The Christmas You Found Me, page 13
I recognize all these faces, but I scan the bar for the person I want to see the most. It takes some effort, but Jess manages to push their way through the crowd and sweeps me up in a tight hug.
“You did this, didn’t you?” I say, because Jess looks incredibly smug.
“Well, clearly you weren’t going to do it yourself. Sanai helped too.” They turn to Guy, nearly hopping with excitement. “Is this the new one?”
“Is this the wonderful person who sent me for coffee to meet my wife?” he counters charmingly. “I owe you a thank-you card.”
Jess looks delighted. “Oh, you’re already much better than the last one.”
When they hug, I can see the effect Guy’s easy friendliness and handsome smile has on Jess. We introduce them to Emma, whose eyes are wide as she looks around.
“Daddy, who is the party for?” she asks.
“It’s for us, baby,” Guy tells her, readjusting her lower because her little hand is gripping on to my shirtsleeve. “Because Sienna and I got married.”
“It’s for all of us,” I tell her, leaning over and giving her a kiss on the top of her head.
“He’s hot,” Jess murmurs when Guy is momentarily distracted. “Needs a little feeding up, but I’ve got you covered.”
Jess points to the middle of the bar, where the most massive Christmas-themed wedding cake I’ve ever seen is perched, one good drunken elbow away from getting knocked off. It’s a tower of white icing, crystalized candies, and sugar-dusted strawberries. The bride and groom are sitting on the edge of the top layer in snow boots as they peer down at their cake winter wonderland. The whole thing is wrapped in sparkly snowdrifts of spun sugar, and it’s too delicate and beautiful to be this large.
“It’ll never survive,” I say, because half of these people sound like they’re already a couple rounds in.
“It will if they don’t want to deal with my wrath.” Jess steps behind us and nudges us forward. “Go. Be the center of attention.”
I…don’t know how. I don’t really even understand why they are all here.
Jake and Charley are the first to step up and offer us congratulations. The pilots give Guy a handshake and then move aside, but not before Charley shakes his head, murmuring, “I should’ve answered that ad.”
“It was just a joke,” I promise him, and despite Charley’s understanding smile, he looks a little glum. They think it was real.
Oh no. Is it possible they all think the ad was real?
Even though my heart wants to burst from how much I appreciate all of my friends turning out for me and Guy, I’m horrified. What are we supposed to tell people? There’s literally nowhere to run to escape the eyes on us. I cast a frantic look at Guy and rise up on my toes. He bends his head down so I can whisper in his ear.
“What do we tell them?”
“Thank you for the cake, and please don’t report us for insurance fraud?” He seems way too relaxed for this, and for once, his easy sense of humor isn’t making me feel better.
“Is it technically insurance fraud?”
“Not on my side it isn’t.” Guy gives me a knee-melting smile and wraps his arm around my waist. “You didn’t run an internet search on all this beforehand?”
“Of course I did,” I insist, but my cheeks are on fire as I admit, “I just kind of got sidetracked by stalking you on social media. There was a very short turnaround, and I did still have chores to do.”
His barked laugh cuts through the tension, and the next thing I know, I’m being herded toward the next group. Sanai finds us, and she admits she and Jess had been planning this since our wedding day. Those two have definitely been in cahoots; my instincts are always right. They’ve both done a fabulous job decorating everything, and the Lousy Kayaker’s is open bar for the first hour, which explains why everyone seems to be on their merry way from sobriety. A vat of eggnog sits next to the cake, and bottles of iced champagne are tucked behind the bar, gleaming wet with condensation and ready for a toast. There’s even a photo booth and lots of joke wedding-themed props for guests to pose with.
There’s a problem though. Everywhere I turn, there are platters of decorated sugar cookies and caramel corn and pitchers of soda pop. The bar is closed for their regular menu and is catering burger sliders with mountains of cheese and salty, crisp fries for everyone.
