The Firefighter's Christmas Reunion

by Christy Jeffries

  Or so she thought.

  The man standing beside Chloe cleared his throat. “She called me yesterday afternoon and told me the same thing.”

  “Just because she called you first doesn’t mean the puppy is yours.” Chloe took a time-out from her refusal to acknowledge the man’s presence to glare at him.

  She wished he weren’t so handsome. Those piercing blue eyes were a little difficult to ignore, as was his perfect square jaw. His clothes were impeccable—very tailored, very Wall Street. And the dusting of snow on the shoulders of his dark wool coat made him seem ultramanly for some reason. Under normal circumstances, she’d have thought he looked like the kind of man who would turn up wielding a little blue box in a Tiffany’s Christmas advertisement.

  But these weren’t normal circumstances, and he wasn’t holding a little blue box. He was holding a puppy. Her puppy.

  “Actually, that’s exactly what it means. She called me first, and a verbal agreement was made wherein I would take possession of the puppy.” He arched a brow. “Therefore the puppy is mine.”

  Who talked like that?

  Chloe turned her back to him and refocused her attention on the animal shelter’s adoption counselor, who thus far hadn’t been much help. But Chloe wasn’t going down without a fight.

  “Are you really going to let him take my puppy? Listen to him. He says he wants to adopt a pet, but he sounds like he’s talking about a business merger.”

  The adoption counselor’s gaze swiveled back and forth between the two of them as if she were watching a snowball fight.

  “She’s not your dog. I’m adopting her. I’ve got the papers right here.” Using his free hand, the man pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and placed it on the counter.

  Chloe didn’t bother opening it. Instead, she pulled an identical packet of papers from her dance bag and slammed it on the counter next to his envelope.

  “I’ve got papers, too.” She crossed her arms, causing the jingle bell cuffs on the long brown velvet sleeves of her costume to clang, echoing loudly in the tiled shelter lobby.

  The man’s mouth twitched into a half grin, which, to Chloe’s dismay, made him even more attractive. “Nice outfit, by the way.”

  She jammed her hands on her velvet-clad hips, ignoring the jingly commotion she made every time she moved. “I’ll have you know that this is an official Rockettes reindeer costume, steeped in Christmas tradition dating back to the 1930s. I’m basically a New York treasure. So laugh it up, puppy thief.”

  He cut his gaze toward her, and his smile faded. “Once again, I’m not a puppy thief.”

  “Says the man who refuses to let go of my puppy.” Chloe cast a longing glance at the tiny Yorkie mix. “You know who you are? You’re Cruella De Vil in pinstripes.”

  “Pinstripes haven’t been in style in years,” he muttered.

  “Note taken, Cruella.”

  “You know what?” The adoption counselor finally chimed in. “I think I should probably go get the manager so she can help us figure out how to proceed.”

  “Excellent. Thank you so much.” Chloe nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the twinkle lights on her antlers blinking.

  Oops. She could have sworn she’d switched those off.

  Her nemesis turned toward her. Chloe still didn’t quite trust herself to look at him without swooning, but she couldn’t keep pretending he was invisible when they were the only two people in the room.

  His gaze flitted to her antlers. “Are you really a Rockette?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. Jingle, jingle, jingle.

  “That’s quite impressive.”

  “Thank you.” She cleared her throat.

  It wasn’t a lie. Not technically.

  On paper, she was still a Rockette. She just wasn’t allowed to perform anymore. Much to her humiliation, she now had the lovely task of standing in Times Square in her reindeer costume two hours a day to hand out flyers to tourists to encourage them to go to the annual Rockettes Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall.

  Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

  For the past four years, she’d been living her dream. She’d high-kicked her way through the last four Christmases—three shows a day for five weeks straight. Twice, she’d even traveled overseas with the Rockettes to perform in their USO tour. And now she’d been relegated to Times Square. She might as well put on an Elmo costume and a Santa hat and call it a day.

  The worst part about being demoted wasn’t the humiliation, nor was it the drastically reduced paycheck. Although she was going to have to do something about the latter really soon.

  More troubling than either her dwindling bank account or her shame at the 50,000-plus YouTube views of her Thanksgiving Day toy soldier mishap was the prospect of telling her family she was no longer dancing. The Wildes weren’t a scary bunch. Quite the opposite, actually. They were loving and supportive, especially Chloe’s mother, Emily, who’d started the Wilde School of Dance over forty years ago and still taught nearly every day.

  As much as Chloe hated to admit it, she’d taken advantage of all that family devotion. She’d used her busy rehearsal schedule as an excuse to miss nearly all the weekly dinners at the Wilde brownstone for the past few years. Every Thanksgiving and every Christmas, she’d been too busy performing at the parade or at Radio City to be a part of the family holiday celebrations. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d set foot in the dance school.

