I really thought he was going to kiss me. I’d glanced up and he had a look in his eyes that made me think...
But then he turned away and the moment was lost and I had to drag myself back to reality. I’d made it all up, no doubt. A man as handsome as Jameson definitely didn’t want anything to do with me or my chaotic life and kids. Clearly. The moment I started talking to Kara about what the twins were up to, he disappeared into his room without another word.
Of course, I thought I’d caught him looking down my shirt, but it was probably just wishful thinking. No man had looked at me like that in a while, mostly because I still wore my maternity clothes and was always covered in barf or snot or half-chewed food. I needed to get my shit together and focus on the problems right in front of me: making sure the kids -- all of them -- had a good Christmas.
Sure, I hated the holiday and it would be a hell of a lot of work in short order, but I wasn’t going to let the kids be disappointed just because I turned into Scrooge McDuck the moment the calendar flipped to December first. I couldn’t repay Kara’s generosity in letting us stay with her by ignoring the one request she made of me.
Even if it meant spending more time in close proximity to Jameson.
Of course, we could always work everything separately. It would take longer, and I had no idea how just one of us would wrestle a Christmas tree through a blizzard to the building, but I was sure Jameson could figure it out.
I got my marching orders from the adults upstairs as far as where the presents were, what wrapping paper was meant for each set of kids, and where a tree could go in the gym, then cleaned up the kitchen as much as possible. The shower ran in the other room, which just distracted me more. He was naked in the steamy bathroom, right under the spray of hot water, his eyes closed and head back as he soaped up and his hands went...
My face burned and I fled to the downstairs so I wouldn’t be distracted by the mental image of him toweling off and getting dressed. Holy crap, I needed to get myself under control. Sure, I could blame the residual hormone craziness for making me horny as hell, but in reality I just hadn’t gotten laid in over a year and Jameson was smokin’ hot. When he wasn’t talking and being annoying, that was. Like him suggesting to Kara that I’d suddenly gotten the Christmas spirit.
But he’d almost kissed me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he definitely would have if the phone hadn’t interrupted. I gnawed the inside of my cheek as I found the storeroom in the back of the gym and stared at the mountain of toys and clothes and other gifts... all unwrapped. All in need of wrapping.
At least a five foot stack of wrapping paper rolls meant we wouldn’t have to get that, too. Although the amount of tape needed to secure that much paper... I took a deep breath. Okay. At least we still had five days to get through the mountain. Easy. One present at a time. Not that I knew who was meant to get what. Fine. I started a numbered list on a scrap of wrapping paper with each toy listed and slapped the corresponding number on the wrapped present. That would have to work. And if not, well... the kids would be really surprised when they unwrapped things.
I’d been down there for just a little while when the door creaked and Jameson appeared. He smelled heavenly and masculine, faintly of cedar and sandalwood, and he’d combed his still-damp hair into something like Captain America would manage. At least he wore jeans and a sweater that covered every inch of his chest. It also, unfortunately, stretched across that broad chest and reminded me of snuggling up to him in the kitchen when I had my little pity party. I flushed at just the thought.
Jameson yawned, looking like he was ready for a nap, and eyed the stack of presents. “Damn. They weren’t kidding about having a lot of gifts to wrap. We’re supposed to have these taken care of in four days?”
I smiled. “I’m just hoping they have enough tape, otherwise we’ll be sticking everything in garbage bags.”
“Garbage bags make more sense,” he said. Jameson picked up a busy-box and turned it over and around, studying it, and I had to bite my cheek to keep from snickering.
When he actually started playing with it, turning one of the handles and pulling a lever so it made a sound, I couldn’t take it and actually laughed. Jameson glanced over at me, an eyebrow arched, but he didn’t act offended or throw the toy down. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said, trying to get my serious face back. I absolutely should not have been teasing the giant, hot man. “It’s just we have one of those and Aviva looks at it the same way.”
The corner of his mouth twitched and he held out the busy-box. “Are you saying I’ve got the mental capacity of a toddler?”
“I was trying not to,” I said. My cheeks warmed and I looked away so I didn’t laugh more.
Jameson clutched his chest after putting the toy down. “I’m wounded. With all these presents to wrap and you calling me a child, I need something to deal with the pain.”
