A Fairytale Christmas (11 page)

I
T WAS
snowing when they left the restaurant. The flakes sparkled in the streetlights, like tiny white lights falling from the sky, and landed on Gill’s hair and face. Oliver studied their sparkle. Moisture kissed her cheeks and eyelids, and when she smiled the drops shone from the glow on her face.

“First snow of the season. Pretty, isn’t it?” She was referring to the snow.

“Gorgeous,” Oliver replied. He wasn’t. Surely she knew how good snow looked on her? Those perfectly shaped lips glimmered with moisture. He had the overwhelming urge to trace their shape with his tongue, to see if they tasted as sweet and perfect as they looked.

Thoughts like that had plagued him all evening. Ever since they’d stood under that mistletoe. His body tensed as he thought of how close they’d stood—so close he’d imagined feeling the fibers of her sweater brushing his shirt when she breathed. And that sweet mouth, so close for the taking….

Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he searched for a benign topic. Anything to keep his less professional thoughts at bay. “Hope my meter didn’t run out while we were eating.”

“Do you think we were in the restaurant that long?”

“Hard to say. I can’t remember when we walked in.”

That was another thing—suggesting dinner. A smart man would have backed away under that mistletoe, called her a cab, and said goodnight. But, no, he’d not only offered her a ride home but suggested dinner as well. What was he thinking? So what if her stomach had growled?

Truth was, he hadn’t been thinking at all. The truck had been dark and the interior had smelled like evergreen. It had been as if they were still standing beneath the mistletoe. The words were out before he could stop them.

He unlocked his truck, then held the door for her to hop in, which she did, sliding across the faded leather seat with ease. He hadn’t expected her to look as at home as she did in a pickup truck. It surprised him to see how comfortable she looked, with her cashmere coat wrapped around her legs. Her long, slender jean-clad legs.

Quickly he shut the door. No matter. Soon as he slid into the driver’s seat, sealing them both into the close dark space, the thoughts returned.

She, on the other hand, was thinking about business. About “getting what she wanted.” He could think unseemly thoughts about licking off snowflakes all he liked; she was busy thinking of her next move up the corporate ladder. Guys like him, guys driven by other motivations, didn’t register on the upwardly mobile radar of women like her. Or if they did they didn’t last long. He’d learned that lesson from Julia.

“Where to?” he asked, starting the car.

“Beacon and River,” she replied. “It’s across from the Comm—”

“I know the address.” The answer came out far more abruptly than he’d intended, causing her to tense in response.

“Is that a problem?” she asked.

“Why would there be a problem?” Just because with those three words life had managed to dump a virtual bucket of
cold water on his thoughts. Just in case he didn’t remember the lesson, apparently.

“I don’t know. You sounded annoyed. If it’s the traffic this time of night…”

“It’s not the traffic.” Nor was it her fault where she lived.
Or how.
“I had a friend who lived in that neighborhood, is all.”

“Oh.” She fell silent, but he could feel her eyes on him. “From the tone, I’m going to guess the friendship changed, not the address.”

“You could say that.”

They made their way through traffic in awkward silence. Oliver watched as the landscape gradually changed to the business district. That was Boston. Parking lots and neighborhood stores gave way to insurance company high-rises and, eventually, the luxury of Back Bay. The buildings became grander—refurbished rather than old, or sparkling new with historic overtones, since the Back Bay forbade modern-looking construction. Commuters picked their way toward train stations, many carrying shopping bags along with their briefcases.

In the next seat, Gill shifted her weight. She hadn’t said a word since they’d discussed her address. His fault, he thought guiltily. His tone hadn’t been exactly warm and encouraging.

“Lot of people out shopping,” he noted. “Got your Christmas shopping done yet?”

As an attempt at conversation it was lame, but apparently good enough—because Gill jumped at the bait. “Not even close. Fortunately I only have to buy for Gwen and hers.”