I pull Jess aside, speaking quietly but quickly. “Okay, this is wonderful, and you are wonderful, but I haven’t told you that Emma has stage five kidney disease. Meaning she can get super sick from eating or drinking things we don’t think twice about. So you, me, and Guy are Team Emma tonight. Literally tackle anyone if they try to give her anything to eat or drink.”
“I mean, I feel like I’d normally tackle a strange adult trying to give a child candy, but I hear you.” Jess glances over at Emma, their voice softening. “Stage five is bad, right?”
“It’s bad. Like, she needs a new kidney now kind of bad.”
Jess nods, then they stand up straighter. “Well then, Team Emma it is.”
I’m nervous about this whole situation, but Guy seems so calm. He’s keeping an extra sharp eye on Emma though, because I’m not wrong about the food. She’s staring at the plates of cookies with longing, and giving her grapes and her prepacked dinner is clearly not what she’d prefer. I think she’s distracted, because the three of us are the center of attention all night long. In theory, this part is supposed to be fun, but I’m so worried I’m going to say the wrong thing. Every time someone new asks us how we met, my brain locks down, and I end up gaping like a fish fresh out of the river.
“Whirlwind romance,” Guy supplies over and over, saving me from myself. “Couldn’t help ourselves.”
It helps that Emma steals the show, but once she decides hanging out with Jess is much more fun than with us, the adorable little distraction I’ve been hiding behind is gone. If anything, Guy seems utterly at ease, splitting his attention between where Jess and Emma are choosing the Christmas music and where I’m standing, trying not to make a fool of myself.
“If we’re trying to pass this off as us being uncontrollably attracted to each other, I think at some point you’re going to have to touch me,” he finally teases me. “Otherwise, I might need to change my story.”
“What would you say?” I rack my brain, trying to consider other options.
“How about the truth? My daughter is sick, and you swooped in like a knight in shining armor and rescued us.”
I exhale a much-needed laugh at his joke, then I realize he’s not joking. On instinct, I reach over and take his hand. “It’s not one-sided,” I tell him softly. The words stick in my throat, but I force them past. “It was lonely for a while.”
“Longer than twenty days?” Guy’s voice is gentle, and he dips his head, catching my eyes. The rest of my words stay lodged deeper in my chest, but I think he understands. He turns his larger hand beneath my palm and entwines our fingertips, smoothly changing the subject. “You said the other morning you liked to dance. If I asked my wife to dance with me, would she say yes?”
“She’d say ‘Frosty the Snowman’ is playing right now.” I find myself smiling as he draws me toward the dance floor. Unfortunately, by the time we reach the patio, we start to get noticed.
“First dance, first dance, first dance,” the room begins chanting. That’s right. People. Lots of people, getting inebriated on an open bar and eggnog, and isn’t that going to be an awful combination tomorrow morning?
“If they don’t slow down, some of these guys are going to be puking their way back to their homes,” I mumble.
Emma abandons Jess and comes running to us, lifting her arms in request, so Guy sweeps her up, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Having fun, baby?”
“So much.”
The way she says it makes me laugh, and Guy’s eyes twinkle in the holiday lights as he matches my grin. We have our first dance to Frosty, with Emma on his shoulders, the little girl dissolving into childish giggles each time Guy playfully spins around. The first dance turns into the second, then the third, and I’m happy and breathless by the time the three of us finally give in and sit the next song out. To be fair, there really is no way to dance to “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer”.
There’s noise toward the front of the bar, but I’m not tall enough to see what’s going on. “Is something happening?” I ask as Jess comes up.
“Jake and Charley are taking care of it,” they say, waving off my question. “Okay, it’s cake time!” Jess takes a picture, then adds, “For the paper. Tonight’s party is going to be the front of page eleven.”
Oh great, page eleven. The entertainment page. I’m imagining myself in ink, staring like a deer caught in headlights.
“Cheeseburgers, beer, and way too much cake.” Suddenly I start to laugh. “You know who would have loved this?”
