Bride Under the Mistletoe: The Magic of a Family Christmas. SUSAN MEIER
and tinsel. The airy snow danced around them, as if refusing to fall. The scent of cinnamon and apples wafted from the bakery. He felt the strangest urge to take Wendy’s hand and tuck it in the crook of his elbow, but he knew that wasn’t only silly, it would start tongues wagging. So he kept his distance, but it didn’t feel right. When he was with her he had the oddest urges to protect her from the snow, warm her hands with his own, tell her his deepest, darkest secrets.
All of which were wrong. They were too different to consider their attraction anything more than a potential affair and she wasn’t the kind of woman to have affairs, though he knew she was weakening. The night before he’d seen the light in her eyes. They had chemistry stronger than any he’d ever experienced. It was hard enough for him to resist it. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she didn’t want to?
No. He wasn’t even going to think in that direction. It wasn’t right. She would miss him when he returned to Miami, and be hurt that he hadn’t even considered staying. And he wouldn’t even look back.
When they reached Truffles, he opened the door and a bell jingled.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Edwards,” Wendy called.
Cullen stopped just inside the door, memories of his childhood washing over him. The store didn’t have typical shelves. Instead, three-tiered tables were arranged around the showroom floor. The bottom tier of the first table held short, cuddly elves. The middle tier had slightly taller Santas. The third tier held a tall music box.
Each table was similarly appointed. Short toys, candy boxes or holiday decorations nestled on the first tier. Taller items sat on the second and the tallest on the third.
Red and green ribbons had been entwined with tinsel and looped along the walls. Holly and evergreen accented with fat red velvet-ribbon bows lined the counter.
The curtain separating the showroom from the storage room slid open and Jim stepped behind the counter, wiping his hands on a red-and-green towel. “Good afternoon, Wendy—”
He stopped, peering through the little round glasses on the end of his nose. “Well, Cullen Barrington! Your dad mentioned you’d be in town.”
Cullen stepped over to the counter and shook Jim’s hand. Short and bald, wearing a red plaid work shirt and jeans, Jim looked ten years older than Cullen’s father, though they were the same age. “Nice to see you, Jim.”
“You know the missus will shoot me if I don’t ask you to supper tonight.”
Cullen patted his tummy. “I’m afraid I had a hot roast beef sandwich at the diner.”
Jim laughed. “One day soon then?”
“I’ll call Rosie,” Cullen promised.
Nodding his agreement, Jim said, “So what can I do for you?”
Wendy said, “Cullen would like to buy Harry a Christmas gift.”
“The little boy you brought here the other night?”
She nodded.
Jim brightened, tossed the towel to the counter and came out from behind it. “We have some fabulous gifts for a six-year-old.”
As Jim scurried to the front window display, Cullen watched Wendy’s eyes light up. She was so pretty. So innocent. And darned near as easy to please as Harry.
He thought about the last time he’d been shopping. He’d gone to a boutique in Miami, stepped into a room scented with roses, was given a cup of spicy tea and told what he would buy his latest lady friend. Because it was all the rage. Because it had a price so high he wasn’t told the price. He didn’t see it until he signed his credit-card receipt.
“Here you go.”
Jim pulled an old-fashioned fire truck from the display. “He’ll love this.”
Wendy’s mouth fell open in awe. She spun to face Cullen. “Oh, he will! As we were driving to the office the Saturday I got custody, he told me he wanted to be a fireman.”
“And it’s got a bell,” Cullen said, finding a little string tab and tugging twice to make the bell ring. “I don’t know what it is with that kid and bells but he loves them.”
Wendy laughed. “It’s true. When Harry and I walked here the other night, he did nothing but chatter about the bell on Creamsicle’s collar.”
Cullen stared at her. Mesmerized. Smitten. Her eyes were alight with joy, her cheeks flushed. Her lips plump and kissable. His fingers itched to skim her jaw, tilt her face up for a kiss.
To distract himself, he lifted the little truck to examine it. “It’s not very big.”
Jim chuckled. “It’s a replica of the one we have at the firehouse.”
“It’s a small-town truck?” Cullen peered at it from all angles.
“He’ll love it,” Jim assured him.
“Okay. I’ll take it.” He handed the truck to Jim and turned to walk back to the counter. “And don’t tell me it’s free.”
Scurrying behind the cash register, Jim said, “Not on your life! The same rules apply as when you were a kid. Just because your dad owns half this store, that doesn’t mean you get everything half off.”
Cullen shook his head and turned to Wendy. “My dad had a thing about making me responsible.” The second the words were out of his mouth, he snapped it shut. Why did he constantly confess his secrets to her?
“And yet you survived.”
And why did her response always make him laugh? Make him feel normal, as if his past was just like anybody else’s, riddled with ups and downs that were part of everybody’s growth from child to adult?
Jim rang up the sale, telling Cullen a price that caused his eyes to narrow. “I thought you said there was no discount.”
“There isn’t. That’s the price.”
Handing his credit card across the counter, Cullen glanced around the store, his gaze automatically finding Wendy. Standing by one of the three-tiered tables, she examined a row of Christmas ornaments, all of which she returned to the display. He took in her serviceable gray wool coat, plain white mittens and simple black boots.
He wondered when she’d last spent money on herself and knew it had probably been a long time ago and even then she’d purchased the sensible items. The mittens that matched every coat or jacket. The boots she could wear everywhere.
He’d love to buy her a fancy coat, leather gloves, high-heel boots to be worn only on special occasions. Without any trouble, he could envision her face lighting up when she opened the packages. She wouldn’t fake an “oh” or “ah.” Her surprise would be genuine, her pleasure sincere.
The thought filled him with indescribable warmth that tingled through his bloodstream. Without even closing his eyes he could see them together on Christmas morning. Harry surrounded by wrapping paper. Wendy’s face wreathed in smiles. While he sat on the sofa, one arm stretched leisurely across its back, a cup of coffee in his free hand, enjoying the show taking place in front of a sparkling Christmas tree by the crackling fire in the fireplace.
Disappointment that he couldn’t be around on Christmas Day brought him back to reality, but he stopped it in its tracks. He was an adult, and he knew the truth about life. A person couldn’t have everything he or she wanted. Which was actually good. Because the things we wanted didn’t always turn out to be so wonderful. So it was best to hold back. Not wish. Simply accept that our visions of life were always happier than reality.
Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t surround Harry with presents and buy as many things as he wanted for Wendy. That was, after all, how he lived. From a distance. He’d buy the gifts, envision their joy and imagine it as he sat on his boat, soaking up the sun, fishing with his dad.
That was reality.
He