Oliver noticed her voice changed when she talked about her sister. It grew softer, more indulgent. She’d had a similar tone when talking about the Teaberry trees. He also noticed
she didn’t mention parents. “I’ll probably do what I do every year. Wait till the last minute, then go overboard spoiling everyone. How about you?”

“I’ve got some stuff for the kids at the center—and Maria, of course.”

“Of course.” She was looking at him again. “No family? Or have you simply not gotten to them yet?”

“My father and I don’t really—we don’t celebrate together.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re both happier for it. He’s free to drink the day away, and I’m free not to watch.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry. I’m not sure why I said that.” The words had been out before he’d realized what he was saying. He
never
talked about his father. Why he chose to now he had no idea.

“Hey, if it’s the truth…”

“Oh, it’s the truth all right. If not for the center… I grew up a block away from the place,” he elaborated.

He felt as much as saw the understanding cresting on her features. “No wonder you’re so dedicated to the place.”

Dedicated
wasn’t a strong enough word. “The place saved my life. Showed me there was more than benders and unemployment in my future. In fact, it was a volunteer at the shelter who convinced me I had what it took to go to Harvard.”

“You went to Harvard? As in Harvard University?” Disbelief laced the question, like it did whenever he mentioned his alma mater.

“No, Harvard Junior College,” he shot back, the sarcasm a habit.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re not the first person to react that way. You going to ask the next question?”

“What next question?”

“What’s a guy with an Ivy League education doing running a community center instead of a corporation?”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

Of course it did. She was the one who’d left her hometown and never looked back. “I guess I wanted to make sure other kids got the same opportunities I did.”

“Admirable.” She sounded sincere enough that he believed she meant it. “Is Harvard where you met your friend? The one who lives near me?” She looked away when he tensed—a reaction he always had when Julia came up. “You can tell me to mind my own business if you prefer.”

What the hell? He should, but, having already opened the door to his past, he might as well fully cross the threshold. “Julia was my fiancée.”

“What happened?”

Oliver shrugged. “She wanted someone different. Someone I wasn’t.”

“Oh.” The sympathetic silence that followed said everything else.

They arrived at Gill’s block. Although not the fanciest building in the area, it was still upscale, and it had a great view of the Common. Amazingly, there was a parking spot across from her front door. Oliver grabbed it and shifted into “park.”

Suddenly the cab of his truck felt dark and small again. Having bared his past, Oliver felt open and exposed, and Gill’s presence was too close for comfort. “Here you go—home sweet home,” he said, in a voice that sounded too boisterous.

“So it is,” Gill replied. “Thanks for the ride. And for suggesting dinner.”

“No problem.”

She made no move to leave. Oliver wondered if she expected him to step out and open the door. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do. He was about to when she spoke again. “Frog Pond’s crowded tonight.”

Following her gaze, he saw the glow coming from the rink. “We’re taking the kids there on Sunday,” he replied. “Part of our plan to expose them to new experiences. Believe it or not, a lot of them have never been here—despite growing up in the city.”

“Then it’s good that you’re exposing them to new experiences,” she replied.

“I wish I could do it more often, but unfortunately—”

“The budget only goes so far?”

“I must sound like a broken record.”

“A little, but I understand why.” They locked eyes for a second, then she looked away.

Oliver could see her fiddling with the strap on her pocketbook.

After a couple a beats, she added, “This party will bring in a lot of donations.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’ll talk to Peter McNabb about including a more overt solicitation for donations in the press materials. I’ll also recommend he make a sizeable one himself.”

“Buy himself some goodwill?” Oliver teased.

“I was thinking more like buying a new van.” She smiled, her teeth bright in the dark. “Best way to change his image is to put his money where his mouth is, right?”

“Right.” He shifted his weight, wondering if he was the only one dragging this goodbye out, or if she felt the same sense of hesitancy. From the way she fiddled with her purse strap it seemed so. “You never said what it is
you
get out of all this,” he said. “Back in the restaurant, we toasted us both
getting what we were looking for, but you never said what it was. Don’t tell me you’re looking for a new van, too?”

