* * *
The crescent moon levitated over the backyard where the Sinclairs had built a bonfire large enough to send smoke signals to Canada.
“You’re not melting your marshmallow.” Will pushed Cordelia’s stick closer to the fire.
“Stop bossing the poor girl around,” Donna Sinclair said. “She can make her S’more any darn way she wants.” But she grimaced as Cordelia’s marshmallow fell to the ground. “Will, help her, for crying out loud. Don’t just stand there.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He came toward Cordelia with a bag of Stay-Puffs and a gleam in his eye.
“You go back to your spot,” Cordelia said, still feeling slightly poleaxed from their earlier kiss. “I’ll get the hang of it.”
“We’d like you to do it before the New Year.” Will dug into the bag. “Allow me to assist.” Before she could say Mistletoe Mistake, he scooted in and wrapped his arms around her, guiding Cordelia’s hands toward the fire. “You can’t be afraid to get close to the flame.” His head turned and his cheek brushed hers. “That’s where everything gets good.”
His words hovered in the air around them.
“Maybe I want to do it my way,” Cordelia said.
“Your way isn’t working. This just needs a little teamwork.”
They stood like that for two more rounds of S’mores, his hands on hers, holding the marshmallow over the fire until it melted into gooey decadence.
“Is that as burned as you like?” Will’s lip curled at the black edges Cordelia had requested.
“You say burned, I say perfection.” She mashed the white blob into a graham cracker with a candy bar in the middle. “Taste this gourmet, charred creation.” She held it towards his mouth, laughing as the chocolate on her fingers smudged Will’s cheek.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” He grabbed her wrist and stole the S’more. “You want some chocolate?”
Laughing, Cordelia evaded the melted treat, but not before some of it found its way to her chin. Not ready to lose this fight, she rubbed her face against his, laughing when he only drew her closer, threatening retribution.
When Cordelia’s lips accidentally brushed against Will’s jaw, he stilled. But made no attempt to retreat.
“Will . . .” She saw the heated intent in his eyes, but surely he wouldn’t—
“Don’t start something you know I’m all too willing to finish.” Will captured Cordelia’s lips beneath his and kissed her until she gripped his coat and hung on. Her world turned upside down and spiraled at mach speed. Electricity lit her every nerve ending as he pulled her taut against him, afraid if she let go, she’d collapse into a puddle on the ground.
She heard his chest rumble with laughter as he lifted his head and stroked his thumb across her mouth. “You had a little something right there. But I think I got it.”
Cordelia was horribly certain if she turned around, she’d find every single Sinclair watching. “You just kissed me.”
He looked quite pleased with himself. “I did.”
“Right in front of your family.”
“Huh.” He flicked the zipper of her coat. “Are they still here?”
“Was that a Level One amount of physical contact?”
“No.” The corners of his lips tugged upward. “Pretty sure we just graduated to Level Two.”
Heaven help her if they even dipped a toe in Three. “I think being with your family has overwhelmed you and—”
“I think I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you trespassing on my lawn.”
“Oh.” Her heart melted like the marshmallow held over a flame.
His sister-in-law’s words came back to Cordelia. “I think you have Will’s heart.”
Bur surely that wasn’t true.
Though there was no point in denying it any longer.
Will Sinclair certainly held hers.
Chapter 17
Cordelia read Will’s text for the tenth time that day.
I’m picking you up at six.
Let’s crunch numbers all night long.
Will had been serious about attending her company Christmas party. Why would he want to go with her? She didn’t even want to go. Had he ever heard her boss sing “Love Shack” karaoke? It was not the bow you wanted to stick on the end of your year.
Last evening’s dinner with his family had been like free-falling from an airplane. She’d been exhilarated by the sweetness of it all—the food, the conversation, the laughter. It had done her heart good to see the Sinclair family circle around Will and enjoy each other, not to mention the way they’d included her. But then Will had kissed her, and she no longer understood the rules. Gravity, space, and time no longer held her upright, and she woke up this morning still flailing in the air.
