by Lisa Plumley
But damn it, she didn’t want to.
Hopping on one foot while she removed her post-brunch slingbacks on Saturday, Katie wrenched off her shoes and dropped them in her apartment’s living room. She grabbed her trusty cell phone. To hell with being miserable. It was practically a modern woman’s holiday duty to make the most of Christmastime, she reminded herself. And unrequited love definitely did not make for the merriest Christmas Eve.
Impatiently, Katie waited while the phone connected. She held her breath, thoughts of what she’d say to Jack whirling in her head. Maybe she’d tell him she finally understood his dedication to work. Maybe she’d tell him she thought they should try again.
Maybe she’d tell him she loved him.
His line was busy.
Rats. Foiled again.
Alone in his living room, Jack shot a baleful glance toward his phone. He’d taken it off the hook almost an hour ago in an attempt to evade his well-meaning relatives’ calls, but the damn thing still bothered him. Its steady dial tone had devolved into an annoyingly monotonous mechanical voice message urging him to “hang up and try again.” By now he was ready to hang up and disconnect his phone service. Permanently.
But then he realized he’d never be able to order a pizza for delivery again, and reconsidered.
Leaning sideways, Jack snatched the receiver. Sunshine bounced from its slick surface, moving on a late-afternoon slant through the window. The glowing lights on the runty Christmas tree nearby were reflected, too. They reminded him of the family get-together he’d bailed out on this morning, and the reasons behind his leaving, and his purpose in having taken the receiver off the hook.
He could have unplugged the phone, he realized. But the resulting incessant (and unanswered) ringing would have made his family worry. So he compromised. Instead, he buried the receiver beneath the sofa cushions to muffle its squawking.
Mistake. Nose to cushion as he stuffed in the phone, Jack caught a hint of the cinnamon-spicy scent of Katie’s perfume, a remnant of her sleepovers there. His heart clenched. In a moment he considered utterly and embarrassingly un-masculine, he buried his face in the leather upholstery and inhaled. Deeply.
Hell, but he missed her.
His family had known something was up the minute his brother had caught Jack moonily watching A Christmas Story on TV…and not even cracking a smile at the movie Mom’s reaction to Ralphie’s longing for a Red Ryder BB gun: “You’ll put your eye out!”
They’d become increasingly curious when Jack had flubbed a pass in the usual family touch football game because he’d glimpsed a dark-haired, stiletto-heeled, red-wearing woman walking through the park. A woman who hadn’t (damn it) been Katie.
But when he’d gotten misty while joining in a family sing-along of “How The Grinch Stole Christmas”…well, that was when all hell had broken loose. The questions had begun, the bets had been laid, and the “who’s the lucky woman?” predictions had been proclaimed. Apparently, the whole Brennan clan found the idea of Jack rendered mushily-gushily, sloppily sentimental over love absolutely fascinating. And they all wanted to talk about it, too.
Talk about it. Who in their right mind would want to do that?
It had all been too much for Jack to take, especially given how raw his feelings were about having lost Katie. Amid the matchmaking chatter (“Does she have a sister? Your cousin Rupert could stand meeting a nice girl.”), the poo-pooing of relationship bumps (“I could’ve killed your Aunt Marta when she sold my golf clubs on e-Bay. But we’re still together!”), and the insanely-optimistic urgings to sign up for a post-holiday wedding gift registry (“Pottery Barn does a nice one!”), he’d slipped away. Now he was here. Alone. Missing Katie.
He should have found a way to tell her he loved her, Jack told himself as he splayed his hands on the sofa cushions and straightened. He should have explained that he understood about her social life, that he thought they could make a go of it if only they tried.
Instead, he’d remained silent. Stoic.
Stupid.
After all—what possible reason could justify letting your dream woman walk out the door?
Unless you were Bogie’s character in Casablanca, Jack couldn’t think of a single one. And even Rick and Ilsa would probably have made an exception for Christmas. Sam would have played something nice on the piano, “I’ll Be Home For Christmas,” maybe, and Captain Renault would have served fruitcake in the café, and the happy couple would have….