I started to ask what he meant but he’d already disappeared into the hall. I bit my lip. Was he serious? He’d been smiling, and his tone got all warm and husky like he wanted to flirt. I hadn’t exactly compared him to the babies...
“There,” he said, and I jumped as he reappeared in the doorway. Jameson held out a bottle of rum and a two liter of soda, along with a couple of glasses with ice. “Since we’re going to be down here a while, we’ll need something to stay warm.”
My insides shivered with nerves and a little anticipation. He didn’t have to be down in the storeroom with me. He could have stayed upstairs to nap or cook or just sit on the couch and watch hockey. Instead he brought drinks and extra scissors to start wrapping. Maybe he had to be drunk to hang out with me. Or maybe he wanted to get me drunk.
He liked my ass, after all.
I gulped down the nerves; he couldn’t be actually interested in me. He was just being friendly. Sure, we’d almost kissed, but ‘almost’ didn’t count for anything. I’d thrown myself at him and cried on his shoulder, no wonder he needed alcohol to be in the same room with me, in case I did it again.
Jameson got busy mixing drinks, and I did not catch exactly how much rum went into the glasses before he added the mixer. He smiled with half his mouth. “I assume you’re okay with drinking?”
“Typically no,” I said slowly. “It gets into the milk.” And I waved at my chest like a grade-A moron, as if he wouldn’t know what I meant. My cheeks burned even more as his eyes dutifully went to my tits and his smile spread just a tiny bit. Holy shit. I wanted to crawl under the mountain of presents to hide. He had a lazy kind of appreciation on his face as he relaxed and leaned back in his chair. I cleared my throat and went on, desperate to not talk about my breasts, and my voice came out too loud. “But since the girls are upstairs, it’s probably okay and I can just... just dump whatever... comes out.”
I swallowed a groan and actually covered my face with the wrapping paper so he wouldn’t be able to see me.
Jameson laughed, but not unkindly, and nudged my shoulder to hand me a cold glass. “Then let’s toast to whatever comes out.”
I groaned more and laughed at the same time, too embarrassed to look at him. I took the drink and gulped half of it down to maybe put out the fire in my face. It didn’t help as much as I wanted, but at least the sudden sting of strong rum distracted me.
He chuckled and patted my back on his way to the pile of presents. He picked up a few and carried them back to set up a wrapping station at a small side table. I just sat on the floor. At least he didn’t make fun of me more or ask about breast milk or nursing. I still wasn’t used to having bazongas in my bra instead of the modest handful from before the pregnancy. Those suckers got in the way more than I’d expected; it had been at least a year since I’d been able to look down and see my toes.
I wallowed in the embarrassment for just a few moments, until Jameson said, “So why do you hate Christmas so much? You said the whole month of December wasn’t your thing.”
“Well, why do you like Christmas?” I fired back, looking over my shoulder. He focused really hard on getting the paper corners to fold down just right, all his attention on the box in front of him. The tip of his tongue even poked out the corner of his mouth and wrinkles stacked from his eyebrows to his hairline as he concentrated. My annoyance eased. He definitely didn’t look like someone gearing up to make me feel awful.
Jameson shrugged one shoulder and eyed the last bit of wrapping paper before folding it over. “I didn’t have it growing up. My parents split and I grew up with a couple of uncles who didn’t believe in spoiling kids. And by ‘spoiling,’ they meant giving me warm clothes or warm food, any sort of gift or even acknowledging my birthday or holidays. I knew other kids got that stuff, but it wasn’t meant for me. Or so I thought.”
“Oh.” And didn’t that make me feel like a colossal ass. It sounded an awful lot like my childhood. “Then why...”
“I grew up,” he said. He glanced at me, smiling, and drained half his glass in a gulp. I absolutely did not let myself get distracted by the muscles in his neck or how his Adam’s apple moved or how he half-closed his eyes as the drink slid down his throat. Jameson cleared his throat, his voice husky. “Joined the military, went around the world a few times, met some good people. And I got to see all the different traditions and memories that my teammates had from their holidays. Most of ‘em brought that to the unit and we kind of developed our own holiday traditions. It meant a lot -- little bits of everyone all blended together. It was a month where we could put aside the bullshit little things and focus on how we were a family together. We were all far from our families or no contact with them, so we made our own. It was the first time I felt like I had anyone to share that sort of thing with.”
