Kissing Under the Mistletoe (32 page)

She waited until she heard rattling coming from the kitchen. The last thing she wanted was for Holly to overhear them. “Gabe, that was sweet, but in a few minutes she’ll figure it out.”

“This is what I do. I solve problems. Let me solve this one.” He smiled, pulling her up to standing.

“I don’t lie to my daughter. I never have and I won’t start now just because some stuck-up—”

Gabe leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to hers, delivering a sweet kiss. When he pulled back his face was serious. “I wouldn’t ask you to. Ever.” He kissed her again, this time lingering a little longer. “But I am going to ask you to trust me.”

He was asking a lot, because she didn’t do trust all that well. Maybe because it hadn’t worked out for her well in the past. Or maybe because she knew he was talking about a whole lot more than saving a little girl’s tea party. Either way, Regan closed her eyes and whispered, “Okay.”

If Gabe thought corralling a group of investors in a down-turned economy was difficult, it was because he had never spent the afternoon with a group of sugar-streaming, six-year-old girls.

“How did you—”

Gabe didn’t hear the rest of Regan’s question because a three-foot-tall girl with blonde curls, a pink crown, and enough attitude to take on the entire PTA screeched by, cupcake in hand, wand over her head, and giving “bat out of hell” a whole new meaning.

When she collided with another princess—this one covered in cupcake—fingers started pointing, tears started flowing, and normally Gabe would have found himself walking...right out that door. Instead he walked over, righted both kids, wiped off the cake and tears and, after making sure Holly was having a good time, sat down with Regan to share a cupcake.

And that was when Gabe realized that Regan was asking the wrong question. It wasn’t about
how
he’d done it but
why
. And for the past hour, watching a bunch of sugarcoated kids tear apart Pricilla’s teahouse, he’d been asking himself that same question over and over.

The answer was easy. He wanted to be her hero. He wanted to be that person who made Regan happy, who she counted on. And he wanted to be that for Holly. Somewhere between trying to chase Regan out of town and then into his bed, Gabe had fallen for her. Hard.

“Seriously,” Regan asked, breaking the cupcake in two and offering up half to Gabe. “How did you get them all here? Isabel runs the Mommy Mafia.”

He took the cupcake, set it on a napkin, and sucked the frosting off her fingers. She moaned, then her eyes flickered around to make sure no one had seen them. That was his fault, one he meant to fix. Right now.

“I called a few of the dads I know and said I was looking forward to seeing them at the tea party. When they asked why I was going I explained that the birthday girl was my girlfriend’s daughter.”

Regan bit her lower lip and a pretty blush covered her cheeks. “What about when Abigail—”

“She’ll get over it?” Gabe leaned over the table, the cupcake, and a stuffed cat with some kind of damn antlers on its head and kissed Regan. He kissed her in front of just about every gossip in town, knowing that his brothers were going to chew him a new one, that Abby was going to blow something, and that ChiChi was already picking out wedding dates.

And he didn’t care.

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, Regan had a Band-Aid on every fingertip, glitter permanently stuck to her forearms, and enough sewing experience to moonlight as a seamstress. She’d finished all the costumes, helped Holly run her lines, and still managed to see Gabe twice. Sunday she’d met him at The Cannery with Holly for breakfast. Monday she met him on his couch, in nothing but mistletoe. Holly had been at her final rehearsal.

Now Holly was backstage, covered in fur, red lamé knickers and vest, waiting for the play to start. Regan unrolled
and rolled the program in her hands and looked over her shoulder, past the garland-lined rows of packed seats, past the thirty antlered glee club kids gathered in the back waiting for their cue, to the theater’s entrance.

She hadn’t expected the painful flitter that fisted against her rib cage as the lights dimmed and the doorway remained empty. Just like the chair to her left.

Holly would be devastated if she stepped out on that stage and saw her second seat empty. Then again, Gabe wasn’t the kind of person to stand up a six-year-old. She looked at the entrance again.

“Will you stop? Every time you turn you smack me with the ball on your hat,” Jordan said from the chair to her right.

“Plus, I think it’s blocking everyone behind us from seeing”—Ava took in her hat—“anything.”

“Oh, sorry.” Regan took off her macaroni-trimmed elf hat, something Holly made for her in class, and set it under her seat. Muttering an apology to the woman behind her, she slyly took another peek at the door.

Jordan took Regan by the shoulders, turning her toward the stage, the clanking of metal on metal sounding. Jordan was wearing a red fluffy handcuff on her right hand. Ava had a matching cuff on her left. Regan raised a brow.

“Last night, Mr. Sex with Wheels decided to play Romeo and climb the trellis.”

“He was dropping off my homework,” Ava fumed, crossing her arms and jerking Jordan’s hand to the side.

“In the bathtub?” Jordan jerked back. Ava rolled her eyes so hard, Regan was surprised they didn’t fall out.

“I felt the testosterone all the way downstairs. By the time I busted through the bathroom door”—Jordan leaned
closer to Regan and lowered her voice—“Mr. Sex was about to become Mr. Bubbles.”

“Did you call the cops?” Regan was
not
looking forward to the teen years.

“Barney Fife? Are you kidding? That boy has five inches on the sheriff. I grabbed the plunger and started swinging at crotch level, yelling about my knife collection and castration. Then I called Gabe. He and the DeLuca men paid the kid and his father a visit. Mr. Sex on Wheels is now missing his wheels. But just in case he decides to bust out the Huffy”—Jordan held up their linked hands—“we’re conjoined until she turns eighteen.”

