The Anti-Social Season (First Responders #2)

Chapter Sixteen

Sixteen

S omething in Simon’s chest seemed to turn over on itself as he watched Thea drift off. It felt strange: protective and almost tender. This tough, brave woman had been vulnerable enough to cry in his arms, give him pleasure and let him draw pleasure out of her body. That vulnerability felt like an impossibly precious gift.

His musings were interrupted by a buzzing from his pile of clothes on the floor. He swore softly and slid out of bed, his eyes on Thea, but she was apparently a sound sleeper. He found his phone and sent the call to voicemail before he even saw who it was. Then he checked his call log and groaned silently. Ashley. His family had apparently read his email letting them know about his short dash there and back over Christmas.

Scrambling into his clothes, he grabbed his shoes and his phone and padded quickly to Thea’s front door. He shoved his feet into his shoes and slipped outside, closing the door silently behind him. Damn. It was cold. He should have grabbed his coat. Well, he couldn’t now. His phone was already buzzing again.

“Hey, Ash.”

“I got your email ,” she said as if the words you coward were appended to her statement.

“Yeah, I figured you would. That’s what it’s for.” Simon shoved his free hand into his pocket and paced, aware of the flapping of his shoelaces he hadn’t had a chance to tie.

“What the fuck, Si? You’re only coming for two whole days? And you’re arriving at midday on Christmas Day ?”

Simon’s teeth ground together. He hated when she used that nickname and she knew it. “Yeah. I told you I didn’t think I was going to be able to get a lot of time, what with last year and all.” Clammy sweat coated his forehead and he shivered in the cold.

“Last year you weren’t even with us for a week. Can’t you tell them you need more time?”

“No, I can’t. I already told you I can’t. At least I was able to find a good deal on flights. No need to bother Mom and Dad.”

“Whatever. We have family traditions , Simon. And you won’t be pulling your weight.”

What she meant was he usually happily did a lot—if not most—of the prep work because he liked that behind-the-scenes planning kind of gig. But it would never occur to Ashley that she could do some of these things. Or, God forbid, ask her husband to pitch in. Once everything was just how she liked it, it couldn’t possibly change. “Yeah, we had family traditions when everybody lived within a half hour’s drive from one another. But obviously, traditions change. I can’t be there. Use this as an opportunity to show Noah what goes into an Osman Christmas.”

“You know I can’t do half the stuff you do, Simon. The family needs you to do all the stuff you always do.” Oh great. The whining had started. And he heard the not-so-hidden message: it wasn’t his presence that she wanted. It was the work he put into the holidays. The distance from the rest of his family, both geographic and psychological, was making some things that had previously been easy to ignore painfully clear.

“Well, then simplify. The family will do just fine with fewer traditions, and I’ll see you on Christmas Day. That’s the best I can do. I am not losing my job because you can’t make sugar cookies.”

“It’s not just the cookies, and you know it.” Ashley’s voice had taken on that dangerous, silky note that the entire family watched out for.

“Fine. Just do what you can. Noah won’t care. He’s a little kid. Christmas will be magical for him no matter what.”

“What about the rest of us?” she snapped. But Simon heard the real message. What about me?

“Again, I’m not losing my job because of this. You guys were the ones who moved. Maybe you need to make some new traditions.”

At this point, Simon could hear his brother-in-law’s deep voice in the background, and Ash said briskly, “Okay, fine. Whatever. I’ll talk to you later,” and hung up.

“Well, that went better than I would have expected,” Simon muttered to himself. A hard shiver racked his whole body. The cold had sunk its claws deep in him as he stood there having this pointless argument. Turning to Thea’s front door, he tried to twist the knob. It was locked.

Shit.

“You might want to come inside and warm up over here, young man,” said a familiar voice. Turning away from Thea’s door, he saw her landlady standing at the back of her house, her expression stern.

Busted. He didn’t know quite what for, but he knew trouble when he saw it.

Simon followed Mrs. M in through a set of French doors that led into a spacious, comfortable living room with a lovely view of Thea’s little house and the gardens that stretched to the side of it. There was a real fire crackling away on a brick hearth, and a newspaper lay folded on one of the chairs to one side of the fireplace—she must have seen him as he slipped outside and had his call with Ashley.

