Never Sleigh Never (Man of the Month Club: Christmas Novella)

6. Thomas

Thomas

T he hardware store is dark and eerily quiet. The usual hum of daytime customers and my guys cutting and stacking lumber to order is gone, replaced by the holiday station on the static-y old radio Cara insisted I turn on as we work.

I can’t remember the last time I was out here in the back lot past ten, let alone midnight, with the garage door to the store thrown wide open. But here we are, surrounded by old pallets and the pungent smell of paint. It’s a chilly night, but Cara hasn’t complained once as we put in the elbow grease it will take to bring her winter wonderland vision to life. Her wrist doesn’t seem to be bothering her, thank goodness. Although I’m keeping an eye on it to ensure she’s not overdoing things.

“Thanks for sticking around,” she says quietly, pausing as she meticulously paints one of the dozens of wooden snowflakes I cut with the jigsaw this afternoon. “Really, I…I appreciate it.”

I meet her sincere green gaze in the moonlight. “You’re welcome.”

A small smile and then she turns back to her work, her brow furrowed in concentration. Tonight, she’s a far cry from her usual polished self. Starting with a smudge of white paint on her cheek that’s…distracting. She’s got some sort of fabric headband holding her hair away from her face, but a handful of wayward golden tendrils have managed to escape. Her paint-splattered overalls are two sizes too big, and a faded Cole Heartwood sweatshirt completes the look.

“You missed a spot,” I say, gesturing with my chin.

She looks up, paintbrush poised mid-stroke. “Where?”

“Your face.”

Her hand flies to her cheek, spreading more paint across her skin. I can’t help but chuckle, the sound echoing in the quiet asphalt lot.

“Oh, real helpful,” she mutters, wiping her fingers on a rag, but there’s a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

I shrug, turning back to the strand of lights I’m untangling. “Adds character.”

She snorts, a decidedly unladylike sound that catches me off guard. Never in a million years would I have expected this girl, who always presents such a carefully polished image, to make a sound like that. But I bite my tongue. Better not to point it out in case she slips back into the primmer and more proper version I don’t like nearly as much.

Actually, I take that back. Last night, at the city council meeting, she could have doubled for a Fortune 500 C-suite executive in that cream-colored sweater thin enough I could see the slim straps of a tank top through it. And those form-fitting navy slacks? God, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. And don’t get me started on the moment when she glanced up at me in the parking lot and asked if everything was okay. Because it’s not. Because I’m falling for this woman, who not only has a boyfriend but is so far out of my league it’s not even funny.

We work in silence for a while until It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year comes on. Cara announces this song is one of her favorites and starts quietly singing along. I peek over at her out of the corner of my eye. Her sweatshirt clings to her curves when she stretches to lay a snowflake aside and grab another. Curves I’d give anything to run my hands down.

“Remember the festival back in the day?” she asks, her tone tinged with nostalgia as she pulls me back from my daydream. “It was one of my favorite events of the entire season.”

“Yeah, I remember,” I snort, “but you couldn’t have been more than what, fifteen that last year?”

She gasps in mock offense. “I was sixteen, thank you very much.”

“My apologies,” I say, now regretting the fact I brought up the five-year age gap between us.

“You’re not that much older than me,” she retorts, rolling her eyes.

I grunt noncommittally, although I’m glad she thinks that. I turn back to staple gunning the strand of lights onto one of the vendor booths I built at lunch.

“You know,” Cara says after a moment, her voice softer, “I always wondered why you don’t get into the holiday spirit, anymore. Back then, your father always went all out decorating the store, and he had the Christmas tree lot back here.” She gestures around, and I can picture it like it was yesterday. The dozens of trees would take over half the lot from Thanksgiving weekend until they were sold out.

I tense, not wanting the conversation to take this turn.

“Christmas isn’t really my thing,” I mutter, hoping she gets the hint.

She doesn’t.

“But why?” she presses.

I sigh, stapling the strand a few more times just to buy myself a minute. “It’s not that I don’t like Christmas,” I admit gruffly. “Just…lost its shine, I guess.”

Cara sets down her brush, giving me her full attention, her eyebrows pulled together in a V as if she can’t imagine how in the world that could happen. Sure enough, “How could that happen?”

My jaw clenches, and I’m torn, debating how much to share.

“The holidays are when we lost my dad,” I confess quietly, glancing up at the starry night sky. “I was twenty-one.”

Understanding dawns in those emerald eyes. “Oh, Thomas. I’m so sorry. I didn’t remember it was this time of year.”

I shrug, uncomfortable with her sympathy. “It was a long time ago.”

“Still,” she says softly, moving closer. “That must have been really hard.”

Her proximity is unsettling. She smells faintly of peppermint, a scent I haven’t been able to get out of my mind since she breezed into the store on Monday morning.

“It was what it was,” I say, focusing on the lights in hand. “Had to keep the store running, take care of Mom, who was devastated, of course. Christmas just…wasn’t the same anymore.”

Cara nods, her eyes full of an understanding I wasn’t expecting. “Family is everything.”

I look at her sharply, the wistful tone in her voice, edging toward sorrow, cinches my chest as tight as a ratchet strap around a load of lumber.

“Maybe, it’s time we stop living in the past…or the future,” she says, “and make the most of today before we get ahead of ourselves.”

She seems to be talking to herself as much as to me, but I shake my head. “Glad to hear it because I thought for a minute there you were already trying to rope me into helping again next year—”

A giggle erupts from her chest, cutting me off. “Oh, I’m counting on that. After all, you’re half the committee.”

