“God, Bailey.” His pulse jacked up and he touched her hair with his free hand. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”
Her voice was thick. “Something happened to you.”
Now he felt even more like a graceless ass. “It’s just a little case of road rash.”
“You could have died, Finn.”
“Not even cl-”
“Not t-tonight. Then.”
Oh. She was crying about, thinking about, talking about, the assassination attempt.
Sometimes he wondered if maybe he should have died. Maybe it would have been easier than to live with the screwed-up mess the assassination attempt had made of his life and his future. At least it would have saved him from the damn agony of feeling Bailey’s hot tears and not knowing what the hell to do about them.
“But I’m okay,” he said. “I’m okay.”
Tears continued to drip between his fingers. Hating this helpless feeling, he pulled her up and onto his lap. She buried her face against his neck, whether for comfort or out of embarrassment, he didn’t know.
“Shhh,” he said, stroking her soft hair again. “I’m right here.”
Her shoulders continued to shake, and a sick sense of panic rose inside him. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her cry. She’d never been that kind of girl.
He cupped the back of her head, trying to curb his anxiety. “What can I do to make it better?”
“Nothing.” Her mouth moved against his wet skin. “I’m sorry, and I f-feel so d-dumb. I’m not usually sloppy. I’m tired, I g-guess. J-just really tired.”
“You’ve been working too hard,” he said, relief calming his heartbeat. He could fix tired! Anything to stop this emotion leaking all over his shirt. “Tell you what, I’ll do that Santa gig for you.”
When she didn’t immediately respond, he promised more. “I’ll do that Santa gig and anything else you want from me at The Perfect Christmas.”
“What?” Her voice was still muffled against his shirt.
“I’ll help you out at the store. Whatever you need.”
Her head lifted. His nose touched her pink one. Her lashes were wet and spiky, and he thought he could execute an Acapulco cliff dive into the drenched blue of her eyes.
Her forefinger reached out to trace the outline of his eye patch. Her pretty mouth turned down. “You don’t want to do that.”
He wanted her to stop looking at him with something that looked suspiciously like pity. He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger and adjusted her head so she was looking at him, and not at the stupid patch. “I offered, didn’t I? I’ll help you with The Perfect Christmas.”
It was as if the sun had come out. A smile broke over her face. “Oh Finn. Oh Finn.”
Oh fuck.
Too late, he realized he’d held out a noose and offered to tie it around his own stupid neck. It was crazy to tangle himself up with Bailey again! He thought of that damn knight suit in the next room and wondered if he could blame it for his rescuer impulse. Or…had she planned this herself?
Damn it.
In years past, she’d had plenty of practice getting him right where she wanted him.
“Finn?” Her nose wrinkled. Smelling the renege in the air.
But going back on his promise would be stupid too. That would show weakness. To both of them. There was another way to handle this.
“Yeah, I’ll do it,” he decided, pushing her off his lap so they were both standing. But he’d do it for a price. His price. “In return, you’ll go on a date with me Tuesday night and you’ll tell me exactly why you ran out on me ten years ago.”
Bailey Sullivan’s Vintage Christmas
Facts & Fun Calendar
December 11
The original “White Christmas” had an opening verse about a shining sun and swaying palm trees, as writer Irving Berlin was in Southern California when he wrote the immortal song that became a holiday standard.
Chapter 11
Dan found the woman of his dreams standing in the afternoon sunlight on a sidewalk corner diagonal from The Perfect Christmas. She looked like his Tracy, in khaki pants that hung low on her hips, a thin white shirt that was rolled to the elbows, bare feet shoved into two-tone loafers. Dark glasses and a baseball cap almost hiding her short blond hair lent her a celebrity-on-the-lam air.
He watched a passing couple give her a second glance. The silver-haired husband half gave her a third. Checking out her ass.
It was enough to make him hurry forward to stake his claim. “Hey.”
The woman turned dark lenses his way. He couldn’t tell what the hell she was thinking.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Same as you, I suppose.” He nodded toward the store across the street. “Making sure it’s still standing.”
Tracy returned her gaze to the two-story Victorian that had been her parents’ livelihood, her livelihood, and then theirs. In silence, they watched the steady stream of traffic going in and out of the white-on-blue front door. Eight out of ten people leaving carried the store’s signature bag-Christmas stripes around a centered watercolor version of the storefront.
“Bailey’s holding her own,” his wife finally said.
It had been Dan’s biggest gamble-walking away from the store as well as the house. He’d thought it would wake up Tracy that much quicker, shock her into seeing him, seeing them, when she tried managing the place on her own. Instead, she’d let the cavalry take over.
He’d considered returning to work at that point, but that would have been caving in. If they were going to make their marriage work, they had to forge something independent of The Perfect Christmas. He had to find a way for her to know him again, as a man outside of father and business partner.
“Bailey’s persuaded Finn to play Santa Claus for Story Hour and Christmas Movie Nights.”
Dan’s gaze jolted toward Tracy again. “What?”
A smile quivered at the corners of her mouth. “Alice has been ill and he’s living with her for a while. Didn’t take long for magnet Bailey and magnet Finn to find each other all over again.”
That sidetracked Dan for a moment. Finn had been a father’s-albeit stepfather’s-worst nightmare from the look of him. Sullen at thirteen, dangerous at sixteen, obviously head-over-motorcycle boots in love with Tracy’s daughter, who looked too perfect for one of the delinquent rebel’s tattooed fingers to touch.
But now he could feel almost sorry for the other man. Dan had spoken with Finn on occasion, and noted that he’d grown up into someone with a different kind of hard edge. Bailey, on the other hand, pretended she didn’t have a soft bone in her body. He could imagine all the sparks that were going to fly if-when-they clashed.
Dan shook his head. “I always thought…”
Tracy had been reading his mind for almost two decades. “…she threw what they had away too easily.”
Like her mother?
“I heard that,” she murmured.
It almost made him grin. “Trace-”
“Harry said he’s getting two Bs and an A. He thinks he can bring up at least one of the Bs with the final exam.”
Dan shrugged. “He’s always been an optimist.”
“Like you used to be.”
“Trace-”
“He also says he has a girlfriend.”
“Shelley. I heard about her.” Dan wanted to make clear that he kept in contact with their son too. “Harry’s a fast worker, wouldn’t you say?”
“Like you?”
An insult? A rebuke? “Trace-”
“I have to go.”
His hand caught hers.
In a blink, his mind flashed back to the scene in their house two days ago. To the incredible, hot sex. His first glimpse of her as he drove up to the house had clawed at his heart. She’d looked so great, so familiar, so his. He’d hated that she’d run from him.