Amber Laura's Blog, page 12

Carnival Lights: Chapter Six

Mary looked down at her generous curves and then over at Christina’s much taller and slimmer frame. She grimaced. Snapping her dresser drawer shut, she shrugged. “I’m not I have anything that would fit you,” she admitted, wrinkling her nose. “I kind of hate you for that.”

Christina laughed softly, but her arms wrapped themselves around her stomach self-consciously.

Mary brought a finger up to her chin. “Now, let me think…”

“It’s fine, Mar,” Christina insisted for the umpteenth time, battling a surge of discomfort. “Really. I don’t mind…”

Besides—having Easter dinner with your boss and his family was one thing, but standing inside his bedroom, even with his wife there beside her, riffling through their dressers well, that was weird.  And she was absolutely terrified that Mary’s next suggestion would be to unravel the contents of her husband’s dresser for clothing options…

Taking a quick, firm step backward, Christina shook her head. “Honestly. It’s not a big deal. I can sleep in this.”

Mary, on the other hand, obviously didn’t seem to find anything out of the ordinary about having her husband’s secretary in her bedroom. Nor, for that matter, did she consider her next proposal just as scandalous. “Oh. I’ve got it,” she said, snapping her fingers together. “Jason.”

Christina’s eyebrows rammed together. “Huh?”

“Follow me,” Mary said, leading a mildly grateful Christina out of her room and down the hall. Which was how, fifteen minutes later, Christina found herself wearing one of Jason’s old high school T-shirts with a pair of track shorts. Pulling at the blue mesh material of the shorts, which were far too loose around her legs, Christina felt a blush rising against her cheeks.

It had undoubtedly been years since he’d worn the clothes and yet—her skin seemed to break out with every brush of cotton and polyester against her body.  It was so intimate. So familiar. So…her stomach tingled deliciously at the thought.

“So it’s not exactly stylish,” Mary said, misunderstanding Christina’s hesitation.

At her prompting, Christina laughed as she was supposed to do. “No? But I thought this was so cutting edge.” Smiling impishly, she struck a pose. “Chic meets sporty.”

“Oh, very trendy,” Mary said drily. Then with a wave of her hand, she motioned Christina toward the door. “All right, all right. Come on. Let’s get out of here before Jason notices…”

Christina chewed on her lip, her eyes skimming over the room. “Yeah, it does feel kind of wrong to be in here without him,” she confessed. She blanched at the words. “What I mean to say is—”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Mary muttered. “He used to have a no trespassing sign posted outside the doorway.”

Christina rolled her eyes as the woman stepped out into the hallway. “I’ll just bet he did.”

“I wasn’t even allowed to vacuum the floor without his go-ahead,” Mary continued with a tisk, leading Christina halfway down the wide expanse of hallway before coming to a stop two doors down. “But anyway, enough about his room,” she insisted, reaching for the brass doorknob. “Tell me, what do you think of yours?” With that, she thrust the door open wide.

Christina blinked. The room was something all right. Pink carpeting and maple furniture, replete with a lace canopy over the bed and a bay window looking out the back yard. A small vanity sat tucked in a small nook beside the wardrobe; an impossibly frilly lamp sat beside a bowl of flowers on the nightstand.

“Wow,” Christina said. Because what else was there to say? She looked at Mary’s expectant face. “This is…wow!”

“I know,” Mary crowed, her hands clutched against her chest. She sighed in a dreamy sort of way. “I guess it’s because I never got to have a girl.”

Christina giggled. “You think?”

“You don’t think it’s too much?”

Christina would have never admitted such a thing. She loved Mary far too much to hurt her feelings. “What? No way. I think it’s every little girl’s dream.”

“Good. Well,” clasping her hands together, Mary nodded. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No.”

Mary took a half step backward. “You’ll be comfortable for the evening?”

“More so than at my own home,” Christina assured her. Taking a step into the room, she smiled at Mary over her shoulder. “But then, I usually am when I’m here.”

Mary pursed her lips in a pleased sort of way. “What can I say, I love spoiling you.”

“And you do it well.”

“All right,” Mary said, patting the side of the doorway with her hand for effect. “It’s late and we should all be in bed.”

“Goodnight, Mar.”

“See you in the morning.” With a decisive nod, Mary turned and walked back down the hall, toward her room. With a weary sigh, Christina shut the door behind her. Leaning against it, she let her head fall back on the ornately carved structure.

The fingers of her left hand played with the hem of Jason’s shirt. “God, get a grip,” she reprimanded herself. But she could feel the soft possess of his shirt like a brand. She felt—woefully  juvenile. Like she’d never give the shirt back. Never wash it. Never take it off…

“Get a grip,” she whispered to herself. “Let it go.”

“God. It’s official, you’ve been alone for too long,” she berated herself, pulling her body up off the door. With a whelp of frustration, she flopped face-first down on the bed, groaning into the heavy pink coverlet. “You’ve lost your damn mind.”

He was going to be sleeping two doors down from her.

All night.

So close.

Like anything could happen.

Like something was bound to happen.

“Oh no,” she whispered, pulling herself up. “Oh no. Definitely not. No. No, no…” With unnecessary force, she brought herself to her feet. Pulling the covers and sheet back with a vengeance, her movements were almost violent as she got into bed. Tucking the quilt over herself with determination, she laid her head on the pillow. “Absolutely not. No good will come from that kind of thinking. Nope. You’re going to bed. Right now.” With exaggeration, she flicked off the bedside lamp and closed her eyes.

Five minutes later she wondered what time it was.

With a peek, she opened one eyelid—her gaze zeroing in on the discreet alarm clock snuggled up tight to the lamp.

10:02 p.m.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, readjusted her neck on the pillow, and took a deep breath.

By 10:54 p.m. she gave up the pretense. She’d tried counting. She’d tried blinking really fast. She’d thought about some boring reports she needed to import at work…nothing. She was still wide awake.  Opening her eyes, she stared up at the bluish shadows dancing above the lacy canopy over her head. The house was silent. Too silent.

That was probably it. She was used to a tiny apartment where she could hear the constant humming of the fridge, the crack of the tree branches scraping against her bedroom window, the soft thread of the upstairs neighbor who worked overnights.

She just needed a little distraction.

Scrambling out from underneath the warmth of the covers, she pulled herself up and out of the bed. Tiptoeing carefully to the door, lest she should wake someone (and by someone she meant Mary, who’d fret and worry that she’d somehow failed to produce a perfectly sound asleep guest in her home), Christina slowly took herself into the hallway.

Vigilant, she led herself silently to the giant staircase at the center of the sweeping hall. Her bare feet were stealthy on the carpeted stairs as she slowly gained the main floor.

She’d barely stepped off the last thread then she heard it. Quiet, muffled laughter. Shocked, she spun on her heel; her stomach muscles coiling at the sound, the lower timbre of the voice. Because there, leaning up against the couch in the family room just left of where she stood, was Jason.

With a deliberate kind of calm, Christina forced herself not to react. Other than a slight lift of one haughty eyebrow, she remained silent. By this time, Jason was practically bent over double, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“What already?” Christina barked, placing her hands on her hips.

He only shook his head in amusement.

She narrowed her eyes.

“It’s you,” he finally managed to say, his breath ragged. He waved toward her general person. “In that get-up.” He chuckled again. “Are those my old running shorts?”

Christina felt her face flame. She’d almost forgotten she’d been wearing them. Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him a lowering look. “All right, that’s enough. You’ve had your fun.”

“No, it’s just…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so,” he shrugged, seemingly at a loss for words. “Casual.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’ve got nice legs.”

At the words, Christina stilled, her expression taut with surprise. Pulling her shoulders back, she searched for a response…

Jason, however, didn’t seem to have the least bit of squeamishness about his comment. “Really nice.” With a flick, he brought his eyes back up to her face.

Christina couldn’t quite make herself meet that look. “Always quick with a joke, huh?”

But, for once he didn’t respond to her baiting. Instead, he slowly levered himself up to his feet. “So—what are you doing down here anyway? Couldn’t sleep?”

At his change of topic, Christina felt her shoulder blades loosen. She shrugged half-defensively. “Not really.” She glanced up at the clock. It was only a little past eleven. “Honestly, I’m not usually in bed yet.”

He grinned. “Yeah. Me neither.”

She nodded, unsure where to go with that either. She’d worked so hard all these years to never be left alone with him…

But again, Jason was there to fill the gaps of silence. Moving toward the liquor cabinet, he sent her a questioning glance. “Want something?”

Christina hesitated, but only for a second. “Yeah. Okay. Sure.”

“Scotch?”

“Whatever.”

He sent her a teasing glance over his shoulder. “You going to stand there all night or come inside?”

Christina frowned darkly. “Of course I’m not going to stand here….” she muttered, stomping quietly into the den. Why was it, he could always make her feel like an overgrown child? Clumsy, off-pitch…

With a look, Christina watched him turn nimbly back to the wet bar; his hands were deft as he poured the drinks. She’d only just sat down on the loveseat when he finished. Coming up to her, he held out a neat whiskey sour.

There was absolutely no way she could take it without touching his fingers. Bracing herself for the feeling that always followed—it was only the rush of the forbidden, she firmly reminded herself, Christina reached for the glass. Her fingers shook a little as she curled her hand around the rocks glass, but it was only the finest of tremors.