“Sit,” she said sternly, pointing to an armchair on the opposite side of the fireplace before settling into what was obviously her favorite chair. He sat. If he was going to get the third degree, at least he’d enjoy a radiant heat source.

“Well, young man. Do you often slip out of bed to have a clandestine phone call with another woman?”

It took Simon a second to process what she’d said. “Wait—you think that was a clandestine phone call?” He’d braced himself for the possibility of a moral judgment about him staying the night at Thea’s. This he didn’t expect.

“You went out in the cold to take it. I assume Thea’s home, otherwise you would have stayed inside.” Mrs. M was giving him what probably passed for a steely gaze with her kids, but Simon just felt kind of warm and fuzzy that she was so protective of Thea. He guessed not a lot of people felt the need to protect her.

“Yeah. She’s asleep,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to have an argument with my sister and wake her up.”

The older woman blinked. “Your sister?” Then her disconcertingly pale eyes went hard again. “You’re not just giving me the runaround?”

“I wouldn’t.” Simon unlocked his phone and scrolled through his photos, finding one that his mother sent him a few weeks ago. Ashley and Ray on the sofa, with Noah between them. They’d all been looking at a picture book. Noah was probably asking why? He turned the device to Mrs. M and she peered at it. “That’s my sister and her husband and my nephew. She’s upset that I can’t come out to California any earlier for the holidays, and she keeps winding me up about it.”

Her gaze transferred from the screen to his face. “Sounds like there’s more of a story there.”

He sighed and shifted in his seat, lifting his hips so he could stuff the phone into his back pocket. He gave her the barest outline of his situation: the family’s move west, his remaining here, the holiday situation between last year and this. Ash’s insistence that he bend reality and the library’s scheduling needs to her will because they conflicted with her demands. As his story unfurled, Mrs. M relaxed into her wing chair, a sad little smile on her face.

“So when I saw Ash had called, I knew it was going to be drama and Thea was asleep and—” Belatedly, he realized he was essentially talking about Thea’s sex life to her landlady. Not cool.

“And you had your very unpleasant conversation with your sister in the cold and then ended up locked out. Then you had the additional unpleasantness of being interrogated by an old lady.” Those pale eyes were twinkling with humor now, and Simon felt a surge of affection for this woman who had Thea’s back.

“No,” he said carefully, his eyes not leaving hers, “I was escorted into a very comfortable, well-appointed room with a lovely fire to burn away the chill by someone who is clearly protective of someone I admire a great deal.”

Mrs. M raised one long finger and pointed it at him like a fencer leveling an épée. “Nicely played, young man.”

Thea woke up in slow stages, floating lazily into full consciousness. She stretched, feeling twinges from muscles she rarely used and a dull, satisfying ache between her legs. Cracking her eyes open, she looked at the pillow next to her.

Simon was gone.

Bewilderment and hurt flooded through her together with adrenaline. She sat up suddenly, looking around her bedroom. His clothes were gone. But his wallet was still on the nightstand. Weird. She got out of bed and tugged on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Shivering, she added a hoodie and a thick pair of wool socks to her oh-so-sexy getup. Padding out into the living area, she saw his coat still on the row of hooks by the door and his keys were on the kitchen counter. But no Simon. Even weirder. His car still sat out in front of the house.

She cracked the door open. Again, no Simon. Where the hell did he go? Then she spied the curl of smoke coming from Mrs. M’s chimney. Grabbing her own keys and stuffing her feet into boots, she fast-walked to the patio at the back of the big house and the French doors. Peering through the glass, she could see Simon deep in conversation with Mrs. M.

Well, that answered the where question, but the why question was still wide-open. She tapped on the glass and Mrs. M looked up, then waved her in.

“What is it you two have against coats?” the older woman asked with mock crossness as Thea shut the door behind her.

“What are you two up to?” Thea asked, taking a seat on the love seat that faced the fireplace, flanked by the two armchairs Simon and Mrs. M sat in. She felt weirdly like she was at a job interview.

“Simon went outside to take a call and got locked out. He didn’t want to disturb you, and I saw him out there in the cold, so I invited him in.” She turned a twinkling, mischievous gaze on him, and he gave her an arch look in return.

Okay, these two were totally up to something.

“What’s the real story?” she asked Simon.

“Well, Mrs. M thought I was sneaking out of your house to talk to a girlfriend.”

