Chapter One
Don’t smite me. Ben Wright quickly stepped through the entrance of St. Joseph’s Catholic Church and lived to tell the tale. He hadn’t set foot in church since he was a kid. He veered right and headed downstairs to the basement for the craft bazaar. Not that he was a crafty guy. He was more of a rugged type with his six-foot height, short light brown hair, and his usual black leather jacket with worn jeans and hiking boots. His dimpled smile detracted from the ruggedness, making him “approachable” or “such a cutie patootie,” as Grandmom always said when she wanted to butter him up. Just like she’d said this morning before ordering him to pick up a jar of homemade cherry jam and a handknit sweater. Something in a men’s large that he’d promptly forget he bought. Merry Christmas to me!
He chuckled to himself. Grandmom was down with a cold or flu, she wasn’t sure, and had insisted he do exactly as she said. “It’s one day only! You can’t miss it!” And when he’d assured her he didn’t need anything more than to spend Christmas with her, healthy and well, she’d become irritated, shooing him out the door with a parting jab. “You have to get your gift before someone else snatches it up!” Like there’d be a stampede for men’s handknit sweaters.
In any case, he always came through for a woman in need. It was kind of his thing.
He halted in the bustling basement, surprised by the number of people Christmas shopping when it was still November. It sure as hell felt like Christmas down here, from the silver garland strung along the ceiling to the carols playing softly in the background to the scent of hot chocolate and fresh-baked goodies. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, taking in way too many long tables along the edges of the space bursting with crafty crap. He needed a plan—get in, get out.
He made his way to the center refreshment table with hot chocolate, juice boxes, and assorted individually wrapped baked goods for sale. He figured the women there could direct him to the jam. A few minutes later, jam in hand, he was about to ask where the men’s sweaters were hiding when a hand clapped him on the shoulder.
“Ben, how nice to see you here again!”
He startled at the sight of an ancient Father Munson, completely bald now and considerably more cheerful than he’d ever been at Mass. Ben flushed, feeling guilty for…everything. “How’re you, Father?”
“I’m well, thank you. Your grandmother said you’d be here. Let me direct you to the sweaters she thought you might like.”
“Sure, thanks.” He followed him through the crowd to the far corner of the room, where two long tables were covered in sheep’s haircuts. One corner of his mouth lifted, imagining all those naked sheep grazing in the meadow.
Father Munson gestured him on. “Right over there,” he said and took off, surprisingly nimble for a man of his years.
Ben stood near the end of one table next to a couple of elderly women checking out the men’s sweaters. There were also hats, scarves, and mittens. He touched the edge of a hat, already feeling itchy and hot. Okay, as soon as those women moved on, he’d grab the first sweater close to his size and get out of here. But then his grandmother would want to see him wear it, and she’d notice if he only wore it once.
The women moved on, and he stepped forward, setting the jam on the table and quickly sifting through the men’s sweaters for one large enough for his wide shoulders that wasn’t too hideous. He felt someone staring at him. He lifted his head and nearly laughed. Her again? What were the odds?
Missy Higgins. Formerly red-haired, currently brunette with sharp brown eyes, delicate-looking cheekbones and nose, and the sexiest plump lips with a dip at the top. She wore a clingy red sweater that showed every sweet curve.
This was gonna be fun. The first time he’d met her months ago at his honorary brother Marcus’s bar in the city, she’d caught his eye with her red hair. But then she’d dyed her gorgeous red hair dark brown, and the second time he met her, he hadn’t recognized her. By the time he put it together, she was irritated. But not in a serious way, more like she didn’t really give a fuck.
He slapped a palm on the table. “Missy Higgins, this must be fate!”
She shook her head, smiling and shifting to stand across from him. “Uh, sure. A magical force brought us to the church basement. How romantic.”
Her deadpan delivery cracked him up. “You have to admit it was a magical force that had us going through the revolving door of Claire’s hotel at the same time.” That was where he’d met her when her hair was brown.
“Fate must work pretty slow. That was three weeks ago, and you didn’t even remember me.”
“I remembered you.”
A small smile played over her lips. “No, you didn’t.”
“Well, you changed your hair. It was a delayed—”
She lifted a palm, cutting him off. “And it was perfectly logical that we went through the door at the same time. I was coming in for the jacket I forgot, and you were coming out to give it to me.”
“Fate,” he said ominously.
Her brown eyes lit with amusement. “Coincidence.”
“And what about last week at the deli?”
She rolled her eyes. “We work in the same town. Bound to happen.”
“But it never happened before.” He lifted a finger. “Once is coincidence.” He added another finger. “Twice is—”
“Random.”
He bit back a smile. “Unusual.” He held up three fingers. “And three times, well, even a hard-core nonbeliever like yourself has to admit is—” he went for a deep spooky voice “—fate.”