“Nervous Christina?” Jason asked quietly, expectantly. He raised his eyebrows richly.

So apparently it hadn’t been that fine of a tremor after all. Cupping the glass with both hands now, Christina tried to play it cool. He was far too close. In response, she leaned back against the cushions. “Of what?”

He nodded at the stranglehold she had on the whiskey. “You tell me.” His eyes narrowed on her hands, the unusual whiteness of her knuckles. “You’re trembling,” he informed her. He was still leaning over her, his breath only inches from her lips. “In fact, you’ve been trembling all night.”

Bringing the glass to her lips, anything to stall, at the last second, Christina lowered her drink. She doubted she could swallow. Clearing her throat, she moved blindly, frantically.

“You know what,” she said, the words coming out too quickly. “I think maybe I’m tired after all.” With a jerk, she twisted her body around his, setting the whiskey none-too-gently on the coffee table as she made to rise.

“Chrissy…” Jason’s hand shot out, forestalling her rushed getaway. Their bodies were so close they were almost, but not quite, touching. He stood towering over her, and she sat half-perched on the couch.

“Let me go” She cried tiredly, tugging at her wrist. Her eyes flinched away from his gaze.

“Not before I get an answer.”

“To what?” she asked, exasperated into glancing up at him.

“A theory,” he said, half under his breath. But before Christina’s wide, shocked eyes could do more than stare nonplussed, before her voice could expand, asking for an explanation, his mouth was on hers, pressing down, his tongue gliding along her lips.

 

Carnival Lights: Chapter Five

Crossing her legs carefully on the couch, Christina accepted her glass of scotch. Coming to sit down beside her, Mary swirled a glass of wine daintily in her hands. Outside the large bay window of the livingroom, the women had an all-encompassing view of the falling snow.

Though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, Christina found it oddly romantic. This was partly due to the fire that Matthew had just brought to life in the large brick fireplace; the spicy warmth of the alcohol playing against her tongue; and the knowledge that she didn’t have to brave the dangerous driving conditions.

Sinking a little further into the plush cushion of the massive furniture, she sighed. “Well, at least it’s a hell of a view.”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Mary agreed, taking a sip of merlot. Smiling at Christina, she laughed. “I frequently find snowstorms to be more entertaining than the television.”

“Snug as a bug….”

Mary nodded. “With no place to go.”

“Or no way to get there,” Christina countered drily.

Mary snorted. “Well, yes, I suppose in your case.”

Sauntering over to the club lounger chair to the left of the window, Jason smirked. His hair was slightly spiking up at the front, as though he’d only just run his fingers through it. Christina tried not to notice. “I’d say it’s reminiscent to being grounded.”

“I bet that happened to you a lot as a child,” Christina said with a pointed raise of her eyebrows.

He made a disparaging sound. “Let me guess, you were the apple of your parent’s eye?”

At the words, innocent though they were, Christina’s smile faltered just the slightest bit. Without meaning to, she dropped her eyes down to her lap.

Yes. She supposed she had been the apple of their eye. Once upon a time. An old hat to the residual pain that crept up her throat at the thought, Christina’s forced out a laugh. It had a husky quality to it, but otherwise it sounded perfectly at ease.

Lifting her glass in a calculated salute, she agreed.  “Let’s just say, my parents never had cause to ground me.” No, but they’d had cause to kick her out. And then had. In the most public way possible. Then again, that was another story. For another audience.

Jason didn’t bother to hide his distain. “Color me surprised.”

She bristled, her body pitching forward. “No, I’d rather color you—”

“How about we play a game?” At Matthew’s brisk redirection, Christina blinked. Turning her head slightly, she watched as her boss slowly stood up from his kneeling position before the fireplace. Tossing a lost log inside the growing lick of flames, he shut the glass screen with a firm hand.

Mary narrowed her eyes. Leaning just slightly forward, she placed her wine glass carefully on the coffee table. “What kind of game?” There was suspicion in her voice.

With a sly look at Jason, he shrugged.

Christina didn’t like that look. She had a terrible feeling she knew where this was going…

“Oh, I don’t know. Canasta?” The words were delivered just a touch too innocently.

As if on cue, Mary and Christina groaned in unison.

“No.”

“We always play that game!”

“Can’t we play something else?”

Mary nodded eagerly. “Yeah. Something fun.”

“…that everyone’s good at,” Christina muttered quietly.

“Or, just nothing at all?”

Matthew waved their instantaneous grumblings aside with a flick of his wrist. “Oh, come on ladies. You only say that because you two always lose.”

Jason laughed into his glass.

“Well, yeah,” Mary nodded at Christina. “You wouldn’t like it so much either, if the roles were reversed.”

Matthew pursed his lips. Rubbing his hands together, he glanced down at his son. “What do you say, Jas? Up for a little challenge?”

“Switch up the teams, you mean?” Jason narrowed his eyes as he momentarily assessed the women perched on the couch. He seemed to be carefully considering this.

With a plop, Christina set her glass down. “Really, are we such a pathetic pair?”

Jason lifted up one shoulder. “Well…”

 

 

 

But alas, the boys finally consented—perhaps the girl’s weren’t completely hopeless. Perhaps they just needed mentoring. So they teams were switched, much to Christina’s chagrin. Because, as she’d somehow known it would be all along, Jason and she were put on one team and Mary and Matthew another.

Back in the kitchen, sitting across from each other, Christina’s hands trembled as she fanned out the cards in her hands. Her fingers shook so badly she could barely keep them from spilling all over the table.

She felt nervous. Jittery.

“Ready?” Jason asked, smiling across the expanse at Christina. He winked. “And don’t worry, you lucked out with the right partner. The best partner.”

“Hardly,” Matthew scoffed from behind his cards.

“My hero,” Christina breathed, batting her eyelashes outrageously.

“Stop flirting with me,” Jason said easily, which brought Christina up short. With a wink, he settled back in his chair. “I need to concentrate now.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she muttered darkly, her eyes staring fixedly at the cards in her hands. Flirting? Please.

All the same, she felt her skin break out as though it were alive, as though everyone in the family were watching her knowingly…

“My turn?” Mary asked, reaching forward to grab a card off the table of the deck. “Hah!” With a smile, she laid down a red three. She smiled at her husband as she grabbed for two more cards. “Now, how was that?”

“Beautifully done, darling,” he said drily. “I never doubted you for a second.”

“Mmhm,” she said, with a knowing glance at Christina.

And so, for the next hour they played, the team’s neck-and-neck as they each advanced points. It was a little after nine in the evening when they found themselves in the final round; both teams were within range of reaching the 5,000 points it took to win the game. It all boiled down to who went out first.

Biting her lip, Christina surveyed the cards in her hands, her gaze flicking from them to the board she and Jason had accrued, and then back to the cards in her hands again. Her eyes were watchful, careful as she checked and double checked for a possible meld, her head quickly tallying up points to make quite certain…

Mary yawned.

“Yeah, any day now,” Jason drawled. She narrowed her eyes.

This is where she always got hung up. In the clutch, when the pressure was on. Christina ran her tongue of her lips, and then nodded her head. With a deliberate snap, she laid out each and every last card in her hand—and with it, won the game.

Jason’s eyes grew wide at the unexpected sight.

Matthew whistled. “I didn’t see that coming.” He shrugged at Mary. “Sorry sweetheart.”

“Well, I mean she deliberated so long,” Mary murmurred.

Christina smiled with delight at Jason. “Worth the wait, I hope?”

He grinned wider. “What the hell kept you…?”

She shrugged. “I just wanted to make sure I had it all correct….”

“Hah!” With a whoop of cheer, Jason slapped his palms down on the table. He laughed, sending his father a mischievous look. “What was that we wagered, dad? Oh yeah.” He snapped his fingers together with glee. “That’s right…”

“You wagered on us?” Mary asked Matthew.

He shrugged. “Just a friendly bet.”

“King of Canasta?” Christina scoffed. It was so like Matthew and Jason to do something like that.

“Well, this king just got himself a bottle of dad’s reserve whiskey.”

Mary laughed. “Oh Matthew, you idiot.”

He looked grumpily across the table at his wife. “Thanks for the input.”

“That stuff was expensive,” she reminded him.

“I’m well aware of that.”

“It’s what makes it all the sweeter,” Jason assured his mother. With that same infectious smirk, he turned back to Christina. “God, Chrissy you have no idea. I could just kiss you right now!”

At the unexpected outburst, Christina stilled. Before she could help herself, she felt her body reacting to the words—a weird sort of tension filling her person. Feeling her face flush, she quickly dropped her eyes. I could just kiss you right now. Battling back a strange sort of wantonness at the words, she swallowed with difficulty.

Grappling for a comeback, her neck throbbing as she tried to fight a sense of casualness to her expression, Christina reacted for her glass of scotch. Too late, she realized as she pressed it up against her lips, the glass was empty. She breathed in the heady smell linger against the glass before quickly dropping it back on the table. Only, it wasn’t quick enough to have escaped the notice of the people sitting around her.

Watching her, the table went uncomfortably silent. A stiff sort of discord seemed to permeate around her awkward movements.