  Her brother and sister liked to joke about it, calling her the ghost of Christmas past, but her mom never complained. No one had, even though Chloe knew she could have made more of an effort. What had she been thinking? Hadn’t her dad’s sudden death from a heart attack taught her not to take family for granted?

  She was a horrible person. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell the Wildes the truth. No wonder fate had thrown a puppy thief into her path. She deserved this, didn’t she?

  Her gaze slid toward the dog’s scruffy little face and her tiny button nose. So adorable. Somehow her cuteness seemed magnified in the arms of Chloe’s strapping rival.

  She felt her chin start to wobble.

  Stay strong.

  The only thing that would make this episode more upsetting would be if she broke down and cried.

  “Were you telling the truth just now? Have you actually visited this dog every day for the past twelve days?”

  She peered up at the man and squared her shoulders. “Yes. Did you think I was lying?”

  Chloe would never lie to the adoption counselor’s face like that. Lies of omission were apparently her thing, specifically lying by omission to her own flesh and blood.

  He sighed and said nothing in response.

  Chloe’s heart gave a little zing. Was he beginning to crack?

  “I already bought her a dog bed,” Chloe said. “It’s red-and-white-striped, like a candy cane.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything else from a woman dressed as Rudolph.” His frown stayed firmly in place, but Chloe thought she spotted a twinkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

  He was either about to give in and let her have the puppy, or he was flirting with her in order to get her to throw in the towel. For a second, Chloe wasn’t sure which scenario she preferred.

  She blinked.

  Had she lost her mind? She wasn’t going to let a few kind words and an eye twinkle crack her composure. Even if the eye twinkle was just shy of a full-on smolder.

  That puppy was hers.

  “Nice try,” she said tartly. “But I’m not here to play games.”

  “No reindeer games.” He gave her a solemn nod. “Got it.”

  The man was hardly playing fair, damn him.

  “Good,” she said.

  Then she looked away, lest he see the smile on her face.

/>   An awkward silence fell between them, punctuated every so often by the bells on Chloe’s costume. She tried her best to keep her gaze focused on the countertop and the adoption papers she’d filled out in careful handwriting the night before. But the puppy started making cute little whimpering noises, and she couldn’t help it. She had to look.

  The tiny dog was gnawing on the handsome man’s thumb, which would have been completely adorable if he’d been paying any attention whatsoever to the animal. He wasn’t, though. His brow was furrowed, and he was staring into space, distracted.

  Chloe rolled her eyes. He was probably thinking about the stock market or suing someone or the recent demise of pinstripes. “Why do you want this dog, anyway? You don’t really seem like the Yorkie type.”

  He glanced at the dog and then at her. “What type do I seem like?”

  A golden retriever, maybe. Or an Irish setter. A classic sort of dog that would look good curled in front of a fireplace or with its head sticking out of a town car.

  “I haven’t given it any thought,” she lied.

  He peered at her for a long, loaded moment, as if he could see inside her head. Finally, he said, “The puppy is an early Christmas gift.”

  “A Christmas gift?” Chloe blinked in indignation. “Do the people here at the shelter know that? Pets are living creatures. You can’t just give them away as presents. That’s the height of irresponsibility.”

  He shifted the puppy to his other arm, farther away from her. “Rest assured, the shelter staff knows. I’m taking full responsibility for the dog.”

  “So...what, then? She’s a gift for your wife?” Chloe’s gaze flitted to his left hand.

  No ring.

  “No wife,” he said. Then he frowned, as if his bachelorhood was a surprise. Or a problem that needed to be fixed.

  Chloe’s face went hot for reasons she didn’t care to contemplate.

  She took a deep breath. Action was required. If she didn’t stop thinking about this mysterious man’s relationship status and do something, she’d be going home to an empty apartment, complete with an empty candy cane–striped dog bed.

  Her own bed would be empty, too, but that was fine. Preferable, actually. Although why she was suddenly thinking about the unoccupied half of her antique sleigh bed was a mystery.

  Sure it is.

  She took another glance at the puppy thief holding her Yorkie mix and melted a little bit. The two of them looked like they belonged on that Instagram account her dancer friends were always going on about—Hot Men and Mutts.

  She swallowed. “Look, is there any way we could work this out ourselves before the shelter manager gets involved? The puppy is a gift. Couldn’t you just pick out another one? I love that dog. What can I do to change your mind? Anything?”

  Surely there was something he wanted, although Chloe couldn’t imagine what it might be.

  She lifted her chin and looked him directly in his eyes, so he’d know she meant business. No reindeer games.

  Then she tilted her head, prompting him to say something. Anything.

  Make me an offer.

  His gaze narrowed and sharpened. For a second or two, he focused on her with such intensity that she forgot how to breathe.

  So there is something he wants, after all.

  When at last he gave her the answer she’d been waiting for, he didn’t crack a smile.

  “Marry me.”

  * * *

  Anders Kent wanted to take the words back the minute they’d left his mouth.

  Marry me.