Ice shot through her belly. “Girlfriend?”

Simon held up a hand. “Which I was not. I was taking a call from my bossy sister. I knew it would be an argument, so I didn’t want to risk waking you up. I had thought Mrs. M was worried about your virtue when she called me in on the carpet.”

Thea’s landlady waved a dismissive hand, the huge diamond she still wore on her left ring finger winking in the firelight. “Virtue schmirtue. Thea’s an adult woman and I am not her mother. I don’t worry about her making her own decisions, but I do worry about her tender heart sometimes.”

“Tender heart? Me?” Thea pointed at her own chest.

Simon nodded solemnly. “Mrs. M has a definite point there.”

“I’m not so sure I like that you two have decided to gang up on me,” Thea said, but she couldn’t keep her mouth from curving into a smile. Their obvious care for her was as warming as the fire on the hearth.

“It’s for your own good, dear,” Mrs. M said with a satisfied smile. “I like this young man.” Her expression went thoughtful as her gaze ping-ponged from his face to Thea’s. “How about I make you two some breakfast? Unless you’re eager to get back to your romantic idyll.”

There was something that Thea didn’t usually see in her landlady’s face. It looked like loneliness. Without looking to Simon for confirmation, she nodded briskly. “We’d love it.”

“Have breakfast catered by a wealthy widow” hadn’t been on Simon’s list of things to expect today, but he found himself settled happily in a bright, sunny kitchen. While he wasn’t an expert on interior design, it occurred to him that the pale green cabinets were old enough that they had gone past “dated” and slid toward “funky and vintage.” Mrs. M refused all offers of help and bustled around, getting coffee brewing and pulling out an enormous cast-iron skillet that looked exceedingly well cared for.

“How does everyone like their eggs?” she asked as she settled the pan onto the stovetop. Simon expressed a preference for scrambled and Thea agreed. She shot him a quick look that seemed half happiness and half gratitude, and when Mrs. M went to turn on the stove, she mouthed thanks at him. As if she wasn’t sure he’d be on board with hanging out with Mrs. M.

Of course , he mouthed back at her and, impossibly, her expression got even sunnier.

“How long have you lived here, Mrs. M?” he asked his hostess.

She paused, a carton of eggs in her hands. “Well, Mr. McAnally and I bought the house over forty years ago just before we had our first child—that would be Kyle.” She directed the last bit to Thea with a theatrical eye roll.

“Ah. He’s the one who started the renovation that ended up being Thea’s house?” Simon asked.

She nodded, briskly cracking eggs into a bowl. “Yes. He’s a busybody, but he’s my busybody and I can handle him.”

Simon privately figured there was very little this redoubtable lady couldn’t handle. “How many children do you have?”

She seasoned the eggs and fetched a fork from a drawer, beating them soundly until they were frothy. “After Kyle there’s Kara and Katrina—don’t ask. Mr. M had a thing for names beginning with K , lord rest his soul.”

“Do they all still live in the area?” His interest in Mrs. M’s life earned him another approving look from Thea, though he didn’t feel he deserved it. The woman was interesting in her own right; it wasn’t like he was buttering her up.

Speaking of butter, the cast-iron skillet sizzled with it, and Mrs. M tipped the eggs into the hot pan. His mouth watered as the aroma hit his nose. Mrs. M stirred the eggs and then popped bread into the toaster. “Kara is in Atlanta, but Katrina stuck around and now works with her brother. Though I use the term with with some reservations. She and Kyle have always butted heads.”

“Where do they work?” Simon asked.

She shot him a startled look, as if he should have known. “The company their grandfather founded. McAnally Construction.”

Oh. Now the big house on the huge lot in one of the most expensive zip codes in the area made sense. Simon felt like he should have realized it before. The huge block letters of McAnally Construction signs were all over projects in downtown DC. And if the late Mr. McAnally’s father had been the one to found the company...

Yeah. The family’s wealth made perfect sense now.

Mrs. M twinkled at him. “Putting two and two together, young man?”

He raised a hand in surrender. “Yeah. You got me. My dad worked in commercial real estate before he retired, so I feel like I should have figured it out before.”

She shrugged, stirring the eggs with a spatula. “Boring stuff, real estate and construction. You should tell me more about your work. Thea tells me you’re a librarian. What is that like?”