Kissing Under the Mistletoe (19 page)

“I
’ll take him,” Gabe said, grabbing for Randolph.

“No.” Regan pulled her shirt back on and snatched the deer by the antlers. “You buy me some time. I’ll hide the deer.”

“Why don’t we just tell them the truth and then this whole mess will be over?”

She jerked her head from side to side.

“Then why don’t I say I had him?”

“I can’t let you lie too,” she said, feeling tears prick her eyes. “And I can’t tell them the truth because then they’ll know I deceived them. I am the webmaster for the Safe Return of Randolph hotline, and ChiChi made me a junior detective on the Where’s Randolph campaign. If they find out that
I
took Randolph
and
threw Santa through ChiChi’s rear window, the only three people in town who have been nice to me from day one will hate me.”

Gabe stroked her face and she leaned into his hand. “They won’t hate you.”

“I’ll take him back tomorrow. I promise. I can get Ava to watch Holly.”

Gabe sighed. She could tell he didn’t want to let her go. Or let this charade go on any longer. But she meant what she said. The Mrs. Clauses were the closest thing Regan had come to having a mother figure in a long time. She didn’t want to lose that.

Hugging Randolph to her chest, she ran behind the corkscrew shrub and, making a mental note to join a gym immediately, made a wheezy lap around the building. Darting behind her car, she waited until Gabe approached the orange SUV, then slid Randolph in her trunk, closed the lid, and snuck up her steps.

She shut the front door, emptied her pockets into the Dirty Jar, gave Holly a kiss on the forehead, and hightailed it to the bedroom. Yanking off her hoodie, she pulled on the first shirt she could grab. She was just smoothing out her hair when she heard the doorbell.

“Mommy!” Holly leaped up off the carpet and scrambled to the window. “We have our first visitor.” She peered out the window and started jumping. “It’s Gabe and the Mrs. Clauses.”

Whoops. Regan had started calling them that at home, but she never thought about Holly repeating it. Especially within hearing range.

Regan opened the door and barely had a chance to step back before the three Mrs. Clauses, each in a pink Santa hat, each holding a Christmas offering, and each with a pop-up chair slung over her shoulder, chimed in with a “Merry Christmas.”

All three women stood on the stoop and blinked up innocently at her, and Regan got a bad feeling in her gut. She
eased the door a little more closed than open and placed her body between the welcoming committee and the entrance to her house.

“Merry Christmas,” Regan replied, tugging down the bottom of her shirt, which felt like it was creeping up, and hoped she looked halfway presentable. Her cheeks were still flushed and her breath was coming in low spurts. Partly from the jog and partly from Gabe’s magical lips.

“Mommy.” Holly nudged at her legs and gracefully squirmed her way around them to face their visitors. “It’s not polite to leave guests standing on the front porch. You invite them inside and offer them a drink.”

“And some would say it’s not polite to drop in unannounced,” Gabe murmured from behind.

“Says the man hiding in the bushes,” ChiChi said, pushing her way inside. “Plus, we’re here on official committee business.”

Lucinda followed holding Mr. Puffins, looking dashing in a green Christmas tree dress with a star Velcroed to his head. Pricilla waddled through the door, but not before delivering a grandmotherly kiss, one to Holly and one to Regan, and digging through her crocheted handbag to offer both of them peppermint lollipops.

“Thank you.” Holly beamed as she led them into the house.

Each granny set her plate on the counter and took her place in the family room in front of the tree. ChiChi set up her chair and the other ladies followed, even popping up a mini red and green one that was Holly-sized.

Which left Regan standing at the front door, staring up into the eyes of one sexy vintner. Not sure what to say or do
with her hands, she settled on a lame smile. Then felt her cheeks heat when she thought of what they had almost done in the alley below.

Gabe leaned in, his eyes dropping to her shirt, and whispered, “My thoughts exactly.”