  What had he been thinking? He’d just proposed to a complete and total stranger in a sterile room that smelled like soap and puppy chow. A stranger who was dressed as a reindeer. And now she was looking at him as if he was the crazy one.

  Oh, the irony.

  He wasn’t crazy. Nor was he impulsive, all evidence to the contrary. He was simply desperate. Which was also ironic, considering Anders’s name popped up in the tabloids from time to time as one of New York’s most sought-after bachelors. Anders Kent had an office with a corner window in Wall Street’s premier investment banking firm and a penthouse overlooking Central Park West. If he wanted something, he generally found a way to get it. Romantic entanglements included.

  But his current predicament didn’t have anything to do with romance. Far from it. There wasn’t anything remotely romantic about sitting across a desk from your attorney and being told you had thirty days to find a wife.

  Anders had been given just such an ultimatum at nine o’clock this morning, and his head had been spinning ever since.

  Marriage?

  No.

  Hell no.

  Anders didn’t want to get married—to anyone, least of all the hostile woman beside him who looked as if she was on the verge of prying Lolly’s puppy right out of his arms.

  “What did you just say?” She swallowed, and the jingle bells at her throat did a little dance.

  “Nothing.” Anders shook his head. He sure as hell wasn’t going to repeat himself. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth to begin with.

  You don’t even know this woman’s name.

  His gut churned. In the brief span of time since he’d left his lawyer’s office, something strange had happened to Anders. He’d begun to weigh every woman he came across as a potential wife...as if he truly had any intention to go through with the insane requirement.

  He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He’d fight it. He’d throw every dollar he had at fighting it until he won.

  But legal battles took time. More often than not, they took years. And Anders didn’t have years. He had a month.

  “It didn’t sound like nothing. It definitely sounded like a big fat something.” The woman’s eyes grew wide, panicked.

  She’d gotten his message, loud and clear.

  He should have phrased it differently, though. He was proposing a business arrangement, not an actual marriage.

  Yes, he needed a wife. But not a real one, just a stand-in. A temporary wife. After Lolly’s guardianship was properly settled, everything could go back to normal.

  His chest tightened. Normal was a pipe dream. It didn’t exist anymore. His life wouldn’t be normal ever again.

  He took a tense inhalation and looked away from the dancing reindeer. “Never mind.”

  “Never mind?” She threw her arms in the air. Jingle, jingle, jingle. “You can’t just ask someone to marry you and then take it back. This isn’t the season finale of The Bachelor.”

  “I’ve never seen that show,” he said woodenly.

  He couldn’t marry this woman. She watched garbage television. She was bubbly, brash and far too emotional. She was a bleeding heart who spent her free time visiting shelter dogs. Plus, she obviously despised him.

  It would never work.

  Unless...

  He frowned.

  Unless the fact that they were so clearly ill-suited for one another would be an advantage. He couldn’t marry anyone he actually found attractive. That would be a recipe for disaster. And he definitely wasn’t attracted to the reindeer.

  He shouldn’t be attracted to her, anyway.

  A surge of something that felt far too much like desire flowed through his veins. What the hell was wrong with him?

  “I’m not going to marry you for a puppy,” she said hotly. She looked him up and down. “No matter how...nice...the two of you look together.”

  She swallowed and averted her gaze, giving Anders an unobstructed view of the graceful curve of her neck.

  Definitely a dancer, he thought. Her posture, coupled with the way she moved, was undeniably balletic. Beautiful, even in that silly costume.

  “I thought you said I didn’t look like the Yorkie type,” he said.

  Her cheeks went pink, but before she could respond the door swung open
and a no-nonsense-looking woman wearing a T-shirt with Adopt, Don’t Shop printed across the front of it extended her hand.

  “Hello, Miss Wilde. Mr. Kent. I’m the shelter manager.” She looked back and forth between them. “I understand there’s been a mistake.”

  Anders nodded and glanced at Rudolph—whose actual name was Miss Wilde, apparently—and braced himself for the tirade that was sure to come. She hadn’t let the adoption counselor get a word in edgewise. Why would she hold her tongue now?

  But she didn’t say a thing. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared daggers at him while the shelter manager reviewed their respective paperwork.

  He’d dodged a bullet. There were countless single women in New York. He didn’t know what had possessed him to propose to this one.

  Still, there was a sadness in her eyes that made him feel like his heart was being squeezed in a vise. Anders had seen enough sadness in recent days that it made him want to do something to take away that melancholy look in her eyes—something that was sure to make her smile.

  “Here,” he said, holding the little dog toward her.

  He had more than enough to worry about without adding alleged puppy thievery to the list. He’d simply have to find another dog for Lolly. It was sure to be easier than finding a wife.

  “She’s yours.”

  Copyright © 2018 by Teri Wilson

  ISBN-13: 9781488094026

  The Firefighter’s Christmas Reunion

  Copyright © 2018 by Christy Jeffries

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