Enough. Christmas was a time for togetherness, and the plain fact was, Jack wasn’t together with Katie. Without her, the season lost all its sparkle. Without her, nothing felt right…and never would.
Decisively, he excavated the phone. He pressed the receiver button to restore service. Then, before anyone could call and delay his connection with a slew of potential proposal ideas (“Popping the question via Jumbotron at Bank One Ballpark is awfully cute!”), Jack dialed Katie’s number.
He only hoped he wasn’t too late.
Carrying the packages she’d assembled on her way out, Katie paused outside her open apartment door. She bit her lip. Carefully, she pulled her cell phone from her sequined Santa handbag. Looked at it. Then, deliberately, she leaned inside and set her phone on the small table just inside her apartment. Bravely, she left it behind when she leaned out again.
Katie closed the door with a clunk.
For an instant, panic struck her. She thought of her trusty cell phone, its built-in microbrowser silenced, its enhanced digital phone book temporarily out of commission. She remembered how it had looked so alone on the table, so forlorn and abandoned.
But she had to be strong. She had to go on with her plans. Her entire Christmas season depended on it. So she did.
Several steps toward her car, Katie thought she heard her phone ringing. She stopped, cocking her head. Jack. Jack could be calling! At that moment, a truck drove past, burying the sound in a grinding of gears. Disappointed, Katie shrugged and continued onward. More than likely, she’d only imagined that cheerful ring.
That was what came, she guessed, of wishing for Jack so hard. And of giving up a perfectly good, social-life-enhancing cell phone—on Christmas Eve, no less.
The snow-free Phoenix streets were gaily festooned as Katie drove resolutely across town. Holiday decorations hung from light posts and stretched across intersections. Landscaped saguaros and palm trees sported Christmas light strings; wreaths of glossy chili peppers adorned neighborhood front doors. Amid all the decorations, a few last-minute shoppers rushed to beat the stores’ early closing times.
Seeing them, Katie patted the packages on the seat beside her. Steering one-handed, she smiled. This year would be her best gift-giving season ever. No doubt about it.
She reached her destination, drove in, parked. As Katie got out of the car with her packages and purse in tow, an uncharacteristic burst of uncertainty struck her. Maybe this wasn’t the right thing to do. Maybe she should really—
Get moving, she ordered herself, and started walking. After all, if there was one thing she was good at, Katie figured, it was making decisions.
Even if they might be (especially if they might be) wild and crazy, out-of-the-blue, Christmas-hopeful ones.
Jack had a system worked out.
It went something like this: he’d try calling Katie. Then he’d listen to her recorded “leave a message” request. Then he’d do something Christmassy to give Katie time to actually answer her phone (since what he had to say wasn’t exactly message material). Then he’d repeat the process as necessary.
One, two, three. Simple. Logical. A genuine guy-tested, bachelor-approved system.
But by the time he’d called, put on a holiday music CD, called, strung small white Christmas lights all over his living room, called, lit enough wreath-wrapped bayberry candles to toast s’mores over, called, and memorized Katie’s upbeat cell phone voicemail message (down to the tone of the starting chirp), Jack had realized the truth.
&n
bsp; His system was crap.
If he wanted Katie—and he really, really did—there was only one thing to do: go out and get her. Wherever she happened to be. And really, given Katie, that could be just about anywhere that featured people, music, or dancing. The possibilities were endless. But Jack meant to sift through every one of them, if necessary, to bring Katie back to him.
So what if he’d been the one spouting “let’s get together in a few days” platitudes? So what if it had taken him a while to wise up to the fact that, without Katie, there was no way any Christmas could ever be merry? Jack had wised up now, and that was what counted. Someone had to make the first move, and it was going to be him.
Decisively, he picked up the holiday card he’d made for Katie, and the wrapped gift that went with it. He smiled, imagining her face when she opened it. This year would definitely be his best gift-giving season ever.
