Wrapped in Lace
By
Prescott Lane
Copyright © 2015 Prescott Lane
Kindle Edition
Cover design by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
Cover image by Gorosi/Shutterstock
Editing by Nikki Rushbrook
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
DECEMBER 21
PIPER
So, you know
how Oprah always talks about the
Aha!
moment? Well, I think I’m having one, but mine is more of a
What the hell?
moment. I’d been set-up for the hundredth time since I moved back to McAdenville, North Carolina a little over a year ago, and it looks like the streak of no second dates is going to continue. And trust me, I don’t consider myself God’s gift to the male species or anything. I’m just a normal girl who wants nothing more than a nice, decent guy. But to say I’ve had a string of bad luck lately would be a bit of an understatement.
This time the guy took me to the movies. That sounds normal enough, right? He was cute and had a job—two criteria that seem to be lacking in twenty-something men these days—and he even asked if I’d like some popcorn and something to drink. Polite! Score points for him. Then it happened, the red flag, the
freak
flag. He insisted that the poor teenager working the refreshment counter get our popcorn from the machine at the other end, because it was popping fresh popcorn and the other machine’s popcorn had been sitting there. I wasn’t sure if he’d been stalking the popcorn machines, but I was willing to let it go. While it seemed a little Type A to me, maybe he just wanted to make sure I got the best popcorn? Maybe he was thinking of me? It was only after he berated the poor child taking our order because she neglected to fill his cup all the way to the top that I realized his issues had nothing to do with consideration for me. Give me a break! I thought you were supposed to be on your best behavior on first dates.
But the real deal breaker, the
coup de gras
, was when we walked into the theater. There were only about a dozen people inside the theater, which had to hold at least a hundred, so I was a little confused when dude chose to sit down right next to another couple. I’m not even talking on the same row; I’m talking about in the
next seat
. I’ve found that most men want privacy at a movie so they can grope you a little bit, but not this guy. No, he ignored the eighty-plus vacant seats in the theater and plopped down right beside some poor guy who looked as confused as I was. I mean, we aren’t at Disney World, where they’re constantly telling you to move all the way over, leaving no empty seats. Needless to say, the rest of the date sucked. I don’t know why I bothered to put on a dress, much less shave my legs and wash my hair. What a waste!
I couldn’t just go home after that. I needed to decompress, so here I sat in the parking lot of the local watering hole. Ending a date in a dive bar parking lot is surely some kind of warning sign of alcoholism or depression. I looked out at the old, rundown bar, noting the sad looking Christmas lights decorating the building—because that’s what you do in McAdenville, North Carolina. You hang Christmas lights and holly and tinsel and bells and every other Christmas decoration you can think of. McAdenville isn’t nicknamed Christmas Town, USA for nothing.
I reached for my phone, finding a text from my best friend, Sabrina—no doubt checking to see how tonight’s date went. Sabrina is like my own private matchmaker, always scoping men for me. But the most recent guy she tried to set me up with was a real piece of work. He called me, we chatted, and I thought things were going great. Then he asked if we could go out
after
the holidays. That didn’t sound so bad, until the jerk proceeded to explain why. He thought it was best not to get involved with someone so close to Christmas because that would create pressure to exchange gifts or feel obligated to spend New Year’s together. When I told Sabrina, her response contained more F-bombs than a porn movie. She apologized profusely, but it’s not her fault. I seriously do not know what is wrong with men today. I’m not some man-hating feminazi or anything, but this was getting ridiculous. My last blind date took me to a comic book convention, which might not have been so bad—except he dressed up head-to-toe in an alien costume and bought a matching one for me to wear. I had to laugh about it. At least the fanboy was thoughtful.
A few blind dates before that, the guy arranged for us to have a spa date. Now, I’m all for a little manscaping. No girl wants her man looking like a wooly mammoth down below, and the happy trail should lead to something happy, not a thick forest. But couples mani-pedis? Really? The whole metrosexual man thing had just gone too far. Women want men to be
men
, for goodness sake, but not
cavemen
. The only thing worse than those dates were the sprinkling of dates I’d been on with grab happy players. I’d had enough. I fired up an email to my entire contact list.
Dear well-meaning friends and family,
I am no longer available for blind dates, set-ups, internet dating, or nearsighted dating. And no, this doesn’t mean that I’ve found “the one.” If you truly love me, please stop. I’d rather die a sad, lonely cat lady than endure another date from hell. All my love, Piper
*
DREW
I could just
barely make out the sign ahead. It still wasn’t too late to turn around, but I’d promised my grandmother I’d be home for Christmas this year. And she’d skin my hide if I broke a promise. The headlights on my old, red pickup hit the sign, “Welcome to Christmas Town, USA.”
