A Holiday Lift

by Corinne Michaels

  I groan, regretting my stupidity. “What?” he asks.

  “I just . . . what if your mother still doesn’t like me?”

  Dean’s brows furrow. “What are you talking about? She loves you.”

  “She loved me before we moved in together. She loved me when she thought this was just a fling and you’d move back to California instead of staying here.”

  Kayti Pritchard is the sweetest, most traditional mother who has ever lived.

  When I flew out with him to California for Christmas the first year we were together, it was a shock for her, but she seemed happy to meet me. I guess Dean had talked about me to his family, which made me smile.

  However, she wasn’t happy when she caught us making out at midnight in the kitchen. After that, it was a little rocky, but we had been making progress. Then she put two and two together and realized we moved in together right after Christmas last year.

  For two months, Dean would go in the bedroom, hiding any evidence that I moved into his apartment before she called him out. We endured three hours of listening to all the reasons we had to get married so we weren’t living in sin, and how it was much too soon. I’m pretty sure she lived under the delusion that Dean was saving himself for marriage.

  “I promise, she has no issues with you now.”

  I don’t believe him.

  “And you still want me to sleep in the guestroom while she’s here?” I challenge.

  He laughs. “No, that was a joke.”

  “Yeah right.”

  “This is our home, Holly. It’s where we are building a life together. I love you, and regardless of whatever my mother says, that won’t change. Now, let’s not talk about mothers, dinner, or work, and enjoy what time we have instead.”

  I let out a deep sigh and wrap my arms around his middle. “I know what I would really like to do with the time we have before our parents arrive.”

  “What’s that?”

  I push up on my toes, moving my hands along his spine. “Well, first, I think we’re overdressed.”

  His eyes soften and the mood around us shifts. “I think that can be remedied.”

  “Second, I think there will be a lot of touching . . . but where do we start . . .”

  Dean leans down, scooping me up into his arms, and then his mouth is on mine, which saves me from having to elaborate.

  6

  I love this woman. This crazy, exciting, maddening woman who came into my life, obliterating everything around her.

  I carry her into our room, lying her on the bed like the goddess she is. Some days, I look at her and wonder what god I made happy enough for me to cross paths with her. Two years with her has taught me so much about love and life.

  Holly is in a pair of leggings and a large green sweater than hangs off her shoulder, and she’s never looked more beautiful. “You said something about clothes,” I remind her as I start to unbutton my dress shirt.

  She sits up, pulling her top off, showing a white lacy bra thing that hooks around her neck. The person who invented lace was a fucking genius. I stand here, hand suspended on a button, forgetting how to move.

  “You’re gorgeous.”

  “You’re still dressed.” Holly stands, her fingers finishing what mine can’t. Each tug on my shirt does something to my heart. We never should’ve been, but fate stepped in and gave us a second chance.

  One that I’ve vowed not to squander. There is no doubt in my mind that Holly is the answer to every prayer I’ve spoken. She’s the other half to my soul, and I want to spend the rest of my life making her as happy as she’s made me.

  This Christmas is one she’ll never forget.

  I push her hair back off her face, thumb grazing her cheek. “How the hell did I ever catch you?”

  She smiles. “I wonder the same thing. If that storm didn’t happen, would we have each other?”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  Holly rises up so her nose grazes mine. “I think we were meant to be.”

  I palm her breast and bring my lips to her neck. It doesn’t matter that we’ve done this countless times. Each time with her is special.

  She pushes my shirt off, her hands moving up my chest. “I love you.”

  “I love you,” I reassure her. “So fucking much.”

  We move at the same time, fusing our lips together, giving ourselves over to the desire that pulses between us. I slide her leggings down, and she kicks them off before unbuttoning my pants.

  As I watch her lie back on the bed, I take a second to appreciate what I’m lucky enough to have. I promised her that I would make her love Christmas again, and I’ve worked hard to give her happiness every day of the year, but this Christmas, I’m going all out.

  I kiss down her neck and then her chest, sucking on her nipple the way she likes. Her fingers grip my hair as I go lower. I push her legs open, grazing the skin on her inner thigh.

  “Dean,” she moans.

  My tongue darts out, just barely touching her clit, and she tightens her grip on my hair, pulling me where she wants me.

  I lick, suck, and savor every sound that escapes her lips. Holly lifts her hips, and I start to fuck her with my mouth, bringing her closer and closer. I reach down and wrap my hand around my cock, moving in time with my tongue.

  Holly explodes, her cries filling the room and then she’s clawing at me to get near her.

  “Please, Dean, I need you,” she begs.

  I love her voice, how needy she is for me. I climb up, lining myself right where I want to be. Our gazes meet, and there’s desire swimming in her brown eyes, but there is also love. So much love that if I were standing, I’d knock me to my knees.

  The words that I want to say hover on my lips, but I have a plan and that doesn’t include my saying it before making love to her.

  Her hands cup my face as she studies me. “What is it?”

  “You.”

  “I feel the same way.”

  She parts her legs a little more and shifts, urging me to enter her. “You’re mine, Holly.”