Regan wondered if maybe she should be cuffed to Jordan’s other hand. She and Gabe didn’t sound all that different from the horny teen couple. Making out in alleyways, meeting on lunch breaks for a little snack that had nothing to do with food, deflowering his new swing cushion.

The St. Vincent’s high school band took their seats and the lights went black. Regan looked over her shoulder one last time.

“He’ll be here,” Jordan whispered over the swelling music. “When I was leaving the office, I ran into Marc and Nate in the parking lot. They both looked constipated and asked if Gabe was still there. So I imagine he’s trying to solve another one of their self-made problems.”

Regan didn’t hear anything else because the curtain opened and standing middle stage was Holly. She was curled up in a ball on an enormous cat bed surrounded by giant candy canes and sugarplums. Balls of yarn the size of truck tires hung from the ceiling, each one with a swinging Saints cheerleader in a metallic space suit. It was like the Nutcracker
fell down Alice’s hole and wound up in a club in Vegas. And the crowd went wild.

Christmas Kitty opened her eyes and stretched and, sitting up, let out the perfect purr. It was sleepy and adorable and flawlessly executed. Unable to contain herself, Regan clapped and Holly’s eyes flew to hers and paused...for only a second. Long enough to let Regan know that Holly knew she was there. And that the seat to her left was still painfully empty.

Regan smiled brighter, clapped twice as hard, trying to make up for the empty seat—something she had done Holly’s entire life. Suddenly, Christmas Kitty smiled and, eyes on the back of the theater, started making muffins on the bed.

Regan turned around and saw Gabe, looking sexy in a pair of slacks and a dark blue button-down. He stared at the stage, a big smile on his face as he winked at Holly. Regan waved him over. His smile faded and he continued to stare at the stage, past her.

She waved again, thinking he’d somehow missed her in the crowded theater. He didn’t wave back. In fact, he walked to the opposite side of the room and took a seat against the far wall next to one of his brothers. She wasn’t sure which one; they all looked the same to her. Big, bad, Italian, and mean.

Regan dug through her purse, pulled out her phone, and dialed Gabe. She watched as he checked the screen, sent her to voice mail, and pocketed his phone. He whispered something to his brother.

Big and Bad nodded, whispered back, and then looked over at Regan. She would have to revise her earlier assessment. Mean didn’t even begin to cover the look he shot her before jerking his chin in her direction.

Gabe looked up.

Regan smiled, once again trying to make up for whatever she was lacking. Gabe looked at her and then back at the stage, whispering to his brother again. And just like the chair, something inside Regan went painfully empty.

She fought to keep her smile in place, to keep the panic deep inside where it wasn’t visible. Her face heated and her body felt awkward. It was as if every person in the room was staring at her. She looked back at the stage, her reason for being there, and blinked back the tears.

Gabe had purposefully dismissed her—in front of the whole town.

She tried to convince herself that it was nothing; that it was her own guilt getting the best of her; that he had shown up as promised. But an hour later, when the curtain closed and the final bow was had, Regan felt as if her body was going to snap from the tension.

Gabe’s seat next to his brother was empty and he was nowhere to be found.

Nothing made sense. He had seen her. He had ignored her. Then, without a word, he had left her. She grabbed her hat and mumbled a hurried good-bye to Jordan and Ava, ducking out before the houselights came up.

Earlier that morning, Gabe had brought over a big pink box with an even bigger red bow filled with a dozen doughnuts with pink sprinkles for Holly’s birthday breakfast. When he left he’d stolen a kiss and they’d made plans to take Holly to dinner after the musical.

Regan didn’t know what had transpired in the past ten hours, but it wasn’t good. She felt it in her gut. In the way his eyes had been cool and empty when he’d looked at her.
It was like she had been beamed back to six years ago when Gabe had found her with Richard.

Whatever was going on would have to wait. Tonight was about Holly, her amazing performance, and her birthday.

Regan squared her shoulders and hurried down the hallway toward the dressing rooms. She was going to hug her little thespian and take her out for the best birthday dinner a newly turned six-year-old could imagine. Then tomorrow, after Christmas presents were opened, she would confront Gabe.

Regan turned the corner and slammed into a tiny brunette with big brown eyes.

“Abigail,” Regan blurted out. No introductions were needed. Even though the two had never met, the connection was immediate, intense, and might explode at one spark.

“I was going to call you after Christmas,” Regan admitted. Abigail only crossed her arms. “To talk to you about...” Regan looked at the dressing room door, only ten feet away, and knew that now wasn’t the time. Holly would come bounding out of the room, ready to celebrate her performance, and instead find her mom and teacher in a screaming match.

“Holly will be here any minute,” Abigail said, by way of calling a temporary truce.

“Yes,” Regan said, her chest relaxing a little. Abigail wasn’t hiding the fact that she hated Regan, but at least she was thinking of Holly. “Thank you. And thank you for tonight. Holly was so excited about this play, and with you being the music director, this whole event could have turned out a completely different experience for her.”

Instead of the tension easing, Abigail took Regan’s thanks as a direct insult. “I am not in the habit of ruining families.”

Okay, so maybe the implied truce wasn’t as strong as Regan had first thought. She needed to defuse the situation and get Holly out of there, pronto.

“Why don’t I call you Friday on my break and we can clear the air?”

“I don’t see the point. We will never be friends and this town will never be your home. So let’s cut through the niceties. I have an after-party to host and you have a daughter to collect.”