Christmas Dinner (Crimson Romance) (6 page)

He thought back to their earlier conversation. She’d caught him off guard by bringing up the bus. It was best to let her continue thinking that was the first time they’d met—for now. When he told her the truth, he wanted it to be perfect.

“Hey, Ace. You about done in there?” He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his e-mail. Since breaking the story, he had dozens of e-mails for follow-up interviews. He decided all of that could wait until after Christmas. He’d probably hand them over to Amanda, anyway. It was the right thing to do.

“Almost.” Amanda stepped out of the dressing room wearing a black knit turtleneck sweater that hugged her body along with dark blue jeans. She surveyed herself in the three way mirror. “These jeans will do.”

“That they will,” he muttered.

She looked over shoulder. “Did you say something?”

“No.” He grinned.

Her hand reached back and into her sweater. “Can you do me a favor and rip the tag off? I think I’m going to wear it now. I can’t reach it.”

Tate stared at her back. She wanted him to reach inside her sweater?

“Can you see it?”

“Sure.” He gently reached in and yanked on the tag. His fingers brushed against her neck. The slight feel of her skin sent an electric shock through him. “Here you go.” He handed her the tag. He cursed himself for feeling flushed from simply touching her neck.

“Are you okay?” She looked over her shoulder again.

“It’s warm in here.”

She glanced one last time in the mirror. “Well, I’m done. I think I have everything I need.”

She certainly did, and everything he needed. “So, Amanda . . .” He stood and juggled his bags filled with his recent purchases. “Do you have any questions for me?” Sure, he’d play the charade she’d orchestrated, but he wasn’t going to give up on her getting to know him. Maybe if she did, she’d realize they had a lot in common. Maybe she’d see him as real boyfriend material.

Amanda went back into the stall and shut the door. “No. Not really. I’ll be quick. I just want to try on another pair of jeans.”

From his chair, he watched the denim fabric fall to her pedicured feet. How he wished he was on the other side.

He stood up and leaned his back on on the stall’s door. “No questions at all? We’ve been hot and heavy for a year. Surely, you have some questions that will help make our relationship more believable.”

“Six months,” she corrected him. “No, I think I’m good.”

“Excuse me. Six months. Don’t you want to know anything about me?”

There was silence in the stall. “Okay, what was the name of the first girl you kissed?” she asked.

“Melanie Clearwater. Summer camp.” He chuckled, but crossed his fingers behind his back. Melanie wasn’t technically his first kiss.

The door swung open. She was smirking. “Figures.”

“What?”

“With a name like that . . . let me guess . . . cute, blonde, and perky. Cheerleader, right?”

“Actually, she had long red hair and the biggest b—”

“Stop.” She reached up and put her hand in front of his lips. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

“What? Her eyes were blue.”

Amanda turned to leave the dressing room. “It really doesn’t matter. I’ve already told you what your interests are. Remember? Golf, tennis, cooking . . .”

“Oh, right.” He nodded. “I forgot. I’m a version of you.”

“Tate, if this is going to work, you’ve got to stop trying to make this into more than it is.”

“What exactly is this to you?”

“Should I remind you that coming home with me for the holidays was your brilliant idea? Amanda gave Tate a puzzled look. “What I don’t quite understand is what exactly you’re getting out of this deal?”

He shrugged. “Just helping out my co-anchor .”

“Right. It’s all about helping me.” Amanda cocked her eyebrow skeptically. “Just like your on-air stunt yesterday. You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” She turned and headed to the register.

“No, no. I just thought you might want to learn
something
about the man you’re in love with.” He followed closely behind.

She turned around, flashing a devilish grin. He watched as she pulled a pine green men’s scarf from a mannequin and wrapped it around his neck.

“
Pretending
to be in love with,” she corrected. “And I do know something about you. You’re allergic to cats.”

After they finished shopping, they headed to the food court. While Amanda found an empty table, Tate pushed the cola dispenser, filling their cups.

What had just happened? The way she’d wrapped the scarf around his neck.

As far as flirting went, he realized it wasn’t nearly what he was used to—other women he encountered in Wilmington were much more aggressive. However, this was Amanda—his hot and cold co-anchor who was currently still miffed at him for yesterday’s debacle.