  “Always.”

  I sink inside her, the warmth of her body wrapping around me like a blanket. I moan as she grips me, and then I make love to her, giving her everything I have.

  “I’m freaking out.” Holly is pacing at the exit from the terminal, shaking her hands as though she can expel the nervous energy. I try not to smile, but she’s so damn cute. This is what she does before a pitch, and since we’re in different departments, I never get to see this side of her anymore.

  “Relax,” I tell her, pulling her to my chest. “It’ll be fine.”

  “I want your family to like me.”

  “And they do.”

  She gives me a skeptical side eye and then pushes away from me. “We should’ve gone there.”

  “Holly, stop, it’ll be fine. My mother likes you, and she’ll like you even more after she gets to know you better. Just . . . deep breaths.”

  This Christmas I have big plans. Everything is in motion, I just need our families to get here and do their part to make the surprise go off without issues.

  My phone pings.

  * * *

  Mom: Deboarding now.

  * * *

  Me: Holly and I are here waiting for you.

  * * *

  Mom: Can’t wait to see you.

  * * *

  I don’t miss that she didn’t say both of you. I’m an only child, and after the loss of my father, she’s become a bit overprotective. I think she believed I would move back to California after college, forgetting that she was the one who encouraged me to attend Northwestern, where I fell in love with the city and my job.

  I take Holly’s hand, standing as the people exit, passing the security desk. “I promise, this Christmas is going to be perfect.”

  Holly lets out a sigh, giving me a warm smile. “It already is.”

  I lean down, pressing my lips to hers. “Just be you, sweetheart. There’s not a person who can resi
st you.”

  As I stare into those blue eyes, I hear someone clearing their throat.

  Both our heads snap over. “Mom!”

  “Dean, my sweet boy!”

  I don’t care that I’m thirty-four and a grown man, when my mother pulls me in for a hug, everything feels like it’s possible. All the plans I’ve been agonizing over for the past few weeks, and even the stress of my mother coming, disappears.

  It’s going to be fine.

  It has to be fine.

  Mom releases me and smiles at Holly. “It’s so good to see you,” she says.

  It’s as though all the air that was being held in a balloon releases, and Holly hugs my mother. “I hope your flight was good.”

  “It was. Long, and really, you didn’t need to upgrade me.” My mother pats my cheek. “But it was sweet.”

  “It was Holly’s idea.”

  She turns to her. “Thank you, dear. It’s great that Dean has someone to take care of him.”

  I want to argue with her, but then my phone rings. “It’s the office, I have to take this,” I say before excusing myself.

  “Hi, Misty.”

  “Hey, Dean, sorry to bother you . . . I know you have the next four days off, but we have a big problem.”

  My assistant wouldn’t call if it weren’t something serious. “What’s going on?”

  She relays all the facts about the client and how they’re getting ready to walk. I had everything shirred up before I left work on Friday.

  “How did it get this bad?” I ask.

  “It seems the client wasn’t really on board from the beginning. Matthew has been trying to keep them happy, but . . . I guess they’re a few hours away from cutting all ties with us. I . . .”

  I look over at my mother and Holly. “I’ll be in the office in forty minutes. No one touches anything.”

  And with that, all the stress I thought was gone, is back again.

  7

  “The apartment looks lovely,” Dean’s mother notes as she moves around. “And which is your room?”

  Oh, I am going to kill him when he gets back. “Did you want to get unpacked?” I ask, hoping to avoid her question.

  “No, no, it’s fine. Do you know when Dean will be back?”

  I shake my head. It’s been three very long hours. At first, it was fine, we came home, put her bags in the spare room, and then went to the grocery store for provisions that I apparently missed. While I thought I got most of what I needed for our dinner tomorrow, Mrs. Pritchard wanted to make a few special dishes that her family eats each year that she didn’t tell me about.

  Then we called her mother, who won’t be in until later tonight, but that phone call only gave me twenty minutes where I was not-so-patiently waiting for Dean to return.

  Now, though, we were done adding a few decorations to the tree, final touches she thought would make it look a little more festive, and . . . still no Dean.

  “I don’t,” I admit. “I’ll text him.”

  My fingers fly over my phone, which hasn’t left my hand, and I send a frantic text.

  * * *

  Me: Babe, where are you?

  * * *

  I keep staring at the phone, willing it to respond. I look over at her with a smile. “He’s probably dealing with the client.”

  She nods. “Does he do that a lot?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean does he disappear often for work?”

  “We are both very busy, and I understand it,” I reassure her.

  “He’s always been this way.” Her smile reaches her eyes. “As a child, he would be in his room, perfecting his papers as though each word had to be perfect. He could never quit until it was exactly the way he wanted it.”

  Mrs. Pritchard takes a seat on the couch, patting the cushion beside her. I make my way over, nerves starting to settle a bit. This kind of thing I could do. “He’s still like that. I can’t tell you how many nights I would wake up hearing the pounding of his fingers on the keyboard. It’s why he’s so successful at the company.”

