Their Christmas Angel

by Tracy Madison

  “It’s complex,” she repeated. “Thank you, though.”

  He nodded, smiled. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you. Nothing changes that.”

  “I know,” she said. “Same goes for me—I’m here for you.”

  They sat for a few minutes then, not speaking, just drinking their coffee. Before they went back inside, Ryan said, “Everything else is good for you? Nothing I should worry about, healthwise? No news on the maybe-a-baby front? Just the same old, same old?”

  Nicole put her hand on her stomach. She hadn’t taken that test yet, and she had decided to wait it out another week, at least, if not another two. “Healthy, strong, and no, no news yet.”

  “Well. Keep me informed. I’m looking forward to uncle duty.” Ryan gave her a quick hug. “I’m proud of you, for going after what you want. And as far as this mystery man goes? He’d be lucky to have you in his life. Never doubt that, okay?”

  “I know my worth,” she said. “But I know his, too. And this entire situation is—”

  “Complex,” Ryan said, finishing her sentence. “Aren’t all relationships, though?”

  “With humans? Yeah. Why do you think I love Roscoe so much? Easiest relationship in my life.” Except, of course, when he ran away and frightened her half to death. “Hey. Thanks for waking from your nap to talk. It...means a lot to me, Ryan.”

  “What else are brothers for?”

  They walked inside, finding the rest of their family exactly where they left them. Nicole stayed another half an hour before going home. Roscoe would need to go out, and she wanted a long, hot bubble bath. Also, she had an inkling she might hear from Parker.

  And she’d rather be alone if that inkling proved correct. Which it did, about two hours later, with a text that read:

  Hope your day was fantastic! My sister is keeping the girls overnight on Saturday. Was thinking we could go out to dinner or something. You in?

  She texted back, Sure! Sardine pizza?

  Ah. No, he replied. I have something more interesting in mind. But you’ll have to trust me, and not ask for any details. Deal?

  She agreed, and later, while she soaked in the tub, she wondered if this was a date or an outing between friends. If he’d called, rather than texted, she’d have a better idea. As it was, she’d have to wait to see. Either way, she would listen to Ryan’s advice and trust in her heart.

  Chapter Eight

  “Come on, girls,” Parker hollered up the stairs the following Saturday, a mere thirty minutes before he was supposed to pick up Nicole. First, he had to drop off Erin and Megan at Daisy and Reid’s, and they were running behind schedule. “We need to get going.”

  The girls ran down the stairs carrying their overnight bags. Megan was excited, but Erin had dragged her feet for the past hour. And she’d been quieter than normal, even more introspective, for the past week. Something was going on with his eldest daughter; Parker just wasn’t sure what. He’d tried to talk with her, but she swore she was fine.

  Maybe she was. He could be reading far too much into the relatively small change in her demeanor. But if there was something bothering her, either she’d tell him what was on her mind or he’d figure it out. Eventually. Erin wouldn’t be rushed. The kid lived in her head more often than not, just as Parker’s sister did. The two were a lot alike, in looks and in personality.

  Once they were at Daisy’s, he pulled his sister aside and asked her to see if she could get Erin to open up, and explained why. His sister agreed, told him not to worry and almost shoved him out of her front door with the order to relax and enjoy himself.

  Well, that was the plan.

  Even so, his palms were sweaty when he rang Nicole’s doorbell. He might as well have jumped into a time warp and returned to his sixteen-year-old self, his nerves were that jittery. That had to be good, really. If he wasn’t nervous, he’d have to question why he’d asked Nicole out in the first place. A first date with a woman should induce anxiety, to a certain extent.

  And when she opened the door, his heart could’ve been a balloon, the way it seemed to blow up in his chest. She looked... Beautiful didn’t come close to being an accurate enough description. Her pale blond hair was twisted into a loose knot on the back of her head, with a few tendrils framing her face. Those green-gold eyes were outlined in smoky gray, and her lips were a glossy rosy pink. Not too dark. Not too light. Just perfect.