She’d get over it. Since he’d joined the news team, even his breathing seemed to irritate her. Still, every once in a while he’d catch her stealing a glance his way. He was determined to prove his attraction to her wasn’t one-sided.

“Okay, I get it.” He took a seat across from her. “I’m playing a part. But shouldn’t I learn a little bit about your family?” he asked.

“That’s probably a good idea.” Amanda pumped ketchup onto her plate and then opened a mayonnaise packet. She appeared to be mixing a dip for her fries.

“That’s disgusting.” He pointed to her red and white concoction.

“No it’s not,” she said. “Here, try it.” She dipped a fry and handed it to him.

He hesitated before taking a bite. “Not bad. I stand corrected.”

She shot him a smug smile. “All right. My family. There’s not too much to tell. I guess we’re an average American family. I’m the middle child of three. My dad’s name is Jack, and my mother’s is Diane.”

Tate burst out laughing. “That’s funny.” He dipped another fry into Amanda’s mixture and popped it into his mouth.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Jack and Diane. Like the John Cougar Mellencamp song.

Amanda had a blank expression on her face. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on. Don’t tell me you don’t know the lyrics. Everyone our age does.” He started to sing the song.

“I’m not as old as you,” she shot back and shoved another fry in her mouth. “As you know, my sister, Quinn, is having a baby at any moment. Quinn’s husband’s name is Mark and Alex’s girlfriend is Brenda. She and I were in the same class in high school. Quinn and Mark have been married for a year and a half. They eloped in Las Vegas.”

“Really? They didn’t want a hometown wedding?” Tate watched as Amanda’s green eyes filled up.

Oh, no.
What had he said? He was always putting his foot in his mouth. He reached for her hand. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” She pulled back. “Mark is Brad’s brother.”

“Your ex-boyfriend?”

“Yep. Brad’s my sister’s brother-in-law now. She and Mark eloped so I wouldn’t have to endure a year of wedding planning. Quinn’s never actually admitted that, but I’m not stupid.” She stood and slipped on her jacket.

He could tell she was fighting back a fresh batch of tears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine. We should probably get back on the road,” she said, ending the conversation.

Tate watched as she walked her tray to the garbage dispenser and rushed out the door. This was the second time he had seen her burst into tears over her ex-boyfriend. He hated seeing her in this state.

Stupid, she was not. Still heartbroken, he was sure of it.

“Arrive at destination on left.”
The familiar voice of Tate’s GPS echoed throughout his Jeep, interrupting the soft sounds of Christmas music.

This couldn’t be right. Could it? He pulled onto the side of the road. His navigation system had taken him down a dark and twisty path for the last fifteen minutes. There were few homes on either side. He shook Amanda’s shoulder gently. His eyes focused on the spectacle in front of him.

“What time is it?” She yawned and sat up. “Are we here already?”

“That’s what I would like to know. Amanda, is
this
your parents’ house?” He leaned over his steering wheel and peered out the window. In front of him, thousands of decorative red and green lights flickered on rows of Christmas trees at the bottom of a hill, showcasing what he could only describe as a cross between Santa’s Village and the middle of Times Square. A blanket of snow stretched at least a quarter of a mile up the hill. At the top was a beautiful two-story mountain log cabin. Glistening white Christmas lights outlined the house.

Amanda sighed. “Yep. We’re here.”

“This is amazing. Amanda, is your dad Santa Claus?” he asked, half joking.

“Not quite.”

“They could land 747 jets on your front yard. That tree in the middle has to be over thirty feet tall.” He pointed to the west side of the lawn. “Is that a horse and sleigh over there?”

“The horse is fake. I’d rather not talk about the sleigh.”

“Then we won’t.” He suspected she might have some unpleasant memories of it involving the infamous ex. Perhaps it was the scene of the aborted proposal.

Amanda sighed. “Good. Did your parents decorate their lawn for the holidays?” She reached behind her for her bags.

“No. Well, yeah, I guess. But this, well, this . . . wow . . . It’s just really something.” Tate rolled down his window to get a better look at the horse and sleigh and the other life-size figurines on display. He could hear the faint sound of Christmas music. Was it coming from the trees? “How much is your parents’ electric bill?”

