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Carnival Lights: Chapter Seven

Jason’s lips were cool. Gasping in surprise, Christina barely knew what was happening before her body was responding, her mouth opening under the hard persuasion of his ministrations. His tongue swept across the inside of her lips, tangling with her own. Her stomach clenched, flipped.

Her hands pressed up against his chest. Falling back against the insistent pressure of his touch, her back sank against the plush cushions of the couch. His left hand was propped up beside her head as he leveraged his body closer to her own; his right hand, however, was cupped against the underside of her jaw, his thumb stoking the edges of her bottom lip.

When his tongue slid against the silky moisture of her upper lip, an instinctive groan escaped from Christina’s lips. Her fingers curled against the fine material of his pullover shirt. Reacting without thought, she caught his lower lip between her teeth, tugging at it gently. Then it was his turn to growl low in his throat. And still he penetrated her mouth—swirling, touching slipping in and out, around and around.

Christina’s heart beat hard against her chest, her senses dizzy as she tasted him…

When she felt his lips slowly break away from hers, at first Christina’s body followed after him. Opening her eyes, she breathed up into his face from underneath a fringe of wet lashes. “Jason…” Her voice came from faraway, dazed with the suddenness of what was happening between them.

He half-smiled down at her in the stillness of the dimly lit room. “And here I always thought you hated me.”

At the words, Christina blanched. Reality crashing against her consciousness, she had just enough time to remember what he’d said just seconds before his lips had captured hers: that he was testing out a theory. Swallowing back a whispered scream, for the second time in as many seconds, Christina’s body moved on impulse.

A strangled sort of scream fall from her lips. Scrambling frantically out from behind him, Christina clambered for her feet. Jason only barely avoided being bulldozed in her mad rush.

Bringing a hand up to her mouth, Christina bit down hard. The sensations of minutes ago now lay cold in her stomach. What the hell had she done—what had she allowed him to do? Scurrying for the doorway, her eyes pinned themselves to the threshold, her body hurling forward.

She only knew she had to escape. To breath. To…oh God!

Her legs shook with the force of her feelings, but she refused to slow down. The hard, humiliating edge of reality pressed against her chest. Something had happened. Something—

“Actually, that’s not quite true,” Jason murmured as she reached the outer edge of the room. His voice sounded oddly lazy in the aftermath of what had just transpired. “Not after the employee Christmas party last year.”

Stopping like a shot at the entryway to the room, Christina’s body stilled at the forbidden words. They swirled loudly in the echo of an otherwise silent room. Her right hand gripped the side of the wall for support at that damning statement. He didn’t need to elaborate on it. They both knew what he meant. Her eyes closed as unbidden, pictures of that night transposed themselves before her eyes.

She saw herself that night, outside her apartment door, large brown eyes staring invitingly up at his. And then….

No. She shook her head of the thought. She promised herself she’d never go back. And until now, she hadn’t. At least, not so she’d admit to even herself.

Throwing her shoulders back straight, she fought for some semblance of pride. Her back to him, at least she was spared the gleam she could only assume shone from his eyes in vindication. She heard her voice speaking as though through an eerie fog. “I had too much to drink that night.”

“Yeah, maybe so,” Jason conceded from too close behind her. And then she felt his hands on her waist, slowly, deliberately turning her back around. She hadn’t heard him approach. “But not tonight,” he reminded her. “You didn’t even touch that glass of whiskey.”

And there it was.

“Ahh,” she murmured harshly. “So that was the reason behind your little science experiment then?” His fingers were still pressed against either side of her waist. She could feel the imprint like a live thing, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of shucking out of his reach.

His eyes widened momentarily at her words.

She laughed, nodding toward the couch. “And this was what, a controlled environment for testing out your theory?” The question was sharp and hard as she threw his words back at him.

But if she’d wanted a reaction, he didn’t give her the kind she desired. Instead, he smiled in an off-kilter sort of way. He even shrugged. “I wouldn’t call what just happened controlled.”

She felt her stomach pinch. “Oh no?”

He grinned wider. “But timing is everything.”

“And you were bored and needed someone to amuse you.”

He chocked his head to one side, as though in serious thought. “I would hardly say I was amused back there.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “Flattered then?”

He shrugged. His very casualness set her teeth on edge. By a woman as beautiful as you? Who wouldn’t be?”

Christina rolled her eyes, but a half laugh escaped out of her mouth all the same. It was just like Jason to do that: make her laugh when it was the last thing she expected to do.