“Your dad.” Jess smiles at the thought. “I asked the home about bringing him over here for the cake part, but the nurse on staff thought it would be too much activity. He might get confused.”
“Dad sometimes recognizes me,” I acknowledge. “He wouldn’t understand why I was kissing someone else.”
“That would require actual kissing,” they murmur out of the corner of their mouth. “When do I get to hear the real story? You two might be making plenty of googly eyes at each other, but I’d bet my job you haven’t jumped into full honeymoon status yet.”
They aren’t wrong, but other than a helpless shrug, I can’t answer.
“Sen-na? Can I have some?” A little hand tugs on my sleeve, and I see Emma making moon eyes at the wedding cake. This is going to be a problem for Emma, and I look to Guy for help. He nods as if knowing what I’m thinking.
“As long as it isn’t chocolate, I’ll cut her a really small piece,” he tells me. “I’ll scrape the icing off too, which should help.”
Nope, it’s not chocolate, but there are a whole lot of strawberries and cream. Between the strawberries layered throughout the cake, we’re able to get her a piece that’s only a little cake and a lot of fruit. Emma’s so excited she doesn’t seem to realize her cake is tiny compared to everyone else’s, but maybe it helps when Guy and I share a small piece, scraping the icing off too.
I appreciate not having cake stuffed in my face, although Guy cheerfully offers. He does dab a bit of icing on the tip of my nose to make Emma laugh, and when I wrinkle my nose at him playfully, he swipes it off and licks his finger, winking at me.
Oh, this boy knows how to give a really good wink. Fake husband, I tell myself. Don’t focus on…that.
For some reason, it’s getting louder in here, a chorus of clinking noises, which grows as more join in. Mouth still full of cake, I see the faces of people who claim to like me. Jess waves their hands and points at what’s fastened to the string lights above us, the reason behind the clanging and smirks.
Yep. It’s mistletoe.
I can feel my eyes widen when I realize what this means. We’ve never kissed, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for whatever everyone thinks is going to happen as they clang their dessert forks against their drinks.
Guy figures it out a moment after I do, and I see his jaw ripple.
Is he going to kiss me? Should I kiss him first? Do we have to do anything at all, since socially encouraged displays of intimacy aren’t something we should feel forced to perform? I mean, yeah, he looks great tonight. If I’d had a couple of those eggnogs, it might be easier to decide.
Now I’ve hesitated too long, and it’s getting super awkward.
Setting my fork down, I swallow down my bite and try not to look as panicked as I feel. Okay, first kiss in front of everyone. First kiss, and I haven’t even decided if I want to kiss him. Who knows if Guy wants to kiss me? Then he’s standing in front of me, his body so close his shirt brushes against my fingertips. Warm, strong hands take my face in between them.
“Breathe, Sen,” Guy murmurs, his mouth barely ghosting over mine without any actual pressure against my lips. But his hands cradling my face make it hard to see, and when he pulls away, everyone’s making catcalls and cheering.
It’s not a kiss, even if they all think it was. Everyone turns away now the show is over, going back to their conversations.
“You good?” Guy’s hands drop from my face, and as he cups my elbow, my palm rests on his muscled arm.
“Yeah, thanks for that.”
The heat of his body warms my skin, and the slowly shrinking personal bubble of space we’ve maintained tonight is almost gone. His eyes drop down to my mouth, and suddenly I’m wondering exactly why it seemed like a bad idea to do this. When his thumb strokes a small touch on my arm, silently asking me to move closer, my body instinctively follows his request. I go up on my toes, fingers tightening on his shirt for balance as I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and tug his face back down to mine.
This time, Guy’s lips brush over mine, then linger, as if waiting for me to decide. I close my eyes, bite my bottom lip, then nod. Guy’s arm tightens around my waist, holding me to him as he deepens the kiss. He tastes like peppermint and cream, and despite the alcohol around us, I can smell his deodorant and, even fainter, the shampoo he used tonight. Those scents shouldn’t calm my mind, but I find the party around us doesn’t matter nearly as much as Guy does or the fact that he’s here now.