Speak. Say something, for Christ’s sake. “God,” she muttered, finding her voice at last. Far too late. “You are such a Neanderthal.” But she was flustered, breathless.

And she was only too aware that everyone knew it.

Especially Jason. She’d watched his lips shift uncertainly, seen those hazel eyes grow cloudy as they observed her from across the table. She’d witnessed the expressions playing out across his face in those beats of time: puzzlement and confusion, something like amusement and then a quiet sort of questioning—

Oh God.

Years of careful bantering, of a perfectly crafted arm’s-length sort of friendliness, were quickly circling the proverbial drain. She didn’t know what the hell was wrong with her. She’d always been able to keep herself composed around Jason before. She’d always been able to shrug off his playfulness as though he were an annoyance to be endured…

What had changed?

Clearing her throat, Christina tried to hide beneath the cover of comedy. “Really Matthew—” she agonized artfully, turning towards her boss; only, whatever she’d been about to say died on her lips at the look she surprised on his countenance. He disguised it quickly enough, but not before she saw it: dawning realization.

Mixed with a certain amount of trepidation and, what was that, pity?

Fucking Christ.

“Knock it off already,” Jason said, and for once she was glad for his incessant teasing. “It was just an expression. It’s not like I’m going to attack you.”

She tossed her hair over one shoulder, her eyes slithering back to his. Well, not quite. But she looked as closely as at his brow line. “As if.”

“Correct.” His voice practically oozed with condescension.

“Spare me your ego,” Christina chided, rolling her eyes; her shoulders relaxed a little on the words.

He made a tisk-tisk sound. “I think that’s actually my line.”

She grinned in an infuriating fashion, but her cheeks lost some of their color all the same. “Then quit requesting kisses.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Get over yourself.”

She leaned closer to the table. “You first.”

“I wish I had a whistle,” Mary complained to her husband.

“All right, kids,” he said then, placing both palms flat out on the table. “Let’s call it, huh? It’s past my bedtime as it is, and I don’t want to hear the two of you bickering all night.”

At the words, Mary turned her eyes on Christina. “Speaking of that,” she said, pushing back her chair. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me and let’s see if we can’t rustle you up a spare set of pajamas.”

Christina blanched. She hadn’t even thought about that. Though she desperately did not want to borrow sleepwear from her bosses wife (that felt way too many shades of inappropriate), Christina realized the impracticality of anything else. And so, she brought herself both gratefully and reluctantly to her feet. Without bothering to spare Jason a backward glance, she followed Mary out of the room and up the massive staircase at the front entrance.

Carnival Lights: Chapter Four

Christina took care not to let her mind wander again. As conversation ebbed throughout the dinner table, she made haste to take an active interest.

Like when Mary continued to peer outside, her eyes growing anxious in her face. “It’s really coming down now,” she said worriedly, her eyes following the driving snow.

“Don’t worry,” Christina had comforted her, without bothering to glance outside. “We’re all seasoned drivers in this stuff.”

Or when Matthew and Jason had started in again on one of their favorite pastime arguments: the Packers versus the Vikings, Christina had glanced around the table teasingly, her lips pursed when she announced: “Honestly, I’m all for the Dallas Cowboys—” which had set the entire family off….

She even stooped to ask the family how the Easter service at their church went, which was unusual for her.

“Oh, you know,” Matthew grumbled good-naturedly, giving his wife a teasing wink. “The usual. A lot of singing and praising.”

“A lot of Alleluia’s,” Jason added drily.

Christina smiled vacantly. She hadn’t been raised in a very Christian household.

“You know, if you came with us, you wouldn’t have to ask,” Mary offered in her not-so-subtle way.

Christina shrugged uncomfortably. She should have seen that coming. Mary and never missed an opportunity to invite Christina to such things. “Yeah, well…”

Mary raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Yeah well, what?”

“Maybe sometime,” Christina grumbled at last, dropping her eyes demurely down to her plate.

“Yeah. I’ve heard that before.”

In hindsight, she wondered if being caught daydreaming hadn’t been such a bad situation, after all.

“What does your family do on Easter Sunday?”

Christina looked up sharply at the question. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mary swat at her son’s arm.

“What?” Jason asked his mother. “I mean, she always comes here. I just thought…”

Matthew cleared his throat loudly. “Christina was that dessert I saw you bringing into the house earlier?”

She sent him a grateful glance. “Yes. Would you like some?”

“Oh please.”

Rising eagerly from the table, Christina lost no time retrieving the pie pan. “Who wants some?” She asked, turning then to stare at the table—at least, she glanced at Mary and Matthew, her gaze only just skimming over Jason’s head.

It was then that she really took notice of the snow. Mary hadn’t been kidding earlier. It was accumulating out there. The roof of Christina’s car held at least an inch. And it’d only been an hour since the first fat, heavy flakes had fallen from the sky. And, from the looks of the frenzied white powder still scattering about, it didn’t look to be stopping any time soon.

Following Christina’s gaze, Mary frowned. “I told you,” she accused mildly. “I bet we’re in a storm watch.”

Matthew patted her hand. “It’s April. I bet it’ll all be gone before the kids leave. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, but Christina could tell by the tone of his voice he was placating his mother. “Once it stops snowing, it’ll melt within an hour or so.”

“Humph,” Mary informed the table, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

And, as so often turned out to be the case, Mary was right. By four o’clock, there was at least five inches of snow on the ground. Opening the weather app on her phone, Mary informed the table (perhaps a bit smugly, but that was to be expected) that they were, indeed, in the midst of a winter storm watch. According to the forecast, the cities were in for another three to six inches before all was said and done.

Christina wore her best poker face. While her car was front-wheel drive, the tires weren’t great and she lived almost half an hour from the Gordman’s house. But to give way to her nerves would only set Mary over the edge. So instead she laughed in that way Minnesotan’s have—as though driving through blizzardous conditions were a badge of honor to be worn on prominent display.

She waved away Mary’s deep frown. “I’m sure the plows will be out by now.”

But even Matthew looked concerned now, his gaze scowling over the oppressive whitewash gaining headway in the front yard. “You’re not thinking of driving home in this?” he asked—but it clearly wasn’t a question so much a statement of fact. Her car was barricaded on either side by drifting snow. Christina cringed inwardly.

But to the family, she played it cool. “I certainly wasn’t planning on walking in it.”

Matthew narrowed his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Christina had a sinking feeling she knew where this was headed. “Now Matthew…”

“Don’t you ‘Now Matthew’ me…”

“Yeah, that’s my job,” Mary informed her, crossing her arms cozily over her chest.

“I think, all things considered, it would be best if you stayed the night,” Matthew informed her. He glanced outside. “I just wouldn’t be comfortable with you out on the roads.”

“It’s not my first snow,” Christina told him haughtily. She jutted her chin toward Jason, who’d remained silent through the conversation. “Besides, I don’t hear you telling him he can’t drive.”

Jason made a face. “Grow up Christina.”

She could’ve choked.

“Of course I didn’t,” Matthew answered her calmly enough.

Jason smirked.

“He doesn’t have to be told to know that he’s staying the night.”

“Wait. What?”

Now it was Christina’s turn to smirk. “Didn’t see that coming, huh?”

“Shut up, Chrissy.”

That set her teeth on edge.

“Jason, it’s a blizzard outside.”

“That’s putting it strongly.”

“No, that’s pretty accurate,” Matthew said.

“I can’t stay,” Jason said in that infuriating way he had of sounding like the only rational person in the room. “I have school in the morning.”

Mary snorted. “Doubtful at that.”

Jason smiled tightly. “My house isn’t that far away,” he hedged.

“It’s not that close, either.”

“Mom…” It was the way he said her name; like a son.

“Jason Alexander Gordman…” but whatever Mary had been about to say was interrupted by the incessant beeping on her phone. Looking down, she read the alert which flashed across the screen.

Looking up then, she waved her phone at Christina and Jason gleefully. “Well, that settles it,” she announced. “According to the local police department, they’ve declared a state of emergency and are asking that only essential personnel be out on the roads.” She grinned with supreme satisfaction. “So it looks like you’re staying. The both of you.”

Christina couldn’t help the flutter of nervous anticipation that radiated throughout her body. She’d be spending the night under the same roof as Jason. He’d be just down the hall… She’d see him in the morning, across this same table, all disheveled and unkempt with sleep.

Her hands shook at the thought, at the delicious image—

“Dammit,” Jason muttered.

“Double damn,” Christina concurred, clasping her hands together tightly in her lap.

“Hey now,” Matthew said. “Talk like that is bound to hurt Mary and my feelings.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Christina scoffed, but she did so lightly. “Mr. Sensitivity over there.”

“I happen to think we’re pretty fun people,” Matthew said, with a look at his wife.

She clapped her hands. “It’ll be like a slumber party.”

“Mar,” Matthew grumbled. “You’re making us look uncool.”

Jason nodded.

“Oh shove it, Jas,” Mary told her son, batting him in the shoulder with the back of her hand again. “That’s no way to behave towards your mother, who only wants what’s best for you.”

“Sorry.” But he didn’t sound very repentant.