He pulled a face. “Though it still doesn’t explain…”

When he didn’t finish, she felt her eyes narrow. “Explain what?”

“Why you’ve pretended to hate me all these years.”

She jutted up her chin. For some reason, though she shouldn’t have been, she found herself almost enjoying the conversation. “Who said I was pretending?”

He sighed. “Not that old ruse again.” With a charm she really could hate sometimes, he took a threatening step nearer. “Don’t make a liar of yourself twice in one night.”

A quick thread of excitement she couldn’t contain leapt into Christina’s body at the words. Too late, her eyes traveled down to his lips.

He stilled. “Unless?” The word was suggestive, meaningful as he lowered his body closer to hers. When she didn’t side-step out his way, he smiled in a predatory fashion. She was already breathing too quickly, her legs trembling, when his mouth slowly started its descent.

Only, at the last second, she saved herself. Ducking out of reach, she brought a hand up between them, pushing at his chest half-heartedly. “No.”

“Christina?”

“No.” Her voice was firmer now. “This is a bad idea.”

“What?” Frustration lined every letter that word.

“This,” Christina insisted, gesturing between them. Slipping free of his proximity, she forced her feet to step into the hallway, her body moving carefully as she navigated backward toward the staircase.  “It’s a bad idea.”

“Why?”

She scowled, her eyes shifting expressively up the stairs. “You know why.”

He followed her gaze. “Because of my father?”

Her hand cut aggressively through the air. “Of course because of your father!” Christina returned hotly. “He’s my boss.”

“I’m aware.”

“Don’t joke.”

“Then don’t say stupid things.”

Christina made a sound low in her throat. “You wanted to test out your hypothesis?”

“Theory,” he corrected quietly.

“Well, there you go. You figured it out. I’m a fraud,” she informed him. Twin spots of colored dotted her cheeks but she refused to break eye contact.

He was the one to do that. “Hey. That’s not—”

“In fact, I was attracted to you from the very first moment I met you,” she continued him shamefully, tossing the shreds of her pride at his feet mercilessly. She pointed toward the front door. “Right there. I saw you and everything went black.”

He had the grace to look ashamed, his eyes clouding over uncomfortably. “Christina…”

“But your father is my boss.”

“And you think he wouldn’t, what, approve?” Jason asked. “He’s not a snob, Chrissy.”

Her fingers curled into impotent fists. “Don’t call me that!”

He held up his hands. “Sorry. Hey, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “And anyway, it’s not really about your father.”

He scowled. “But you just said—”

“It’s me. I have this thing. Oh, you know,” she said, flicking her wrist artlessly. “For forbidden men. Simply because I shouldn’t have them, I want them. It’s always the same, but it’s not real. You know?” She rambled. “And really, dating the boss’s son? That couldn’t be more clichéd.” She managed one cruel laugh. “So I kept myself to myself. Or, at least I tried to.”

“Jesus.”

She shrugged, one of her hands reaching back the grab tight to the stair rail. She gave him a pointed look. “So There. Now you know the truth. Does that answer all of your questions?” She yawned protractedly. “Because I’m tired and I’d rather like to go to bed now, if you don’t mind.”

His face contorted. “Don’t let me keep you then.”

With a curt nod, she turned on her heel, her knees buckling as she carefully traveled the stairs. Halfway up, however, she stopped and turned to look back at him. He hadn’t moved, his eyes watching her progression speculatively, as though she were a fascinating specimen under his microscope.

“Do me one favor?”

He inclined his head.

She forced the words out stiff lips. “Forget about tonight.”

His response was slow in coming. “Oh, I very much doubt I can oblige you on that.”

He thinly plucked eyebrows rose to meet over the bridge of her nose. “Jason.” His name was a warning.

He shrugged. “The best I can do is promise not to bring it up.”

She stared at him for a moment. The she nodded again.

“And I’ll probably break that promise, anyway,” he added when she would have continued her incline.

Her hands tightened on the balustrade. “Don’t.”

He held up his hands. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

 

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

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.

 

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

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.

 

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

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.”

 

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

Story: Carnival Lights

Title: Carnival Lights

Genre: Romance, Fiction

Summary: It was a mask she wore, a carefully crafted disguise to hide the truth. The antagonism; the rivalry; the animosity, they were mere puffs of pretense.

Mechanisms for safety.

After all, she knew the consequences of the alternative—the consequences of vulnerability and indulgency; of feeling and desire. Yes. She knew the consequences of those all too well. It was just like before: the wrong kind of cliché, the wrong kind of situation.

