Chapter Ten

Gwen

I woke up on Christmas morning in a mood that was more fitting of a small child, bursting with excitement over the prospect of finding whatever Santa might have left in their stocking. Carson wasn’t going to arrive for several hours but I wasted no time getting ready and when I walked into the kitchen for breakfast, both of my parents did a double take.

My mom craned around from her place at the small kitchen island to check the large clock above the pantry door.

I laughed. “Yes, I know, it’s early.”

“Are you wearing false eyelashes?” she whispered, leaning closer to peer up at me as I rounded the island to grab a cup of coffee.

“Maybe.”

My dad laughed from behind his newspaper.

I filled a mug, added a splash of cream from the ceramic cow by the stove, and leaned back against the counter. I held the steaming mug in between both hands, my freshly manicured nails tapping at the sides. “All right, spit it out.”

“Nothing, pumpkin,” he said.

I wasn’t convinced. I planted a fist on my hip and tried again. “Come on. What are you thinking?”

He lowered the paper and pushed his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I think you look beautiful.”

My cheeks went red and my hand slipped from my hip. “Thank you, Dad.”

“So, what time is Carson getting here?” my mom asked on her way to the sink. “I’ll be putting the roast in the oven in a couple of hours. I’ll need help getting the side dishes and rolls ready.”

“No problem.”

“You sure you wanna do all that in those heels?” she asked, dropping a pointed look to the pumps on my feet.

“I’ll trade them out for slippers,” I said, giving a roll of my eyes.

The doorbell rang and my dad hopped down from his perch. “That’ll be Mags,” he said, starting for the front of the house.

My mom waited until he was out of sight and then groaned as she sank down to grab something from the cupboard by the stove. She came up with a bottle of Irish cream and proceeded to pour a generous amount into her coffee. “Guess we’re starting early today,” she mumbled, replacing the cap.

I giggled and patted her on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

“Hmm.”

“Merry Christmas!” Aunt Maggie yelled, strutting into the kitchen in a Christmas sweater that featured a 3D reindeer protruding off the front. Every year her sweaters got worse and worse. I had a hunch she was going to Ugly Sweater Parties in all the nearby office buildings and buying them off the victors after they’d claimed their prize. It was the only explanation that made sense.

“Merry Christmas, Aunt Maggie,” I said, rounding the corner while my mom inhaled her spiked coffee.

“Good Heavens! Are you going to the opera, Gwen?”

I laughed and embraced her, the knitted reindeer nose poking me in the stomach. “No, I just thought it would be fun to dress up a little.”

“Gwenie has a gentleman caller coming to Christmas dinner,” my dad filled in.

I groaned and gave a full eye roll. “Dad.”

My mom poured another cup of coffee.

“A gentleman caller?” Aunt Maggie repeated, her soft blue eyes as wide as Tweety Bird from the old Looney Tunes cartoons.

“I have a friend coming to dinner,” I said, tossing my long ponytail over my shoulder.

Aunt Maggie cocked her head and gave me a lingering once-over. A glint took hold in her eyes and a slow smile crossed her lips. “Honey, I might be old, but I know a fuck-me outfit when I see one.”

“Mags!” my dad barked.

“Language, please, Maggie,” my mother protested before shoving her nose back into her coffee mug.

Aunt Maggie threw her hands up in the air. “It’s just a word. Honestly…” the rest of her mutterings faded off as she turned and made her way to the guest bathroom.

As I watched her shuffle off I winced, wondering if I should have suggested that Carson and I should hit the local Denny’s for dinner instead.

****

“Gwen, can you check the timer on the green beans?”

I bent to open the oven just as the doorbell rang. My heart slammed up into my throat and the over door snapped shut with a loud bang as I lost my grip on the handle. “They look great,” I said over my shoulder as I made a beeline for the front door. Aunt Maggie and my dad were watching some Christmas movie on TV in the den and I didn’t want either of them getting to the door first. I ditched my apron on the way, leaving it hanging over the banister of the stairs, and tugged the elastic band from my ponytail. I gave my hair a shake, one hand poised on the handle, and then plastered a wide smile on my face.