Christina sighed, her eyes traveling wearily once again at the blinding snow, the wiping winds slithering against the windows.

“Couple mopes, these two,” Matthew teased his wife.

Mary laughed.

Jason frowned—a line of irritation forming between his eyebrows.

“I know what’ll change those sour expressions,” Matthew continued in a sideline to his amused wife. Then, clearly his throat, he asked: “Who wants a scotch?”

Jason glowered. “Me.”

“Oh God, yes.” Christina nodded vehemently.

Rising to his feet, Matthew nodded. “Mary?”

“Oh, I’ll take a glass of wine, please.”

“Coming right up.” Whistling, he took himself toward the kitchen door. Stopping, he grinned back at Jason and Christina. “I mean, hey, if we’re going to be snow bound, we might as well take advantage of the right to get a little lousy.”

Christina smiled quietly.

Jason gave her a sidelong glance as Matthew disappeared through the doorway. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have whiskey, Chrissy?” He smiled mischievously. “If memory serves…”

Christina shot a quick glance at Mary, who had risen from the table and was now standing by the kitchen sink; humming softly to herself, the older woman seemed to be intent on getting the leftovers put away. “Shut up.”

“Look at the bright side,” he teased her quietly, careful to keep his voice low. “At least this time it’ll be a shorter commute. You just got to make it up the stairs and down the hall.”

She glared. “It’s a delightful kind of person who makes fun at someone else’s expense.”

“Oh come off it, Christina.” Jason gave her a look. “No one likes a priss.”

She sucked in a breath. “I am not!”

“Are so.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re a child!”

Jason gave her a long scrutiny, his eyes traveling down her rigidly set back, her fingers clenched in her lap, her knees pressed tightly together. She felt that look all the way through her body, almost as if he were touching her—a livewire of electric shock.

He’d never seemed to look at her before.

“Maybe so, but you could use a little playfulness. A little fun.”

 

Carnival Lights: Chapter Three

The soft knock on the other side of the bathroom door snapped Christina out of her reverie. Jerking upright over the sink, her eyes flickered toward the locked door.

“Christina?” At the sound of Mary’s soft question, Christina’s body slumped against the edge of the sink. “Honey, is everything all right?”

With something of surprise, Christina realized she’d been in the bathroom for a while now—probably over ten minutes. Blushing hotly, she pushed herself off the porcelain sink, gaining her feet. Grabbing for the door knob, she turned it in her hand. Swinging it open, her eyes met the quiet worry (and equal parts curiosity) mingled in the older woman’s gaze.

“Is everything okay?” Mary asked again, taking in Christina’s less than usually coiffed self.

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Christina mumbled, batting a hand in front of her face emphatically. “I got really hot for a minute. I needed to cool down.”

“Oh,” Mary said, but it was obvious she didn’t truly understand. “Yes, well, it does get so awfully warm in that kitchen when I’m cooking that much food,” she offered anyway, kind soul that she was. The truth of the matter, Mary and Matthew’s kitchen was far too large to be bogged down by the warmth of a few pots on the stove and a bird in the oven.

Christina loved her for that generosity of spirit. “Yeah.”

“You’re feeling better now, though?” Mary asked anxiously.

Christina nodded curtly. “Much.” Not unless Jason had pulled a disappearing act….

“There they are!” Matthew smiled when Christina and Mary entered the kitchen. He and Jason (who had clearly not disappeared after all) were already seated at the table. “We were worried you got lost there for a minute.”

Jason made a choking sound that he valiantly attempted to turn into a cough. But it didn’t really work.

Christina’s face pinkened.

“Oh Matthew, sometimes I swear you are completely hopeless!” Mary cried, bringing her hands up in exasperation. With sure footsteps, she brought herself up to her chair, pulling it out to take her seat.

Christina, on the other hand, faltered, her eyes narrowing—Matthew was sitting in the seat she usually occupied. But before she could question his sudden change of place, her boss glanced up at her with a sanguine smile.

“Separating the enemy camps,” he said meaningfully, nodding across the table at his son. “I figure it’ll be better for my digestion.”

Christina clamped her jaw tightly, battling her second wave of humiliation in as many seconds, her fingers gripping roughly across the back of her chair. “Don’t complain to me,” she said as she plunked herself down.

Matthew raised an innocent eyebrow. “I don’t see anyone else who argues with him.” He pointed a fork at his son.

“I don’t argue. I defend myself,” she informed the table haughtily, crisply laying a napkin on her lap. “And besides,” she mumbled under her breath, “who invited who here?”

Matthew only laughed. In that way, he was so like his son. It was impossible to properly fight with someone when they just kept on joking about it.

Jason leered across the table at her mocking. “What do you say, Christina. Think the change in seating arrangements will make any difference?”

She smiled tightly. “It’s doing wonders for my appetite already.”

“All right, all right,” Mary said forcefully, her holding up a hand to stem whatever retort would surely closely follow. “New topic.”

Matthew looked from his son to his secretary. His eyebrows arched. “Yeah. Good idea.”

Mary turned to ask Jason something then. Christina wasn’t sure what, though—she’d stopped listening, her eyes carefully lowered. As the small family’s voices floated gently over her head, Christina considered that she’d lied earlier: she most certainly did to argue with Jason. Deliberately.

She provoked him. Prodded. Picked and picked…

It was the safest recourse, after all. Because, sometimes, there had been instances, brief but true, when she and Jason hadn’t found themselves sparring against one another. Times when they’d been almost friendly. Which had been far, far worse. Friends had a way of getting too comfortable with one another, too familiar. They were allowed to look at one another and smile, to grin at each other’s jokes, perhaps even touch one another. It was too easy for friends to slip.

It’s what had almost happened at the work Christmas party….  Matthew had, as usual, thrown a spectacular event for his employees. Held at his home, he’d hired in a string quartet, white-gloved waiters, and an open bar. That had been Christina’s downfall.

After spending the first part of the evening quietly but firmly rejecting the advances of colleagues who always seemed to figure that employee parties where gimmes for drunken mistakes, a more-or-less “what happens at the holiday party, stays at the holiday party” kind of mentality that she’d always found repulsive (especially considering how many of her female colleagues fell for it only to be found bawling their eyes out that next Monday morning in the women’s restroom, puking up their regrets…), Christina had planted herself firmly beside the makeshift bar and ordered herself one too many whiskeys—she figured that, if she had to sit through this mockery of decorum, she was going to need a salve.

An hour later, she realized her mistake. Ducking her head, to keep others from seeing her the vulnerability in her too bright cheeks, she kept her back firmly braced against the bar counter,  her fingers now gripped tightly around a glass of water. But it wasn’t until Jason strolled up to her that she realized she had reason to panic.

Wait. What was he even doing here? She squinted. His outline was just the slightest bit blurry.

“Not dancing?” Jason asked casually, ordering himself a beer. A few couples were moving softly to the strains of music spilling out of the dance floor. She tilted her head: was that Bart Cooper whose arms were wrapped so tightly around the junior intern, Jessica?

She made a face. Married with young children, Bart’s hand was far too low on Jessica’s back…

Christina would have made a disparaging remark, but her tongue felt too thick in her mouth. So instead she shook her head.

“Tell me about it,” Jason said conversationally. “What’s the front receptionist’s name?”

Christina stared up at him groggily. Then she answered, slowly. “Grace.”

He nodded. “Yeah.  I swear the woman doesn’t know the meaning of the word harassment.”

“But you—you don’t work for the company.” Some of Christina’s words ran together, but she pretended not to notice.

Jason grinned. “Good on you for noticing that.” He tipped the glass of beer to his mouth.

So…” she cleared her throat. Why are you then?” Not much of a filter but hey, at least the sentence was clearly enunciated.

He cocked an eyebrow. “With a welcome like that, it’s probably a good thing you’re not the first line of defense for clients at the office.”

She snorted. “I’m meant to play bulldog for your father.”

He grinned. “I see.” He looked absolutely devastating when he looked at her like that. Christina didn’t have the energy or the wits about her to fight the thought. She just grinned back at him playfully.

He looked nonplussed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She tilted her head. Then she giggled.

His eyes widened just slightly.

At his look, Christina stilled. She’d regret this moment in the morning; she read that in his facial expression. Inking through the drunken orb was a backlash of embarrassment. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, dropped her eyes.

With a slightly shaking hand, she put her glass down on the countertop, pushing herself forward. Her movements were too quick, too hasty, so it wasn’t entirely unpredictable when she stumbled in her rush to getaway. It was nothing much, just a slight misstep but it was enough—

Jason’s hand grabbed for her elbow instinctively, steadying her. “Whoa. Hey there.”

Her mortification was complete. “Jason. Please.” Her eyes were wounded in her downcast face. “I-I, please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” His voice was confused. “Are you okay?”

She blinked rapidly. “I, no. No, I have to go.”

“Go where?”

She lifted pleading eyes. “I think it’s altogether possible I’ve had too much to drink.”

His lips parted.

She held up a hand. “And before you start, please spare me your lectures.”

“No lecture here.”

“I have to go,” she reiterated, making to move away. His hand tightened around her arm.

“Wait. Just wait,” he said. “Or do you want to make a spectacle of yourself?”

“No, I—”

“You’re weaving.”