Were they a couple now? Or was she just his Sugar Creek fling—Will’s crutch as he hobbled away from his family and deadlines? Cordelia had never been someone’s fling, so she wasn’t sure what the signs were or if she was emotionally stable enough to handle it. When she loved, she loved with her whole heart, and couldn’t walk way as if it had all meant nothing.
Not that she loved him.
That was ridiculous. Nobody fell in love over eleven days.
Did they?
Her doorbell rang twice, and Cordelia scooped up Isaiah, then opened the door.
Will didn’t say hello. He simply scowled. “Your dress is black.”
“Yes.” She patted Isaiah’s back as cold air rushed in.
“You’re wearing black to a Christmas party.” Stepping inside, Will felt Cordelia’s forehead, then ran his hands down her back.
She squirmed under his touch. “What are you doing?”
“Looking to see that it at least has a battery pack.”
“My dress doesn’t light up.”
“No tinsel in your hair, plain pearl earrings, and not one blinking, music-abusing device on you? Cordelia, I think this might be early signs of the flu.”
Cordelia wasn’t sick, but she sure wasn’t herself. For the first time, Isaiah had slept through the night, a feat that should’ve made the angels sing. Instead Cordelia had lain awake, counting sheep and romantic complications, catching about an hour of rest and a significant stockpile of anxieties. Weren’t they going to talk about the kiss? Talk about the fact that he’d smooched her right in front of his family? The numbers girl in her wanted to know what the value of that moment was to him. What category did she file it under, or did she just declare it a miscellaneous expense?
“Are you sure you want to suffer through the party?” Cordelia asked, allowing herself a moment to appreciate the sight of Will in a dark suit and cranberry tie. He looked like a GQ model and would surely be the best looking man at the party. And to think, he’d be with her.
“I’m certain,” Will said. “It’s charades and Pictionary night at my parents’ and I’d much rather hang out with you than try to decipher my dad’s inappropriate use of stick figures.” He pulled her to him and first kissed her cheek, then Isaiah’s. “Is the baby going?”
“Yes. My sitter canceled.” Her raised eyebrows dared him to reconsider his attendance.
“Works for me.” Will took the diaper bag and the wriggling baby from her arms. “Hey, there, little man. Are you ready for your first office party?”
Isaiah wore a red plaid shirt, denim bow tie, and itty bitty khakis. Buying baby clothes had become Cordelia’s new hobby, and unfortunately for her budget, she was way too good at it.
“Are there any jealous ex-boyfriends at this shindig I need to know about?” Will asked as they walked to his car.
“No.” Cordelia put the baby into his seat. “Though Sean Bartowski once asked me to have dinner with him.”
“That never went anywhere?”
She buckled herself in and clutched the diaper bag in her lap. “Turns out Sean lives with his mother, and the two go everywhere together. And that includes dates at the gas station all-you-can-eat buffet.”
“So the ba
r’s set pretty low.” Will turned the key, and the car roared to life. “Best odds I’ve had in a long time.”
* * *
“Is Isaiah getting too heavy?” Cordelia asked. “Your arms are probably tired. Let me take him.”
Frank Sinatra sang “Joy to the World” while Will drank his second glass of cranberry punch and held a sleeping Isaiah. The punch wasn’t spiked, and not for the first time, he wished it had been. “I’ve got this.” He waved a hand toward the dance floor of the hotel conference room where a group of people stepped and snapped. “Go mingle with your people. Your number nerds. Your calculator community.”
Cordelia bit into a glittery sugar cookie as she regarded him. “Not without you.” She licked her glossed lips. “We’re one of those inseparable couples.”
“Are we?”
“Yes. Completely annoying. We’re probably a few days away from creating a joint Facebook profile and dressing alike on the weekends.”
Will cradled a sleeping Isaiah in his arms. “I’m gonna look great in a ponytail.”