Perhaps it was her punishment for the sins of the past. Perhaps she was a glutton for agony. Either way, he could never know.

Christina DeLuca was in love with Jason Gordman.

Hopelessly.

Angrily.

Her boss’s son. The worst kind of cliché.

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 Two

Staring at her reflection in the oval mirror hanging above the sink in the Gordman’s downstairs powder room, Christina patted her cheeks with cold water. Her mind spun. She remembered the first time she’d met Jason. How long ago was that now? Three years ago? Yeah. Probably.

Christina had been new at work. It was been a Thursday evening—she remembered that well; despite her best intentions, she never lost that day from her week. Anyway, it had been a frantic week, which Christina had spent obtaining, organizing, and arranging sundry presentation packets for an important business meeting Mr. Gordman had that Friday morning. Christina had been on the verge of shutting down her computer and heading home when she’d seen them.

See, the thing was, this wasn’t just any business meeting. Mr. Gorman was on his way to Atlanta, Georgia for the meeting. The one he’d been planning the last two weeks around. The one which could chance the trajectory of his business forever if all went well … His flight was scheduled to take-off the following morning. But as Christina had stood up to grab her coat off the back of her chair, there they were.

The packets. Sitting on the edge of her desk. Mr. Gordman, in his rush to get home and packed and ready to go, had forgotten them. Groaning, she’d remembered holding them out to him as he’d prepared to take off that evening. He’d placed them on her desk to put on his gloves, simultaneously reminding her she didn’t need to come into the office the next day…

“You’ve more than made up the time,” he’d assured her nicely. “And I really appreciate all the hard work you’ve put into this thing.”

She’d mumbled some sort of thank you then, her face flushing darkly. Compliments had become hard to hear.

He’d patted his pockets, making sure his car keys were available. Then he’d sent her a wink. “Wish me luck,” he’d said, bending down to grab the briefcase he’d set down by his feet. “We really need this client.”

As if she hadn’t been fully aware of that fact.

“All the luck in the world,” Christina had offered, smiling softly when he’d turned to walk away.

“Shit!” she’d cried out at the memory, her eyes staring wearily at the packets. Turning to the employee list, she thumbed through the contacts until locating Mr. Gordman’s personal cell phone. Dialing quickly, she waited for three rings—

“Matthew.”

“Mat—Mr. Gordman,” she stammered. “The packets, sir. You left them here.”

“I did?” She heard the sound of frantic scrambling, no doubt as he looked through his briefcase. “Dammit—”

That one word had sent her eyebrows up to her hairline. She’d worked at the office for all of six weeks at this point, but never once had she heard him offer up so much up the mildest of cuss words.

Then, almost before she knew what she was saying, Christina offered: “I’m just about to leave. Would you like—I can bring them to you?”

There had been a long silence and then a heavy sigh. “No, Christina. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Still.” But his resolved had started to weaken. She heard it in his voice. Turning around would have set him back almost an hour. His flight left at five a.m. the following day.

“Well then I insist,” she told him. Besides, it hadn’t been like she’d had a lot going on that evening. Or any evening, for that matter. And she really needed the job. “Look, it’s no trouble and it hardly makes sense for you to come back here when I have to leave anyway…”

He sighed and then, finally, relented. “I, yes okay. Thank you Christina. That would be—are you sure you wouldn’t mind? I don’t want to keep you…”

“Not hardly,” she promised him. Grabbing a sheet of paper, she jotted down his address.

It had taken her less than fifteen minutes to find the place. Pulling her car up into his semi-circular driveway, her eyes grew wide in her face as she spied the impressive brick structure—replete with white trimming and a massively framed doorway. .

Getting out of the vehicle, the folders clutched nervously in her arms, she marched up to the front of the house and rang the doorbell without waste. She didn’t have long to wait before one of the two doors before her swung open.

But it hadn’t been Mr. Gordman at the threshold. Nor had it been Mary either (though at that time, she hadn’t known what Mary looked like yet.) It had been a strange man—tall and lean, with blonde streaked brown hair and large hazel eyes, heavily fringed with long lashes.   Early thirties she surmised in that instant analysis. Fit.

And then he’d smiled at her. And there had been something so familiar about him. Something that made her want to drop the papers in her hands and step into him—

“Ah…hello?” The greeting held just as much welcome as blatant amusement.

Christina’s face seemed to blink. She strangled the folders tighter to her person. Bracing herself against this ridiculous sensation, she brought her chin up a notch defensively. “Excuse me,” she offered politely. “I’m looking for a Mr. Gordman.”