She smashed her lips together. “I know. I have to go.”

“It’s okay. Just…”

“I can’t let them see me like this,” she whispered harshly.

“Who?” Jason laughed, his eyes taking in the people milling around. “I doubt anyone would notice. Most everyone here is drunk.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh God.”

“Chrissy, it’s no big deal.”

“Maybe not to you.”

“Can’t let them see you lose that precious control?” He guessed knowingly.

“Don’t tease.”

“Sorry.” And, for once, he sounded it. His hand was still on hers. “What are you so afraid of?”

Him. Falling apart. Losing that hard won composure…

“Please, your father. I couldn’t stand to embarrass him.”

Jason nodded. “Okay. Let me help you.”

She lifted her eyes. “How?”

“Follow my lead,” was all he said. With that, he brought his hand down to the small of her back and with a terse nod, took her forward. When they got the dance floor, he turned her firmly into his arms.

“Don’t fight me,” he said in her ear when Christina was about to do just that. His left hand, pressing against her back, guided her feet into his embrace. “Dance with me?”

“What?”

“Trust me, okay.” He asked, looking down at her.

“I guess, I’ll have to.” Bringing her arms up and around the back of his neck, Christina allowed herself to be swung slowly across the dance floor. Her fingers shook against the nape of his neck and she had to bite down against her back teeth to keep from letting them graze against his hair.

He laughed softly in her ear. “That’s as close to an endorsement as I wager I’ll get.”

She felt his breath whisper across her cheeks and her stomach jerked inside her body—a delicious sort of zip and tingle running across the band of her waist… Closing her eyes, she let her body sway, let her mind absorb the sensation of his fingers curving around her waist.

Jason glided her expertly across the dance floor, his steps masking her fumbling footfalls. It wasn’t until the song ended that Christina realized what he’d done. He’d seamlessly brought them to the other end of the room, where the doors to her exit awaited.

He led gently off the dance floor, his hand moving once again to the small of her back, balancing her movements until they’d reached the foyer outside.

“I think I’ll be fine now,” she tried to tell him then. “Please, go back inside. I’ll just call myself a cab.”

“And blow my perfectly executed cover?” Jason only shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ll take you home.”

Panic invaded her person. Half an hour stuck alone in a car with him, her senses dulled by alcohol. “You don’t need to do that—”

But he wasn’t listening. “It’s no big deal.”

“But the party?” Christina waved vaguely behind her. “By the time you get back, everyone will be gone.”

He shrugged. “As you said, it’s not like I’m an employee anyway.”

“But—”

“Chrissy,” Jason told her, taking her arm and steering her towards the massive double door entrance. “It’s me or my dad, which would you prefer?”

So he’d taken her home. She never had found out why he’d been at that party in the first place though, which was too bad…. Of course, the next time they met, it was like nothing had transpired. He’d gone on teasing her as usual and she’d continued to bristle at him.

But for all that, she lived on that memory.

“…what do you say, Christina?”

Once again, Christina found herself hurled back to the present moment at the sound of Mary’s voice. Lifting her face at the question, Christina saw three pairs of eyes staring back at her. She blinked—it wasn’t Christmas and she wasn’t seated in Jason’s car. She was sitting around the Gordman’s table on Easter Sunday, supposedly enjoying lunch. “What was that?”

Mary laughed. “Well, you say I don’t have any faith in your baking. Then prove me wrong.”

Christina nodded slowly, desperate not to get caught out unawares. Her fork played absently with the turkey on her plate. “Oh. Yeah. Sure, okay.”

Jason grinned at her knowingly.

“What?” She asked him, setting her fork down sharply. She hated that grin.

“You have no idea what you’ve just agreed to, do you?”

Christina sputtered. “I’m sure I don’t—”

“Don’t tell me we caught you daydreaming again, have we?” Mary asked.

“Again?”

Mary nodded, buttering her bun. “She was doing it earlier too, when she first got here.”

Jason leaned back in his chair. “Wonder what about.”

Christina’s face froze. Her fingers fell to her lap, clenching there at his patently amused stare and Mary’s curious gaze.

“All right,” Matthew said then, coming to her rescue. “Leave poor Christina alone—”

“Oh dear!” Mary cried suddenly, her gaze looking out the window behind where Matthew and Christina sat. She frowned. “It’s snowing.”

“Damn Minnesota weather,” Matthew murmured turning to look over his shoulder at the fat flakes falling heavily from the sky… and just like that, much to Christina’s relief, the conversation shifted.

 

 

Carnival Lights: Chapter One

The office was slowly clearing out. Looking up briefly from her computer screen, Christina canvassed the bullpen. Most of the desks were empty by now. It was coming on five thirty and business hours had ended half an hour ago. The weekend loomed enticingly.

Beside her, she felt rather than heard her boss’s door open. Hardly bothering to glance that way, Christina’s fingers moved rhythmically over her keyboard. She just had one more document to import and then her Friday night awaited.

“Still here?” Her boss, Mr. Gordman asked conversationally as he came into view, a briefcase held loosely in his left hand.

“Almost finished.”

“Good.” He eyed her knowingly. “Don’t stay too late.”

Christina nodded absently. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“I mean it.”

She sighed theatrically, flicking her eyes up to his. “I know.”

He grimaced. “Don’t make me nag you.”

“It’s not very often that bosses reprimand employees for working too hard.” Christina’s drawl was deliberate.

He chuckled, his briefcase swaying absently in his grip. “I’ll see you Sunday?” It wasn’t a question.

Christina hunched up her shoulders. “About that—I’m not sure…” she stalled. Just thinking about Sunday was enough to make her drop her eyes.

He sighed. It had a weary sound. “Don’t make me sic Mary on you.”

“Don’t even.”

He smiled in a predatory fashion. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Remember, lunch is at one o’clock. Don’t be late.”

She gave her computer a hard stare, but her stomach was doing that weird thing again. Her fingers hit the wrong keys. “You know I’m not even religious,” she grumbled.

“Not that old argument again.”

“It’s kind of a crucial component…”

“We don’t plan to baptize you.”

Christina’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s just lunch.”

“On Easter.”

Mr. Gordman pursed his lips. “I can only assume you’re fighting me on this because you’ll be heading home for the holiday this year?”

Christina made a sound in her throat.

“I thought not.”

“I don’t want to impose.” That wasn’t quite true….

“I don’t have time for this,” Mr. Gordman assured her. “I’ll just tell Mary to give you a call this evening. You can convince her that you’re an imposition. My sympathies when she hears you say that.”

At the second mention of this threat, Christina laughingly shook her head. “Okay, okay,” she relented, as she’d known she would all along. She raised her hands. “I give! Lunch at one o’clock.”

“A sensible choice.”

Christina narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t know when I applied for this job it’d come equipped with a built-in family.”

But Mr. Gordman only laughed, shaking his head as he began walking toward the exit. “What can I say?” He called out over his shoulder, shooting her a mischievous smile. “I’m a generous employer.”

Christina didn’t say anything. Instead, she watched him walk out, her fingers unmoving on the keyboard now. Her thoughts spun furiously, mentally unpacking every scrap of clothing attire in her closet. Within seconds her bed was loaded with rubbish and not a scrap of fabric remained on her hangers.

At the mere thought of spending the afternoon at his home, she could feel her heart skidding in her chest, her breathing felt light. There was the finest of tremors in her hands. She balled them up.

“Calm down, Christina,” she scolded herself, forcing her mind back to work. “Don’t be a spaz. It’s one day. One afternoon. It’ll be fine.” Unfurling her fingers, she bent back over the computer screen, determinedly reminding herself that it would be fine.

“It’s not like he’s ever bothered to notice you before. Not in that way,” she hissed to herself and without quite noticing it, her eyes lifted, traveling toward the path her boss had just taken. “And it’s not like you care. It would be a terrible idea.”

And she knew all about terrible ideas.

 

 

 

But all the self pep-talks hadn’t helped. At approximately twelve-fifty Sunday afternoon, she brought her car to a quiet halt outside her bosses three story home. Hers was the only vehicle parked in the semi-circular drive.

Flipping down the visor to re-check her reflection in the small mirror attached there, Christina patted down her perfectly coiffed hair. Her lips were dusted a pale pink, and her eyes held just the slightest of smoky accents. Flawless. That’s how she looked.

“So act like it,” she reprimanded herself as she slowly alit from her vehicle. Reaching into the back seat, she grabbed for the covered pie-pan. “And for God’s sake, smile.”

But each step she took toward the double-door entrance proved a challenge. Her stomach clenched, her knees shook—and she was breathing far too quickly. These sensations were far from unfamiliar. They assaulted her every time she advanced toward those stately doors. She should have been used to it by now. No matter how many times she told herself it was due to a feeling of dread she knew that was lie—it was pure, unadulterated anticipation.

Without thinking, she turned her head back toward the driveway. Her car remained the sole occupant on the cobbled pavement.

Gaining the front at last, she wasn’t even allowed to ring the doorbell before the door was flung open, Mr. Gordman already waving her inside.

“Ah. Right on time,” he announced warmly.

“When have I been anything else, Mr. Gordman?” She teased him, but her eyes wouldn’t quite meet his.