“Cara,” I say, my voice stern but lacking bite.

“Just think of all the Magnolia Point families who’ll be able to make the Main Street Holiday Festival a tradition again,” she says, as if it’s a done deal. How does she know exactly what to say to appeal to the responsibility I feel for our community?

“I can’t wait to make my own holiday traditions someday,” she continues wistfully, fiddling with the paintbrush in her hand. “With a family of my own, you know?”

An image of her boyfriend leaps to mind, and the thought of the two of them making a baby together knots my gut. I turn back to the task at hand, only acknowledging her comment with a noncommittal grunt.

“Do you want a family, Thomas?” she presses, and when I look up, there’s a glow about her that makes it seem as if the tangle of lights in my hand just got plugged in.

I don’t want to admit I hadn’t really given much thought to starting a family until recently. Very recently. “Yeah,” I admit, with a sigh. “I do.”

With that, we fall into a comfortable silence, working side by side as we finish up the painting and light stringing. But I’m hyperaware of her presence, the graceful movement of her hands and the gentle sway of her hips.

A deep yawn interrupts the music as it nears one o’clock. I should call it a night, but I’m reluctant to break the spell surrounding us for the past few hours.

She looks up and catches me watching her. “Did I miss a spot?”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “You’re perfect. Er…I mean, it’s perfect.”

“Perfect?” Her voice is soft, almost breathless.

“Yeah,” I scoff, shrugging off my blunder. “You know, for a paintjob. But, um, we should call it a night. It’s getting late.”

Cara nods, stretching. “I need my beauty sleep.”

Her sweatshirt rides up, revealing a sliver of skin along her side that makes my mouth go dry. She doesn’t need a second of beauty sleep. The way she looks right now, mussed up and worn out, is gorgeous. More stunning than I’ve ever seen her.

But I can’t tell her any of that. So instead, I start cleaning up, needing to move, to work off some restless energy.

“There’s still a lot to do tomorrow,” I say, regretting the way I sound like a drill sergeant.

She doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, we still need to finish the decorations, communicate with all the volunteers, and coordinate with the food trucks.”

“And set up the stage for the carolers,” I add.

“Oh! And don’t forget about the photo booth. I’ve been working on the props.”

I groan at her enthusiasm.

“It’ll be magical; you’ll see,” she insists with a wink. An actual honest-to-goodness wink. I don’t think anyone has ever winked at me in my entire life.

As we tidy up, a strange reluctance settles over me that the evening is over, which is ridiculous. Cara’s only here because I’m helping with the festival. Nothing more. Still, I find myself moving slower, stretching out these last moments.

Cara bends to pick up a fallen paintbrush, and I can’t help but notice the way her overalls stretch over her hips. I’ll need to take a cold shower when I get home, but until then, I clench my fingers into fists, forcing away the curl of desire in my gut. She has a man, after all.

She straightens, turning to me with a smile. “I think that’s everything.”

I grunt in agreement. As she moves toward the store and I follow, Cara’s foot catches on a crack in the old asphalt. Without thinking, I reach out, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her against me to steady her. She gasps, her hands flying up to grip my biceps.

And in that moment, reality is suspended for a heartbeat as we’re pressed together, chest-to-chest, and every curve of her body pinned against me. Her warm breath fans across my face, smelling faintly of peppermint, and I’m acutely aware of how easy it would be to lean down and kiss her.

As if she can read my mind, Cara’s gaze drops to my mouth, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips. My grip on her waist tightens, and my cock stiffens.

“Thanks,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper as she makes no move to pull away.

“Sure,” I manage, the word coming out rough.

The winter air between us feels charged, heavy with possibility. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure she must hear it. Or feel the throbbing bulge in my jeans against her belly that reveals exactly what I want. But because I’m an idiot, who can’t leave well enough alone, I blurt out, “Your boyfriend coming to the festival?”

Cara stiffens in my arms, and I immediately want to kick myself. Why the hell did I bring him up?

Surprise flits across her face as she steps back, out of my arms, which fall helplessly to my side. “Wayne and I broke up.”

The words hit me like a sucker punch. Cara’s single? Since when? The realization sends a jolt of electricity through me, followed quickly by a wave of guilt. I shouldn’t be happy about her breakup. And I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about how soft her lips look or how perfectly she fit in my arms.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. Even if I never met the guy, I could tell he was no good for her.

“You don’t mean that, do you?”

My gaze snaps to hers. The question hangs in the darkness, and something tells me there’s more riding on my answer than I realize. But I can’t lie to this woman again, though I’m sure as hell setting myself up for heartbreak.

“He’s an idiot if he doesn’t realize how lucky he was.”

“Oh.”

The overwhelming desire to erase the gap between us and pull Cara back into my arms is the only thing I can focus on. Until she spins to flee, and I realize the truth. She can’t wait to escape my company.

“Goodnight, Thomas,” she stammers over her shoulder, her voice tinged with an emotion I can’t quite decipher.

Before I can respond, her red taillights are fading from view, and I’m left standing there alone, with a boner stiffer than a steel pipe. The warmth of her body still clings to my skin, and the scent of peppermint and paint lingers in the air. My mind races with possibilities I’d never before let myself consider, but I swallow them down. Cara might be single, but it’s clear as day she’s not interested.

I’m not the type of guy she’d ever look twice at. We might both live in Magnolia Point, but we’re sure as hell from different worlds. She’s all sparkle and sunshine, and I’m… Well, I’m not. Plus, as I told her just the other day, I barely have time to sleep these days, let alone date. Or help plan holiday festivals. Although I guess some things do change.