His grin lengthened. It was slightly lopsided. She resented him that show of cuteness. “You found him.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m afraid not.”

He laughed—a real, genuine chuckle, which for some reason that only further put Christina on edge. She had the feeling he was laughing at her expense. Turning slightly, he raised his voice to the room behind him. “Dad? Dad, there’s someone here to see you.”

Christina heard the welcoming sound of approaching footsteps. When Mr. Gordman came into view, her smile broke forth.

“Christina!” His arms raised gratefully when his eyes caught sight of the packets in her arms. “You are my savior.”

Blushing, she quickly averted her gaze from the hazel eyes which seemed to be watching this exchange with that damnable amusement again. “It was nothing,” she muttered.

“It was everything,” Mr. Gordman insisted, taking the papers from her.

“Who’s at the door Matthew?” But the caller to this question hadn’t waited for a response. Within seconds Christina had found herself looking up into a pair of warm brown eyes. She knew, from the picture that sat on the edge of Mr. Gordman’s desk, who the woman was. His beloved wife.

“Oh. Hello,” Christina rushed to say, smiling nervously. She held out a small hand. “I’m Christina. I don’t believe we’ve met….”

“But I’ve heard about you,” Mary offered kindly, taking Christina’s hand. “Matthew raves about his new receptionist. The efficient Ms. DeLuca.”

Christina felt her blush, which had finally started to recede, rise again. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the youngest Gordman looking at her again. His lips were pulled up sardonically and there was a look in his eyes—

She pretended to ignore it.

“What brings you…?” Mary’s words trailed off, her shrewd eyes zipping from Christina over to her husband, her expression mirroring the thoughts tunneling through her head; when her swift glance caught sight of the newfound folders clutched in his grip, however, a new look came over her face. “Matthew?” She nodded towards them knowingly. “What are those?”

There was a certainly quality to her question. It would was not to be dismissed.

He sighed. “Ah, paperwork for tomorrow’s meeting?” He asked her, as though he was testing out this excuse.

Mary made a sound in her throat. Her foot tapped rhythmically against the flooring. “Let me guess, you forgot them at work?”

He looked sheepish.

“And so you made her bring them out to you?

Mr. Gordman squirmed. He actually squirmed. Christina had to bite her lip to keep from smiling “Christina offered—”

She nodded quickly. “That’s true. I suggested it…”

“Matthew!” Mary swatted at his arm. “Don’t you have any consideration, at all? Do you even know what time it is?”

“Ah…” His eyes had flickered toward the large hall clock hanging overhead.

“I suppose your supper is ruined now, thanks to my thoughtless husband?” Mary asked, turning to look at Christina then.

“Ah no. No, no,” Christina assured her. “I hadn’t had anything planned anyway, so it didn’t matter…” Which, in retrospect, had been exactly what Mary had been hoping she’d say.

“Well then that settles it,” Mary informed her. “You’ll have dinner with us.”

Christina blanched. Her foot took a step backward almost before she knew it. Her gaze went shyly towards Mr. Gordman’s less-than-surprised countenance. “Thank you. But, ah, no. That’s, that’s not necessary.”

Mr. Gordman only shrugged, as though it was a lost cause to fight.

“It most certainly is,” Mary informed her staunchly. “In fact, it’s the very least we can do.” She shot her husband a dark look. “I mean, really Matthew? Asking her to come all this way?”

“She insisted!”

“I really did.”

“Then you’ll appreciate that I insist now. You’ll stay for dinner. I won’t take no for an answer. We have more than enough food.”

“You’ll be helping us out, I assure you.” This tidbit of teasing had come from Jason. Groaning at the soft elbowing his mother sent at the words he smirked, rubbing his side. “Mother has a tendency to overfeed.”

“Besides,” Mary argued. “I would feel terribly guilty if you missed a proper meal because of my louse of a husband.”

“Easy Mar.”

“You hush.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Christina could have almost been amused at this small, rather intimidating woman. Except she was too unnerved to do anything but stand there.

“I don’t want to impose…”

“Impose?” Mary smiled. Christina had learned never to trust that particular smile. “What do you call asking an employee to run business errands after work? If anyone here has been imposed upon, it’s you my dear.”

“No. Not, not at all.” Christina had shaken her head so hard her teeth had clenched together instinctively.