“Hey.” He frowned. “How many times have I told you? Around here, it’s Matthew.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

“House rules. Only first names are allowed.”

Christina smiled slightly and, still cradling the covered dish, nodded toward the kitchen. “Mary in there?”

He made an exaggerated face. “Where else?”

“I’ll go see if she needs anything.” And with that, Christina turned smartly to the left, her feet taking her through the large dining room and into the kitchen. The back wall was floor-to-ceiling windows, and as it always seemed to do, sunlight shone brilliant through the paneled glass. And there, standing at the kitchen sink, her peppered hair slightly askew, an apron tied anyhow around her waist, stood Mary.

“You’re here!” The older woman exclaimed, turning at the sound of Christina’s entrance. Rounding the island, she rushed toward the younger woman. In one seamless move, she snatched the pie out of her hands and grabbed her for a big hug.

Laughing softly, Christina let herself be embraced.

“My God, I think you’re even thinner than last time,” Mary exclaimed, letting her go.

“Measuring me again?”

“You’re taking all the leftovers home. I can’t have you wasting away on me,” Mary tut-tutted.

Christine only shook her head. “Unlikely.”

“Matt would be lost without you.”

Christina smirked. “One that point, I’ll agree with you.”

Laughing, Mary turned back to her oven. “I hope you’re hungry. I’ve gone all out today. Of course, Matthew bought the wrong style of gravy for my famous…”

But Christina wasn’t listening. Her ears pinned to any outside sounds, she tried to calm her nerves. If her stomach bound itself any tighter she wouldn’t be able to eat. And then Mary would probably start force-feeding her.

But there was no crunch of tires on the gravel driveway. There was no accompanying shrill of the doorbell. (You idiot, she scolded herself on the thought, of course the doorbell wouldn’t go off. He isn’t a damned guest…) Smoothing her wet palms down the side of her black wool skirt, she fought for composure. Her mouth felt dry. Her palms sticky. And her breath shallow.

God, would this never end? How many dinners had she shared with this family? Far too many. And still, she acted like it was the first time—

“….but I think I can make do—hey,” the sound of a palm slapping against the counter brought Christina’s eyes up. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?”

“You’re just as bad as the boys,” Mary grumbled, shaking her head. “Here I am, having a great conversation, only to realize that I’m having it with myself.”

“Sorry Mary,” Christina confessed with a lopsided grin.

“Well. At least I keep myself entertained,” Mary huffed, but the smile she shot at Christina let the younger woman know she wasn’t upset.

“Can I help with anything?” Christina asked belatedly, taking in the copious bowls and spoons, pots and whatnot.

“Well, as to that…” Mary canvassed the kitchen, as well. Her eyes lit up when they landed on a glass dish. “Would you set up the relish tray, my dear?”

Christina laughed. It had a rich sound. “You know Mar,” she insisted, opening the fridge to pull out the pickles and olives. “I can actually cook.”

“And who said you couldn’t?”

“In all the years I’ve worked for Matthew, this is the only thing you’ve ever let me touch.”

Mary grimaced. “I’m not very good at relinquishing control of my kitchen.”

“Right.”

“I’m not.”

“Admit it, you don’t think I can boil water,” Christina teased with a mock show of sorrow. “I get it.”

Mary banged the side of her spoon against the counter. “That’s not true.”

Christina wailed pathetically. “Don’t bother denying it.” She wagged a finger at Mary. “I’ll bet you’re terrified to try some of my pie.”

Mary pulled up her chin. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

Mary shook her head. “I am not.”

“No?” Christina looked over at the dessert in question. “Are you sure?”

Mary smiled devilishly. “Of course I’m sure.” She turned back toward the stove. “I love Carmen’s bakery.”

Christina’s smile fell. “How did you know?” Her eyes flicked to the pie. She’d even taken the time to transfer it to the metal pan she’d bought at a rummage sale a few years back—just to give a look of authenticity.

Mary winked. “The nose knows.”

“But let’s get serious—were sensory glands even necessary? I’ve seen the girl try to make a PB&J sandwich before…the bread looked like it’d been savaged!”

Christina stilled, her hands gripping the pickle jar too tightly as soft male laughter followed this question.

“Jason!” Turning sharply, Mary eyed her son, who was standing just inside the kitchen.

Christina felt him step into the room. Her back toward him, she was glad for the moment’s reprieve.

“Hey mom,” he said warmly, his arms already opening as Mary moved out from behind the stove to hug him. He coughed as her arms squeezed around his back. “A little tighter,” he teased. “I can still breathe.”

“Oh.” She took a step back, letting her arms fall at her sides. A large smile melted her features. “Sorry.”

“Coupe of cracked ribs,” he assured her with a wink. “Don’t worry about it.”

Christina could hardly hold the thread of conversation. Letting her eyes quickly roam over the white veins intersected throughout the countertop, she tried to focus her breathing, to clear her thoughts.

She could feel a muscle in her jaw spasm.

Jason.

He was here.

Her face felt hot. Uncomfortably hot. Her fingers itched to press against her cheeks, cool them. Oh God—was she turning red? Taking a half-step backward, Christina was overcome with the need to check her reflection in the mirror.

Mary swatted at Jason’s wrist. “And don’t go teasing Christina.”

And the mention of her name, Christina knew his eyes were on her. Turning slowly (what else could she do?) Christina leveled him an even glance.

“Hey Chrissy,” Jason offered easily. His right arm he kept slung over his mother’s shoulder. “Kill any slices of bread lately?”

“Jason,” she acknowledged. Her voice felt flat. Flicking a strand of hair behind her shoulder, she frowned. “And it’s Christina,” she reminded him for what must have been the twentieth time.

He smiled, showing large white teeth. “Right. Sorry.” He didn’t look the least repentant.

“And the jelly was cold. It wasn’t my fault it pulled the bread apart,” she insisted.

“Of course not,” he soothed.

“Oh shut up,” she threw at him.

“Bickering all ready?” Mr. Gordman, coming into the kitchen, sent his wife a knowing look. “Is that a record?”

Mary grinned. “It’s got to be.”

“I’m not bickering,” Christina insisted. “He is.”

“You’re face is getting a bit red there, Chrissy.”

“It’s Christina,” she told him forcibly. “And if it’s red—” dammit why did it have to be red?—“it’s only because you’re so infuriating.”

“Easy Christina,” he enunciated carefully. “Or I might think you’re being serious.”

“That’ll be the day.” Pushing herself off the island, Christina turned pointedly toward Mary. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to, ah—” faulting, she felt the room’s eyes on her. Her blush worsened. “Bathroom,” she fumbled. Ducking her head, without another word she stalked away.

“Pull yourself together, you raving idiot,” she muttered to herself once she was safely locked inside the downstairs powder room. She took a peek at her face. Damn him. It was red. Patting her hands against the flushed skin, she tried to cool it down. “Just be cool,” she hissed. “Act nonchalant.”

That was easier said than done of course.

Because she didn’t like Jason Gordman.

No, the stupid fool, Christina was in love with him.

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Carnival Lights: Chapter Fourteen

A beat of shocked silence rang through the small apartment. Perched on the edge of her couch, Christina waited—but when a another long second passed, followed by yet another, she felt the beginnings of rejection settle over her skin.

Jason, still sitting on the chair beside her, his body leaning forward, hadn’t managed a single utterance of sound. Indeed, his lips seemed to be stuck, formed around the word “What?” Only his eyes, which had grown steadily wider, showed any form of reaction to her words.

With a dejected movement, Christina felt her shoulders droop as shame filtered slowly through her person. Apparently, no man wanted her. Moving briskly with the weight of humiliation hanging over her neck, Christina slapped her hands against her knees and with that, got to her feet.

“Or maybe not,” she considered at last, but she couldn’t make herself look at Jason when she said this. The best she could do was an empty gesture in his general direction. “Try not to overthink it okay, Jas? It was only an idea. Clearly a stupid idea,” she admitted harshly, walking toward her kitchen.

She didn’t need anything in there, didn’t in fact, know what she’d do once she made to the small kitchenette, all she knew was it was the only room in which she wouldn’t have to stare into his knowing eyes.

Her stride never wavered, not even when she flapped a hand toward the bottle of whiskey still on the floor. “Hell, let’s blame it on the alcoh—aah!”

With a gasp of surprise, Christina felt two hands grip the backs of her arms, and then she was being spun around, and before she had time to get in a proper breath, she felt her body being pushed backward, forced up against the wall separating her living room from the kitchen. Her chest heaved at the abruptness of it all, her frantic eyes clashing with Jason’s stormy glare.

His body was pressed up tight to hers. She could feel his own quick breaths. That, for some reason, calmed her a little.

“Shut up, Christina,” he said, his voice gruff with the words, his voice erratic. His eyes traveled over her face, his gaze stopping curiously over her parted lips. “Give me a damn minute to catch my bearings.”

“You need a minute to decide if you want to kiss a woman?”

His eyes narrowed. “You have a way of confusing me.”

She licked her lips, her body tingling at the intensity in his eyes, at the feel of his body enveloping hers. It had been so long since she’d allowed a man this close. “Then, by all means, tell me what you want.”