  No, beautiful didn’t quite cut it. Ethereal came to mind. As did delicate and alluring.

  Elegant, too, even in a pair of black jeans and a soft, almost-fuzzy jade green sweater that fell slightly off one shoulder. Lord, he was a lucky man to have this woman on his arm.

  “You look...beautiful, Nicole,” he said, falling back on the only word he felt comfortable using. He couldn’t tell her she looked ethereal or delicate, now, could he? “Simply beautiful.”

  There was that blush again, washing over her pale, creamy skin. She put on her coat and stepped outside, locking the door behind her. He’d left his coat in the car. He was too sweaty to put on another layer. Too nervous and too filled with anticipation.

  “Thank you, Parker. You look pretty good, yourself,” she said, the smallest of tremors perceptible in her speech. Meant she was nervous, too, and Parker decided that was also an excellent sign. Reaching over, she tapped the front of his shirt. “Whatever color of blue this is suits you. Brings out the blue in your eyes.”

  Was that warmth drenching his cheeks? Was he blushing? Had he now become a sixteen-year-old girl? “Thank you. And I don’t know. I just call it dark blue.” He did not mention how long it had taken to choose which shirt, which pair of jeans, he should wear. Longer than it should’ve, he knew that. “Ready?”

  “Well, that’s just it,” she said as he opened the car door for her, “I don’t know what we’re doing, so how can I know if I’m ready or not? You’re not expecting me to jump out of a plane or anything, are you? Because that—” she buckled her seat belt “—I am not ready for.”

  “Skydiving is not on the agenda. I can promise you that.” Damn if his palms weren’t still sweating. They’d have to stop, or he wouldn’t be able to hold her hand all night. And at some point, he really, really wanted to hold her hand. “Food is involved,” he said, once he was settled in the car, “but not at an actual restaurant. We’ll be working for our dinner.”

  “Working, huh?”

  “Yep. But I think we’ll have fun.”

  More important than merely having fun, though, he hoped spending time together tonight lifted the weight he’d carried around since learning of her battle with cancer. And he hoped the fear would dissipate, so he could focus 100 percent on the rational, positive facts: he liked this woman. A lot. He saw potential here. Also, a lot. He wanted to embrace the good—hell, the amazing—possibilities, rather than dwell on the negative. That was the choice he’d made, what he wanted to bring up later, but he’d like to send this specific demon running.

  “There is no think, only do,” she said, in a better than acceptable Yoda impersonation. “And yes, I am fully aware that quote isn’t accurate, but in this case, it fits.”

  Ah. The woman quoted from Star Wars. Yeah, he was a goner.

  * * *

  Close to four hours later, Parker and Nicole were seated at a candlelit table, enjoying a romantic meal that consisted of a panzanella salad, risotto with Italian ham and peas, chicken scaloppini and a luscious chocolate amaretto cake for dessert. The catch was that they’d made the meal together, at a couples cooking class for their first date.

  And it was a date. She no longer held any confusion about Parker’s intentions for the night. She couldn’t deny the ingenuity of his plan, either, or the fun they’d had while the instructor walked them through each portion of the meal. Oh, some of the steps were already done for them, or it would’ve taken l
onger than three hours to prepare and cook the entire meal, but they were left mostly in charge, and they’d worked as a team.

  They chatted about their individual Thanksgivings and families, laughed at their spills and other mishaps as they cooked, and all of it, from beginning to end, had flowed effortlessly. Her mother, if Brenda had been here to see them, would’ve called them two peas in a pod, or a match made in heaven, or something else along those lines. And despite the complexities involved in moving forward with a possible relationship, Nicole would agree.

  Because in addition to the great teamwork, a natural effervescence sparkled between them. It was always there, lingering. And when their hands brushed, their hips touched, he smiled and she laughed, that constant sizzle of want, desire, need, heightened and pulsed and expanded, until it just about sucked every bit of oxygen from the room. Until the only images in her mind were that of touching him, kissing him and being touched and kissed in return.