“Look, you can fight her on this all night,” Matthew interrupted finally with something akin to a long-suffering glance. “But in the end you’ll eat dinner here. The question is, do you want to it now while it’s still hot, or in an hour when it’s cooled considerably?”

“Jason, take her coat.”

And, with three pair of eyes on her, Christina found herself doing exactly as expected. With a glance to beat defeat, she brought her hands up to her coat buttons popping them free.

“Though it really isn’t necessary,” she continued to say—but then Jason’s hands had skimmed across the tops of her shoulders, and her breath had frozen in her throat. That strange sensation spread out over her skin again as his fingers caught hold of her jacket.

But then, it wasn’t such a strange sensation, was it? She’d felt it before. She knew the pitfalls. Gritting her teeth, she’d felt the silky inner-lining of her coat fall from her arms, hardly daring to move.

And then, at last and really far too soon, his hands had been gone.

Afraid they’d noticed her sudden stillness, Christina threw out a hasty smile. “Well,” she admitted shyly, anything to cover her unease: “I guess I am hungry.”

“Good girl,” Mary encouraged.

That had been the first night he’d called her by that name.

They’d just sat down at the table and he’d looked across the expanse separating them and remarked: “So Chrissy…”

“It’s Christina.”

He tilted his head. “Are you sure? Chrissy seems to suit you.”

Her smile tightened. “It’s Christina.”

He only shrugged. “If you insist.” This, somehow, managed to make her out to be the ass.

Her eyes turned to slits. “Oh, I do.’

“So Christina,” Mary continued loudly, but her face had betrayed her curiosity. “Matthew says you’re not from around here originally?”

“No. I was raised in South Carolina.”

“Long way from home.”

“Sometimes.”

“What brought you to Minnesota?”

Christina took a drink of her glass of water. “I saw a picture of the city on the back of a postcard…”

Jason snorted.

Christina sent him a lowering glance. “Yes?”

He lifted innocent eyes. “Hmmm?”

“Was there something you wanted to say?” she challenged him.

Jason shook his head. “No. Not me.” But his eyes twinkled.

“Ignore him,” Mr. Gordman had said then, sending his son a speaking glance.

Christina smiled devilishly. “Only since I got here.” She’d been trying to, at least.

Jason grinned all the harder. “Not with much success I see.”

She’d felt those words all the way to the base of her spine. They made her stomach zip, tingle. He was right, of course, but she’d be damned if she’d let on.

Her eyes slipped helplessly towards his gaze. She’d had no recourse left but to glare. She only ever hoped it was enough.

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.

 

A Little Conversation…

Jackie made a weak gesture with her hand. Trying for a comical grimace, she kept her tone lighthearted. No need to dump on the poor guy.  “Does your mother drive you nuts, too?” She grinned gamely, waiting for his response.

Max hesitated. His body was leaning comfortably against the door now—arms crossed, head tipped back…. “Uh. Yeah, I suppose.” But he didn’t sound any too sure of that. “Sometimes.”

Jackie grinned wider. “Liar.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

She flapped her wrist, indicating his general person. “I can tell just by looking at you—you’re trying to appease me….”

Max laughed, hands raised up high in the air. “All right. You got me.”

“Like it was so hard.”

And then, without quite meaning to, he added coolly: “But—ah, I’ve had my moments with dad.”

Jackie’s eyebrow rose curiously at that little nugget of insight, her body sitting up a little higher against the pillows at her back. “Now that’s interesting…”

Max’s mouth thinned. “Hardly.”

Jackie tensed. He didn’t look amused any longer. Back-pedaling at the look in his eyes, she thought quickly. “Let me guess,” she improvised, her lips pulling up. “He had high hopes that you’d carry on the family tradition of, ah, logging—” Jackie improvised. “But to his everlasting shame you became a surgeon. I mean, really!”

“The family tradition of logging?” Max sputtered, his shoulders shaking with supressed laughter. “What year is this?” His face mocked her. “Maybe you hit your head on that bus….” He made to move forward, a look of faux concern etched on his face.

“Oh whatever.” Jackie blushed. “So I’m not good making things up on the spot.”

He laughed, leaning back against the door once more. “I’d say.” He gave her a cheeky look. “Is that why you’re looking into adoption? Mom and dad wanted a comedian?”

“Hardy har har,” Jackie muttered. “I wish that were the case. But comedians? They’re too liberal for my parents taste.”

Max lifted an eyebrow, but otherwise he remained silent.