His touch doesn’t feel new. It feels…inevitable. As if it took me far too long to be exactly where I’m supposed to be. And when he presses the softest kiss to my jaw, it’s not the end of this moment but a promise of the next one.
For the first time all night, this packed, hectic room quiets. I mean, it’s a really good kiss. Why wouldn’t they? I find myself grinning up at him, because as a first kiss goes, the Montana boy delivered. But Guy’s not looking at me, and the arm cradling me close stays wrapped around my waist. I turn to follow his eyes to the sidewalk just outside the patio lights, and now I understand. There’s Micah, standing there with a stunned look on his face. And until Charley and Jake all but drag Micah away, Guy’s arm stays around me, locked down tight as we watch them go.
Almost as if this time, he’s the one making sure I’m safe.
***
To Guy’s credit, he never says a word about my ex showing up uninvited to our party.
Maybe he doesn’t even know it was Micah, because Guy never mentions the man Jake and Charley hustle off down the street. He just takes my hand and dances with me and his daughter until Emma needs to call it an evening. She’s fast asleep by the time we thank everyone and get home. Guy carries her up to bed while I make an evening gate check and animal check, then get changed into pajamas.
Yes, this was definitely the last way I would have expected tonight to go.
Despite what must have been an exhausting day for him, when I come down to tell Guy good night, I find him exercising in the kitchen again. He’s got a portable pull-up bar hooked on the doorframe between the kitchen and the mudroom. Guy’s listening to earbuds, and his back is to me, so he doesn’t know I’m there. If I was a better person, I’d turn around and give him some privacy, but it’s hard to beat this view.
Then I notice my favorite mug on the countertop, filled with milk and nowhere close to the Nalgene water bottle on the edge of the counter near him.
Apparently, I’m invited to this party too.
He’s tall enough that he’s got his feet tucked up behind him as he hangs from the pull-up bar, the muscles in his back flexing as he slowly raises his body up until his nose is at the doorframe, then just as gradually lowering himself back down again. I see his arms tremble a little at the last one, then Guy drops lightly to his bare feet. He turns to reach for his water bottle and then sees me.
“Hey,” he says, shooting me a smile, pulling his earbud out. There’s a little flush on his face, which might be from the exercise. Maybe. Or maybe he’s thinking what I’m thinking. “Can’t sleep?”
“I’m still a little wired from tonight,” I admit. “Maybe I should do some of those.”
Why did I say that? Is this me flirting? Oh, please don’t let this be my version of flirting. It’s been so many years, I don’t think I know how anymore.
“Go for it,” he says, stepping aside to make room for me.
I take a sip of my milk and then join him in the doorway.
The process seems simple enough. Grab the bar, hang there for a moment, hoist myself up, then repeat until I look as sexy and awesome as he does. The grabbing and the hanging part is easy enough, but when I try to do the pulling up part, my hard-earned muscles from years of backbreaking labor decide to just…not.
Huh.
A few wiggles and one serious effort might have pulled most of the muscles in my core, and I drop back to the ground, frowning at myself in annoyance. I look over and see the biggest grin on Guy’s face, and I turn my frown his way instead.
“What?”
He holds his hands up innocently. “I promise I’m not laughing at you. It was just cute. You were glaring at your arms like they offended you.”
“Well, they certainly aren’t behaving. How can I unload a truck bed full of fifty-pound bags of grain but not get my nose to the doorframe?”
“Different muscle groups,” he says. “Most people train these assisted until they can pull their own body weight.”
I try again to no avail, then look around for something that could be an assist. “Like a chair?”
“You can use a chair to do a reverse pull-up,” he explains. “Which will build the muscles up. Or bands can help too.”
“Does baling twine count? I’m fresh out of exercise bands.”
Guy shifts behind me, all extra tall and Montana-y. “I can give you a lift when you pull upward if you’d like.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I tell him, and this time, I know he’s laughing at me, if silently.