Carson was on the other side, looking ten times more delicious than all the food in the kitchen—which was saying something as my mom was one hell of a cook—in a navy blue parka and black jeans. He carried a potted poinsettia and extended it toward me as I pulled the door open all the way to let him inside. “Hello, Gwen. Good Lord you look gorgeous.”

Heat rose in my cheeks. “Thank you. You look…” Edible? I blinked, discarding the word. “You look great. Please, come inside.”

Carson stomped the snow off his boots and stepped inside. It had been snowing steadily for days and showed no signs of stopping. “How are you?”

I balanced the plant on my hip as I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. We’d spoken on the phone a few times in the days leading up to Christmas but there was something about seeing him in person, and being near enough to touch him—or him to touch me—that made me nervous all over again. “Good.”

“These are pretty,” he said, reaching forward to graze his fingers over the diamond post in my exposed earlobe. “New?”

I shivered at his featherlight touch and nodded. “My parents. They shouldn’t have.”

That had been my big gift of the year, a pair of diamond earrings, my first real pair.

“They look great on you,” Carson said, pocketing his hands as though that were the only way he could keep them to himself.

“Thank you. Come on in, let’s get you something to drink and I’ll introduce you to my mom since you’ve met Aunt Maggie and my dad already.”

Carson reached for my hand and my breath hitched as he locked his fingers with mine. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I said, marveling at how true the sentiment was once the words left my mouth. I had missed Carson. He was quickly becoming an integral part of my life even though we’d only met a little over a week ago.

“The CIA guy?”

I squeezed my eyes together at Aunt Maggie’s booming voice. She was the embodiment of the big personality in a small package stereotype.

“Hello, Maggie,” Carson said.

I pried my eyes open and turned to face Aunt Maggie, my hand still locked with Carson’s. “Aunt Maggie, this is Carson Stiles. He’s a football player, not a spy.”

Aunt Maggie folded her arms. “Football, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She worked her lower lip for a moment. “Where are you from?”

“Arizona, ma’am.”

She continued to eye him as she searched her mental records. Aunt Maggie was a college football fan and I could almost see her flipping through her memories for any hint of Carson’s name. After a long moment, her eyes went wide, sparked with light. She snapped her fingers. “Carson Stiles! I remember you, now. You were one hell of a player!”

Carson chuckled. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” Aunt Maggie waved a hand at him as she shuffled across the floor. She threaded her arm through his and started dragging him toward the kitchen. “Tell me something, any of those football friends of yours into older women? Cougars, as all the kids say.”

I slapped my hand over my mouth and shook my head. Only Aunt Maggie.

****

By the time dinner was served, everyone was getting along easily. My mom had enough booze in her system to forgive Aunt Maggie’s increasing levels of inappropriateness. My dad and Carson proved they could talk football forever. And I was feeling warm and sleepy after having had a few too many glasses of wine while preparing the meal.

Carson pulled my chair out for me and I glanced up at him with a smile. “Thanks.”

“Such a gentleman,” Aunt Maggie said, flashing a watery smile. “You hold onto this one, Gwenie. Tall, broad-shouldered, manners. Obviously came from good stock. Plus,” her smile went from warm to devious in the blink of an eye as she leaned forward, “he’s probably hung like a—”

“Margaret!” my father boomed, nearly jumping out of his skin.

Aunt Maggie snorted and then dissolved into giggles as she reached for her wine glass. My mom swooped in and dragged it out of her path with a scowl. Aunt Maggie shrugged. “Just sayin’…”

My cheeks felt like they were on fire and I didn’t dare glance at Carson as he took his seat beside me. “Sorry,” I muttered out of the corner of my mouth.”

“Please, everyone, let’s pray,” my mother said, shooting another deadly glare at Aunt Maggie.

We all joined hands around the table and my dad led us in the traditional holiday prayer. I couldn’t really pick out the words as I was distracted by the way Carson’s thumb was brushing against the inside of my palm. With everyone’s heads bowed, and eyes closed, I dared a glance at him and he lifted my hand to plant a slow kiss on the ridge of my knuckles. A flurry of butterflies swirled in my stomach.

“Amen!”

I jolted to attention and added an Amen of my own. Beside me, Carson chuckled under his breath.

