Christmas Dinner (Crimson Romance) (18 page)

Her mom reappeared with a tray full of eggnog sugar cookies. “Okay, eat up. Last batch of the season!” She stood in front of Tate and pointed at his ankle. “How is your ankle, Tate?”

“Much better,” Tate replied. “Thank you.”

“Well, can I get you anything?”

“Just these delicious cookies.” He reached over and grabbed a cookie from the tray.

Amanda pulled up the live feed of the station’s eleven o’clock news. “Here it is! There’s our studio. Okay, everyone. Quiet.”

“Mom, you’re not seriously going to make us watch this since she’s here this year, are you?” Alex quipped.

Amanda shot Alex a smug look. “Shut up. It’s tradition.” She returned to her seat next to Tate. His arm immediately went around her, and she leaned back. She smiled up at him. Hopefully they were on the path to starting new traditions of their own. Although hot shower sex every Christmas Eve might not be the most conventional.

She glanced at the television. “Oh, my goodness. Tate, how cute does the station look?” Toys were strewn all over their anchor desk. At least a dozen kids were on the studio’s floor playing with them. “Look how much fun the crew is having.”

“They never have this much fun when we’re anchoring,” Tate said to everyone.

“Look, there’s Lacy standing over there with the kids. Wow. What a dress. I told her to wear something pretty but that’s—”

“Quite the hot pink number.” Tate finished her sentence. “She also wore that to the office Christmas party that you missed.” He grabbed another cookie from the tray and took a bite. “Want one?”

Amanda ignored his question. “Hot pink,” she repeated in a trance. Her gaze zoomed in on Lacy’s hot pink outfit. Her smile faded.

Tate’s words from the heated exchange they had two days ago in his office replayed in her head.

“She wore pink, hot pink.”

“Everything okay, Ace?”

The concerned look on his face could not ease the fury that raged inside her.

“Her dress is hot pink.” She pointed to the TV. “She’s wearing hot pink. She’s the one you we’re talking about the other day. Oh my God. Lacy’s the bimbo in the hot pink dress,” she blurted out.

“What are you talking about?” Tate reached for hand.

“Don’t touch me.” She stood, threw her hands in the air, and stormed through the living room out the front door.

• • •

“Amanda, please stop,” Tate begged as he scrambled down the hill. His ankle was starting to hurt again, but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt in his chest. “Amanda, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do this?
You
did this,” she screamed back.

“No I didn’t. I just made that hot pink dress comment to get a rise out of you.” He grabbed her arm. “Would you stop?”

“Why should I believe you?” She yanked her arm free. “I knew you two were hiding something.”

“We’re not hiding anything.”

“Oh, no? Then why were you both so cozy on the stairs outside her apartment building yesterday? Probably talking about how much fun you had at the Christmas party.”

“That—” he stammered. “That is not true. Nothing happened at the Christmas party. I made the hot pink dress comment up to push your buttons. Besides, even if it were true, you can’t possibly be mad. We’re not even a real couple.” He instantly regretted saying that last sentence because from the look on her face, he could tell it struck a chord.

“You got that right,” she yelled. “This weekend was a mistake. Huge one.”

He grabbed both of her hands, covering them with his. “Amanda,” he pleaded. “Ace, I didn’t mean that. You and me—this
is
what I want. The sleigh. Just now upstairs. It’s all very real to me. It’s what I’ve wanted for so long.”

He raked his hands through his hair. It was time to tell her the truth—all of it.

“Listen to me. The moment I met you, I felt something.”

“What are you talking about?” She rolled her eyes. “We met on a bus. Oh, right, you were half dressed then. I should have known.”

“No, no before that.” He grabbed her hand.

“Let go of me.” She broke his hold. “What? Did you see me on the news and then start stalking me in hopes I’d be one of your conquests? Well, that’s just terrific. It appears you got exactly what you wanted,” she said, crossing her arms.

“That’s not what I mean. Just let me explain.”

She stared at him in silence.

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to remember every moment of the night they first met.

“Amanda, you irritated me so much. All I wanted was to be left alone, but you wouldn’t go away. Then you kissed me. It . . .” He stopped. Words went dead in his throat. “It just surprised me.”