In the closeness, her laugh sounded soft, like a sigh. “There’s a vice presidency opening at the agency after the first of the new year. I’m one of two candidates up for the position. I do a good enough job, and the job could be mine.”

Yup they were, just another rung on her ladder. “That’s important to you, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.” There was a note of defensiveness to her tone; he’d chipped a nerve. “This has been my plan for as long as I can remember.”

“To be vice president of Rosenthal Public Relations?”

“To be a success.”

“You’re not now?”

“You can always be more.” Her voice dropped a notch. “I didn’t have a center growing up. I only had myself.”

“And your sister.”

There was another, even softer laugh. “Gwen is amazing, but she and my mother were more accepting of our circumstances than I was.
I hated them.
” The last three words were said more harshly than he’d ever heard her speak, even when hurling insults at him. “I won’t settle. Not ever.”

No, Oliver thought to himself, he didn’t suppose she would. The realization saddened him. “I hope you get what you want, then.”

She leaned forward and looked him square in the eye. “I always do.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Oliver couldn’t help himself. She was so close, so tantalizingly close. The sweet evergreen scent still clung to her. Like Christmas. He slipped a hand into her hair, the strands like damp silk flowing through his fingers. She gasped, her perfect mouth making a perfect O.

It was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. Because now his palm was caressing her cheek, his thumb tugging her bottom lip.

“I don’t think…”

Her protest was breathy, weak, and not very convincing. But it was enough to break the spell. With painful reluctance he pulled away. He turned and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Goodnight, Gill.”

“Goodnight.” She offered him an apologetic smile and slipped out the door.

He waited until she’d climbed her front steps and disappeared through her front door before pulling away. For a crazy second he thought she looked back in his direction—even imagined it was in regret—but knew it merely wishful thinking. In her protest, Gill had voiced what they both knew. Business didn’t mesh with pleasure. As she’d said so clearly, Gill McKenzie was all about business and success. He’d made the mistake of asking a woman to choose once before; he’d be a fool to put himself in a position to lose again.

“Some of the kids have limited family, some have no family at all. More than one have lost brothers or sisters to violence.”

As Oliver talked, the TV reporter nodded sympathetically, her heavily lined eyes moist with emotion.

Off camera, in the entrance hall of the community room, Gill was fighting a few tears herself. Oliver was doing magnificently. Handsome and sincere in selling the center’s mission. He’d even made sure Peter McNabb received credit for funding their work, painting the tarnished businessman as a friend to the community.

She smiled. He’d done that for her, she was sure.

Since that night in his truck she and Oliver had kept their relationship on the most professional of planes. No touching,
no personal conversations. Which was good, because she had no business thinking otherwise. She didn’t have time for dating. She wasn’t interested in anything but getting that promotion.

She listened as Oliver continued, relaying how they’d created the center’s basketball team in response to a drive-by shooting at one of the playgrounds. “It’s all about giving kids a home base,” he was saying.

His dedication was beyond admirable. He’d built something here. Something he could be truly proud of. A family, almost.

That nagging sensation from before returned. Odd, but she seemed to be feeling it more and more. Though still vague, it was definitely stronger, increasing that restless sensation. Almost as if she’d forgotten something. She’d run down her to-do list at least a dozen times, but nothing glaring popped out at her.

Maybe she was feeling anxious on Stephanie’s behalf? Despite the fact the Remaillard launch was next week, her rival didn’t seem fazed at all. In fact this morning Gill had overheard her making plans for a ski weekend. Goodness knew if
she
had had that project she wouldn’t have taken a weekend off. Not that she took weekends off to begin with.

On the other side of the camera, Oliver and the reporter were wrapping up. “You’ve given our viewers a lot to think about,” the reporter said.

“Hopefully that’ll mean donations,” Oliver replied.

“Oh, I have no doubt you’ll get a few.” She nodded toward her camera crew. “Let’s get some shots of these trees. This enchanted forest idea is terrific.”