by B. E. Baker
No one loves Christmas like Pais. I'm actually surprised she didn't give me a full pink bunny suit. The Christmas Story is her favorite movie.
So far today, I've only consumed one ham sandwich, and one bowl of multigrain cheerios. After running ten miles, I need food. I mentally scan the inside of my fridge to see what I might make. Scrambled eggs. Toast with jam. A salad with boiled eggs. I open the freezer and I realize why none of that sounded great when I see a pint of double chocolate Blue Bell ice cream. I usually eat quite clean, and I'm over Foster, and I barely know Luke, and money is only money. But still, it's been a long week.
I grab the pint and consider a bowl, but since I love the environment, I really ought to eat it straight from the container. I plop down on my sofa and turn on an episode of Gilmore Girls. The one where Jess finally kisses Rory, one of my favorites. Dopey Dean's upset, but it's totally worth it. I've only eaten a few bites when there's a knock at the door. I pause my show just as Jess is about to kiss her. I'm cranky about the timing on this person, whoever it is.
Ice cream in hand, I stroll toward the door. Who would be here at six p.m. on a Saturday? It's probably Paisley in platform heels wearing a light-up Christmas tree sweater. That girl loves her eggnog. It would be just like her to try to convince me to go out both nights, and feel like she's doing me a favor.
I swing the door open while saying, “I'm too tired, Pai—”
Luke's arm is raised as though he was about to knock again. He's not wearing a Christmas tree sweater, but the sweater he is wearing is a festive color of cranberry. His eyes travel from my face, down to my toes and then back up again.
“Uh, hey there Mary. I couldn't get you on the phone to confirm, but I thought we had a date.”
I force a smile and hope my mouth isn't too chocolate-y. As if that's my problem right now.
Chapter 12
He frowns. “I guess I know in the future that if you don't answer when I call, our plans are off.”
“I left the wings for Amy when I missed the pageant. I thought. . .” I trail off, because what was I thinking? We had a date planned, but then I raced into the house so fast last time, I wasn't sure whether it was on or not. Then after I completely flaked on Amy's performance and didn't answer his calls, he thought everything was fine?
“Why yes,” Luke says, “I would love to come inside to talk about this where it's warm.”
“Uh, sure.” I open the door wider and tilt myself sideways so he can push past me and into my living room. He's carrying some kind of box, and I'm wondering what it is until I notice my skirt and blouse and boots are strewn all over the room. I haven't done dishes in days, and I badly need to sweep. My face flushes and want to run and hide, or yell at Luke, or maybe both.
“You really didn't think we had a date tonight, did you?”
I shake my head. “Not after I missed Amy's performance, no.”
“You said you'd try to come. You're working two jobs, and you did bring the wings by, which was a kind gesture. Amy's been alternating between pretending to be a bird and an angel all day long. Chase is pretending to be a cat whenever she's a bird, so there's been a lot of shrieking, but all in all, I'd say bringing those over was a good idea.”
“I'm glad she's enjoying them.” My fingers itch to clean up the dishes. My feet itch to walk into my closet, to hide or at least change out of these absurd pajamas. Luke's presence locks me into place.
“Did you come by the job site Thursday?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. I had a work meeting sprung on me late Thursday night to prepare for my new promotion, and I was worried I'd miss Amy's performance. I thought maybe I could drop off her wings to you there since it was on my way to the meeting.”
Luke beams. “That was considerate. I'm sorry I missed you. I'd just left. You made quite an impression on the boys. I'm sorry they were so awful.”
I raise one eyebrow. “How did you know they were gross?”
He grins, both dimples showing and I melt a little bit. “Safe guess, because they're always gross around women when they're in a group for some reason. It's like they lose their collective minds. I'm sorry for that.”
“Should I go change clothes?” I ask.
Luke shrugs out of his coat. “You said you were tired when you answered the door. Why don't we order pizza and hang out here. Unless you want me to leave?”
I shake my head. “No, it's fine. I just thought you'd be upset, and Amy too.”
