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“Are you sure that’s what you want?” A masculine voice says right beside me. “I didn’t take you for a Lego girl.”
He can’t be here. I need him to not be here. I keep my gaze focussed on the handmade Lego organizing matt on the craft table in front of me, forcing myself to not press my hand to the startled pounding in my chest. I am not sure if my racing heart has more to do with being surprised or the fact that Simon’s cinnamon and vanilla scent is wrapping itself around me, making me forget all the things that I need to remember. Like the fact that I haven’t gotten over Greg yet. I can’t be wanting Simon.
Thirty minutes of searching for a gift for the sexy secret Santa exchange has done nothing for my hangover or the remnant of my meltdown over Greg’s wedding, but one husky sentence from Simon has my libido perking up.
When I finally look up, the sight of Simon in a peacoat just a shade brighter than the traditional navy blue has me smiling before I can catch myself. Watching his own smile spread across his lips stirs up the confusion I have been avoiding. I don’t know what I am supposed to feel about him.
My lady bits have zero doubts. They are definitely pro-Simon. But the rest of me saw him kissing his wife—ex or not—and that has done a number on my brain. He said there is nothing between them, but post-Greg, I don’t have a lot of space for trusting men.
“Shouldn’t you be with your wife and kids?” I blurt out, trying to create space with my words.
“Ex-wife.”
I purse my lips and look him straight in the eye while I swallow the urge to throw the chilly remains of my Grinch drink at him. “Does it matter what your marital status is if you’re still hooking up?” The nauseated feeling in my stomach intensifies. What is it about Simon that causes my internal dialogue to go external? “I mean—”
He puts his hands up to stop my words. “You're right. I owe you an explanation. I just don't know if you're going to believe me.”
“Why wouldn't I believe you?” I narrow my eyes at him. “And you don’t owe me anything.” He really doesn’t. I shouldn’t be having any kind of reaction to seeing him—other than maybe mortification.
“Because nobody believes you when you start with ‘it wasn't what it looked like’. And it’s important to me that you believe me.”
Buying some time to gather my thoughts, I walk over to a garbage can and chuck in my half empty drink. It smacks against the bottom of the container with a satisfying thunk. I turn to find that Simon followed me.
I put my hands on my hips, channelling Marisol’s take-no-nonsense attitude. “That's because usually, when people start with that, whatever they're going to say is complete and utter bullshit.” I press my lips together and look up at the sky, forcing the tears back into their ducts. “You could’ve just told me the truth.”
He runs a hand through his thick hair. “Ruby, I didn't lie to you. Camilla and I aren’t together. We just share parenting responsibilities.”
“Funny, I don't remember any of my parenting responsibilities involving passionate kisses. If you’re playing with me, Simon, I don’t have the energy for it.”
He steps away and shoves his hands into his pockets, looking down at the ground and scuffling his feet. When he looks up, his eyes are serious, and there is a pain in them I recognize. It is heart pain, and it has no place in a Christmas haven like this.
“I am not interested in playing games, Ruby. I didn't kiss her. She kissed me.” He pulls his hands out of his pockets and holds them up. “I know how that sounds. That's what I was getting at. It was an innocent thank-you lunch for driving all the way out here. We left the kids with my parents, and she surprised me. We used to have this thing with mistletoe.”
I turn away from him. “I am in no condition to be having a conversation like this.” What is it with everyone’s obsession over mistletoe, anyway?
He chuckles. “I didn't want to say anything, but you do look a little rough.”
I close my eyes and press a finger to the centre of my forehead, trying to calm my pounding headache. I really need to work on my external versus internal thoughts. “Yeah, well, you're not looking so great yourself.”
It is a complete and utter lie. Everything about him is the opposite of bad. He looks so delicious that it would take next to no convincing to get me to make out with him behind one of these gorgeous Christmas trees—mistletoe or no mistletoe.
“I deserved that.” Turning back towards the craft fair, he gestures with his hand. “What are you looking for?”
“Ah, change the topic. Nice move.” There is more to say about Camilla and the kiss, but I let it go because I don’t want to talk about it. Things don’t need to be complicated. Simon is just a person I have bumped into a few times. And he can kiss whomever he wants.