I made a thoughtful noise. I could have pegged him as former military from across the city, with as regimented and ‘law and order’ as he appeared. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Yep.” Jameson made himself another drink and set aside two wrapped presents. He retrieved a few more and made a stack near me so I didn’t have to stretch or reach for the next box. “So? Why do you hate it so much?”
I massaged my temples and held out my empty glass. “I need more alcohol to talk about that.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said. His voice got all rough again and I shivered. Something about the way he said ‘ma’am’... Jameson mixed me another and winked as he handed it back. “Bottom’s up.”
I laughed, sipping the stronger drink and making a face. “Last time I got sauced, I got pregnant. I haven’t had more than a beer since, so I’m a light-weight. Just remember that if I fall asleep after this one.”
“I’ll bring you dinner and soak up some of that rum,” he said, grinning. “Now stop delaying. Why do you hate Christmas?”
So he wasn’t going to forget. There wasn’t that much of a reason to hide it, particularly since he’d had a shitty childhood, too. At least we had that in common. I sighed and let the warmth of the drink spread out from my stomach, making my fingers tingle. “I was born on Christmas and my parents named me Noelle. Isn’t that enough?”
His grin spread a touch. “You mean it’s your birthday, too? You need a cake, obviously.”
I held my hands up, still laughing. “No no no. Definitely not. It’s bad enough with all the yuletide carols and sleigh bells ringing, the last thing I need to deal with is birthday cake and blowing out candles. Kara knows but I made her swear not to do anything. Don’t you dare tell anyone else.”
Jameson smiled like Aviva when she’d gotten into the fresh strawberries and double-fisted an entire pound of them. “I can’t imagine that’s the only reason you don’t like the holidays. Sure, you might miss out on birthday presents or get a single gift for both days, but that makes you hate Christmas?”
I squinted at a Lego set that made some kind of spaceship, big and complicated enough it might have actually lifted off once built. Damn. Kids’ toys were awesome. If only I had the bank account to give my girls the same kind of things. I was too distracted by the rattling bricks to pay attention to what I said. “On the outside, my family was perfect. Not a hair out of place. My father was a minister at church, my mother ran all the charity and youth group nonsense, and my sister and I had to be the perfect angels every second we were outside the house. We could never have dirty clothes or rips or stains, we couldn’t have a messy face or a frown. If we did, the church would judge us, or so my parents thought.”
My voice trailed off as the familiar terror of discovering I’d tied my shoelaces unevenly or stained the cuff of my pants or forgot to iron my shirt to the appropriate folds and crispness rolled through me and left me as shaky and scared as I’d been for the first fifteen years of my life.
He’d gone quiet when I started talking, and he didn’t interrupt even as I paused. He just waited patiently, his breathing deep and even and somehow reassuring. He was present there with me. I wasn’t alone. He didn’t scramble to get away and he didn’t try to grab my ass. He just sat there and quietly rustled paper as he searched for a way to secure some reindeer-covered paper around a dolly’s head.
It made it a lot easier to go on. “My parents were perfect outside the house. Kind, loving, attentive, gentle discipline, all the things a kid could possibly want in a parent. Outside the house.”
“Not so much inside the house, then?”
I forced a smile, one of those ‘fix your face or I’ll give you something to cry about’ smiles, when I looked up at him. “No. Not so much.”
Jameson nodded along, unperturbed by the potential shitshow. “Did they beat you a lot to get you to behave? That was my uncles’ go-to: a birch rod or a belt, preferably one with a big ass buckle.”
I winced, imagining a much smaller Jameson having to tolerate that, and concentrated on the next box of Legos. “Not much, since they couldn’t risk us having bruises. They didn’t feed us much, so we wouldn’t get fat, and they kept us locked up in our closets without toys so we wouldn’t take our attention off being good children, and we wore rags inside so we didn’t ruin the good clothes. We didn’t get to go to school, so there was no one to notice how awful it was. They used to make us stand in the parlor and recite Bible verses all night while holding this massive heavy cross. If we couldn’t remember the verse or let the cross lower, we’d be punished. It went on for hours.”
“I’d take the belt any day,” he said. He glanced up at me, smiling wryly. “Not that it’s any better. I’m sorry you had shitty parents.”