“Hell—” With little more than that rough word hanging in the air between them, Jason’s head dipped, his lips crashing into hers. It wasn’t a light kiss. It didn’t linger over her lips, playing teasingly there.

No, it was almost desperate in its heatedness. No sooner had his mouth touched hers than Christina felt his tongue skimming against the seam of her lips. With little more urging than that, she obliged him. Moaning at the insistent pressure, at the feeling of his lips twisting, biting, sucking against hers, Christina sank further into the wall behind her.

His hands were at her waist now, guiding her hips more firmly into the curve of his lower body. Christina’s legs trembled at the contact, her tongue pushing against his, tangling with it as her fingers slowly trailed up and down his chest.

Lifting her lips just slightly from his, her breath falling hotly against the side of his neck, she reached for his ear. “Is this what you want?” And with little more provocation, her hands were already reaching for the top button of her blouse. With a flick, she popped the first one free, and then the second, her body arching under his heady appraisal.

The sound of mingled breathing filled the room as she let her fingers slide down the front of her shirt. “No strings, no expectations,” she promised him, peeking up through the fringe of her eyelashes. She popped the third button free. “Just a little fun—”

Jason’s mouth was on hers again before she finished speaking, only now his hands were thrusting themselves through her hair at the base of her neck. His teeth nibbled against her lower lip as her hands dipped ever lower, until her shirt hung open at her sides.

With a rock of her hips, she guided one of his hands down to the lacy cup of her exposed bra. When the heat of his palm enveloped the sensitive skin, she felt her neck drop back, boneless. The guttural sound of her whimper echoed across the room, swarming them, surrounding them. When his thumb ran across the silkily material there, her legs buckled.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed into her neck, his lips trailing downward.

She pressed her body more fully into the weight of his hand. “Convenient too,” she reminded him breathlessly.

“What?” Lifting his head just slightly, Jason gazed down at her, his eyebrows crashing together uncertainly. His hand lifted just slightly from its contact with her body.

But Christina only shook her head, her arms drawing him close again. Her lips licked against the lobe of his right ear. She laughed with a husky sort of purr. “You don’t even need to tell me you love me.” She bit down softly on his cartilage.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Shaking off her advances, Jason took a step backward. His eyes were alert suddenly. Guarded again.

Christina smiled playfully. “No talking. No feelings. Just sex.” Twirling a finger over a button on his shirt, she smiled. “You use me. And I use you right back. No one gets hurt.”

“Jesus.” With a rough jerk, Jason brought a hand through his hair. “No.” His shook his head once. “What the hell, Christina!”

“Well there’s no reason to look so scandalized,” she drawled.

With a snap, his eyes were back on her face. He winced at the expression his saw there. “No reason to make it sound cheap either.”

“It is cheap,” she answered easily enough. But there was something in the way he was looking at her that caused Christina to catch the folds of her shirt, wrapping them back around her body anyway. She laughed. “You’re going to tell me I’m wrong?”

“I don’t even know—” He took a deep breath, his hands gesturing wildly, his eyes flickering uneasily. “Is that what you think of me? Of yourself?”

Christina’s eyes widened, her neck jerking back on the force of those words. Her fingers tightened their hold instinctively on the edges of the blouse draped scantily across her upper

Jason sighed, his hand flying through the hair at the top of his head. “I don’t underst—”

“Get out.” Stung to the point of breathlessness, Christina only just managed to fling out the words. When Jason didn’t immediately move, she felt lungs expanded painfully. “Get out. Get fucking out—”

Jason stilled. “Christina?”

“Now, Jason. Right fucking now.”

He held up his hands. She watched as belated remorse entered his eyes. “Whoa. Wait. I’m sorry. Christina, I didn’t mean to—”

“LEAVE!” She screamed, her words slurring with her humiliation. Blotchy tears filled her vision. Clutching the edges of her shirt with one hand, she pointed toward the door with the other. Her eyes blazed across the space of the room separating them. “I mean it. Go.”

With one last futile look, he finally turned and did as she requested.

 

The post Carnival Lights: Chapter Fourteen appeared first on LitLiber.

Why Every Writer Needs an Editor

Do I Need a Fiction Editor? Yes.

Every writer needs an editor. It’s part of the process in creating a smooth, polished piece of work. This most certainly includes novelists. If you’re writing a piece of fiction, you’re asking readers to stick around for the long haul. An 80K-word story is a big commitment, and if you lose a reader due to poor editing, well…then you’ve lost the game.

And yes, to those already saying this: self-editing is part of it. But it’s only one part. An objective pair of eyes, a professional pair of eyes, is what truly separates ‘done’ work from ‘finished’ work.

So I thought I’d offer up an example to better prove my point. Here is a short snippet of a piece of writing that’s gone through one draft of revision. (Disclaimer: with respect to privacy, this is actually something I wrote 7ish years ago. However, and you’ll note the work was written circa 2010, it still serves to prove my point here…)

First Draft











She twirled around in a circle for him, playing up to his attention. He laughed. So did she. Michael winked devilishly as he reached forward and grabbed her hand. He brought her body in close to his and started to hum. Jennifer smiled, a bit bemused. That bemusement increased when he took a step backward. Jennifer stared up at him with a curious expression. He nudged her lightly and with a light laugh she took a step forward. He turned to the left and she followed him; now she was humming along with him. He entwined his fingers into hers and spun her quickly away. With the flick of his wrist she was being called back to his body.

 

Okay. This excerpt is all right, but it’s far from great. The scene is rough, a bit choppy and could use with some rephrasing and restructuring. Let’s take a look at what a round of line-editing would do for it:

One Round of Editing

Click on picture to see the full size view.

So, as you can see, this paragraph actually needed a lot of work. Granted, not all paragraphs will require this much editing—but then again, some of them will. Gosh, there are times when entire sections will need to be re-written, scrapped, or moved around.

But a novelist, seeing these marks (no matter how daunting) has the potential to take a working paragraph and make it better. Going back to our example, as the writer here is one way I would rewrite the original version after seeing these comments:

Revision











Playing up to his attention, Jennifer twirled in a circle. Michael laughed. So did she. Reaching for her as she glided past, he grabbed her hand, pulling her up short. Before she realized what was happening, Jennifer found herself being pulled into his arms.

And then he started to dance. Humming softly against her quiet, bemused laughter, Michael brushed his hand against the small of her back, his body rocking her gently to the sound of his music. Soon enough, the soft strains of her own, accompanying harmony joined in as they moved across the floor.

 

What do you think? Better? Yeah, like tons and tons better. (If you feel like a challenge, go ahead and do your own version of a rewrite for this paragraph. Feel free to comment with it, if you please.)

So seriously–need I say more? WRITERS NEED EDITORS. It’s like peanut butter and jelly. Get yourself one. A sandwich, I mean.

Why Every Novelist Needs an Editor

Every writer needs an editor. It’s part of the process in creating a smooth, polished piece of work. This most certainly includes novelists. If you’re writing a piece of fiction, you’re asking readers to stick around for the long haul. An 80K-word story is a big commitment, and if you lose a reader due to poor editing, well…then you’ve lost the game.

And yes, to those already saying this: self-editing is part of it. But it’s only one part. An objective pair of eyes, a professional pair of eyes, is what truly separates ‘done’ work from ‘finished’ work.

So I thought I’d offer up an example to better prove my point. Here is a short snippet of a piece of writing that’s gone through one draft of revision. (Disclaimer: this is actually something I wrote 5+ years ago.)

She twirled around in a circle for him, playing up to his attention. He laughed. So did she. Michael winked devilishly as he reached forward and grabbed her hand. He brought her body in close to his and started to hum. Jennifer smiled, a bit bemused. That bemusement increased when he took a step backward. Jennifer stared up at him with a curious expression. He nudged her lightly and with a light laugh she took a step forward. He turned to the left and she followed him; now she was humming along with him. He entwined his fingers into hers and spun her quickly away. With the flick of his wrist she was being called back to his body.

 

Okay. This excerpt is all right, but it’s far from great. The scene is rough, a bit choppy and could use with some rephrasing and restructuring. Let’s take a look at what a round of line-editing would do for it:

Click on picture to see the full size view.

So, as you can see, this paragraph actually needed a lot of work. Granted, not all paragraphs will require this much editing—but then again, some of them will. Gosh, there are times when entire sections will need to be re-written, scrapped, or moved around.

But a novelist, seeing these marks (no matter how daunting) has the potential to take a working paragraph and make it better. Going back to our example, as the writer here is one way I would rewrite the original version after seeing these comments:

Playing up to his attention, Jennifer twirled in a circle. Michael laughed. So did she. Reaching for her as she glided past, he grabbed her hand, pulling her up short. Before she realized what was happening, Jennifer found herself being pulled into his arms.

And then he started to dance. Humming softly against her quiet, bemused laughter, Michael brushed his hand against the small of her back, his body rocking her gently to the sound of his music. Soon enough, the soft strains of her own, accompanying harmony joined in as they moved across the floor.

What do you think? Better? Yeah, like tons and tons better. (If you feel like a challenge, go ahead and do your own version of a rewrite for this paragraph. Feel free to comment with it, if you please.)

So seriously–need I say more? WRITERS NEED EDITORS. It’s like peanut butter and jelly. Get yourself one. A sandwich, I mean.