I wander back over to the table I was at before he interrupted me. “I need to find a secret Santa gift for Charlotte—a sexy gift no less.” I cringe. Telling him things that he doesn’t need to know is turning into a habit.
Simon raises his eyebrows suggestively, causing a sensation akin to liquid fire to streak through my core. My body is definitely not getting the keeping-things-uncomplicated message. I take a shaky step back, needing some physical space so that I can breathe enough to remind myself that even if by some strange miracle Simon is getting the same sparks of desire as me—which is so unlikely—a holiday romance is not the way to heal a broken heart.
Not for a girl like me, anyway. I have a history of leading with my heart, and it never ends well.
Simon turns towards the vendor table bursting with all kinds of Lego gadgets, keeping his eyes on me for a moment longer than necessary and ratcheting up the argument between my body and my brain. A disagreement that I really need my mind to win.
Glancing at me, he quirks his lips. “I don’t know what you ladies get up to at your secret meetings, but I'm not sure you're going to find the right thing in the Lego section.”
I blame his husky tone for the fact that only minutes after I was ready to chuck my drink in his face and run away, my insides are swirling like warm caramel, and I am leaning in to show him the Lego storage mat Jake might like. We went from frantic to “friends” in less time than it takes to drink peppermint tainted coffee, and it is infinitely more enjoyable.
“I don't know,” Simon says sceptically. “It's been a long time since I was Jake's age, but I'm pretty sure this is the opposite of what I wanted.”
I shake my head, clearing the lascivious thoughts racing through my mind and focus on the Lego and friendship. “No. It's great. See you can play on it, and then you just pull the drawstring and the cleanup is done.” It really is a great gift.
Simon tips his head to the side and watches me, letting me work it through. I bite my lip and look away. The gooey feeling in my stomach has been replaced by something more acidic.
“Okay. It’s crap. I know.” I turn away. He already has enough mortifying details about my life. He doesn’t need to know that on top of being a discarded wife, I am also a crappy mother. “I should be finding something for Charlotte.”
“What’s this really about?” Simon places a hand on my arm. His touch is so gentle that if I wasn’t already hyper-aware of him, I might not even notice.
I move away from the Lego table. I need space. I need strength.
“Ruby?” His tone is gruff, and it slashes through every single one of my flimsy defences.
I sigh, turning towards him, my shoulders dropping in defeat. “It's just that his dad always gets him a huge Lego set, and this year with the honeymoon trip to Mexico...” I look at the ground. Am I really giving this incredibly sexy man more sordid details about how much of a love loser I am? “I just can't compete. I think I'm losing Jake.” And I already lost Greg. At least I manage to keep that detail internal.
“Then don’t do it at all. Do something different.” Simon’s voice is soft, but it sparks a fire in me.
“Like what? Find a BOGO sale on something sexy, and get him the same thing I’m getting Charlotte?” I spin to face him, fighting to bury the caustic words gathering in my throat. I want to press my hands against his solid chest and shove him. He has no clue what Jake wants or needs. Jake needs his parents together.
Except maybe it’s just me who desperately wants that.
Simon doesn’t say anything. Again, he lets me work through it. When I finally meet his eyes, and the gentleness in his expression—with just a hint of humour—registers, I bite my lip to hold in the rush of sentimental emotion.
“Well.” He chuckles softly, like he wants to lighten the heaviness with humour but isn’t sure that I won’t run away. “That is one way to go, but it might get you kicked off the parent committee. I've got an idea.” Simon grabs my hand and leads me away from the table, leaving the ugliness of my outburst behind.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he weaves through the Christmas trees, leaving the village square.
“Trust me?”
And even though my head isn’t one hundred percent sure that I can—I haven’t forgotten the mistletoe kiss—I follow him, because the rest of me isn’t ready to let him out of my sight.
––––––––
“THIS IS PERFECT.” I pull one of the books I selected for Jake out of the bag and place it on the table between us. It might not be a giant Lego set or a trip to Mexico, but I think it might just score me some points.
Simon and I are at Kay Kringle's Cup O’Christmas Joy Café at the very table where I was sitting when we ran into each other on my first day in town. If I wasn’t giddy with the excitement of finding the perfect gift for Jake, I probably would be pondering exactly what that means.
Probably best if I don’t look too closely.
