*
Penelope was stringing popcorn with Nicholas, Christmas tunes streaming through the television, when Reid returned from the store. Just the sound of the back door opening and his deep, dulcet voice calling, “I’m back!” had her nerves jumping and her heart racing. She’d thought she’d pulled herself together after their toe-curling kiss—and the onslaught of guilt and second-guessing. Andrew was gone. He would want her to move on, find happiness again with someone who could be a good father to Nicholas and a loving husband to her. But was Reid Colton that man?
She couldn’t deny the joy she’d felt seeing him play with Nicholas earlier. He’d been infinitely patient with her toddler’s tantrums, high-maintenance needs and curiosity about every cranny of the lake house in the past several days. And she owed him so much for keeping them safe. But how could she forget the fact that he was a Colton? He’d had a hand in Andrew’s death, intentionally or not. And he had a reputation for commitment phobia, happily playing the bachelor or the womanizer when it suited him.
Kissing him back had been a mistake. She couldn’t lie to herself about that truth—she’d willingly returned his kiss. And although it had been an undeniably blood-heating, world-tilting, breath-stealing kiss, a kiss she hadn’t stopped thinking about since it happened, she couldn’t let it happen again. At least not until she figured out what she wanted from Reid. What he wanted from her. What possible sense could they make of a future together? Because with Nicholas in the picture, she couldn’t tangle herself up with a man who didn’t have every intention of sticking around, of being the whole package—husband, father, protector.
The rustle of packages brought her attention to the door of the kitchen where Reid appeared with several large bags. “Ho, ho, ho!”
Was his tone just a tad overbright? Tinged with stress and doubt?
“Nicholas, go see what Mr. Reid brought us.” She helped her son clamber to his feet and scurry over to peek in the bags.
“I have shiny ball ornaments, tinsel, lights, angels, garlands, holly...” He pulled box after box from the sacks and set them out for Nicholas to look at. “I see you got a head start.” He stuck his hand in the bag of microwave popcorn and shoved a handful in his mouth. When he licked the salt from his lips and fingertips, a fluttering stirred in her chest like a garden flag in the breeze.
Harry Connick, Jr. crooned “Sleigh Ride” from the TV, and her heart swooped and stumbled a syncopated rhythm right along with the beat set by the jazz singer. Pulling her gaze away, she continued poking popcorn on the needle and thread she’d rummaged up from his laundry room. “Patience is not a toddler trait. And this project doubles as a snack, so...win-win for me.” She flashed him a smile that felt strained. How were they supposed to move past the awkwardness after that kiss?
He popped another few kernels in his mouth. “Good plan.”
“Except that movie-theater flavor was all you had, and it’s...well, quite buttery.” She held up her hand to show him her greasy fingers.
“Mommy!” Nicholas had found a stuffed Santa and waved it at her, his eyes shining. “Tanta?”
“That’s right. That’s Santa Claus.”
Reid lifted Nicholas onto his lap and asked, “What does Santa say?”
“Say?”
Reid took the stuffed figure and made it shake. In a low voice he demonstrated, “Ho, ho, ho!”
Nicholas grinned and blinked at him.
Reid repeated the deep laugh. “Now you try.”
Nicholas reached to grab his toy back. “Tanta.”
“He may be too young to understand,” she started when Nicholas shook the stuffed toy and cried, “Oh, oh, oh!”
Together, Reid and Penelope laughed and congratulated the boy.
“Close enough,” Reid said, setting Nicholas back on the floor. “Well, have fun.” He waved a hand at the decorations. “I’m going to get back to work. I was onto something when we took this side trip down Candy Cane Lane.”
“Hang on, pal.” Pen climbed to her feet, looking for something to wipe her greasy hands on. “It takes two to put a tree that size in a stand. Don’t cut and run yet.”
Reid glanced to his idle laptop, then back to her and the pine leaning against the wall, waiting for decorations. On the TV, “Deck the Halls” started joyfully streaming as Burl Ives’s “Frosty the Snowman” ended. He sighed and slid his hands into his jeans pockets. When it was clear he was about to put her off, Pen leaned down and whispered to Nicholas. Her son listened to her directions and looked up at Reid with his wide eyes blinking innocently. “Pweez, Weed?”
And who could have said no to her son’s cherubic face and sweet request? Not even the Grinch himself.
In the end, Reid helped her put the tree in the stand, string up the lights, hang ornaments on the highest branches, and when the tree was ready for the angel on top, he lifted Nicholas and showed her boy where to place the finishing touch. Her heart gave a bittersweet throb. She’d have loved to have snapped a few pictures with her phone as they decked the boughs. Andrew’s parents lived out of state and were always tickled to get updates and pictures of their grandson. But her phone had been disabled in order to prevent them being tracked.
As Reid turned back toward her, Nicholas still in his arms, he tipped his head and crumpled his brow. “What’s wrong? Is she crooked?” He glanced back at the angel.
Pen waved off his comment. “Of course she’s crooked. She’s adorably crooked. Don’t change a thing.”
“Then what was the sad face about?”
“Just...wishing I could take a picture of the tree, of Nicholas...” Of you holding Nicholas. She cleared her throat. “Family times like this are meant to be recorded.”