Kissing Under the Mistletoe (11 page)

Jasmine. After all these years, Gabe couldn’t even say her name out loud. It wasn’t that he was still in love with her, it was that the one person who he’d counted on, had pictured building a future with, had walked. At the most difficult time of his life. Taking with her every dream he’d created for the future.

ChiChi patted his hand, her eyes soft with understanding. “We know what you sacrificed, how unhappy you are. You
may never say it, but you wear it on your sleeve as a badge to remind us daily.”

Did he? Gabe tried so hard to fill his father’s shoes, to be the kind of man his mother would have been proud of and the kind of man his siblings could depend on, but he’d never meant to make his family feel guilty.

ChiChi walked to the fridge, and when she returned she had a glass of milk in one hand and was balancing a plate full of Pricilla’s pastries—including his favorite, a mascarpone cheese danish—in the other. As with all Italian grandmothers, food was her solution to everything.

“Do you know when I fell in love with your grandfather?”

Gabe couldn’t help but smile. He’d heard this story a million times. “When Grandpa stole that Merlot blend you were secretly making in your dad’s cellar and placed it in the Summer Wine Showdown.” Because even in those days a woman couldn’t enter. “And when it took first place, he told everyone that it was yours.”

“That”—ChiChi sighed, clutching her locket that held a photo of Grandpa DeLuca—“
and
he deflowered me the same night. Your great-grandfather Ryo threatened to shoot his balls off if he didn’t make an honest woman out of me.”

Gabe swallowed his bite whole.

Her expression fell serious. “That was why I married him, Gabe. But I fell in love with him when he ate my fruitcake and asked for seconds.”

“Grandpa liked your fruitcake?”

“Don’t sound so horrified.” ChiChi laughed. “And no, he hated it. But he loved me enough to let me fail, and believe it or not, over the years it’s gotten better.”

Gabe’s respect for his grandfather just quadrupled.

“What I’m saying is, stop smothering your siblings. Let them fail and find their way through the pain on their own. You’re so busy running everyone else’s lives that you’re missing your own.”

Gabe didn’t think of it as running his siblings’ lives so much as avoiding avoidable disasters. Nate, trying to pick up the slack after losing Regan, had hired a marketing team out of Chicago that was determined to make Ryo Wines appear like they belonged in a box. Marco was in over his head with his new hotel. Trey had made a life of new day, new country, new girl, and if he wasn’t careful he’d wind up in an early grave. Abby was so trusting and sweet that she attracted every SOB in a pair of slacks and loafers. And now, with Regan in town and—

“See, there you go again. You’re already plotting out how to save the family.”

“I just don’t want them to get hurt.”

“And you think running Richard’s mistress out of town will help Abigail?” ChiChi picked up a scone and, pinkie raised like a lady, took an enormous bite. “That sister of yours needs to own up to the fact that Richard was a cheat. She knew it and married him anyway. Can’t spend her life blaming the sheep when she watched her wolf get clothed every day.”

“You knew that Regan was Richard’s mistress?”

“It’s why I sent her the job offer. Poor girl deserves a second chance at happiness.” She reached over and pinched his cheek. “Just like you do.”

“O
kay, angel. Hands up and then we finish packing your room.”

Regan pulled a pink T-shirt with two kittens across the front over Holly’s head and slid her arms through the sleeve holes. With a quick twist of the wrist she began securing Holly’s silky curls into two tiny pigtails resembling little chocolate fountains poking out on either side of her head.

“But the bird’s nest,” Holly said, her body shaking with excitement.

Last week they had discovered a hummingbird nest in the tree adjacent to the kitchen window. They hadn’t seen any hummingbirds, but Holly still checked every morning.

“It will still be there when I’m done with your hair. The stiller you are, the faster I can go.” Holly froze while Regan twisted the last rubber band in place.

When standing still became too much, she lifted her little arms and wrapped them around Regan’s neck.