“What?” Amanda threw her hands up in the air. “Are you trying to say that you’ve been an unwilling participant? Because that’s not how I saw it! Do you already regret what happened upstairs?”

“Of course not. Let’s go inside and talk.”

She ignored him. “You know, everyone this weekend has been telling me to open my eyes. Everybody! Lacy, my grandmother, random strangers . . . But you know what? My eyes were open this entire time, and they see standing right here what they saw from the moment we met on that bus—an arrogant, womanizing ass.”

“That wasn’t our first meeting,” he said flatly.

“Yes it was.”

“No it wasn’t, and you’re wrong. I’m not either of those things. And you know it. And you also know deep down in that damaged heart of yours—” Frustrated, he spun around but turned back. “I didn’t realize it until this weekend, but I’m probably the best thing that has happened to you in a long time . . . if ever.”

She shot him one last repulsed look and tore down the hill. He tried to run after her, but his limp hindered his speed. She had reached the bottom and now stood in the middle of the dirt road.

“Never again, Tate Ryan. I will not be fooled by the likes of you. My eyes are wide open as far as you’re concerned.”

“Amanda, let’s go back to the house,” he pleaded. Car lights were quickly approaching. “We can go upstairs and talk. Please, just get out of the road—”

A loud screech muffled his pleas.

Amanda climbed the steep hill to her parents’ cabin alone. It was daylight and extremely foggy. When had the fog rolled in? The thick mist wrapped around her legs and ankles. She could barely see what was directly in front of her let alone make out the log cabin.

How long had she been outside? She must have gotten lost in the woods. The fight she had earlier with Tate still fresh in her mind. She remembered it ended with bright lights blinding her, probably from one of the Christmas trees on the lot. Alex was always rigging up some kind of bright lights display. It must have been his Christmas Eve lights finale.

She should have known better than to bring Tate home, let alone have sex with him. Even if he was telling the truth about him and Lacy, how many other women at the station had he attempted to be with?

What did it matter? They weren’t even a couple, a fact Tate all too quickly pointed out last night. She sighed. Another Christmas Eve ending in humiliation and heartbreak.

Her foot came down on a soft fury object. “Oops, I’m sorry,” she said, looking down at a buff colored tabby on the walkway. “That’s odd. I thought Grandma’s cat was grey.” She crouched down and petted the feline’s soft fur. “Hello. Who are you?”

The cat answered back by rubbing its head repeatedly on her hand. “You look just like my cat, Sydney. She was such a good kitty. I miss her.” The cat continued to rub its tiny head against her. “Are you hungry? Let’s go get you some food.” She stood, her sweater constricting underneath her jacket. The weather seemed to be unseasonably warm. There also wasn’t a trace of snow on her boots.

Not wanting to wake her family, she opened the door and tiptoed inside.

She gasped. Where were the spiral stairs? This wasn’t her parents’ house. She looked down. The white mist had rolled into the house and coiled around her legs.

Her heart beat faster as panic pulsed through her. “Where am I?” She stepped all the way in the house. “Is anyone home?” She stood frozen, letting a few seconds pass. Complete silence.

This was how really bad horror movies started out. Whatever she did, she would not run up the stairs.

But she didn’t feel like she was in a horror movie. No, far from it. There was something oddly familiar about this house that comforted, not frightened, her. What was it? She inched her way into a small living room where she saw a sofa, a wicker rocking chair with a plum cushion, and a fireplace. A round ball of green yarn and knitting needles were lying on the chair. To the right of the fireplace was a beautiful Christmas tree saturated with exquisite silver and blue ornaments. A bright silver star glistened on top.

She walked over to the stone mantel and stared at a gold framed picture of a family. “No, this can’t be,” she said and shook her head in disbelief.

It was her family’s Christmas photo from years ago, when Amanda was ten. They were wearing identical Christmas sweaters.

She knew exactly where she was.

“I can’t be here, can I?” Even if she had walked the five miles to her grandparents’ farm house, it had been years since they’d lived in it. Why was there a picture of her family on the mantel? She entered the foyer, now recognizing the dark brown banister that led up to the second floor. Her fingers glided over the wood as she remembered how she and Alex used to slide down it as kids, especially on Christmas morning.

“Grandma? Grandpa?” She paused, not quite sure if she had lost her mind. “Are you here?”