“Oo-oo-oh,” she said flatly, wiggling her fingers in the air. “Looking for a sweater?”
“Under grandmother’s orders.”
“Oh, the women’s sweaters are down the other end. Cheryl can help you.” She gestured to a woman at a second table full of knits.
“It’s for me. I’m buying my own Christmas present.”
She laughed out loud, a throaty soft roll of a laugh.
He lifted the jar of jam and gave her his approachable sexy charmer of a dimpled smile. “Got this too. Not sure if this is for me or for her.”
Her lips curved in a small smile. “What a good grandson, doing her Christmas shopping.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “She isn’t feeling well, but she didn’t want to miss out on all these fine knits. I’m her only grandkid. Obviously she spoils me.”
“Obviously. Size?”
He set the jam down and threw his shoulders back. “Large enough for this manly chest.”
“Uh-huh.” Her eyes lit with amusement. “So we’re looking for a petite?”
“Extra large,” he drawled in a voice that implied more.
“Maybe a poncho, then?” she asked before pressing her lips together, clearly fighting back a laugh.
“Don’t quit your day job. You’re a terrible saleswoman.”
She smiled cheekily and started going through the sweaters. “I’m sure there’s something…” She pulled a dark green sweater out and held it up.
“There’s a bird on it.”
She glanced down at it. “It’s the bluebird of happiness.” She met his eyes with a straight face. “No?”
“No.”
She lifted another sweater. “Reindeer? Great for Christmas day with granny.” At his silence, she tried again. “Snowman. And look, there’s even some tiny snowballs.”
“Next,” he growled.
She held up another sweater and made a face. “This one is kind of boring, but maybe that’s your style.”
Smart-ass. It was a plain dark gray, the least hideous in the bunch, but if he said he wanted that one, he risked sounding boring.
The greater risk—looking like a complete dork with a bird, reindeer, or snowman emblazoned on his chest—had him narrowing his eyes. “Is there even a question?” He reached for the plain gray sweater, and she shoved the bird sweater in his hand instead.
“I knew it,” she said with a sly grin. “You’re a bluebird of happiness kind of…” She trailed off, stiffening, the color draining from her face.
“Are you okay?”
“Su-sure.” She swallowed visibly and met his eyes with a pinched expression. “Great.”
“Then why’re you as white as a communion wafer?”
His first Catholic joke fell flat. She regarded him gravely before leaning close and whispering, “Pretend you’re my boyfriend.”
He looked around. “Is there some guy—oh, hey.” She was next to him, closer than she’d ever been, her head level with his chest, her scent floral and fresh. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back behind the table with her.
Before he had a chance to put an arm around her like the possessive boyfriend he never was, she was pressed up against his front, her fingers running through his hair, smiling at him like he was the only man in the room. And it worked. Hell yeah, it worked. He slipped his arms around her waist, keeping her close.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he said, his voice rough with lust.
Her eyes widened for a moment before she cupped the back of his neck, drawing him down to whisper in his ear, “We’ve been together for a year. Serious.”
He slid a hand into her hair, momentarily distracted by its silky softness; then he whispered near her ear, “Two months is my longest relationship. This must be fate.”
“Ha-ha.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and shifted them so his back was to the room. She peered around him.
“All clear?” he asked.
“Fuck.” She shifted him again so they were sideways to the room.
“Okay.” He rested his hands lightly on her waist. It was almost like slow dancing.
“Pretend we’re talking.” She gave him a tight smile, dropping one arm from him. Her other hand went back to playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
He let go of her waist and lifted a hand, stroking one finger along her soft cheek. “Come here often?”
She focused fully on him, giving him a sexy smile, her voice husky. “Not often enough, sugar.”
Holy pretend girlfriend, he was turned on.
He played with a lock of her hair, studying the silky strands. “Why did you dye your pretty red hair dark brown?”
“Because I hate it.”
“I don’t.”
“Then you can dye your light brown hair pretty red.”
He snorted. “Seriously, though, why do you hate it?”
Her hand on the back of his neck tightened as she looked out to the room.
“Missy—” Her lips met his suddenly, hot and sweet. The sights and sounds of a crafty Christmas wonderland faded as his hand came up to hold her jaw, deepening the kiss, electric heat surging through his veins. She tasted of peppermint and sin, and he couldn’t get enough. He feasted on that luscious mouth like a starving man.
She tore her mouth away, breathless, eyes wide.
His heart beat in his ears, pulse thrumming. He stared at her pink lips, full and soft.
She met him halfway for a second kiss.
He didn’t care that it was pretend because it felt so right. Then her tongue darted out to touch his, instinct took over, and he dove in for more.