He frowns. “Amy was sad, but you told her you'd try, and you explained you had a lot of work. It was a pretty last minute invite.”
“Maybe I should change clothes.”
“If you're uncomfortable you should, but don't change for me. I think you look great.”
I sputter. “Nothing about this twenty year old t-shirt and hand me down pajama pants ensemble is great.”
He shrugs. “It works for you. You look as beautiful as the first night I saw you in that red dress.”
“That better not be true.”
“It's my truth.” Luke pulls out his phone. “What pizza place do you like?”
“Sorrento's is good and they're close. Since we're at my house, it can be my treat.” I grab my phone and dial the number, turning toward the kitchen so he can't object. “Yes, this is Mary Wiggin. I'd like a large pizza, half with pineapple and bacon and. . .” I turn to ask Luke what he wants, but he's moved.
He's standing just behind me. He lifts the phone from my hand, and says, “One large with pineapple and bacon for the entire pizza. Also, breadsticks and cinnastix. And I'd like to pay with a credit card.”
I shake my head and try to grab the phone back, but he blocks me easily.
“It's my house,” I squeak. “It's my phone. It's my pizza place!”
He moves quickly for such a big guy. Every time I get close to my phone, he turns and slips away.
“What were you?” I ask. “A quarterback?”
He rattles off a sequence of numbers and an expiration date, and hits end call. He tosses my phone to the sofa and holds up both hands. “Truce! I call a truce.”
I put my hand on my hip. “You can't call a truce once the bomb's already gone off. Besides, you started it.”
“No, I didn't,” he says. “Besides, I have a score to settle. You think I'm poor. You tried to sign me and my kids up to get a free Christmas.”
I sigh.
“Look, I'm just trying to be gentlemanly. I know it's not popular anymore, but I'm old fashioned. I can't club a baby seal and drag it home for dinner, but I can pay for pizza when you need a night in.”
My heart twinges when I think about how we can only call dinner in for another few weeks before he'll be gone. Which, I remind myself, is the only reason I'll even date someone like him.
“What are you watching?” Luke asks.
I blush again like an idiot. “It's an old show about a mom and daughter.” A way better mom than I got, and a daughter who almost always does everything right. I'm watching parent porn, I suppose. I walk into the living room and grab the remote so I can shut it off, regrettably right before the best part. “I've seen it way too many times.”
Luke raises one eyebrow. “Wait, you thought our date was cancelled. Is this your breakup movie?”
“We didn't break up,” I say.
He raises his eyebrows. “Well, I know that. But you didn't.”
I shake my head. “You and I weren't even going out.”
He brings one hand to his chest in feigned horror. “And only a few days ago, you proclaimed I was your boyfriend to your ex.”
“This isn't my breakup movie anyway,” I say. “That's While You Were Sleeping. Or Someone Like You.” I exhale noisily. “Gilmore Girls as a breakup movie? It's not even a movie.”
“Well, as long as it's not signaling the doom of our love, I'd be happy to watch it with you,” he says.
“Uh, I really doubt you'd enjoy it. It resides squarely in the chick-flick-rom-com zip code.”
He sits down on the couch. “I like chick flicks, or at least I like some of them. The funny ones, the smart ones. You've Got Mail, and Kate and Leopold, for example.”
I sit down next to him and clutch a pillow to my chest. “Well, you can't watch this episode. It'll ruin the whole show. You've gotta start from the beginning.” I queue it up on Netflix and hit play, but sitting a foot away from him on my couch, my eye's drawn to our clothing. My ratty pajamas versus his beautiful red sweater and dark jeans. “I'm going to run change clothes. I'll be right back.”
Luke bobs his head, which I take as agreement.
Once I'm standing in my room, I'm crippled by indecision. Pants, or a skirt? Blouse, or a fitted t-shirt? Or should I wear a dress? That's probably going to look like I'm trying too hard.
