Chapter 17 Janie #2
I am a responsible teacher, like David. Not a yearning ball of pent-up desire for a man I should definitely not be thinking about.
David represents everything safe and sensible—and everything that would slowly kill my soul.
Because I’ve discovered something about myself since my divorce: I’d rather be alone than settle for someone I don’t love.
I want a man worth betting everything on because being without him feels like only half-living.
And standing here, pretending David Peterson could ever be that man, feels like the cruelest joke of all.
Because I already know who sets my blood on fire.
And it isn’t this man.
“You know what?” I say suddenly, stifling a fake yawn. “I think I should head home. Aria will be up early.”
David nods understandingly. “Of course. Let me get my coat.”
On the drive home, David rambles on about his new lesson plan on pre-algebra math concepts for fourth graders, and by the time we pull into my driveway, I’m ready to scream from boredom.
I can’t tear off my seat belt fast enough. Maybe Rourke infuriates me, but I’d rather have an infuriating man who drives me wild than a dull one who makes me feel nothing.
“I had a really nice time tonight,” he says as he walks me to the door, stopping just shy of the window where I know Rourke can see us.
“Me too,” I lie through my teeth. Tonight was a snooze fest. Like watching paint dry. All I want to do is bolt into this house where all the excitement is.
He hesitates, his eyes dropping to my lips, clearly debating whether to kiss me goodnight, and I panic. “Well, goodnight!” I add quickly, already whirling toward the door. “Thanks for the Farkle!”
I fumble for the knob, then bolt inside, throwing my back against the closed door, my heart racing like I just escaped a serial killer. Which is ridiculous, because David Peterson is about as dangerous as a golden retriever.
The house is quiet except for the soft sound of Christmas music coming from the living room, which is surprising since Rourke hates carols. I kick off my shoes and head toward the sound.
When I step into the living room, I freeze at the sight in front of me. “He didn’t.”
Oh, but he did. The entire space is filled with Christmas lights—around the ceiling, lining the windows, draped across the doorways.
It’s everything he hates and everything I love—and my heart swan-dives at the sight of it.
I cover my mouth and take it all in. “There are lights,” I murmur. “Everywhere.”
“I see you’re home early.”
I nearly jump at the sound. I whirl around to find Rourke sitting in an armchair, Aria sacked out on his shoulder.
“What happened?” he asks. “Peterson too boring?”
He’s in jeans and a soft dark gray T-shirt, his hair slightly mussed, and he’s holding my baby girl.
“I—” I forget how to form words looking at the sight before me. I clear my throat, try again. “Turns out, I’m not into Farkle.”
His mouth twitches like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, sitting there all casual with my daughter, having transformed my house into a Christmas wonderland like it’s no big deal.
“How was she?” I ask quickly, nodding toward Aria. Anything to stop my heart from doing that distracting fluttering thing.
“Absolute perfection.” He strokes Aria’s back lightly. “Fell asleep early because we played hard. I’m sorry you missed it, but she seems to like the lights. Kept fighting sleep to watch them.”
This moment can’t possibly be happening. Rourke cradling my daughter under the glow of white lights and Christmas music.
I shake my head, marveling at the scene in front of me. “It’s beautiful,” I murmur. “You did all this while I was gone?”
“Had to do something useful with my hands.” The edge in his tone tells me there’s a reason he needed the distraction. “How was your date with Peterson?”
The question sucks all the oxygen from the room.
“It was nice,” I answer, then catch myself. I shake my head. “Actually, no. It wasn’t nice. It was incredibly dull, like so painful I wanted to poke my eyes out with a plastic fork. We played Farkle the entire time, Rourke. Farkle. I actually found myself wishing we could watch hockey.”
“Those are words I never thought I’d hear you say.” His lips curl. “Is that why you left him on the porch with a ‘Thanks for the Farkle’?”
“You heard that?” I ask, the heat rising on my neck. “He was going to kiss me, and I panicked.”
His eyes grow dark. “Did he?”
“No,” I say quietly. “I slammed the door before he could try.”
He nods and presses his lips together. “That bad, huh?”
“Peterson’s a nice guy. But there’s nothing there. Not even a spark.”
He raises a brow. “No chemistry, huh? How unfortunate.”
I shoot him a look. “Don’t act like you’re surprised.”
He bites back a grin. “Oh, I’m crushed for you. Absolutely heartbroken Peterson didn’t work out.” Then he tilts his head, his voice dropping low. “But if chemistry is what you’re after, Bennett—you’re barking up the wrong Christmas tree.”