She looked down and felt the embarrassment rise. In her panicked state she had grabbed one of Holly’s shirts. It was tiny enough to smash her breasts, white enough to pass for wet T-shirt attire, and had P
rrrrrr
scrawled across the chest in pink. And poking out, just above the top curve of the second and fifth
R
, was hard evidence that she was still turned on.

“Yeah, me too,” Gabe said, his lips grazing her ear, before walking through the doorway.

“Here you go.” Regan threaded gold yarn through the last tinfoil star and handed it to Gabe, a tingle shooting through her body when he purposefully ran a thumb along the underside of her wrist.

The Mrs. Clauses had arrived with cookies, cocoa, hot buttered wine—everything needed for a Christmas tree decorating party, including a few ornaments to add to their collection. And they had helped Holly find the perfect place for each one. The way they treated her daughter, went out of their way to hug her and make her feel special, touched Regan deeply. But what had melted her heart were the contents of the bag that Gabe dropped by the front door.

It wasn’t filled with expensive presents or store-bought decorations. Gabe had brought tinfoil, yarn, tissue paper,
popcorn—all the things needed to create a homemade Christmas tree. And Holly had been thrilled.

“One North Star, coming up.” He pasted a piece of tape to the yarn and passed it up to Holly, who giggled and took the handmade decoration.

Holly tapped her tiny finger against her chin and scanned the ceiling before pointing to the corner on the far side of the room. “Over there.”

“As the lady wishes.” Gabe carefully stepped around to the other side of the tree.

And that was exactly how they’d spent the last hour. The Mrs. Clauses stringing popcorn and shouting strict directions from their thrones. Holly perched on Gabe’s shoulder, sticking hundreds of tinfoil stars and tissue paper snowflakes to the ceiling to complete the illusion of a Winter Wonderland. And Regan wondering if her new friends understood just what a gift they had given her and her daughter.

“Not there,” ChiChi said from her chair, shoving a handful of popcorn in her mouth and using a laser pointer to make a red
X
on the star in question. “It needs to be right above the tree.” The laser flew to the spot on the ceiling that was just above the tree’s point.

Lucinda reached over, grabbed a handful of popcorn for herself, and studied the room. Mr. Puffins opened one eye. It went wide and then narrowed in on the moving beam. “She’s right. It’s the biggest one we made, so it should be right over the tree.”

“Oh, I like that idea.” Pricilla nodded eagerly.

“Nope,” Holly said, reaching up to stick the tape to the ceiling in the place she had deemed perfect. “The biggest one was my nana’s and it goes on top. Right, Mommy?”

“Right, angel.”

Regan dug through their Christmas box and pulled out a clump of bubble wrap and tissue paper. Carefully she unrolled it, her chest constricting when she got to the heart of the packaging and saw the first golden edge of the blown glass. This had been her mother’s favorite decoration, one of the only things Regan still had of hers.

“Would you look at that,” ChiChi said, the awe clear in her voice. “Bring that over here.”

Regan handed it to the older woman and watched, her heart in her throat, as one by one the Mrs. Clauses gingerly passed it around, inspecting it thoroughly. It was the most beautiful thing Regan owned and, silly or not, she wanted the ladies to think it beautiful too.

“Is this a family heirloom?” Lucinda asked, handing it back.

Regan took the star and ran her finger along the edges. They had gotten smoother over the years, just as the lead in the glass had weighted to the bottom, leaving irregular patterns and bubbling.

“It belonged to my grandmother. And it was one of the few things that my mother brought with her from Mexico.”

“It’s lovely, dear,” Pricilla said, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “Just lovely.”

“And Mommy always puts it on last,” Holly explained, scrambling out of Gabe’s arms the second he set her down and her feet hit the carpet. She took Regan’s hand and all but tugged her to the tree. With a serious face, she looked up at Regan and informed her, “She’s ready, Mom.”

Regan felt her eyes sting. First, placing her mom’s star on the tree always made her want to cry because it was a
reminder, not only of what Regan had lost, but of what a great woman her mother had been.

Second, the minute that star went on the tree this wonderful evening would come to a close: Holly would go to bed, the Mrs. Clauses would head home, Gabe would escort them, and Regan would be left alone with the memory of the night but the knowledge that it was over.