Carnival Lights: Chapter Eight

Christina woke to a bluish morning light wafting through the curtains of the bedroom window. But before she even opened her eyes, the events of the night before flooded her consciousness. She knew immediately that she was in the guest bedroom of Matthew and Mary Gordman. And she remembered explicitly what she’d said to Jason.

That she was attracted to him.

Had been since the moment she’d first seen him.

She’d almost let him kiss her again.

Groaning painfully, she flung her forearm over her still tightly closed eyes.

“Oh God,” she whimpered, sinking disgustedly against the soft mattress underneath her. “What the hell did I say?!” She could feel heat infusing her body, her limbs growing stiff as the image of his face—utter shock and revelation—passed across her mind.

How the hell would she ever face him again? The urge to vomit, to physically be ill, crawled up her throat. It had felt so natural at the time. She hadn’t felt a twinge of regret as she’d assaulted him with the words of her great secret. In fact, she’d felt oddly powerful, hurtling the reality of her feelings at him, calling him out for playing on her vulnerabilities.

No, she hadn’t felt regret. No then. But she did now. A terrible, lowering regret. The kind that usually follows an evening of over-indulgence with alcohol. The kind that comes after the sort of knock-down drag-out fight when terrible, untrue things are said, used to hurt—

What was it about the seductive cover of night that makes nothing of pretense and protection?

“Shit,” she whispered, as tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes. Her chest felt tight, and her breathing came in sharp gasps. “You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot,” she cried. Turning on her side, she curled her legs up to her stomach, huddling into a ball under the covers of her blanket.

How was she ever going to face him again?

With a muted cry of despair, she flung the covers up over her head.

It was the soft knock on the other side of the door however, that reminded her she couldn’t stay like that forever.

“Christina? Are you awake?” Mary’s voice was softly inquiring.

Christina swallowed thickly. “Umm…Yeah. Yes, I’m awake,” she called out, ignoring the slight quiver in her voice and praying it hadn’t traveled through the thick door separating them. The last thing she needed was questions from Mary. “Breakfast is ready.”

Christina blanched. “Oh. Uh, thanks but I’m—I’m not hungry…”

“Nonsense. It’s important to start the day with a hearty meal,” Mary returned, as Christina knew she would. No one said no to Mary; not when it came to food.

Still. She had to try. To sit across the table from Jason, after everything what had transpired the night before, would be interminable. “I, uh, I can’t. I have to get home. To, to change clothes and you know, get ready…”

“Oh posh!” Mary hollered, still speaking through the door (but if she found this to be unusual behavior, she didn’t let on). “Matthew will understand if you need to come in a little late this morning. It was at our insistence that you spent the night, after all.”

And that’s how Christina found herself, uncomfortably dressed in the clothes from the day before, crossing the massive foyer and into the Gordman’s kitchen, some twenty minutes later. Her blonde hair was swept artfully off her freshly scrubbed face, and though her skirt was a little wrinkled and her shirt a little limp, she consoled herself that she’d done she could. Besides, what other choice did she have?

So, proper attire in which to arm herself, Christina took herself in to breakfast.  To say it was an awkward encounter would have been over-simplifying things a bit. She was unusually shy and tentative as she pulled out her seat and asked politely for a piece of toast and a poached egg.

Matthew frowned. Christina was like family. She’d long since stopped acting like a timid guest at their dining table and yet, here she was, practically squirming in her seat. Her eyes remained determinedly fixed on her plate as Jason sauntered into the room behind her, and the fingers holding her fork clenched so hard it was a miracle the damn utensil didn’t bend in half.

And Jason. For his sake, he was quiet and reserved as he filled his plate. The expected joke about Christina’s rumpled appearance never came, and Jason never missed an opportunity to get a rise out of Christina; if there was one thing she was meticulous about it was her grooming. It was almost too easy and yet not a comment was uttered. He chewed his food wordlessly. Only his eyes were watchful on Christina’s averted face, her clumsy movements.

Hell, she almost knocked over her orange juice but other than quickly reaching over to right the glass, Jason had said and done nothing, merely resumed eating as though it were a matter of course. And Christina for all her usual poise, only managed a barely recognizable, pertly polite, thank you.

Matthew’s frown deepened. The lines of his forehead creased.

 

***

 

It was almost ten o’clock by the time Christina showed up to work—having escaped from the Gordman’s house as soon as decency allowed. Beautifully turned out in a tailored suit with a glass-green button down shirt, her feet tucked into black pumps, and her face and hair decked out, Christina marched up to her desk. She should have felt better. This was her power outfit. But she didn’t. She felt like a fraud. Popping her purse determinedly in the filing drawer she reserved for herself, she started up her computer.

Mr. Gordman was already in the office. His private door was firmly shut and for some reason, she was hesitant to knock on it and ask if there was anything he needed. And that was the problem. She shouldn’t have been. It was standard operating procedure, after all. She was his personal receptionist. She pulled a face. This was exactly what she’d been afraid of. This was exactly the problem.

Things were different now.

And not just on her side either. Mr. Gordman had been different that morning, too. Distant. Like he’d known something. But Jason hadn’t said anything. True to his word, he’d kept his mouth shut. And Christina certainly hadn’t let anything slip. And still, breakfast had been an ordeal. The first meal in memory that had been consumed in almost complete silence by the entire family.

There had been an unannounced tension in the air. It had been as undeniable as it had been staunchly ignored.

Mary had looked confused.

Jason had looked—well, actually she wasn’t sure. She’d been careful not to glance his way.

But Mr. Gordman…. He’d looked suspicious. Christina sighed wearily. She supposed he had a right. When he’d gone to bed the night before, everything had been normal. Jason and she had been up to their usual bickering, Christina had been warm and generous with Mary, and then this morning…well, try as she might, Christina had never been much of an actress.

She’d felt the friction in her shoulders, heard the mechanical tone of her voice. She’d seen their eyes on her down bent head, but…

She looked longingly at her boss’s door. Every morning since she’d started, she greeted him with a cup of coffee and a notepad, ready to get a jumpstart on whatever project he had lined up that day. And now, here she sat, like a coward, unwilling to so much as announce her presence. It was supposed to be Jason she was uncomfortable being around. Not her boss. Not Mr. Gordman.

And yet….

It had spread. Which was ironic because it was the sole reason she’d stopped Jason the night before. Because she’d refused to ruin the great job she’d carved out for herself here. She’d refused to ruin the closest thing to a family she had in Matthew and Mary.

She stared blindly at her computer screen. Her fingers lay numb across the keyboard. She should be checking the company emails right now. That was one of the first things she did each morning. But if she did that, she’d eventually reach one that would need to be sent on to Mr. Gordman  for confirmation and that…

With a half strangled sound, she pushed her body away from the desk. With a jerk, she brought herself out of her chair and, indeed, was halfway across the cluttered bullpen before she knew where she was going. Her heels clicked sharply against the concrete flooring, she raced for the staircase on the other side of the building. Within minutes she found herself on the basement floor, her body propelling her frenetically toward the only office down there.

Knocking sharply on the side of the doorway, Christina hardly waited for an answering response before stepping inside the office. A large architect table stood in the center of the room. Multi-colored posters of every shape and size were taped haphazardly to the walls. And sitting in the mess of it all was a slim, dark haired woman.

“Please tell me that after two months of dating, you’ve decided that Max’s charms were entirely overrated?”

Without so much as a flicker of surprise, Jackie looked up the mock she was editing. She grinned. “Hey Christina.”

Christina nodded sharply. “Well?” She waited impatiently for the other woman to speak. A coworker in the graphic arts department, Jackie had recently become something of a good friend to Christina. In fact, Christina had played a rather significant part in her recent love story to a local doctor in the city, Max Thompson. After a traumatic accident on a bus that had sent Jackie to the emergency room, the girl’s had bonded over Jackie’s ensuring infatuation with the doctor who’d saved her life, and all the tumultuous feelings that had come along with it.

Leaning back in her chair, Jackie tapped a finger against her chin contemplatively. “You know, I’m kind of getting used to your particular way of beginning conversations.”

Christina only raised one eyebrow.

Jackie smirked. “You know, without preamble or back-story.”

“One of my many charms, I’m sure,” Christina related, grinning a little herself. Then she straightened. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“No, I haven’t.” Jackie pursed her lips. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to ask his name?”

Christina growled. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“I see.”

“Wipe that grin off your face.”

“No can do, buddy.”

“You suck.”

In answer, Jackie held out a bag of candy. “Want some chocolate?”

Begrudgingly, Christina found herself being lured forward, her hand already reaching for the bag of sweets. “Shot of whiskey would be better.”

Jackie gasped. “What would Mr. Gordman say?” she asked mockingly.

Christina bit her lip, her eyes closing painfully on the unintentional words. The candy fell limply down at her sides.

Jackie pulled her chair upright at that look. “Whoa. Hey. What’s going on?”

Christina smiled thinly. “I’ve done something rather stupid, I’m afraid.”

“I doubt that.”

Christina shook her head.

Jackie’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me.” She pushed her work to one side of her desk. “Now.”

 

The post Carnival Lights: Chapter Eight appeared first on LitLiber.