Jackie sighed. “No. My mom and dad wanted me to be a stay-at-home wife, if you can believe it or not,” Jackie volunteered, her voice low. “The kind of person who spends her afternoon canning vegetables and watching soap operas—”

Max’s eyes narrowed in concentration.

Jackie made a face of disgust. “As you said earlier: I’m frequently baffled by what year they think we’re living in.”

“You wanted a career?”

“I wanted to be autonomous,” Jackie returned. “I wanted to live my life with passion—do something that got me up in the morning,” Jackie sputtered, getting worked up now. “So Yes. I wanted a career. I wanted to be multi-faceted. Not just some nameless attachment, settled by a marriage certificate.”

“And they don’t understand that?”

“God no,” she laughed hoarsely. “They think this is just a little phase. An experiment. In fact, I think they were banking on something like this happening to me. Not a stabbing, per se,” she hurried to clarify. “They’re not cruel. But I think they did want something to happen. Something just bad enough to send me packing back home.”

“Ah.”

“But it won’t work,” she insisted. “And that’s what I told my mother this afternoon when she called.” Jackie’s eyes twinkled rebelliously. “As I’m sure you’ve surmised, the conversation didn’t go well. And by that I mean, it didn’t go her way.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s just, I watched her, growing up. How she hovered over the stove day and night. How she lived and died by the state of her garden, the degree to which she knew the neighbors comings and goings.” Jackie shook her head. “And I always—God this sounds horrible. But I always pitied her for it.”

Max shifted—his face was shuttered now, revealing nothing.

Probably because he was dying of discomfort.

Jackie could hardly blame him if he were. Talk was getting heavy. And it was all her doing. She wasn’t even sure why she was confiding all of this to him. Hell, she hardly knew the man. Or maybe that was why. Because she’d never know the repercussions of spilling her fears to him. By this time next week, another poor sap would be in this bed and he would have all but forgotten her name…

“I think I’d rather be stabbed than live a life like that.”

Max frowned.

“Sorry,” Jackie muttered. “Sorry. It’s just—I’m not sure how many times we’ve had this same argument, her and I. When are you coming home—where you belong?” Jackie mimicked. “I just can’t get it through to them. That isn’t my home anymore. And I don’t think I ever really belonged.”

When Jackie spoke next, her voice was pleading, almost childlike: “They’ve never understood why I had to leave home in the first place.”

Max remained silent; still playing the part of active listener.

“They’ve never understood why I wanted to be in a big city.” She sighed dramatically. “Craftsmith is a town of nearly 500 inhabitants, my mother would say. And I didn’t know even half of them. So, why would I need anything bigger?”

Max nodded slowly. “That’s tough.”

Jackie’s eyes shot up to him. “What is?”

“Feeling misunderstood. Fighting a battle that can’t be won.”

“Yeah.” Jackie looked down at her lap, where her fingers were busy pleating the material bunched up there.

“Especially with people you love.”

She nodded again. “You got that right.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jackie made a funny note. Half humorous, half strangled. “Yes. Well. Now you know why I was having my own little pity-party in here,” she teased.

Max gave her a return smile. “Fair enough.”

She hitched one shoulder. Now that she’d gotten all of that off her chest, the smallest infusion of embarrassment had taken up residence. That, and she felt like a small child, throwing a temper tantrum. Great impression all around. “But listen, you don’t have to stay in here,” she said, her eyes shifting toward the door. “I know you have a lot of work to get done—and I promise I’ll put on a smile from here on out…”

“Actually,” Max said, speaking over her rushed goodbye. “I was thinking of taking my lunch now.”

“Oh?” Jackie wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“Which means, I don’t have anywhere I need to be…” he intimated. “Not right now.”

She stared at him nonplussed. What did that mean?

Max coughed.

Jackie didn’t know where to look—what the hell was happening?

“So, if you happen to know anyone looking for a little company…” he said meaningfully. “I’d appreciate the favor.” And then, for added benefit, he winked: “It’s terrible thing, eating lonely.”

“You want to hang out here?”

Max bit back a laugh. “’Bout time you asked.”

Jackie laughed softly, inclining her head toward the turquoise chair. “Be my guest.”

“Thank you,” Max teased, making his way slowly toward the squeaky relic. “I’d like that.”

….

 

 

 

Nurse Hansen, standing at one of the central nursing stations, sighed wistfully as she watched through the hallway glass as Dr. Thompson slowly pulled up a chair beside Jackie’s bed. She had to wrench her head to a hard right to catch sight of them but, pressed up tight to the countertop, her front half almost spilling over the top, she almost had a clear picture of what was going on in Room 223

Reaching blindly for the ROI to her left, she didn’t bother to take her eyes off the two of them.