Once I admitted that my biggest problem was trying to compete against my ex-husband in the gift giving department, Simon dragged me out of the craft fair and took me to Season’s Readings, a quaint bookstore. Along with the regular books that every store has, it was full of Christmas themed books with intricate, special edition covers and books by local authors. It was his favourite store when he was a kid, because it always had unique books that you couldn't get anywhere else. He swore it was the perfect place to find a gift for Jake.
And he was right. There was a section with books by a local author who explores architectural ideas through the use of building blocks like Lego. Jake will love them. I picked out three for him.
“That author is probably the reason I became an architect,” Simon says as he accepts a mug from the barista.
She places a Christmas latte in front of me, and I smile at her in thanks. Despite the fact that my stomach still isn’t quite over the Grinch White Hot Chocolate, I trusted the barista’s assurances that it is pumpkin pie spice and not peppermint that puts the Christmas in this latte.
“Christmas Cove means a lot to you, doesn't it?”
He watches me while taking a sip of his drink. “It does. My family has been coming here for Christmas for as long as I can remember. We're almost like locals.”
“That explains your black coffee minus the peppermint.”
The deep baritone of his laugh rumbles through the café and my core. I love how much this man laughs.
“Something like that. This is where Nolan got his love of climbing. He would spend his whole holiday watching the climbers get ready for the Santa Scramble. Christmas is a pretty big deal in our family. I think Kelsey saw that last night.”
“What is with the deal between her and Nolan?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Deal?”
Shit. I am such an idiot. Kelsey didn't exactly tell us the situation with Nolan was a secret, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that it was implied. If her sister found out, her reaction would be on a nuclear scale. I can’t understand why Kelsey would jeopardize her close relationship with Emily for this crazy arrangement.
Even so, I’m not going to blow her cover. “I just meant she's usually slower to get serious.”
“Yeah.” He nods thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, so is Nolan. Mom was excited to hear he was bringing someone.”
“I guess it just worked out that we were going to be in Christmas Cove for the holidays.”
He looks at me strangely. And my stomach does a little flip. If I am not careful, I am going to give Kelsey and Nolan’s little ruse away, and I take the girl code pretty seriously. I take a sip of my latte to prevent myself from saying anything else suspicious.
“How is it that you ladies ended up here? Christmas Cove is great, but it isn't the kind of place city slickers usually frequent.”
“City slicker? Are you serious?” I sputter, almost spitting my drink all over him. I frantically grab for some napkins to clean up the mess.
“Nope.” He chuckles. “I have no clue why I said that. You must be rubbing off on me.”
I give him a little shove with my hands and the electric shock that zips up my arm has me freezing. I am sure that he feels it too because his gaze never leaves mine, and his pupils dilate with something that I could swear is desire.
I shake my head, shattering the moment. I am being crazy. Simon is level ten hot, and I am a frumpy, middle-aged woman whose body did not recover well from her pregnancies. Anything that I am feeling is completely in my imagination.
“Kelsey arranged it all. She thought I needed something to get me through this Christmas.”
“Did you?”
I look away. The intensity of the moment, mixed with the gingerbread smell that pervades the café, feels too cozy, and my heart is too bruised to handle anything this intimate.
“I think so.” I might as well be honest with him. He practically knows my entire pathetic romantic history. “It's not that I don’t like Christmas. It's just that all I can see are happy families having fun, and it's making me feel like I'm losing my own family. My daughters are adults and make their own plans. Jake just wants to be with his dad, and I’m not sure I will ever get to see my stepkids now.”
Simon places a hand over mine. The warmth feels amazing. “Maybe I can help distract you.”
His words make my chest squeeze, pressing my lungs. Spending the holidays with Simon sounds amazing—like a dream—but also completely terrifying.
I wrench my hand from his as a mix of panic and nausea snake up from my stomach, choking me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Pulling my hand from his, I scramble to my feet. I might be reading things into Simon’s actions. I might feel like a fool later, but if there is even a chance that he is serious, then I need to get out of here. I am in no condition to come out of a holiday fling unscathed.
Grabbing my shopping bags and crashing into the next table, I bolt. “Sorry.” I glance apologetically at the guy whose drink I just about knocked over in my haste to escape, carefully avoiding eye contact with Simon as I flee, glancing up at the mistletoe as I pass underneath it.