  “I’m very proud of him.”

  “I am too.”

  We share a kinship here. “You love my son, don’t you?”

  “Very much.”

  “He is very much in love with you too.”

  I think back on the story of us, how if anyone else had been narrating it, we would’ve parted ways once the elevator opened. He would’ve gone to California, probably found a job and lived closer to his family. I wouldn’t have gotten that promotion and would have lost out on the life I’m currently living. It’s crazy how much can change in an instant.

  Focusing on her, I do what maybe she’s been waiting for from me. “Dean’s happiness, his goals and dreams, are partially mine too. Loving him means sharing them, not wanting to diminish them.”

  “And if he got transferred?” She counters.

  “Then we’d figure it out.”

  “I see the hesitation in your eyes. You’re just as career focused as he is. That’s what worries me sometimes.”

  I can understand that. She loves her son and doesn’t want to see him hurt or held back. “And what if I got transferred? It’s the same thing, we would find a way. I truly believe that. Dean and I . . . well, there’s no one else for me.”

  Mrs. Pritchard takes my hand in both of hers. “Then hold on to each other, Holly. Don’t let me or anyone else stand in your way. Life is short, so love him like tomorrow may not come.”

  My heart aches for her as a tear trickles down her cheek. She loved her husband so deeply, and even though it’s been ten years, I can hear the pain in her voice.

  “I will.”

  “When I lost my husband I remember wishing I hadn’t fought him on the little things, you know?”

  I nod. “My mother felt the same.”

  “Dean mentioned your father passed a few years ago.”

  “Yes, four.”

  “That must’ve been hard.”

  She has no idea. I was everything to my father. He doted on me, and I would’ve done anything to make him happy. We lost him so fast that there was no time to prepare. Not that anyone can ever really be ready, but he was fine one day and gone the next.

  A massive heart attack.

  A massive hole in my heart.

  “It’s been difficult, but my mother and I have wonderful memories.”

  She pats my hand. “The memories are what get us through, even on the holidays.”

  “And the people who are still alive.”

  Mrs. Pritchard smiles. “Yes, it’s important to have family around us.”

  The holidays are bittersweet for me. I’m glad that I have Dean and people around me I love, but I miss my daddy. I think about all the things he’ll never be a part of. He didn’t get to meet Dean or see where we live. He’ll never get to walk me down the aisle if I get married or hold my children. The holidays are a time I think about that loss more, yet I’m also happy for what I do have.

  “I am really glad you came, Mrs. Pritchard.”

  “Oh, none of that. You’re family now, you can call me Mom or Kayti.”

  I smile at her, wanting to cry. “Thank you, Mom.”

  She squeezes my hand. “No tears. We have a lot to do for this dinner. Come on, Holly, let’s teach you how to make mashed potato pie. If you’re going to host Christmas dinner from now on, you’ll need to be sure it’s always on the table. It’s a Pritchard family tradition.”

  I fight back the sudden surge of emotions that come with her wanting to show me their family recipe. My lip trembles, and I force a smile. “Thank you.”

  She pats my back, her voice soothing. “It’s me who should be thanking you, dear. You’re what every mother hopes her son will find. Now, are you ready to get in the kitchen?”

  I nod. “But first, can you tell me what the heck mashed potato pie is?”

  “It’s a dish best experienced.” She winks and I wonder what the heck I got myself into.


  “Where are you?” I ask into the receiver. “My mother got here an hour ago and you haven’t called.”

  Dean let’s out a heavy sigh. “What time is it?”

  “Almost nine.”

  Seven hours have passed, and he’s been completely silent. Not even responding to my texts. It wasn’t until I emailed his assistant that he finally called me.

  “Jesus. I . . . it’s a shitshow here and I can’t leave.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Holls. I’m trying, but the client is in an uproar, and if I lose him—.” He groans. “I can’t even think about it.”

  I take a deep breath. “Can I help?”

  “I wish you could, but . . . look it’s bad and right now, I may have to fly out to do this in person. This is the big company I brought in and . . .”

  He doesn’t have to explain that if the client walks, he’ll lose his job. I know if I were to assure him that if that happened—which I don’t think it would—we’d be okay on my salary, he wouldn’t change his mind.

  Dean is driven, and its part of why I’m so attracted to him. He needs to fix this, not just because it’s his job but because it matters to him.

  “I understand. Listen, do whatever you have to, but Christmas is in two days.”

  “Believe me, sweetheart, I know.”

  “When would you leave?” I ask, feeling a slight tinge of disappointment at even the idea of him going.

  “Tonight. Tomorrow. I don’t know.”

  There’s no mistaking the sadness in his voice. Even if I want to be mad, I can’t be. Dean doesn’t want to miss Christmas any more than I want him to.

  “Okay, well, you tell me what you need, and we’ll . . . we’ll just have to adjust.”

  I start to make contingency plans because I won’t let this ruin our holiday. It’s important that this year goes off without any issues. The first year, everything was so new because we’d just survived being trapped in an elevator. But it was the holidays so it felt like some magical twist.