Grabbing his car keys, Jack went to the door. He opened it and made ready to step outside, never expecting the sight that greeted him there.
Katie.
She stood on his front porch wearing a red felt Santa hat, one arm laden with packages and the other raised to knock on the door, looking beautiful and determined and (possibly) as surprised as he felt. At the sight of her, Jack’s pulse kicked up. His heart lurched. His smile broadened, hugely.
For an instant, he didn’t move.
Only an arm’s-length distance separated them, but it was enough. Enough, apparently, to remind them both of their mutual agreement to wait a few days before seeing each other. Jack could read the remembrance of his knuckleheaded suggestion in Katie’s eyes, could feel it in the taut hesitation that strung between them.
She drew a breath. He fisted his hand on the door, needing to go to her…and wanting to know she had come to him. He’d never seen anyone more welcome, more needed, more beloved. Just looking at her, Jack knew his entire lifetime wouldn’t be enough to spend with her. Eternity would come up short.
Lowering the hand she’d poised to knock, Katie looked at him. A certain hope filled her eyes, a certain Christmas magic Jack felt sure hadn’t been there before.
He made his decision. Apparently, so did she.
“I couldn’t wait,” they said in unison.
Katie smiled. As one they stepped forward, united in semi-defiance. They met in the doorway. “I love you,” she said.
“I love you,” he said, and kissed her.
No mistletoe hung there above them. No Christmas carol urged their coming together. It was love alone that prompted it…love, and a particular holiday second chance, begun with jingle bells on a baby’s booties and ended with two changed people.
Katie moved nearer in his arms. Her Santa hat fell to the floor, and their combined packages were squashed between them. But as the moments swept past and their kiss went on, neither of them cared. Holiday trimmings and Christmas-wrapped packages were only temporary. Gifts, real gifts, were forever.
Their kiss ended. “I tried to call,” they both said.
They laughed, with all the good cheer of two people whose plans went exactly as planned. Smiling, Jack pulled Katie inside. He kicked the door closed and gestured for her to speak first.
“I tried to call,” she said again as she set aside her packages, “but your phone was always busy. Jack, you’ve got to know—I was wrong. I was wrong before to expect you to give up so much of the work you love, and I’m sorry. I understand now, and I think—”
“If we just talk about this stuff—”
“—then it’ll be okay, from now on.”
He nodded as he put down his own packages. Overcome with relief and emotion, Jack borrowed time by retrieving the fallen Santa hat and putting it back on Katie’s head.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said gruffly. “I’m different, because of you. I get it now—why you love going out so much—and I never should have expected you to give it up.”
“Well, for you—” She grabbed the waistband of his low-slung jeans and hauled him closer. “—I’ll give some of it up. A compromise, if you will.”
“And I’ll cut back on work,” Jack vowed. “After all, it’s not as though I have something to prove at the office.”
“No, you definitely don’t.”
“And maybe, now, I have something better to come home to.”
“Yes, you definitely do.”
The smile they shared was broad, wiser than before, grateful. Lowering his head, Jack claimed the woman he loved in a kiss as fierce and sweet as he could muster—and Katie kissed him back, with every indication of feeling exactly the same kind of love. Fierce. Sweet. Undeniable.
“I love you,” she said again when they’d parted. “That’s why I got you this.”
Waggling her eyebrows, she showed him the wrapped package she’d picked up from her stack. She waved it enticingly.
“You’re not the only one.” Jack grabbed the gift he’d set aside, and carefully held it up. “I love you. And that’s why I got you this.”
Katie laughed. She looked on the verge of clapping with glee. “You shopped for me!”
Her gaze made him a hero for having done it. Jack felt suddenly nervous. “It’s, uh…well, I hope you like it.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. Katie captured his hand and squeezed. “I’ll love it. Because it comes from you.”
Ribbons flew. Paper rustled. Bing Crosby sang about a “White Christmas” in the background. And moments later….
“Awww, Katie.” Jack turned over the set of vintage architectural drafting tools she’d given him. Contained in a leather bound case, they were technically cool and sentimental. “Thanks. I love them.”
