

  “No.” He grinned.

  Her hand reached back and into her sweater. “Can you do me a favor and rip the tag off? I think I’m going to wear it now. I can’t reach it.”