“Amanda!” A plump old woman entered the foyer. Her fine grey hair swept up into a bun. She wore a green and white gingham apron. Around her neck was a gold necklace that read,
Betty
.”

Amanda’s jaw dropped at the sight of her grandmother. She ran over and hugged her, smelling the faint scent of gardenias coming from her grandmother’s silver hair. The flower had always been her favorite. “Grandma? How is this possible? I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Grandma Thompson cupped Amanda’s face with her hands. “You must be hungry. Follow me. I’ve got to check on dinner.”

Amanda dutifully followed. Growing up, they’d often had dinner with her Grandma and Grandpa Thompson on Saturdays and their Grandma and Grandpa Turner on Sundays.

A familiar aroma filled the air. “Grandma, are you baking your famous lasagna?” Peering through the stove’s glass, she could see cheese oozing inside the pasta. Her tongue could already taste her grandmother’s special sauce. If this was a dream, it certainly was a delicious one.

Grandma Thompson laughed. “You remember.”

“How could I forget? We haven’t had lasagna as good as this since . . . ” Her voice trailed off. It had been a long time since she’d seen her grandparents. “Is Grandpa here, too?”

Betty rummaged through the refrigerator. “What can I get you to eat? How about a sandwich?”

“I would love one.”

“Peanut butter and jelly still your favorite?”

“You know me well.” Amanda sat on a kitchen bar stool and scanned the room. It looked just as she remembered. The buff tabby from outside was now on the floor, sipping water from a bowl.

“Did you get a cat?”

Her grandmother followed her gaze and smiled. “She came to us about ten years ago. Bit finicky. We think she misses her owner.”

“She looks just like my Sydney.”

“Dear, can you grab me a cup from the cupboard?”

“Sure.” Amanda jumped up and glanced out the kitchen’s back window. “Grandma, it’s awfully foggy out there.”

“Oh, it’s always like that. Doesn’t matter what time of day. We’re used to it.”

“Really? Is Grandpa out there? Couldn’t he get hurt?”

“He’s dealt with it much longer than I have. He’s the one who taught me how to maneuver around.”

“Where did you say he was?”

“Oh, he’s out and about. He’ll be here soon.” She set the sandwich in front of Amanda. Thick, chunky peanut butter and raspberry jelly oozed out from the white bread.

“Oooh! Crustless! Just like I like it.”

Betty grabbed the cup and poured some milk into it. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know how much you love coffee, but we don’t drink it much. Is this okay?”

Amanda nodded and chewed her sandwich. “How do you know about my coffee addiction?” She was pretty sure that the last time she saw her grandmother, she had been too young to drink the stuff.

Her grandmother chuckled. “Oh, we’ve known for some time. Okay. I’m going to be out back. You finish eating your lunch and come join me when you’re ready. There’s something I want to show you.”

Obediently eating her sandwich, Amanda watched her grandmother leave from the back door. Was this family reunion with her deceased grandma really happening?

Perhaps she should pinch herself to see if she was dreaming. She grabbed her arm and started to tug at her skin but hesitated. “The only problem is . . . I don’t want to wake up.” She reached down and petted the soft tabby that was now lying at her feet.

She finished her sandwich and headed outside to find her grandmother. The fog was twice as thick in the backyard. It resembled the pockets of fluffy clouds one would see from the window of an airplane. “How does anyone get anything done with all this fog to navigate around? It would drive me absolutely insane.”

Her grandmother approached. “We manage. As I said earlier, we’ve gotten quite used to it.”

“It seems so.” She could make out the silhouette of an old man who appeared to be walking around the house. “Is that Grandpa? Where’s he going?”

“Not far. He just wants to let someone else know that you’re here with us.”

“Here?” Amanda repeated. “Grandma, where exactly is ‘here’?”

“That boyfriend of yours is quite a handsome man,” Betty said.

Was her grandmother dodging her question? Amanda sighed. “Not you, too. He’s not what he seems. Trust me.” She raised an eyebrow. “Wait. You’re talking about Tate, aren’t you? How do you know him?”

“Oh, we’ve been watching.”

“Sorry?”

“Come, let’s take a peek at what we’ve been watching, shall we?” She motioned for Amanda to follow her even deeper into the thick fog.