Dinner went on, the conversation flowing as we all passed dishes back and forth. It was surprising how easy and natural it felt. I’d never brought a guy home before. Certainly not for Christmas. But with Carson beside me at the dinner table it almost felt like it had always been that way, as if my memory were writing him into place in the Christmases past. He fit in seamlessly, even gracefully handling Aunt Maggie’s open ogling and muttered comments about how he should have been a tight end.

“Where are your folks, Son?” Aunt Maggie asked, her words slightly slurring together.

I sucked in a breath as Carson cleared his throat. “Umm. My mom lives in Arizona. She’s remarried. My dad isn’t in the picture.” The tightness of his voice cut through me like a hot knife. He’d been the same way on our date the other night. His family was obviously a pain point. One that I was still curious about, but didn’t want to press on. And I especially didn’t want Aunt Maggie pressing it.

“Well, I’m very glad you were able to join us,” I said, cutting off Aunt Maggie before she could dig deeper. Her diner was a gossip haven for the city and she prided herself on always having the goods on the locals. I wasn’t going to let her spread gossip about Carson. She wouldn’t mean it maliciously, but there was no telling what damage it could do. Besides that, it really wasn’t anyone’s business.

“Yes, we all are, Carson,” my mom said, smiling warmly across the table while swiftly elbowing Aunt Maggie beside her.

“Thank you,” Carson said, though his smile seemed forced.

An awkward silence settled over the table, accentuating the sounds of utensils on the fancy china my mom only busted out for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I searched my mind for a way to start a new conversation but came up short.

“Anyone ready for dessert?” my mom asked, pushing away from the table.

“I’m always ready for dessert,” my dad said.

My mom placed a hand on his shoulder as she leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. “Pumpkin pie or chocolate torte?”

“Both?”

She scoffed at his reply but then turned her eye to Aunt Maggie. “Margaret?” She only called her that when she was pissed off.

“I think it’s time to trot out the eggnog.”

My mom sighed and marched into the kitchen.

“I’ll help,” I said, hopping up from my own chair. “Carson? Are football players allowed a slice of Christmas pie?”

He smiled. “Chocolate sounds good. Thanks.”

I followed my mom into the kitchen and found her pouring herself another glass of wine. “I’m sorry about her,” she said, catching my eye as I went to the fridge where the two desserts were stashed.

“It’s fine.” I pulled the two pie pans from the fridge and set them on the island before going back for the fresh whipped cream. “She means well. Carson’s been going to the diner for a while so I’m pretty sure he knows she’s…spunky.”

“That’s a word for it.”

I smiled and found a knife. “What do you think? Of Carson.”

“He’s great. Seems like a very nice young man. Your father is star-struck.”

I laughed and sliced the pies into eight equal pieces. “Makes it a lot easier. Not that I was all that worried that he’d drag out a shotgun and set up shop on the front porch.”

My mom laughed and pushed away from the counter to help me plate the desserts.

When the last crumbs of pie were gone and all the plates and silverware were stacked in neat rows beside the sink, my dad and Aunt Maggie retired to the den to finish up the Christmas movie they’d started before dinner. My mom went to work on the dishes. When Carson and I offered to help, she waved us off and we wound back through the dining room and stopped in the living room. Finally alone. Carson hadn’t quite been the same since talking about his family at the dinner table. I laced my hands together, suddenly wishing I’d worn something with pockets, and glanced up at him. “Do you want to stay? We can go watch the last part of the movie and drink cocoa and eggnog.”

Carson reached behind him and rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. His eyes glanced back and forth a few times, as though he were torn on what to say. After a moment, he dropped his hand and grabbed mine. “I’d love to, but I should get going before the roads get too iced over.”

“Right.” I nodded and forced a smile. He located his coat from the rack by the front door and pulled it on. “Well, thank you for coming. I’m glad you were able to join me. Us.”

“Gwen, I…” He shifted his weight back into his heels. His jaw went tense and worked back and forth. I waited for him to say whatever he was thinking, but he swallowed it down. “I had a really good time. Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” I pulled the front door open, ushering him out, even though it made my heart ache to have him leaving so soon, especially since I didn’t know what he was thinking. With a quiet smile, he turned and left, walking down the slick, ice coated drive, before I could find out.