4. Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
DUFFY
I ’m the kind of guy who’s cool under pressure. I remain composed, confident, and clear-headed. Except right now. The wires cross. My thoughts turn into a blend of ambrosia and Aunt Mildred’s fruit cake.
The moment I saw Pop Tart’s owner again, something brightened inside of me. Then I heard a cackle of the Halloween variety and not the ho ho ho holiday kind.
While my mother, aka Mrs. Claus, and her merry band have been raving about the sweet young woman Mom met at the market, I’m doing my best not to scowl. I can’t help it now. Why is Porsha, who single-handedly ruined me for romance, at the company holiday party?
However, in the presence of Pop Tart’s owner, a peculiar sensation draws my lips upward. I’m afraid I look like Buddy the Elf at best and the Grinch at worst. I’ve never cared about my appearance, but I put in solid gym time and take weekend hikes.
“Cavell, it’s such a treat to see you,” Porsha purrs.
“Duffy, I see you’ve met Madeleine.” My mother bobbles over with a tray of mini pastries.
Like a ping-pong ball that’s had too much of Uncle Keith’s eggnog, I’m not sure where to look except away from Porsha and toward the woman with sparkling eyes and brown hair.
The little dog barks as if to remind me to breathe. My hair-brained plan from earlier snaps back into place. I take a long sip of mulled cider, regrouping.
“Madeleine.” My tone sounds like a question rather than a statement.
Her eyes widen slightly.
I chortle. “Of course, I know Madeleine.”
“You do?” I can’t tell who speaks, but there’s an echo.
I gingerly sling my arm across her shoulders. “And Pop Tart. Earlier in town, she tried to escape—” I hint, recalling our Main Street encounter earlier.
“Cavell saved the day.” The way Madeleine’s tone drops when she says my name makes me feel like I just got sprayed with cold, slushy water.
My mother studies me for a long moment. “We met at the market.”
I add, “And we met about a month ago.”
“Right after Thanksgiving,” Madeleine clarifies.
I click my tongue. “It was one of those things.”
“When you know, you know.” She beams a beautiful smile that sells it for anyone watching. Wow! She’s good.
Brimming with hope, Mom says, “Then it was meant to be.”
“Well, it’s casual,” I say.
“Casual?” Madeleine asks, her voice pinched.
“But you brought her here to meet your mother.” Porsha pouts.
Ah, she did understand what last year’s trip meant.
“And what brings you to our home today, Lexus?” my mother asks my ex.
Porsha simpers a smile. “I was hoping to catch up with Cavell-poo.”
I grimace-gag because she never called me that .
Cavell-poo? Madeleine mouths. “Funny, you never mentioned you dated someone named after a car. Must have high miles.”
I nearly choke on my mulled cider.
Porsha huffs. I don’t know why she’s here and don’t care, but I’m tangled up in tinsel now.
My ex’s smile slips. “By the way, Cavell, I’m here because I work for New Face PR. Since Stone’s Cole Co. needs an image upgrade, I figured I’d stoke the fires.”
“How unfortunate,” I mutter.
She winks. “It looks like we’ll be working closely together.”
“Actually, my assistant will help with that.”
“Well, you know me. I’m very hands-on.” She flutters her false lashes.
Madeleine’s eyes bulge. “I’m certain Cavell-poo’s virtual assistant can handle it. No need for you to get your hands anywhere in this vicinity.” She splays her fingers and swipes the air in front of me. Her cheeks turn the faintest pink as if she likes what she sees.
Not going to lie. I do with her fair skin, long hair, and the way her skirt hugs her curves.
Porsha looks Madeleine up and down, her expression dripping with judgment. Sure, she doesn’t fit the profile of previous women I’d dated in the city, but we’re in North Pole where cute trumps fancy.
“Oh, look. You two are under the mistletoe.” Mom points. She takes Pop Tart from my arms, probably as collateral to make sure Madeleine sticks around.
Porsha cocks her hip as if daring me to make a choice. It’s a no-brainer.
I turn to Madeleine. “Looks that way.”
Her sparkling eyes tip upward. “So we are.”
Our gazes meet for one long moment that stops time. My pulse slows. Her breath catches.
I slide a piece of her hair from her cheek. “Can I kiss you?”
She lifts onto her toes and whispers into my ear. “What’s going on?”
Her warm breath tickles my neck. “Can I explain later?”
Once more, our eyes float together, and she gives a subtle nod.
Before our lips meet, Porsha storms off.
But that doesn’t stop our collision course. The space between us disappears, and my lips meet hers. They’re soft, willing, and make me rethink what I thought I knew about kissing and connection and Christmas.
One touch, and this is all I’ve ever wanted. Ever needed. I feel like a cliché, but my thoughts quickly fade, dropping me fully into this moment under the mistletoe.
My fingers lightly trace her jaw, and her palms press softly against my chest. Our bodies are tentative, but our mouths know what we want and it’s very much mutual.
When we shift, our noses brush. Her cheeks lift with a smile that draws something out of me I haven’t felt in a long time. My pulse quickens. My chest rattles and knocks like it’s humming to life after a cold winter’s slumber.
This is longer than a customary kiss under the mistletoe, but we lean into it as if neither one of us ever wants it to end.