A Dash of Christmas

by Samantha Chase

“Well, damn. I thought for sure I had created the perfect foil for your bacon pasta.” And when he looked up at her and laughed, she knew her plan had worked. Stepping closer to the stove, she watched as he whisked the sauce and then added the pasta to it. It didn’t smell half bad, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. More than anything Emery was determined to get him to cook some of the things she liked rather than constantly pushing his frou-frou food on her.

  “Pretty clever trick,” he teased. “For a minute there I thought there was really a problem. Adding theatrics seems a little drastic just to get out of eating a five-star meal.”

  “Five star? Someone’s awful confident in his cooking skills.”

  That had him laughing heartily. “Sweetheart, I think we both know I’m confident in all of my skills.” The heated look he gave her left nothing to her imagination. He knew exactly where her mind would go with that innuendo and he was right—he was confident in everything he did. But more so in the bedroom.

  And with good reason.

  “Well, since we’ve already established your confidence in the kitchen, how about we move on to something else,” she said silkily, motioning over her shoulder toward his bedroom.

  He seemed amused as he plated their dinner. “Nice try, Em. You’re not getting out of this meal until you try at least one forkful of my carbonara.”

  Muttering a curse, she followed him over to the table with their wine glasses and took her seat. Staring at her plate, she asked, “And what else is in this? You know, other than the pancetta-bacon stuff?”

  “Cream, butter, pancetta, onions, grated cheese… Just taste it before you start making that face again, please.”

  “Fine.” Picking up her fork, she pushed her food this way and that before finally steeling herself against her distaste at the thought of it. Twirling the pasta on her fork, she picked it up and noticed Carter staring at her expectantly. “I’m not going to eat while you stare at me, Carter. So knock it off.”

  Without a word, he took a forkful of his pasta and put it in his mouth—and made a sexy as hell yummy sound.

  Damn the man.

  With a dramatically loud huff of breath, she tasted it.

  Oh, that’s good.

  Double damn the man.

  Don’t make a yummy sound. Don’t make a yummy sound…

  Placing her fork down primly beside her plate, she chewed and noticed Carter glancing at her while he pretended to be busy twirling his own pasta. Next, she picked up her napkin and gently dabbed at the corners of her mouth.

  “Well?” he finally asked, impatient.

  “It’s not bad,” she forced herself to say. “But—”

  His expression fell and she hated that she had hurt his feelings. “But…?”

  And she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let him believe he’d done anything wrong. “It’s good, okay?” she snapped. “There. Happy now? It’s good. Really good. I still would have preferred a red sauce, but this is very good.” Slouching down in her chair, she pouted.

  Reaching across the table, Carter took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing it. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

  “Yes. It was incredibly painful because now I know you’re not going to make the stuff I want. I’m going to be deprived of the foods I am practically fantasizing about because of this.”

  “You’ve been fantasizing about food? Seriously?”

  “Food is my comfort, Carter. I have a food for every mood and you haven’t let me have most of them.”

  He sat back and studied her. “Really? A food for every mood?”

  Nodding, she explained. “There’s the usual everyone has—when I’m not feeling well, I love a good bowl of soup and maybe some grilled cheese. When I’m stressed, I enjoy a good meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy. If that stress is really getting to me, I love french fries with extra salt. On a lazy Sunday afternoon, there is something about smelling a pot roast slow-cooking in the kitchen.”

  “And you make all these things yourself?”

  “Hardly,” she said with a small laugh. “My grandmother used to cook—my dad’s mom. She made the best pot roast ever. I haven’t had one like it since she passed away about ten years ago, but I always try it when I see it on a menu. You know, if I’m in the mood.” Then she sighed, realizing she hadn’t thought of that in a long time. “Going to her house was a comfort to me and I guess that’s why I associate some of those foods with my emotions. When things were tense at home or the pressure of school was getting to me, a weekend with Grandma used to go a long way in making me feel better.”

  “Most people do equate food with good memories. That’s why this cookbook was so important to my mother. She wanted to convey that feeling. I’m not sure we did exactly what she wanted, but I think we came pretty damn close.”

  “We did a great job, Carter. Well, you did. You did all the hard work.”

  He squeezed her hand. “It was a team effort, Em. I couldn’t do it without you.” He squeezed again. “Thank you. Thank you for doing something that meant so much to my mom. I know she’s thrilled with everything you did.”

  “She made it easy. I wanted to make her smile.”

  The look on his face showed how much he appreciated her words.

  “I’m not sure if this is the right time to bring this up, but…she seems to be doing well,” Emery said cautiously. “I know losing your father so suddenly was awful. They were married for so long and I know she struggled a lot with it. But lately, it’s like she’s coming back into her own, you know?”

  Carter nodded and took a sip of his wine. “I feel the same way.” Then he laughed softly. “Actually, I knew she was when she started nagging me about this project. There was always guilt involved—she’s a master at throwing that around—but more and more, I’m seeing signs of the old Mom. She’s always been a bit feisty, but my father used to try to—” He stopped himself and seemed to regret his words.