Regan crushed her daughter tight, breathing her in and sending up a silent thank you to her Mrs. Clauses. All of the uncertainty that had been churning since the night of the Christmas party had taken its toll.

You just have to make it through today
, she thought. Because today was the last day of Regan’s old life, the last day of her old dreams. Tomorrow was another day with new direction. And it would be worth it, she reminded herself, holding Holly even closer. The chance to raise her daughter in St. Helena would be worth every sacrifice: the long hours, toothpaste-stained sinks, and soap-scummed showers.

Holly wiggled out of reach, and without another word dashed down the hallway, her pigtails bouncing with each step.

Regan looked around at the cottage, with its two bedrooms, hardwood floors, and even the avocado-green tile, and swallowed hard. They were moving into a one-bedroom apartment with white walls, gray carpet, and venetian blinds. It would smell of carpet cleaner, paint, and bleach.

Not the end of the world. She could make this work.
Would
make this work.

“Two minutes, young lady. Then we need to pack up your books,” she called.

Regan opened her underwear drawer and started tossing lace and satin—and a depressing amount of cotton—into a box. Not willing to admit that she was in serious need of some new lingerie, she stuffed the practical panties at the bottom of the box and draped the sexy and slinky ones over the top. She’d just folded the flaps over when the doorbell sounded.

Hoisting the box in her arms, she grabbed the tape and made her way to the front door. ChiChi had said she would
come by to help keep an eye on Holly so Regan could take the first load to the new place. The thought of how wonderful her three Mrs. Clauses had been over the past two days made her perk up as she opened the door.

Her smile vanished and something entirely inappropriate began to burn low in her belly.

Even in faded jeans and a worn Stanford T-shirt, Gabe looked expensive and full of himself—and good enough to strip down and lick. His dark hair, still damp from a shower, was rumpled like he’d just run his fingers through it, and based on the shadow of stubble, he hadn’t even bothered to shave.

Gabe DeLuca was a perfect specimen of the male sex. And suddenly, the only thing she could think about was sex. With him. And that incredible package Jordan talked about. Which she was currently gawking at.

Gabe cleared his throat and Regan jerked her eyes up, away from his prize-winning package to his face that was crinkled into a knowing grin.

“Morning, Vixen,” he said in that low, you-know-you-want-me voice.

She scowled by way of greeting. His eyes dipped to the floor and Regan squeaked. Somehow in the process of mentally stripping him down, she had dropped the box and now her entryway looked like Victoria’s Secret after a two-for-one blowout.

“Let me help with that,” Gabe offered.

“I got it.”

They both bent down at the same time, Regan scrambling to shove handfuls of panties back into the box, Gabe pulling them back out one by one to inspect them.

Satisfied that she had gotten every last scrap, Regan yanked the yellow demibra out of Gabe’s long, lean fingers, dropped it in the box, slammed the flaps shut, smacked away his hands, and taped it securely. She stood, ready to give him an earful. Her day was stressful enough without having to deal with him.

Only, when she looked up she was speechless. Between Gabe’s two pointer fingers, the elastic stretched tight, hung a pair of red panties with a big green bow and “Merry Christmas, Love, Santa” across the crotch.

His lips twitched. “I didn’t know we were exchanging gifts. I think you have to be wearing it for the full effect, though.”

Ignoring the way her toes curled into the rug, she snatched the panties and shoved them in her back pocket. “Do you have a reason for being here? Other than to bother me?”

“I was supposed to come bearing fruitcake, care of ChiChi. But—” Gabe picked up a pastry box off the porch bench. Oh, God, he brought doughnuts? She loved doughnuts. “I stopped by Pricilla’s and picked up these instead.”

“Why?” She tried to feign disinterest but found herself sniffing the air for hints of maple.

“Because ChiChi’s fruitcake has been known to cause copious amounts of vomiting, and I didn’t want you to accuse me of digestive assault with a deadly fruitcake.”

Regan refused to smile. Even though, when Gabe wasn’t getting her fired or kicking her out of parties, he was charming. And she
could
smell the faintest hint of maple. Oh, boy, she was a goner.