Jackie laughed at something Dr. Thompson said.

His hands gestured animatedly…

“And make no mistake about it. There’s something going on there.”

“Going on where, Caro?”

At the sound of a girl’s voice behind her, Nurse Hansen’s jerked upright. Stumbling backward a half step, one hand pressed up against her generous chest, she glowered at the unsuspecting intruder: Brittany Callaway; her badge read CNA. “Now don’t you go sneaking up on people like that, girl. Bound to scare someone half to death.”

“Sorry Caro,” Brittany said, but her face didn’t look the least repentant. “So,” she asked, craning her neck to the side. “What were you watching so intently?” She sent her a teasing look. “Or is it who?”

“None of your business.”

“Mmhmm,” Brittany murmured, her eyes skipping from one room to another—trying to scope out what had intrigued the usually so unflappable Ms. Hansen. Then she saw Dr. Thompson.

“Well, well, well,” she said then, a knowing grin spreading across her face when she glanced up at her superior. “Isn’t that—?”

Nurse Hansen huffed out a great sigh. “Yes. That’s the woman Dr. Thompson saved on the bus.”

“All right.” There was a wealth of meaning in those words.

“Now don’t you be getting any ideas in that head of yours,” Nurse Hansen barked. “I won’t be tolerating any gossips on my floor.”

Brittany smiled. “They look cute together.”

Nurse Hansen turned away then to lean over her computer (partly to signal her intent to end the conversation, but mostly to hide the smile she couldn’t quite fight off her face): “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sent Brittany a look of admonishment. “And I won’t have any slouching off on my floor. I’m sure there’s things need doing.”

“Yes ma’am,” Brittany said, her feet skipping down the hallway.

Alone again, Nurse Hansen sent one last look over her shoulder. Dr. Thompson was still there. And he seemed captivated.

“Oh yes. Something’s bound to stir up…” she sang knowingly to herself before turning back to the task at hand. That ROI wouldn’t write itself.

 

Mother’s Think They Know Best–

The sky was the slate-grey of a cold day. Snuggling further into her blankets, though the hospital room was comfortably warm, Jackie supposed there had to be at least some perks to being stuck inside.

“…though, of course she would say that…”

Blinking at the note in her mother’s voice, the sound crackling through the phone’s speaker, Jackie nodded absently. Her eyes remained on the window. “Hmm? Oh  yeah.”

Her mother sighed. It was weary. Long-winded. “Jackie? Are you even listening to me?”

“What? Oh. Sorry Mom,” Jackie mumbled, forcing herself back to the topic at hand.

“What’s wrong, Jacks?”

“Nothing,” Jackie was quick to reassure. With a snap, she took her eyes off the window. The lure of distraction was too readily available…

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m just a little sleepy, I think.” Not to mention bored out of her mind. This was her fourth day in a hospital bed. Her fourth day of doing absolutely nothing—of almost preferring to be out in the freezing cold temperatures she so frequently heard the nurses grumbling about as they shuffled past.

And—truth be told, her mother’s stories were sometimes rather, well, long-winded and pointless. About people Jackie didn’t know, and places she’d never gone. And, since no one was there to see it, Jackie felt almost too comfortable giving reign to her daydreams….

“Well, you can’t go getting all silent like that on me,” her mother protested, but nicely. “Or I start to worry. I start to think…bad thoughts. That maybe something’s happened to you. And I wouldn’t even know, except by your lack of response. And then I get nervous. You’ll understand someday, when you’re a mother,” she said, flustered.

Jackie rolled her eyes. That was the other thing. Her mother had a flair for the dramatics.

“Sorry Mom,” she repeated. “Everything’s fine. I haven’t flatlined, or anything.”

“That’s not funny!”

“It was a little funny.”

“Honestly, you have no idea—these talks are all that I get to calm my fears,” her mother huffed. And that’s when Jackie knew she’d made a mistake. Her mother’s was all het was up about it now. “I hardly sleep, thinking about what happened to you, what could have happened to you…”

But just not bad enough to make the trip. Jackie made a face at the thought, which had popped in her head almost unbidden. Her mother didn’t travel well. Her anxiety kept her off the roads. And it wasn’t like Jackie was dying.             And, besides, her mother had called her every day. Every. Damn. Day. (Now she came to think about it, maybe she should be glad that the only thing separating her from silence was the End button…)

“…I mean, we always knew that city would be dangerous…”

That city, because dared her mother refer to Minneapolis by its actual name?