  Emery waited for him to continue or move on to another topic, but instead he went back to eating. “You know,” she began gently, “it’s okay to say when something about your father bothered you. I know people say it’s not nice to speak ill of the dead, but it’s also not a good thing to pretend the things they said or did were all perfect.”

  The silverware clanked down loudly against his plate, but he wasn’t looking at her. “Whenever Mom and I had time together one-on-one, she was always so happy. She’d make jokes and had a wicked sense of humor. But when my father was with her, she was always stiff and reserved, and I used to hate that. When I’d try to get her to say something snarky or comment on something she might have said to me and my father was there, he would cut us off and tell us to stop acting ridiculous.” His expression turned fierce for the barest of moments before going neutral. “Eventually, I just gave up. I figured if that’s how she wanted to live, then who was I to rock the boat.”

  “You’re her son! Did you ever confront your father about it?”

  This time his laugh was mirthless. “Believe me, I confronted my father about a lot of things. Not that it ever did me any good.” He shrugged and reached for his glass again. “But I had it easy. Well, easier than my brother. By not working for the corporate Montgomery machine, I at least had some distance. Christian never stood a chance. I’m glad he’s finally getting to live his life the way he wants to.”

  Before Emery could react—could wrap her brain around his words and how harsh they were—Carter hung his head and she could see how he was struggling with his admission. When he looked at her, his expression was devastated.

  “That was awful, wasn’t it,” he said flatly. “It sounds like I’m glad he’s dead so our family can have some peace.” He muttered a curse, swiped a weary hand over his face. “What kind of person does that make me?”

  “An honest one. Not every person who dies is a martyr and n
ot everyone gets remembered fondly. We all have our faults, Carter.”

  “But he’s not here to defend himself,” he said quietly.

  “And if he was, would anything be different? Would you suddenly not feel this way about him?”

  He stared at her for a long moment before he said, “No. No, I would still feel this way.” He paused. “Right before Dad died, Christian and I had a long talk and we both decided we were tired of the way he treated us. For so many years, we each kept our struggles with the old man to ourselves and finally we were going to band together and try to put an end to all of the negativity. But we never got the chance.”

  Reaching across the table, she placed her hand over his. “I’m so sorry, Carter.”

  “We’ll never know…we’ll never know if things could have changed. We each craved his approval even when it was unhealthy. Christian did until it became an obsession that almost killed him.” He let out a long breath. “We all have peace now—but also a sense of unfinished business. There will never be any closure.”

  Emery knew Joseph Montgomery had died suddenly after complications from a stroke. But hearing this side of the story—how his death not only affected his family due to the suddenness, but also the way he had treated all of them—broke her heart. While her parents weren’t exactly the warm and fuzzy types, she realized things could have been a lot worse.

  Although…

  “I learned early on that the way to gain my parents’ approval was through doing well in school,” she said softly. “It wasn’t as if I set out to have it be that way, it’s just how it turned out. I remember how excited I was when they first started bragging about me and how good my grades were. Up until then, it was my sisters who were getting all the attention.”

  “They were good in school?”

  She shook her head. “No, but they took ballet and gymnastics, and we were always going to recitals or competitions. I know my mother enjoyed it and they tried to get me into it as well, but…let’s just say I wasn’t as graceful as my sisters.”

  Carter’s eyes went a little wide. “I find that hard to believe. You were always…well, whenever I thought of you—particularly when we got older—you reminded me of Audrey Hepburn.” His lopsided grin made her heart skip a beat. “To me you always exuded grace and confidence. More so than any other woman I’ve ever met.”

  Wow.

  “Carter, I…” But she didn’t know what to say. There weren’t words to convey how much his description of her meant.

  “It’s true,” he said tenderly, turning her hand over and linking their fingers together. “I look at you and I’m a little in awe. And intimidated. All those years where we competed against one another, it was because of that.” His grin was back. “Plus it was fun watching you get all flustered.”

  Laughing, she pulled her hand away. “And now you ruined it.”

  But he was faster and had not only grabbed her hand back but managed to tug her out of her chair and into his lap. “You’re one hell of a woman, Emery. Always remember that.”

  And then he kissed her, and all talk of food and families was over.

  * * *

  It was late and Carter couldn’t sleep. Beside him, Emery was out cold. Quietly, he slipped from the bed, pulled on a pair of shorts, and walked out to the living room, closing the door behind him. Staring at the room, he chuckled. It was still decorated for Christmas. At first he thought it was crazy to keep it all up, since the pictures and book were done, but they’d decided to wait a few more days and have it all removed the day before they headed to his mother’s.

  Grabbing a bottle of water, he walked back out to the living room and turned on the tree lights before sitting on the sofa. As a kid, he remembered staying up late and enjoying staring at the Christmas tree while it was all lit up and no other lights were on in the house.

  Just like now.