  For hours on end. Days. Weeks. Forever.

  Throughout the evening, she continually had to pummel those images into submission and tuck them into a corner, otherwise she feared she might actually act on them by putting her hands on his shoulders and her lips on his lips, and, well, this was the beginning of their first date. They had more to talk about. More time to spend together. Just more them before anything else could or should occur. And there was the not-so-little fact that she might be pregnant.

  A possibility she hadn’t mentioned as of yet. She would tell him about her attempts and her reasons for them, whether she was pregnant or not, but she’d decided to hold off until she knew one way or the other. How she broached that particular conversation, the context itself, would vary depending on if she was or wasn’t. Another week or two, and she’d know, and she’d tackle the topic. Because if she wasn’t pregnant, and she and Parker were dating, she’d have to think about what to do next. If she chose to continue her attempts, he’d have to know.

  “You suddenly got quiet,” Parker said, interrupting her thoughts. “Don’t tell me I’ve worn you out already, because that would be a shame. I’ve more on the agenda for tonight.”

  That statement, combined with her kissing and touching images, reignited her desire, her want for this man, and to help quell the fire, she swallowed a large mouthful of ice water. “More on the agenda?” she asked, setting her glass on the table. “I can’t imagine what will top this, but I can’t wait to see what you have planned. Feel like passing on a clue or two?”

  A quirky grin appeared. “Not really. I rather like surprising you. Hope you’re okay with surprises, because I don’t think that is likely to change.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind surprises, so long as they are good ones.”

  “Only good for you. It’s what you deserve.” His jaw clamped shut after he spoke the words, as if he’d just surprised himself. Then, “I’m having a great time, Nicole. You’re a remarkable woman and, as odd as this sounds, I’m glad I almost ran you over with my car. Gladder I didn’t actually run you over, but you know what I mean.”

  “I do, and...Parker, you’re the remarkable one. I’m just...me.”

  “Right. That’s what I said. Remarkable.”

  The compliment lit her from the inside out, as surely as the candles made the table glow. This man was special. Unique. As was the connection growing between them.

  “Thank you. I’m happy to know you, too.” She wanted to say more, thought maybe she should, even, but in the end, she chose not to. Rather, she leaned against her chair and sighed. “I ate all day on Thanksgiving, a mere forty-eight hours ago, and now, this meal. It will be weeks before I work off the extra calories. If my jeans don’t fit tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”

  Holding up his hands, as if in surrender, he chuckled. “That’s fine. I’ll take the blame. What I want to know,” he said, pushing his dinner plate to the side, “is if that means you’re not interested in dessert, and I have to eat this entire cake by myself. Don’t make me do it, Nicole.”

  “By entire, you mean this six-inch mini cake?” she teased. “Pretty sure you won’t have a problem finishing that off, but no, I’m a sucker for punishment. And I love my chocolate.”

  “A sucker for punishment? That’s good news.” With a wink and a smile, he said, “Because I like a woman who...doesn’t refuse dessert.”

  “Then you’ll love me, because I...um...that is, I never refuse dessert.”

  His gaze found and locked onto hers, and that telltale shiver wove its way through her body. Because of a look. Just one look. He kept that gaze on her as he pushed his chair around the table, so they were seated side by side, so close their thighs touched. Putting the unsliced cake in front of them, he handed her a fork, saying, “Then dig in. Plates are for amateurs.”

  She didn’t verbally respond, just broke off a chunk of the scrumptiously rich cake with her fork and popped it in her mouth. An unbidden moan escaped at the taste, the way the confection melted on her tongue and slipped down her throat. Sighing in pleasure, she went for a second bite before realizing how she must have looked, how she must have sounded.

  “Wow,” she said, putting down her fork. “That might be the best cake I’ve ever had.”

