Bride Under the Mistletoe: The Magic of a Family Christmas. SUSAN MEIER
put that smile on her face again on Christmas morning. He might not sit on her sofa and watch, but he would know he had made her smile.
The odd warmth filled him again only this time he recognized it. Contentment. It was as if he’d figured out that the real reason for his trip to Barrington was to meet her and make her happy, and he had zeroed in on how to do it. Finally, finally, he’d figured out why he always had a sense that he was supposed to be around her.
“Ready when you are.”
They stepped out into the cool December afternoon and Wendy automatically turned in the direction of the factory again. Cullen caught her arm. He wouldn’t risk buying something she didn’t want…or even a color she didn’t like or a style she didn’t care for.
“We’re not done yet.”
She glanced up at him. “We’re not?”
But he also couldn’t tell her he was buying her gifts. She’d refuse them before he even had a chance to shop. He had to watch what she paused beside, what she examined, what she sighed over. But he couldn’t do that if she wasn’t in a store. “Let’s spend a little more money on Harry.”
“Why? You bought him exactly what he wants. You don’t need to spend more.”
“I just—”
He stopped. the confused expression on her face banished the warm, fuzzy feeling of contentment. What was he doing? They didn’t really have a relationship. He didn’t really know her. And as for figuring out that the real purpose of him being in Barrington was to buy her gifts—well, that was idiotic. Gifts, like a raise, could be misconstrued, and hadn’t they already had enough trouble because of misunderstandings? She’d warned him off at least twice. He’d warned her off the thought of having a fling the night before. This cat-and-mouse game that continually tried to pull him in was going to get her hurt, and he refused to let that happen.
“No. You’re right.”
They walked the length of Main Street in silence, the snow swirling around them like ballet dancers enjoying the notes of a perfect song, the scents of pies and cookies enticing them, the low hum of sporadic traffic hardly penetrating his consciousness. Try as he might to keep his distance, he was ultra-aware of Wendy. He wanted to take her hand, enjoy the quiet walk.
He always loved his time with her. Always felt happy, normal and wonderful around her. Which was undoubtedly why he yearned for a kiss. The season was romantic. But his feelings around her and for her were new and special. No one had ever made him feel like this and for that reason alone he’d love to explore whatever it was that hummed between them.
That was the real bottom line. The thing that kept nagging at him. He’d never felt this way about anyone and it seemed wrong not to at least enjoy it while it lasted. This happiness might not be permanent, but she wasn’t a child. She was twenty-six. A widow. If she wanted to have a fling, who was he to decide that they shouldn’t?
Maybe if he stopped trying to give her gifts to assuage his hunger and was honest with her, they could have something wonderful for the final two weeks he was here?
“CULLEN?”
Standing on Wendy’s front porch, feeling like a gangly teenager who’d finally found the nerve to visit the girl he had a crush on, Cullen had to work to hide his embarrassment. Which was crazy. His relationships were always short-term, for fun. He shouldn’t feel any differently just because the woman he was pursuing lived in Pennsylvania.
“Hi. I…um…came to see how Harry is.”
The little boy in question appeared from behind Wendy’s knees. His wispy yellow hair floated on his forehead to the rim of his glasses. His smile was wide and welcoming.
“Hi, Cullen!”
Wendy stepped aside and invited Cullen into her foyer. “Hi, Harry!” he said, picking up the little boy and looping him over his shoulder.
Harry whooped with delight, and Cullen surreptitiously glanced at Wendy. She didn’t seem displeased that he’d come to visit Harry, but he hoped she’d be even more pleased when she realized that the real reason for his visit was to have some alone time with her.
“We were just about to get Harry ready for bed.”
Which was exactly why he’d timed his visit for later in the evening.
“Why don’t I read Harry his bedtime story?” And after that he and Wendy would be alone and he could either see for himself that she wasn’t so nice, so perfect, so wonderful, and that all these emotions swirling around him were ridiculous, or she’d get the message that to him sexual attraction meant exactly that. Sexual attraction. Not love. Certainly not marriage. And they’d get involved. On his terms.
Wendy shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” She turned to go up the stairs. Harry followed her. Cullen followed Harry.
Stopping in the hall outside Harry’s door, she pointed to the bedroom. “I’ll get the bath ready. You two get a clean pair of pj’s from his dresser.”
Harry obediently walked into his bedroom, directly to the dresser. He opened the drawer, pulled out a pair of pajamas, left the room and headed for the bathroom.
Cullen smiled. That was easy.
Watching through the open bathroom door, he saw Wendy pull off Harry’s T-shirt. Over the little boy’s head she called, “There are three library books in the bottom drawer of his bedside table. Pick one. He’ll be in in a minute.”
Cullen went to the bedside table, sat on the bed, and opened the bottom drawer to find three worn children’s books. He pulled out the last book, leafed through it to make sure he hadn’t made a bad choice and decided he’d be okay with the story about a pig in a puddle.
Tossing the book to the bed, he rose and shrugged out of his leather jacket. He hung it across the back of the chair tucked under a Harry-sized desk and walked to the window.
Outside, the dusting of snow had turned into an inch of fluffy white that sparkled in the streetlights. Car windshields were covered. a coating clung to bare black branches of the big trees in the front yards in Wendy’s neighborhood. The quiet, peaceful scene almost made his plans feel all wrong.
Almost.
Small-town women weren’t any less sexual than those in the big city. They were simply more discreet, and he could be discreet.
“All set,” Wendy said and Cullen turned to see her standing behind Harry who grinned at him.
“I’m all set, too.”
“I found a story about a puppy in a puddle.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “You mean a pig in a puddle.”
Laughing, Cullen walked to the bed. “Same thing.”
“No, it isn’t!” Harry looked horrified. “There’s a big difference between a pig and a puppy.”
Struggling with a smile, Wendy grabbed Harry’s doorknob as she left the room. “I’ll just leave you two alone for now.” She closed the door behind her.
Harry scrambled under his covers, took off his glasses and set them on the bedside table. Cullen sat on the bed.
Twenty minutes later, with Harry fast asleep and Cullen’s tongue about tied in a knot from all the rhyme and alliteration in the storybook he’d read, Cullen walked down the steps. He casually tossed his jacket over the coat tree in the foyer and walked into the living room where Wendy sat.
Now things would get interesting.
She looked up from the book she was reading. “How did it go?”
“He’s out like a light.” He casually walked to the sofa