            “Here it comes,” Jackie whispered quietly to herself. After all, she’d been waiting for this moment for almost half a week now. To give her mother credit, she’d held back longer than Jackie had expected.  But alas, the inevitable couldn’t be put back forever and now the time had arrived: Mrs. Cambridge’s favorite lecture: the evils of city-dwelling, and why Jackie should pack up her bags and head on home. The sooner the better.

Jackie had heard it all before. Her eyes drifted back toward the window. The sky looked more weaker now, almost milky—

“I’m just saying, I heard David Pierce is looking to hire someone at his office—”

With a snap, Jackie found herself back in the conversation, her fingers curling around the blankets. She fought for composure. If her mother had filled out another application in her name… “Oh? Are you looking for a new job?” Jackie asked glibly, but the lines around her mouth gave her away. Not that her mother could see….

Her mother huffed. “Jackie, don’t be dense—you know very well that I can’t work.”

If this were 19th century South, Jackie’s mother would be one of those ladies who was so frequently driven to bed by the vapors.

“Dad then?” Jackie queried innocently. “Strange change in careers, but…”

Her mother’s voice was starch. “No, Jackie. Of course I don’t mean him. Now stop this.”

Jackie grinned wickedly. Her mother was so easy…. “Stop what?”

“You know what!”

Jackie felt her grin slip. Her mother would not be broken. Not on this particular subject.

“Jackie. We’ve talked about this before…”

“And I’m prepared to offer you the same answer I did then.” Gone was the teasing, the amusement.

“Oh!” Jackie could almost see her mother’s cheeks swell over the sound. “That stubborn streak of yours!”

“No. Actually, it’s called independence. And the right to make my own choices,” Jackie insisted. The moment the words had left her mouth, however, she deeply regretted them. Her mother was a sensitive woman. And Jackie would pay for speaking to her like that.

Her mother sniffed expectantly. “Well! Pardon me for caring. What in the world was I thinking? To want you close to me, where I can see you, take care of you? Because, in case you forgot, you were violently attacked last week. Violently attacked!” Jackie rolled her eyes. Not because it wasn’t true, it was just the grating way her mother said the words. “I know a mother’s love can be such a burden,” she went on, her voice thick with sarcasm—“So please, don’t bother trying to spare my feelings. After all, it’s not as though they should matter. Certainly not to someone who’s so independent …”

Jackie counted to ten. Then twenty.

“Mom.” The word alone was an apology. “Of course your feelings matter. I-I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry—”

Her mother’s voice was watery, wet. “I just want you home where you’ll be safe.”

Jackie closed her eyes; prayed for patience. “But that’s just it. I’m happy here.”

Her mother scoffed. “Your happy? Sitting in that hospital bed?”

“Well. No.”

“Exactly.”

“I know what happened scared you,” Jackie said, her voice gentle, coaxing. “It scared me, too.”

“So how can you possibly consider staying…”

And that, Jackie knew would be the start of Round 2. Her mother was only just getting her second wind. Settling herself more comfortably against the pillows as her mother’s voice prattled on in the background, Jackie felt her gaze move back toward the window. Was it just her imagination, or were those pillowy puffs of snow falling outside?

Hanging up with her mother half an hour later, Jackie let out a deep breath. Her shoulders felt weighted; her head pounded from the back-and-forth; her lips pulled into a pout as she laid her phone down on the end-table.

The subject had been brought to a close in the usual sentiment. Her mother thought Jackie was being selfish. Childish. Thought she was staying in Minneapolis out of spite, simply because it was the opposite of what she wanted her to do. (As if Jackie lived her life with only her mother in mind!)

She’d sworn Jackie was going to send her into another of her famous panic attacks.

Then she’d hung up.

Wiping her hand under her nose, Jackie sniffed.

“Feeling sorry for yourself in here?”

Wiping her head up and around at the question, Jackie’s started eyes shifted toward the door, where Dr. Max Thompson was standing. He wore an easy, teasing smile. And damned if it wasn’t infectious. Before she even knew it, Jackie felt her own lips—the ones in the perpetual frown of moments ago—pulling upward…

She rolled her eyes. “Hardly. I’m wondering if I’m too old to put myself up for adoption.”

A surprised laugh escaped out his mouth. For some reason, she liked that. Knowing she could get such a reaction out of him.

Leaning more fully against the door, he lifted a curious eyebrow. “Do tell?”