“Geez, what’s with all the questions? I thought we were off the clock this weekend.” She rummaged through her purse, pulled out a lip gloss container, and applied a layer.

He looked over and smiled. “Yeah, but this is a story worth uncovering. Do they do this every year?”

“Since 1970, and the town helps pay for it on account of what my family does each year for the county. We get a lot of visitors this time of year.”

“Since 1970? Odd that I’ve never been here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. Now wasn’t the time to go down memory lane.

“Come on. Drive up to the house. The driveway is over there,” she said, motioning to the right. “Just turn your lights off halfway up so we don’t wake anyone.”

“Because my car lights will wake them?” He chuckled as he turned up the driveway.

“Actually, you know what? I bet my parents are still at the hospital.”

Tate shut off the Jeep. “You ready?” He gave her an encouraging smile.

“I suppose so.” She put her hand on the door handle and hesitated.

“You got this, Ace. I’m right here.”

Amanda sighed. “I know.”

“And I’ll be here for you all weekend.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? You could still back out.”

He squeezed her arm. “Not a chance. Let’s show this ex-boyfriend and fiancée what true love really looks like. Stay right here.”

He jumped out of the Jeep, walked over to her side, and opened the door for her. “Here, let me take those for you.” He grabbed the bags in her lap and put out his hand.

“Thank you. How chivalrous.” She put her small hand in his and he helped her out.

“Showtime.” He threw his duffle back around his shoulder and followed Amanda up the walkway, breathing in the fresh scents of snow and pine needles.

Inside, Tate was knocked over by the delicious smells of chocolate and gingerbread. “Wow!” He admired the log cabin’s interior. “Did your father build this house? This slate flooring is gorgeous.”

“With the help of my grandfather and uncles. Shortly after he and Mom were married. Here, let me have those.” She took the bags from him and placed them in front of a half-turn staircase. “Let’s see if anyone is home.”

Tate followed her into the living room—a quaint country-style room with a magnificent crackling stone fireplace that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Several colorful stockings hung off the mantel.

His eyes moved from the fireplace to the rest of the living room. A beautifully decorated Douglas Fir Christmas tree radiated in front of the window. He suspected the tree was fresh from the lawn and guessed it to be about ten feet tall. It was decorated with ornaments of every shape and color. Silver tinsel dripped from the branches while twinkle lights winked. “Amanda, how can you possibly hate Christmas surrounded by all of this?” He reached out and touched a glass ornament. The large snowflake sparkled with silver glitter and blue rhinestones.

“Shhh . . .” She pointed to an elderly woman sleeping underneath a deep red blanket in a rocking chair. He hadn’t seen her when they first came in.

“Amanda, is that you? I must have fallen asleep.” The old woman stirred. An overweight grey tabby jumped from the old woman’s lap, shooting Tate a look of disdain. He hated cats. They were so judgmental.

“Grandma, hi.” Amanda bent over and kissed her cheek. “We didn’t mean to wake you. Is anyone else here?”

“No, dear. They’re all at the hospital. It’s just me and the animals. Quinn is having her baby tonight, but you already know that, don’t you?”

“Has she had it yet?”

“No one’s called.” She looked from Amanda to Tate. “Amanda, who is this young gentleman?” She smiled up at him, motioning for him to sit on the sofa next to her.

“Grandma, this is my boyfriend, Tate Ryan. Tate, this is my Grandma Turner.”

Tate sat on the edge of the couch cushion. “Mrs. Turner, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Tate. That’s a nice name. I once dated a fella named Tate. Or no. His name was Nate. That’s right. It was Nate—for Nathaniel. Such a nice young man he was. Although, he didn’t hold a candle to Grandpa Turner.” She touched his knee. “It’s so nice that you could join us for the holidays, Tate.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He felt her eyes studying him; there was a bit of amusement in them.

“What a fine sweater you have on,” she said, reaching to touch the Christmas trees on his chest.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “I told him it would be a hit.” She turned toward the fireplace, picked up a poker, and gave the log in the fire a poke. Eyeing the stockings, she noticed a small one with the name “Max” in silver cursive writing. It was much smaller than the other stockings and the only one with a name. “Grandma, who’s Max?” Quinn couldn’t possibly have chosen to name her daughter Max. Unless it was short for Maxine.