I finally choose a dove grey cashmere sweater and pull it over my head. I've just poured myself into a pair of black jeggings when I realize that I'll melt to death in this. I pull both things off and toss them into a pile. I try a skirt and red blouse next, but it's too 'look at me look at me'. I can't go from pajamas to a girl's night out ensemble. Too pathetic. I toss that into the corner, too. I try on another handful of outfits before settling on a white fitted t-shirt and lightweight, black, cargo pants. I'm not in pajamas, but it doesn't scream that I'm trying too hard.
When I open my door, I realize Luke's washing my dishes. By the looks of the pile, he's been at it for a while. I walk closer and realize he's almost done. And the floor has obviously been swept. I don't even have time to object to his menial labor before the doorbell rings.
Luke jogs to the door and signs for the bill, as I take the pizza from the delivery guy.
“Merry Christmas, Dave.”
Dave grins at me. “Nice to see you ordering a large.”
I roll my eyes and carry the pizza over to a kitchen counter that now shines like a new penny. By the time I'm pulling plates out of the cabinet, Luke has shut and locked the door and he's drying the last bowl.
“Luke. You can't clean my house.”
“Why not?”
“It's embarrassing. Maybe even worse than the pajamas.”
“Why?” he asks, looking genuinely puzzled. “You've got a full time job and a full time charitable gig, and you said you were exhausted. I figured you'd be happy for a little help. Unless . . . did I wash something wrong?”
I shake my head. “You did everything right.”
He smiles.
“But we're missing Gilmore Girls, and that's an unforgivable sin.”
“I was watching while I cleaned,” Luke protests.
I groan. “You're one of those people.”
Luke puts four slices on his plate and carries it across the room. “What does that mean?”
“You can't really relax,” I say. “You watch and clean. You watch and cook. You watch and work.”
“I prefer to think of myself as efficient.”
“But it makes me feel guilty.” I grab a piece for myself. “You want anything to drink, Mister Efficiency?”
“I'm guessing you don't have any beer, since you said you don't drink?”
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“It's fine. Root beer?”
I grab two sodas and carry them to the sofa, along with my pizza and the box of breadsticks.
“Whoa there girl, you're gonna drop that.” Luke springs up and takes the breadsticks and sodas from me.
“Watch the show,” I say.
Luke sets everything on the coffee table and grabs his plate. The amount of food he eats is impressive, even to me. And I have twelve hundred extra calories today thanks to my run.
“How do you stay so fit?” I ask.
“You think I'm fit?” His big blue eyes widen. “I'll be honest. I got winded walking up your front porch step.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh fine, don't answer.”
“I'm pretty active at work, and with my kiddos at home. I do lift a few times a week at the Y. Mostly, I think I got pretty lucky, genetically speaking.”
I'll say.
He finishes his pizza and grabs the dishes, hauling them all into the kitchen. I pause the show.
“Why'd you stop it?” he asks.
I shrug. “It's disrespectful not to pay attention.”
He whistles. “You are serious about this show. Well, since you've got it stopped anyway, maybe this is a good time for you to show me that closet light that doesn't work.” He crosses to the entry and grabs his box. Why didn't I realize he'd be planning to fix my dumb light?
Uh, the light in my master, where there are piles of clothes everywhere? He'll either think I'm a slob or he'll know I completely freaked out when I went to my room to change. I'm not sure which is worse.
“Mary?”
“No, yeah, I mean, sure. Lemme show you where it is.” I walk slowly toward my bedroom, trying to figure out how I can stall him and go tidy it up first.
“Wait.” I stop and turn toward him, placing one hand on his chest. My fingers curl against the hard muscle and I want to grab his sweater and pull him close to me. “Is this just a ploy so I'll owe you and you can get your taxes done for free?”
Luke grins, but there's something weird about his smile. I can't figure out what.
“Because if so, I have to tell you, I'm the best accountant at my firm, and it's a good firm. One of the nation's best. It'll cost you more than one closet light repair for me to do your taxes. Especially if you're self-employed.”
His eyes travel down to my mouth, and a shiver runs through me. He leans toward me slowly, so slowly that part of me wants to run and part of me wants to grab him and pull him closer. Kiss me already!