Last, she would spend the evening staring at the makeshift decorations, the thought behind them, and wish for things that could never come true.

Holly kissed the star then Regan, who stretched to place it on the top branch. Normally it wasn’t such an ordeal, since their trees tended to be about four feet. This one was at least eight feet tall, five feet wide, and being the mac-daddy of trees, even on her tiptoes she couldn’t reach.

Gabe appeared in front of her. Without a word, he bent down, slid his arms around her butt, and smiled. After getting a good handful of her backside he pulled her to him and stood, bringing her within arm’s length of the tree’s top. She leaned over Gabe’s head and, aware that she was shoving her P
rrrrrr
right in his face, carefully placed the star.

“It’s perfect,” Holly screamed, almost wiggling herself right off ChiChi’s lap.

“I agree,” Gabe said to her chest.

He lowered Regan to the ground, sliding her body down his at a painstaking pace, his hands still firmly on her ass, making sure that every single one of her good parts brushed over and against every single one of his. When her feet touched the floor, she was pressed thigh to chest against Gabe, his downstairs hard against her belly.

Oh God, she was going to lose it. Right there under her mom’s star and in front of her daughter, a cat with pipe-cleaner branches, and three little old ladies, Regan was going to kiss Gabe. And the twinkle in his eyes said he was going to kiss her right back.

“It will never work,” Pricilla said, breaking the spell. And stating what they both already knew.

Regan took a step back, but not before she saw the frustration in Gabe’s eyes. He thought that they could make this thing between them work. And if Regan was capable of a short, casual fling he would be right. But she wasn’t. And that made the whole situation wrong.

“Give it here,” ChiChi squawked, grabbing the laser pointer and fiddling with the dial. “I’ll make it work.”

A fine beam danced around the room, catching Mr. Puffin’s attention. The furry noble fir with claws ignored Lucinda’s cry and leaped off her lap, racing across the room and chasing the light as it went from red to green to yellow. By the time it cycled to white, the poor cat had run into three walls, crawled up—and down—Gabe’s leg, and knocked over the entire Crock-Pot of hot buttered wine.

“Nonna,” Gabe hollered. Pricilla was already reaching for a towel, and Holly was chasing Mr. Puffins to avoid another disaster.

ChiChi looked up and, oblivious to the chaos, handed the laser pen to Gabe. “Be a dear, and place this inside of the star. I think it will add just the right amount of magic.”

Gabe ran a hand down his face. “Nonna, I swear to—”

“I think that sounds lovely, ChiChi.” Regan brushed her fingers lightly across Gabe’s knuckles. “Don’t you, Gabe?”

He shot her a look that said he thought quite the opposite but took the pen anyway. And ChiChi was right. Once placed inside the star, the whole room glowed with golden haloes, and it was pretty damn magical.

“Now, Gabe, make yourself useful and help Holly with her teeth. We have business to discuss with our marketing goddess.”

Holly hugged each granny, pet Mr. Puffins, who, tail standing on end, was crouched behind the tree staring up at the golden twinkles on the ceiling, and took Gabe by the hand. Regan could barely breathe as she watched the two of them disappear into the bathroom.

“Yes, quite the sight,” ChiChi said, placing a shaky hand on Regan’s shoulder. “Brings a tear to my eye.”

“Enough of the hallmark moment,” Lucinda said. “We’ve got a problem and you, being our secret weapon, are going to help us fix it. Now sit.”

Once again, Regan found herself seated in a tiny chair, staring up at a trio of grannies in Christmas garb—ChiChi’s more couture than cliché. All in their glasses and all looking down at Regan in a way that made her nervous.

“We heard from Gail at the market that Suzanne asked her to take Monday morning off and babysit little Mariella,” Lucinda said, snatching up Mr. Puffins and reshaping the pipe cleaners to look more like a cone than a square.

“I assume Mariella is her granddaughter,” Regan ventured, when the ladies went quiet.