A Christmas Proposition. Jessica Lemmon
wheel to shut it off.
“You have to take this exit for where we’re going.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I know so.” She held her phone up and showed him the map.
“Where is that?” he asked, even as he dutifully changed lanes.
“I lied about San Antonio. We’re going to a town called Harlington. It’s just outside—”
“I know Harlington.” His visage darkened.
“You do?” She’d assumed he was from a similarly wealthy Dallas background as her family. At least upper middle class. “Here. This exit.” She rested her cell phone on the dash, and though he mumbled a swear word under his breath, he pulled off the exit.
“From here take route—”
“I can read the map, Stefanie.”
Yeah, proposing should work out great, she thought with an eye roll.
She waited a few more silent minutes before turning on the radio again. The Sting song didn’t cause her driver to visibly wince.
Her email notification lit up her phone and she opened her inbox to read Margaret’s reply, whose answer was an exuberant “Yes!”
Evidently Margaret’s son was a minister and available on Christmas Eve for a midnight wedding. In the next paragraph of her reply, Margaret went on and on about the beautiful decorations in the sitting room of her old Victorian house.
Stefanie responded with a quick message. I’m working out the marriage license now.
Little did Emmett know, the address she’d keyed into her map was for city hall downtown.
“Which building?” Emmett drove through the thick traffic of downtown Harlington.
Yeah, he knew this town. He’d grown up not far from here. Before he’d escaped to go to college. Before happenstance had put him at the same wild frat party as Chase Ferguson. They’d stopped in the center of the room en route to flirt with the same girl. Neither of them had won the girl, but they’d forged a strong friendship.
From there, Emmett’s world had forked. He’d left behind his former life as a rough kid from a lonely home. He’d dropped out of college and never finished, but his old man hadn’t noticed. Van Keaton had been lost in his own prison of grief since the Christmas that’d robbed both him and Emmett of all that was good.
Since then, Emmett had been determined to create good. In addition to working with Chase as his head of security, Emmett had also learned how to invest well. Hell, he’d mimicked his friend’s financial habits, had read every book Chase recommended and had listened to countless podcasts on the topic. It never would’ve occurred to Emmett that he could live the way he lived now if it wasn’t for the Fergusons. They took the idea of “living well” to an advanced level.
Emmett’s work at the mayor’s office might as well be his source of oxygen. He had the Fergusons, who had been a placeholder for the family Emmett rarely saw. His father was a lonely man determined to bask in his own misery, so Emmett let him do it. And he’d never gone home on a holiday. Van didn’t do holidays. Not anymore.
And neither did Emmett.
Stef squealed from the passenger seat, going on about how “beautiful” the red bows and pine boughs tied to paint-chipped lampposts were, but he could only offer a grunt.
Those tattered pine boughs had seen better days and the red ribbons drooped. The shop windows downtown covered in spray snow would require tedious scraping with a razor blade to come clean, and the strings of white lights wrapped around every lamppost served as a reminder of what once was but could never be again.
“Where the hell is this place?” he asked at a stoplight. He didn’t see any building resembling a B and B.
“Oh. Um. I have to stop at city hall first.”
She directed him to the tall brick building between a shoe shop and a store called the Fan Man, which, as far as Emmett could tell, sold ceiling fans and lighting fixtures.
“What for?” He navigated to an open parking spot, but when she took off her seat belt, he caught the strip of nylon in one fist. She sagged back into her seat.
“I know you think the idea of me marrying someone sounds—”
“Insane,” he finished for her, letting her go.
“Think about it, Em. Blake won’t have a leg to stand on. I refuse to let him use a mistake I made in the past against my family.”
Every time he pictured her with that guy, rage spilled into his bloodstream.
“It was the worst mistake of my life.”
“Huge,” he grumbled in agreement.
Guilt outlined her pretty features.
It was the wrong thing for him to say. Blake was predatory and single-minded. And when Chase had found out his sister slept with that pig, his reaction had mirrored Emmett’s. Emmett would’ve happily castrated the bastard to ensure he’d never hurt anyone again.
“There are worse things in life,” he told Stef. “Trust me.”
Christmas shoppers flooded the streets, bustling around to finish their shopping before it was too late, many with small children in tow. One little boy with dark hair and pink cheeks rode in a stroller and pointed with one mitten as snow began to fall, and Emmett’s heart crushed.
That kid was the same age as his brother, Michael, when he’d passed.
“I was awake for hours last night trying to think of a suitable groom, but after a quick scan of my contacts I came up empty-handed. I decided to check again today in case I’d overlooked someone and then I found myself lingering over a name...”
“Completely insane.” He shook his head.
“Do you know why?”
He did look at her now, having neither any idea why nor any clue as to how she thought this was the best way to proceed.
“Because I came across the only name in my address book that belonged to someone who cares enough about my brother to agree to my plan.”
Something tender invaded her expression. He’d never until this moment been regarded by Stefanie Ferguson with “tenderness.”
Hell if he knew what to do with that.
“You.” She said the word with finality.
“Me what?” he asked, the question loud in the cab of the SUV.
“You are the only man who would be discreet, go along with my plan and, provided you don’t already have a girlfriend, fiancée or wife—”
“You think I have a wife?” There was a crazy idea. Even crazier was the idea that Stefanie would be that wife. He reached for his cup of gas station coffee, wincing when the mouthful was cold instead of hot.
“There’s a seventy-two-hour waiting period, so we have to apply for the license today. Then we can be married on Christmas Eve after my...um... After I visit my friends.”
“Forget it.” He put the SUV in Reverse to wiggle from the parking space when her hand—and cold, delicate fingers—brushed his.
Her touch was foreign, as most touches were to him, yet familiar in a way he couldn’t understand. Maybe because he’d known her for so long. Other than her mother, Eleanor Ferguson, Stefanie had been the only constant woman in his life since he was a very small boy.
“I’ve worked out everything. All you have to do is agree and smile for the camera so I can