I swallow, then glance away before he can read too much on my face. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?”
He shrugs. “At least Peterson got my message loud and clear. I wasn’t happy about him taking you out. Or touching you.”
“Rourke, you can’t act that way to every man who comes to the door.”
“I know.” His mouth twists. “I’m sorry I acted like a jerk. I just…” He’s quiet for a moment, staring down at my sleeping daughter. “My dad used to yell a lot at my mom, even throw things. And sometimes when I see a single mom, that protective instinct just kicks in.”
My annoyance fades. This wasn’t about Peterson—it was about the walls Rourke’s had to build to protect himself.
“Rourke, I’m not like your mom. Nick didn’t hurt me…not physically.”
“No, but he hurt you just as bad in other ways.” His mouth tightens. “I can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting you like that.”
“David would never hurt me. And I don’t like him like that.”
“I know that now,” he says quietly. “But all night, the only thing I could think about was some guy not treating you the way you deserved.”
I can barely get the words out as I stand in front of him. “And how do I deserve to be treated?”
His gaze holds mine. “Like you’re somebody’s forever. Their whole entire world.”
My heart stumbles, and suddenly I notice the faint sound of Bing Crosby crooning in the background. I swallow, the tension in my chest growing. “You’re playing Christmas music.”
“Because I knew you would like it.”
“And you put up Christmas lights for me?”
He nods. “I have a few extra strands left over, if you want to help me finish the job.”
“I never turn down the opportunity to put up more lights. Just let me put Aria in her crib first.”
He stands, cradling Aria’s back before handing her over to me. When I return, Rourke is untangling a strand of lights, attempting to drape them around a large potted plant in the corner.
“Since you don’t have a Christmas tree,” he says over his shoulder, “I thought we could use this one.”
“You’re decorating a plant?” I say around a laugh.
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. No one said it has to be a traditional tree. I went to Cancun once at Christmas, and they decorated the palm trees with lights.” He tosses me a light strand.
“So we’re doing a Cancun Christmas now?” I tease, fighting a smile. “Aria’s first Christmas: Houseplant Edition. So HGTV of you.”
“Hey, are you mocking my brilliant idea?” He smirks. “I’d like to see you come up with something better.”
“Oh, I have ideas,” I warn. “Hold still.”
He crosses his arms. “Janie, what are you doing?”
“You’ll see.” I hand him one end of the strand and walk in a circle around him, wrapping the lights around his torso, arms and chest, trapping him in lights.
“This is not what I had in mind,” he says, but I can tell he’s amused.
“Trust the process,” I say, making another loop. “I’m an artist at work. And since we don’t have a tree, you’re the next best thing.”
When I finish, I step back to admire my work. “There. A much better Christmas decoration than that sad plant.”
He looks down at himself, wrapped from shoulders to waist in multicolored lights. “This is your solution? Turning me into a human Christmas tree?”
“You demanded creativity.” I plug his end into the wall outlet, and he lights up. “Ta-da! The most handsome Christmas decoration I’ve ever seen.”
He tries to move his arms and realizes he’s trapped. “I can’t move.”
“That’s the point. Now you can’t escape while I tell you how adorable you look.”
“Adorable?” He raises an eyebrow. “Careful, Bennett. That’s how rumors start.”
I circle him slowly, pretending to inspect my work. “Hmm, something’s missing.” I reach for the Santa hat he wore at practice and set it on his head. “There. Now you’re official.”
His mouth curves. “You realize I’m going to get you back for this, right?”
I tug on the loose end of the lights around him. “You’ll have to escape first.”
He raises a brow. “Who says I want to?”
“Actually…” I step a little closer to him. “I kind of like you this way.”
“Tied up?” He gives me a playful smirk. “Bennett, you really should buy me dinner first.”
I loop the lights around my hands like reins, pulling him toward me. “Good thing I have dessert, then.”
His eyes spark, and the Christmas music switches to “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” I laugh softly.
“My parents used to dance to this song every Christmas Eve,” I say, the memory floating through my brain.
“Dad would spin Mom around the room until she collapsed on the couch laughing. They were so happy together, and they wanted that kind of marriage for me.”
I glance away, not wanting to talk about how I broke my parents’ hearts when I told them the news about Nick’s infidelity. They never blamed me for our failed marriage, but somehow it felt like I disappointed them by marrying the wrong man—someone who didn’t love me like Dad loved Mom.
I will never make that mistake again.
“Dance with me,” he says softly.
I blink, caught off guard. “What?”