Cordelia had been an antsy mess all evening, and he was finally rewarded with a smile. Will wondered if she knew how that smile made people feel. She lit up a room just by walking into it and put everyone at ease. Even when wearing a coal black dress. What was up with that? It would’ve looked glamorous on anyone else, but on Cordelia, bright, sparkly Cordelia, it looked like something she’d wear to a funeral. She wasn’t acting like herself, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe after a year off, being back with her coworkers felt strange. It certainly didn’t feel strange to the staff of Fillmore and Associates. Upon Cordelia’s arrival, she’d been swarmed like Beyoncé and hugged till he thought she might deflate. Her coworkers clearly loved her. But who wouldn’t?
Even in that strangely drab dress, Cordelia looked amazing. Will had met a lot of chic A-list celebrities, interviewed exotic female dignitaries, and visited nearly every country on the planet. But no woman in the world had affected him like the sight of Cordelia tonight. Will wanted to ditch the accountants, put Cordelia and Isaiah on a plane, and fly them to his favorite restaurant in Charleston, tucking them away in a dim corner table where it would be just the three of them. No Christmas trappings. No nosy onlookers. He’d hold her hand during dinner, watch the candle reflection dance in her eyes, and ply her with some of his favorite travel stories until her heard her laugh and saw the dimples in her smile.
The techno music wound down, and the Mr. Fillmore grabbed a microphone from a stand. Her boss wrestled with the cord then smiled at the shushing crowd. “Is this thing on?” The mic squealed in protest.
With sleepy eyes, Isaiah lifted his head from Will’s shoulder and began to wail. Before Will could deliver even one gentle pat, Cordelia took the baby and held him to her, frantically rocking him like she was about to send him airborne.
“Shhh, Isaiah.” She rubbed his little back. “It’s okay. Shhh.”
“I’d like to congratulate everyone on a successful year,” Mr. Fillmore said. “We’ve had our most profitable year yet, and I owe it all to you, my fabulous employees.” He paused for a polite round of applause, which startled Isaiah even more. “Not only do we have Christmas bonuses to celebrate this year, but we have some long awaited promotions.” Chatter erupted all around them. Apparently this was a hot topic. “I’d like to announce a full-time position for our university intern. Misti Cotton, get on up here and take a bow.”
Isaiah’s lungs went into overdrive, and Cordelia wore a look of mild panic. “I’m going to take him into the hall,” she said, gathering up her diaper bag and quickly walking away.
“Is that Cordelia Daring I see?” Mr. Fillmore squinted behind his rimless glasses as his tie flashed red and green. “Don’t rush off yet, Cordelia.”
She swiveled and faced them, wearing a wobbly smile on her lips and a screaming Isaiah on her shoulder.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Fillmore and Associates couldn’t get along without this woman right here. I should know because we’ve tried.” He paused to give Isaiah’s volume a chance to diminish. “Can I present to you the next audit manager and vice-president of our company, Cordelia Daring!”
Will walked toward her, prepared to relieve her of Isaiah. But before he could get there, Cordelia’s wide eyes found his. She gave the slightest shake of her head, then bolted. Ran off like she was hoping to qualify for the Olympics.
A few minutes later Will found Cordelia on a couch in the hotel lobby. She had Isaiah tucked into the crook of one arm while she held a bottle to his lips. Sitting with her legs crossed, she bobbed one foot with a spastic, angry rhythm.
“Hey.” Will approached slowly, as if coming upon a wounded fawn. “What happened in there?”
“Isaiah’s not feeling well,” she said. “I need to get him home.”
Will looked at the wide-awake baby, happily chugging milk. “Does he have fever?”
“No.”
“Did he throw up?”
“No.” Cordelia sniffed. “But I can tell he doesn’t feel good. And that room is crawling with people. Germy ones who might want to touch Isaiah or sneeze in his direction. And who knows if we’re all on the same page about sufficient hand-washing. Will, did you know that some people don’t suds up above the wrist?”
Will had been raised with a sister. He knew when to keep his mouth shut and not bring up something ridiculous like logic and reality. “If you want to stay at the party, I can take care of Isaiah. It sounds like you were about to have a moment in there.”
“No.” She stood, still feeding the baby. Let’s just go home.” Plaintive eyes met Will’s. “Please.”