  Feeling a little nostalgic—and a little emotionally raw after their conversation over dinner—Carter decided to call his brother and reached for his phone on the coffee table. With the three-hour time difference, it shouldn’t be too late in California and Christian should still be up.

  “Please don’t be calling with bad news,” Christian said as he answered the phone.

  “Why would you so much as think that?”

  “The last time you called late at night, it was to tell me Dad died, remember?”

  Honestly, he hadn’t. But after a moment he said, “It was much later than this. Unless you’re such an old man now that nine o’clock is past your bedtime.” He laughed as he got comfortable on the couch.

  “It is when my beautiful wife is already there and waiting for me,” Christian replied lightly.

  “Oh…uh, well if now isn’t a good time, you can… I mean, we can talk some other time,” he stammered, hating how he hadn’t thought about what his brother and his new bride might be up to.

  Christian’s bark of laughter brought him out of his thoughts. “Oh, good Lord, relax, Carter. I was joking!”

  Whew! “Ha ha. Very funny.”

  “Yeah, well, I hate to admit it, but when I saw your name on the screen, my first thought was that you might be calling to tell me something happened to Mom.”

  Damn. “That sucks,” he stated. “And it’s unfair—it was one bad news call in, like…thirty years. I don’t want you feeling dread whenever you see my name.” He paused. “And might I remind you I’ve called you plenty of times between then and now and you never reacted like this.”

  “I know. I can’t explain it. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Sorry.” He could hear his brother moving around a bit and then telling Sophie who he was talking to on the phone before he spoke again. “So what’s up? Kind of late where you are, isn’t it?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. I’m feeling a little restless and figured I’d give you a call to distract me.”

  “You should open the windows and doors and listen to the ocean. It goes a long way in helping me relax. Although it’s probably a lot colder where you are right now.”

  Carter laughed softly. “Just a bit. And yeah, you were spot on about that. I can’t believe how much it has helped me over the last month.”

  “How’s the new restaurant coming?”

  “Great,” he said quickly, though he didn’t quite mean it. “Construction is coming along, and every day I have calls with the designers and there’s progress, but…I don’t know, I’m still not feeling it.”

  “What’s going on? You’ve never had this much trouble before. What’s bothering you?”

  Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair, his head falling back against the cushions. “I wish I knew. I’ve been planning on having this place out here for so damn long, but nothing is gelling in my head about the specifics. So what I have—or what I’m going to have very soon—is the shell of a restaurant with no real design, interior, or menu in mind. And they all go together. If I can just figure out one, the rest will fall into place.”

  “Which one is the most important?”

  “The menu.”

  “So what’s the problem? Food has always been your thing. This should be a breeze for you. If anything, I would have thought the menu had to be done before you broke ground.”

  “It was,” he admitted, “but then I kept changing it and changing it until I threw the whole concept out. I want something different for this place, but I have no idea what that is.”

  “You mean like having one kind of cuisine—like Italian or French, something like that?”

  He shook his head even though his brother couldn’t see him. “No, it’s just—” He muttered a curse. “It’s like it’s right there just out of my reach. It’s frustrating, and no matter what I do or how hard I try to work it out, nothing’s coming to me. I’ve been cooking up a storm for this damn cookbook project for Mom, and while it was fun, it didn’t inspire me all that m
uch.”

  “Maybe you’re thinking about it too hard and trying to work it all out yourself. Why not go out into the community and see what type of place they’re looking for? Ask around and see what’s missing?”

  “I did all the market research more than a year ago. I know what will work here, it’s just… It’s not what I want to do. I’m not passionate about it.”

  “And that’s important to you?”

  “Of course it is!” he snapped and then instantly cringed. No need to wake up Emery. His voice lowered, he went on, “When I open the place, I’m going to be there every day for the first three to six months. I need to be passionate about what I’m cooking, and the name of the restaurant and the décor all need to reflect what I’m trying to say with the food. It’s a vicious circle and I can’t seem to get anything to stick.”

  They were quiet for a moment before Christian asked, “What are you looking at right now?”

  Carter chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  “A Christmas tree.”

  Now it was Christian’s turn to laugh. “Seriously? It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”

  Carter explained Emery’s thought process for decorating the house and how much it had helped them get started on the book. “We got some good pictures and I have to admit, the place looks great. All of this stuff should have come down days ago, but we can’t seem to make ourselves do it.”

  “So…you and Emery, huh? I mean, she’s great and I always thought that, but knowing the history between the two of you? It just seems weird.”

  “Wait—how did you… I mean, I never said…”

  Christian found that hilarious. “Dude, really? Every word you just spoke about her said it all. In all the years the two of you have known each other, you’ve never talked about her like that. That’s number one. Number two, there’s no way you would have brought her out to Montauk with you if there wasn’t something going on, so don’t try to deny it.”

  He sighed. “Okay, fine. But I wasn’t going to deny it, I just wasn’t going to share, that’s all.”