Glancing up happily, he saw her holding his gift, now unwrapped, in her palm. She examined it with an air of utter absorption.
His spirits sank a notch. “No matter how long you stare at it, I’m afraid it won’t turn into something from Tiffany. It’s not that kind of gift.”
“I don’t want something from Tiffany,” Katie said gamely. She smiled at it. “I want…this!”
He admired her spirit, her joie de vivre, her willingness to make him feel good. But given that his gift for her was a Christmas-themed plastic snow globe…well, Jack could understand her befuddlement.
“Maybe next year I’ll manage the Tiffany gift,” he said, wondering about engagement rings, wedding rings, what the heck the difference was, and whether or not Tiffany could help him sort it out. He raised his hand to cradle hers, so their palms were stacked facing upward beneath the snow globe. “But this year…this year, there’s this.”
Katie squinted. “Is that…a tiny version of the Chandler tumbleweed Christmas tree inside the snow globe?”
Jack nodded.
“Complete with some of the surrounding scenery?” she went on. “And little people?”
Again, Jack nodded.
“It’s…cute.”
“It’s a remembrance of a moment,” he said seriously. Their eyes met over the top of the snow globe, and he sensed Katie holding her breath. “A remembrance of the moment I fell in love with you beside that Christmas tree. And I knew I had to have it, for you. To have you with me, forever.”
Katie blinked. She sucked in a gulp of air. He had the impression she was trying not to cry.
“Merry Christmas,” Jack said as he kissed her again. “From here on out, we’ll always have each other. And it doesn’t get any merrier than that.”
“Oh, Jack!”
Then Katie did cry. But they were happy tears—the kind, as she helpfully explained later, that didn’t smear your eyeliner or turn your mouth all blubbery. Wedding-guest tears, she said. So that was okay. And as she and Jack unwrapped the rest of their gifts, and snuggled beneath their partly-bald Christmas tree, they learned together that Christmas brought many things to those who opened themselves to its magic.
Things like peace. Love. Goodwill. And, if you were really lucky, someone who didn’t mind when you accidentally pinned the nose on them, ins
tead of the cardboard Rudolph.
Now, as Katie shared with him the last slice of fruitcake (an appreciation for the stuff, they agreed, was their only real weakness), Jack smiled and realized something else for certain, too.
Next year would definitely be a Tiffany Christmas. No doubt about it.
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From the Author
Thank you for reading this book! If you enjoyed it, I hope you’ll share your enthusiasm by writing a review online, posting about this story on your Facebook page, Twitter account, or blog, or talking about it with your friends.
If you’re curious about my other books, please visit www.lisaplumley.com, where you can read first-chapter excerpts from all my books, sign up for my new-book reminder service, catch sneak previews of my upcoming books, and more.
Best wishes,
Lisa Plumley
Like connected stories? Look for Lisa’s series romances!
“Perfect” series
Kismet Christmas series
Morrow Creek series
All of Lisa’s series books stand alone and can be read in any order. Remember, you can also visit Lisa’s RomanceWiki page to view a list of books in the “Perfect,” Kismet Christmas, and Morrow Creek series in reverse order (most recently published first).
More from Lisa Plumley: Mysteries
Lisa also writes cozy mysteries as Colette London. Her Chocolate Whisperer series (featuring chocolate expert—and amateur sleuth!—Hayden Mundy Moore) kicked off with Criminal Confections and now includes Dangerously Dark, The Semisweet Hereafter, and Dead and Ganache, all from Kensington Books.
Visit www.colettelondon.com today to find fantastic chocolate recipes, sign up for new-book reminder e-mails, and catch sneak previews of upcoming books in the Chocolate Whisperer series.
Praise for the novels of Lisa Plumley
MORROW CREEK RUNAWAY
“Plumley’s Morrow Creek series continues to delight! The latest entry is a tale of love lost and found. It’s funny, charming and full of sexual tension, complete with a fabulous cast of characters fans will love.” —Romantic Times (4 stars!)