“Trust me,” he whispers the words an inch away from my lips. “If I ever ask you to do my taxes, I'll pay you much more than a simple closet repair.”
If he asks me? Like I'm not good enough? I put one hand on my hip and back up until I bump into the door. “I'm an awesome CPA. You'd be lucky to have me do your taxes.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “I believe you, absolutely. I'll just say, my taxes are extremely complex and thinking about them gives me a horrible headache. I don't want to associate you with a headache.”
“Oh,” I say, suddenly wishing I hadn't put so much space between us.
Luke closes the space and presses his mouth to mine so fast I don't have any time to fret. A thrill runs from my toes up to the top of my head and I shiver. He wraps his arms around me then, as if he wants to warm me up. He has no idea that he's the one causing the tremor. I collapse against him, my hand winding up around his neck and into his hair, but far too soon he pulls back and clears his throat.
“Not that I couldn't do that all day gladly, but this box is kind of heavy.” He hefts it up and down. “Maybe we focus on the closet for now and circle back to this later.”
The blood rushes to my face, and I spin around to open the door. I don't walk through though, because I forgot what a mess things are in here. Ugh. If I ask to run in and clean up, that's weird. Since I already told him he can fix my light, I'll just have to hope he's not too judgmental. He's already washed a sink full of dishes for me. How much worse could this be?
As I walk through my room, I see it anew through the eyes of a stranger. My bed isn't made. My dresser's covered with page after page of lists from United Way, and files from work. Lotion, tissues, a lamp, jewelry, and an assortment of oddball things clutter up the top of my nightstand. I cringe. Even without those things, there's a huge pile of pillows on the floor near my bed, and several smaller heaps of clothes lying haphazardly all over. On my dresser, on the floor by the door, and near the foot of my bed.
I groan. “It's not usually this messy. Like I said, it's been a long week.”
“I'm a guy,” Luke says. “Nothing bothers me. But do you have a stool, by chance? Or a short ladder?”
“Yes, of course. I'll go grab one, but that's the light that's not working.” I point through the master bath, which is pretty clean
, thank goodness, and toward the closet door.
I fetch him a stool, and then work on tidying up my room while he climbs up on the stool and starts fiddling with the light in the closet. He comes out to ask where the breaker is, and I show him the garage, which is immaculate at least. Less than eight minutes later, I know because I watch the clock, my closet light blinks on.
“Good job.” I clap. “That was so fast.”
He walks out with his box. “Now cinnastix, and Gilmore Girls.”
Once we're both sitting on the sofa again, I un-pause the show. He watches it dutifully, while I mostly watch him. His high cheekbones, and his square jaw, which is stubbly this late at night, make my heart flutter. Once we're done with the cinnastix, I turn out the lights and settle back down on the sofa, but I don't want to be obvious, so I sit on the far end, leaning on the armrest on the left side.
He laughs when Lorelai and her mother start fighting in the kitchen. “You like this movie because the grandmother's a nightmare?”
I can't really tell him it's because the mother has no reason to fight for her daughter, but she does anyway. It sounds too pathetic.
Just before the first episode ends, he shifts to stretch his legs. “I'm freezing over here. What's your thermostat set at?”
“I can get you a blanket,” I say.
He sighs. “That line didn't work at all. I'll have to throw it out of the rotation.” He pats the sofa next to him. “I'd rather you come over here and warm me up.”
My heartbeat picks up and adrenaline shoots through my body. I slide over, and his left arm wraps around me and draws my head up against his chest. His breath ruffles my hair and I curl a little closer. The first episode ends, and I turn my face toward Luke to ask whether he wants to watch another, but his eyes aren't on the TV.
They stare into mine, as his head comes down slowly. I could pull away, and maybe I should, but I don't. His full, beautiful, half smiling lips lower and lower, and I move up toward him until our mouths finally meet. I close my eyes then, and give over to the feeling of a man's mouth on mine.