McAdenville, North Carolina, population six hundred, is just twenty minutes from Charlotte and is known for transforming itself from a simple, small town to a winter wonderland every Christmas season. Thousands of visitors flood the town to take in the sights and get into the holiday spirit, and McAdenville never disappoints. With wreaths on every light post, hundreds of trees cascaded in lights and bulbs, a life-size Nativity, and of course, Santa, it should make anyone who sees it smile. Anyone, that is, except me. Even though I hadn’t been home to McAdenville in six years, not even the Christmas carols chiming from the local church could lift my spirits.
I pressed on the brakes, seeing the taillights of the line of cars crawling through the small town, gawking at the sea of Christmas lights. The traffic wasn’t going to clear anytime soon, so I decided to pull over and get out of my truck. Watching the hustle of tourists picking up last minute gifts and decorations, I was happy to be done with my shopping. Glancing in my truck at the bag of gifts and my duffle bag, I realized I had more with me now than I did when I left McAdenville. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I just had to make it through a few days, give my grandmother a holiday surrounded by her entire family, and then I’d be back home in Raleigh for New Year’s Eve.
But I wasn’t ready to face my family just yet. I’d need a drink first, maybe two, and preferably from a place where no one would recognize me. I knew just the place to go, every small town has one. There’s the bar that husbands go to after work or with their wives. Then there’s the bar on the
wrong
side of town—the one where the rougher crowd goes, for those who only want to see the bottom of their glass. Hank’s was just that place.
I opened the old wooden door, hearing it creak. No one bothered to look up at the noise, which was fine with me. That was the whole point of this kind of place—to get lost for a little while. The place was pretty empty except for two guys at a table. I would’ve never come to this place when I lived here, but then again, I hadn’t been home since I was nineteen, not yet drinking age. The fact that my family owned the bar on the
right
side of town would’ve kept me from stepping foot in this place six years ago, but I didn’t live by small town rules anymore.
I took a seat on a well-worn bar stool and pulled out my phone, sending a text to my parents that I wouldn’t be in until really late or the next morning—making up some work excuse. I could hang here for a while and not show up until the middle of the night. That way, I wouldn’t have to deal with the big
welcome home
crap.
“What-a ya having?” an elderly man with skin that looked like black leather asked.
This didn’t seem like the kind of place to order anything complicated, and a beer would work just fine. “Whatever you have on tap.”
The old barkeep got a glass down, filled it, and placed it in front of me. I took a long swig then lowered my head to my fists and closed my eyes. I gripped my hair, unsure why I agreed to come back here. Nothing good could come of this. I was barely on the outskirts of town and already regretting the decision.
“A Screaming Multiple Orgasm, Hank,” a sweet Southern voice sang out. “Make it quick, please.”
My head shot up, my eyes landing on a woman at the other end of the bar, and I felt my breath catch. I had to be dreaming.
This
was no place for a woman. I looked around, assuming she must be here with a boyfriend. There was no way a girl so sweet looking came in here alone and ordered a drink like that. For a second, she glanced my way, then she leaned over the bar, her dark blonde hair falling in front of her face.
“Hey, Firefly,” Hank the barkeep said before kissing her cheek. “Bad day?”
“Something like that. I need my orgasm,” she said, smiling. “Multiple, remember.”
God, she was so damn adorable in her flowery dress and cowboy boots, a scarf wrapped around her neck. I tried to think of some witty response, but the guys at the table in the back held up their glasses, yelling for a refill.
“Go ahead, Hank. I’ll make it myself,” she said, hopping off her stool and walking around the bar as she slowly unwound her scarf. The skin of her neck called to me. No, it fucking yelled and begged for me. I just knew she’d smell good, sweet, and that I could get lost in her for a little while.
“Hank, you’re out of Bailey’s,” she called out, biting her bottom lip.
For some reason, it’s so sexy when a woman does that. I’ve never been able to figure it out, but I wanted to give her bottom lip a little bite, not to mention a few other body parts I’d like to sink my teeth into. Her eyes found mine again, and I realized I was staring.
“Can I get you something?” she asked.
“You work here?” There was something about her voice that seemed familiar. I felt like I knew her from somewhere, but I couldn’t really say,
Have we met before?
That would come off like the lame line it usually was. I searched my mind, trying to place her. I thought I knew everyone in this town, even though I haven’t been home in years. No one moves here on purpose. I wondered briefly if she was a Christmas light tourist, but then I recalled she knew Hank, so she must be local. I couldn’t shake the feeling I knew her from somewhere.