“No, I mean, why are you here?”

“I heard you were moving and—”

“Oh.” Of course. Her heart sank.

Disappointed and mad at herself for feeling disappointed, Regan grabbed her purse off of the table by the door, riffled through it, and extracted an envelope with his name on it. Forcing herself to look him in the eye, she explained, “I don’t have it all. But I hope this will be enough for now. I’ll send you a payment every week until it’s paid off.”

Gabe just stared at the envelope. When he didn’t make a move to take it, Regan leaned around him and stuck it in his butt pocket, making sure
not
to notice how firm his ass was, or how yummy he smelled, or how her heart picked up when his eyes lit with humor. Nor did she succumb to lust and give him a firm little pat on that incredibly pat-able butt.

“Look, Regan. I didn’t come here to—”

Gabe’s words were cut short by what sounded like a small herd of elephants stampeding down the hardwood floor. The thundering drew to a close, only to be replaced by a shrill squeal that was nothing short of pure, uncontained joy.

“Mommy, he brought us doughnuts!”

Gabe looked at the tiny bundle of excitement jumping up and down, and froze. His face went slack and his eyes widened with shock.

He didn’t know?

Holly’s hands alternating between clapping and pointing at the pink box in his possession only made his discomfort more obvious. Regan closed her eyes. This was not what she needed today.

Wrapping an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, she pulled Holly into the shelter of her body and pinned Gabe with a glare, hard and determined. Neither spoke, but the message was clear: Mess with my kid and I will fuck you up.

“Mommy,” Holly whispered, eyeing the Dirty Jar. “You should introduce me. It’s only polite.”

Regan nodded. “Holly, this is Mr. DeLuca. Gabe, my daughter, Holly.”

She knew the moment he figured out who Holly’s father was. It didn’t take much. Holly was the perfect combination of her and Richard. At least physically.

“Nice to meet you,” Holly said, sticking out a hand that had a brown smudge that looked suspiciously like peanut butter.

Regan sent a questioning glance at the undeniable evidence of pre-breakfast nibbling. Holly swayed nervously and quickly wiped the evidence off on her jean-clad legs before reoffering her hand. “Can I have a doughnut? It’s polite to share.”

Gabe’s mouth opened and shut, his chest rising and falling faster than seemed healthy. With a single nod, he offered Holly the entire box of pastries. Sucker.

Regan almost felt sorry for him. Okay, she didn’t feel sorry at all. It felt nice to see Mr. Laid Back squirm.

Holly peeked under the lid and clutched the treasured pink box to her chest. Eyes squinted, face scrunched in concentration, she tilted her head and studied Gabe—tall, dark, and undoubtedly feeling guilty as hell. Regan almost snorted.

After long deliberation, Holly eyed the Dirty Jar and frowned. “He didn’t shake my hand, but he brought the ones with the pink sprinkles on top.”

Regan smiled at her daughter’s dilemma. The law was the law. But doughnuts were doughnuts. She also admired her daughter’s ability to gracefully break the tension in the room. The moment Holly opened her mouth, Gabe’s horrified
expression faded and a charmed smile hovered on his lips. He squatted down and extended his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Holly. I seem to have left my manners at home.” Holly easily accepted his excuse and hand, pumping it like a politician.

“He’s sorry ’bout the bad manners, Mommy.” Holly looked back and forth between the two adults. “Does he have to put a quarter in the Dirty Jar?”

At that Gabe raised a brow. “Dirty Jar?”

“Yup, whenever Mommy or I do something dirty or impolite we have to put a quarter in the Dirty Jar.”

“Ah,” he stood, pinning Regan with a look. “So, if your mom were to, say, call someone a bad name or throw a melon at someone’s head she’d have to—”

“Pay fifty cents,” Holly said proudly. “We collected enough quarters to go to the movies
and
buy popcorn when we got stuck in traffic moving here.”

“I’ll bet,” Gabe said, hands in belt loops, rocking back on his heels.