Cordelia had little to say on the ride home and shot down any of Will’s attempts to talk about the party. The watered down punch was apparently a safe topic, but when he broached her promotion, she cranked up the radio and punished him with the rap version of “Frosty the Snowman.”
Sleet began to pelt the windshield just as he steered the car into her driveway. Will shimmied out of his coat and held it over Cordelia as she gathered the baby and walked inside.
“I’m going to get Isaiah in his pajamas and put him down.” Cordelia kicked out of her heels, made a fast bottle, then padded down the hallway.
Fifteen minutes later, Will had rummaged through her kitchen until he found chamomile tea. He grabbed the mug and walked down the hall till he spied Isaiah’s bedroom. The room glowed with a star night light, casting enchanting shadows on the walls. Cordelia sat in an oversized glider, fast asleep. In her arms she cradled her foster son, who nestled toward her, his little hands folded as if in prayer.
Will took a drink of Cordelia’s tea and just watched her, the strange sensation of happiness drifting upward to the vicinity of his heart. Her cheek pressed against the chair, Cordelia looked slightly disheveled, completely exhausted, and yet blissfully content to hold this small baby. It was a tableau begging to be painted, a photo waiting to be taken. A scene lit by a tiny plug-in light and God himself.
He set the mug down then gently eased Isaiah from Cordelia’s grip, marveling at the way the child radiated warmth and some fathomless, intangible thing that wrapped around them both and soothed Will’s unsettled soul. Isaiah curled his fingers beneath his chin as Will placed him back into the crib.
The children who’d perished in the bombing had once looked like this—small, innocent, oblivious to the evils of the world. If only he could turn back time and fix it all. Never have opened another school, never have gone to Durnama. How many parents had come home to empty bedrooms with nothing but memories of nights like this?
“Will?”
He turned to find Cordelia watching him. “Go back to sleep.”
She smiled and stretched. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve nodded off in here.” Her voice was a hushed whisper in the room. “I could watch Isaiah by the hour. He’s perfect, isn’t he?”
Will let his finger graze the velvety softness of Isaiah’s cheek. “He’s. . .” He
struggled to find the right adjective, but none would do the child justice. “He is perfect.” Dragging himself away from the crib, Will loosened his tie, then sat down on the carpet beside Cordelia’s chair. “Are we going to talk about tonight?”
Her rocking stilled. “What about it?”
“Your promotion. You jetting off like the building was on fire.”
“I’ll explain to my boss on Monday. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Was this how Cordelia felt when she tried to talk to him? “Help me understand.”
She rubbed the back of her neck, the fatigue back in her eyes. “You’re saying my exit was a little out of proportion to the moment?”
“Maybe I was the only one who noticed.”
She picked up a fuzzy stuffed bear, held it to her face, and groaned. “What is wrong with me?”
“Besides sleep-deprivation and a questionable collection of Christmas sweaters?”
“One of those qualities would make me a slam dunk on Match.com.”
He didn’t even want to think of her on any dating site. “Let’s lay out the facts here.” He leaned toward her, his voice church-sermon low. “You got a big promotion, and instead of going up to accept it, you ran out of the room.”
“I think we’ve already covered that.”
“Do you need any more confirmation you don’t want to return to the accounting gig?”
“This again?”
“The evidence is really starting to stack up.”
Cordelia massaged a spot above her temple before meeting his gaze. They were two people having a whispered conversation in a darkened nursery. It was intimate and strange. Yet somehow felt just right.
“The promotion came as a shock is all,” she finally said. “It would be like ABC announcing on Good Morning America that you’d been hired to host—without your knowledge you were even in the running.”
“You didn’t know a promotion to vice-president was an option?”
She ran a finger over the teddy bear’s pink nose. “It had been dangled a few times, but I thought Mr. Fillmore was just saying things to woo me back. I figured I was too young for him to truly consider it. The last person he made VP was fifty-five and had already had two knee replacements. How could I compete with that?”
His Mistletoe Miracle Page 11