“Ditto.” I managed a queasy smile but hid behind the drink.
We wrapped in silence for a while, though my thoughts spun. He was the first person I’d told about my parents in a long, long time. I bolted from home the second I had a chance: a church youth group trip to a museum gave me the split second to avoid attention and flee. I jumped on a bus with no idea how to use a token or pay the fare, and hid until they gave up. It was on the news for a while, though my parents and the church cried crocodile tears and refused to let investigators into the house. They tried to keep the cops away from my sister, who eventually spilled the beans on how they treated us. The whole thing went up in flames, but by then I’d been gone for a while and couldn’t face going back.
I took a breath, about to over-share, then clamped my lips together and shook my head.
Jameson handed me a fresh roll of tape, nudging my shoulder. “You can say it. Whatever it is, you can say it.”
God, how was he so understanding and kind? Guys who looked like him were never that kind. Finding the fresh edge of the new tape roll gave me something else to look at, so I wouldn’t get lost in those striking blue eyes framed with dark lashes. “Christmas was always the worst. There were so many events and things at the church, and doing charity and singing carols and having to perform all the time. Every hour, every day. No rest, no respite, no chances to find what normalcy we actually got. They watched us at all the plays and performances, too, to make sure we didn’t eat anything off the snack tables. My sister managed to hide some cookies and stuff away and we stuffed ourselves, but they found out later. Gave us ipecac until we threw it all up, then made us stand upright in the closet all night. So any time I hear Christmas songs or jingle bells or any of it...”
I shivered, then shrugged. “I can’t stop it from coming back. Doesn’t matter how much time passes. I guess I’ll always be that miserable kid locked in a closet.”
Jameson watched me without expression, which was a relief. His pity would have driven me right upstairs. I didn’t need pity. I just wanted him to understand why the fuck I hated Christmas. I could never live up to my parents’ expectations for how a perfect Christmas looked, so I went the opposite way: no Christmas at all.
He made a thoughtful noise, a rough kind of grumble that reminded me of an old roommate’s Husky who narrated everything he did, including laying down. Somehow Jameson matched that chatty dog’s expression of contentment with a little sass. He wanted me to know he was there but maybe didn’t have as much to say.
But he made me another drink and instead of going back to sit at the table, he eased onto the floor next to me and stretched his legs out. He wasn’t too close but just close enough that I could reach out if I wanted. Yet another thing that surprised me about him. He knew about boundaries, or at least had an innate sense about personal space. I wouldn’t have minded a cuddle, not when he looked so delicious in his sweater, but I wasn’t about to throw myself at him. Again.
Jameson toyed with a curl of ribbon, wrapping it around his broad fingers over and over until it became a mesmerizing multi-colored swirl. “It sounds like you need to replace those memories with something a little better.”
I lifted the glass to salute him. “I’d rather just drink the old ones away.”
“Yeah, but that won’t always work.” His eyebrow arched as he looked at me. “Since it gets into the milk and all.” And he waved at my chest.
I choked on the gulp of strong rum and spluttered, coughing and trying not to laugh in sheer embarrassment. God help me, that hot hunk of man just referenced my breast milk.
Jameson snorted and leaned over to whack my back, helping me breathe again, and when I finally croaked an inhale, he didn’t retreat. His palm still rested against my back, but absently, like he’d really forgotten he touched me. I wiped my cheeks and worked on breathing. “Yes. It’s a problem.”
He grinned as he glanced at me sideways, and I was lost. That mischievous little boy glint in those baby blues... It wasn’t fair. Just plain wasn’t fair that he was close to perfect, closer than anyone else I’d ever met, and it would never work out. I would leave as soon as the weather cleared and I could get my car fixed, and he would go back to whatever military stuff he still did. He obviously lived the bachelor lifestyle and enjoyed it, and wouldn’t in any way want to take on a single mother with serious commitment issues and a pair of insane toddlers.
But maybe I could enjoy him just for a little while. Just a night or two, maybe three days. Be back to normal in time for Christmas around Kara and Owen and all the others, so none of them would figure out that there had been something there. If there was something there. My heart pounded and my hands trembled as I tried to wrap a football. “So what were you saying about replacing old memories with better ones?”
And I held my breath, because I knew what I wanted him to say but still feared that he wouldn’t.