  “Me, too,” he said, his eyes a dark and stormy shade of blue. And they were focused on her mouth, her lips, her throat. “Delicious. Delectable. Perfection.”

  “Your fork is clean,” she said as another shiver trembled through her, as her skin warmed beneath the hunger so evident in Parker’s gaze. “You can’t say that until you actually taste the...cake.”

  “But I can. I did.” Closing his eyes, he drew in a ragged-sounding breath. When he opened them again, he said, “But you’re right, I should try the cake.”

  Still, he didn’t move to do so, just kept looking at her, and she had to fight hard not to give in to that bone-deep attraction, the temptation, the driving instinct to trail her fingers along his jaw, his cheek, and into his hair. She had to fight not to push her mouth against his, claim him as hers and offer herself as his, because yes, that was what she felt. That they fit. Together.

  Meant to be. Supposed to be.

  Instead, since giving in to any of that would certainly be rule number one of what not to do on a first date, she broke off another chunk of cake. “Here,” she said, touching his lips with the fork. “Taste this. I promise it will be the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had.”

  She saw him swallow before he even opened his mouth. She saw the hunger ramp even higher in his gaze. She saw his jaw flinch and his shoulders shake. These signs told her that she was getting to him just as deeply, just as surely as he was getting to her. And she liked having this knowledge. It seemed to strengthen all she’d felt from the first moment they’d met.

  Opening his mouth, he ate the bite of cake she offered, but other than that slight, barely there movement, he didn’t budge an inch. Every part of him remained firmly focused on her, on the heat that saturated the air, on the silent acknowledgment that they were on the same page.

  “Delicious. Delectable,” he said again. “Perfection. Just like you.”

  That final word served to shake her from the moment. “I’m not perfect, Parker.”

  “No one is, but have you considered... Well, probably too soon to say that.”

  “Say what you’re thinking. Say what you need.”

  “You’re sure? Because I prefer it that way,” he said, his tone serious. “I’m not the type of guy to beat around the bush or play word games, but I don’t want you to misunderstand, either.”

  Oh. He was going to jump in headfirst, was he? That was good. Probably, that was good. Scary, too, though. Trusting her gut, she said, “Most of the time, I’m the same. So yes, I’m sure.”

  Removing the fork from her grasp, he set it on the table and then captured her hand with his. He held it tightly, securely.
“No, you’re not perfect. I’m not, either. No one is,” he repeated with a short, almost-under-his-breath laugh. “Perhaps, though, we’re perfect for each other. Don’t worry, I’m not saying we are, and we have a way to go before determining that, but the possibility exists. I feel it. Pretty sure you feel it, too, but...uh...let me know if I’m wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong.” She breathed the words more than she spoke them. “But, Parker, there is a lot here that we’ll eventually need to discuss. Things I haven’t told you yet, that I’m not ready to tell you, and I’m guessing you have concerns. I mean, the girls...their mom.”

  “Okay, let’s tackle some of this now,” Parker said after a moment’s pause. “Because yes, of course there are concerns. I’m not going to lie. I’ve carried this weight of...I don’t know how to describe it...foreboding, I guess, ever since you told me you had IBC. It’s scary.”

  “I live with that foreboding,” she said, putting truth to what she barely admitted to herself most days. “And I won’t lie, either. It’s difficult, knowing that just because I beat it once, just because I’ve been healthy for four years, doesn’t mean the cancer won’t come back. In the weeks before I see my oncologist, I am awash with fear that the tide will change again.”

  “I can imagine,” Parker said, still holding on to her hand. She liked that, too, that he hadn’t let go. “And I would have the same fear, right alongside you, which is part of the foreboding, I suppose. I’ve gone through this, from beginning to end, and...” He trailed off as his voice broke. A few seconds passed while he regained his composure. Then, “The disease annihilated Bridget, and I don’t solely mean because she died. I mean with what it did to her. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to fix any of it.”

  “That’s scary, thinking about going through it all again, if we were together and—”