Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Reeling from the oral satisfaction Sven had insisted on giving her, Christy could only nod to confirm she was very sure she needed the physical connection to him.
He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her lips as he slipped inside her, inch by unhurried inch. His beard stubble scratched her chin, but the sensation reminded her he was real.
She gasped when he bottomed out.
“You okay?” He’d been a considerate lover, always mindful of her comfort during their lovemaking.
She swallowed to wet her prickly throat. “Much better than okay.”
“Slow and easy or fast and hard? I should warn you. Either way, I won’t last long.” He withdrew partway and rocked forward until he was back where he belonged. His low groan rumbled through her jaw. “You feel so damn good.”
“Slow for a few minutes. I want to savor it.” In case I never get to experience it again. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper still. The motion stole her breath again. Cradling his scruffy jaw in her palm, she lifted her head to kiss him.
His leisurely in-and-out glide matched the slide of his tongue with hers. The coordinated dance made the world fall away, lifting her to a new plane of existence. He combed his fingers through her hair and caressed her cheek with calloused fingertips, touching and loving her like his sole purpose was to bring her pleasure. Her mind cleared and her body floated on a cloud of utter decadence and euphoria.
She let her hands wander over the contours of his muscled arms and back, certain she could die the most sexually satisfied woman in the world right here, right now.
Then his lips grazed her jaw and his rough exhales bathed her neck in warmth. He didn’t speak, but she didn’t need words or promises, only this union.
After another restrained rock of his hips, a pained growl brought an end to the measured pace he’d set. “I can’t… I need to… Hold on to me.”
His warning didn’t prepare her for the sudden barrage of sensations that flooded her nerve endings. Each thrust carried her higher than the one before, sending her heart, body, and soul into freefall. A guttural roar echoed off the walls as he stiffened above her and throbbed inside her.
Her pulse thumped in her ears, telling her she was more alive than she’d ever felt before.
He dropped to his elbows, blanketing her with his body, anchoring her with his weight. The steady pressure calmed her racing heartbeat, but doubts and warnings invaded her thoughts.
“You’re thinking too loud.” His gruff comment sparked a tiny surge of guilt. He shifted to his side and then onto his back, taking her with him. Somehow, he managed to keep them from falling off the bed. His partially deflated erection had slipped free during their rearrangement, and the loss was profound. Guiding her head to his chest, he tugged the comforter over top of her. Despite having his arms around her and the leveling heartbeat in her ear, tension rolled off of him in massive waves. “I can’t stay. Brenna might need me and she’ll want to know what took so long as it is.”
“It’s fine.” She didn’t expect anything from him because they’d had sex—not promises, not commitments, or even an offer to do it again. Emotional involvement and expectations weren’t part of the unspoken agreement.
“I hate that word.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed each finger. “Will you have supper with me tomorrow?”
More than a little relieved to already have plans, she sent up a silent thank-you to his daughter for roping her into playing Mrs. Claus. “I’ll be busy all day tomorrow.”
Why did the truth seem like an excuse?
“Oh. Okay.” He sounded disappointed, but she refused to let her guilty conscience make her do something stupid. “I want to see you again, in case I wasn’t clear about that. Tonight wasn’t about getting naked with you.”
She rolled out of his arms and sat on the edge of the bed with her back to him. The urge to escape hit much quicker than usual. “I’m leav—”
“I’m asking you to stay, at least long enough to give us a chance.” The bed shifted behind her, but he didn’t touch her. “Bee’s mother was the first woman I was with after you. I thought I could find someone else. Not even a month into dating, she said I was emotionally unavailable and dumped me. Two years after you went away, I still couldn’t move on from you. I’m older now, but wiser remains to be seen since I plan to fight for you this time if I have to.”
His declaration hung in the air between them, inciting panic, fear, hope, and too many other reactions to process.
She hunched her shoulders, wishing she could disappear. Hiding her true self had become second nature, and he’d somehow cut through the facade without her realizing it.
The rustle of clothes was punctuated by a sigh. Then footsteps trudged toward the hall and a door clicked shut. The muffled shoosh of water followed, suggesting he’d gone to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and get dressed.
Goosebumps nudged her into motion, and she quickly donned her flannel pajamas and fluffy robe. As she slid her bare feet into her slippers, the heavy tread of boots broke the silence. Fighting her heart’s desire to turn around, she focused on gathering her clothes from the floor.
In her peripheral vision, he loomed in the bedroom doorway. “Being in this house and going through your father’s things has to be tough, but I’m here if you want to talk and if you’re ready to tell me why you needed to get out. Day or night. I’ll see you soon, I hope.”
His gentle voice tempted her to look up at him, but she didn’t trust herself to stick to her resolve. “Nothing has changed.”
“ Everything has changed.” His frustrated tone battered the walls she’d reconstructed. “He’s dead. He can’t treat you like you don’t exist anymore. And I’m still here. You matter, Christy. You’ve always mattered to me. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Unshed tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t understand why you—”
“I just can’t.” She wrapped her arms around herself, in hopes of holding the pieces together. “Please go.”
“For now. I’ll wait on the porch for you to lock up behind me.” The purposeful thud , thud , thud of him walking away hammered at her intent to keep her distance.
Having sex with him had been a mistake, whether her body thought so or not.
She waited until his footsteps ended and a clunk sounded to follow him. Armed with a tissue to combat the wetness trying to leak onto her cheeks, she shuffled to the living room. The ancient floor lamp beside the old recliner flickered and went out a few steps from her destination.
Of course, the bulb burns out now.
Sven’s face came into focus through the six-pane window in the door. He frowned and his eyebrows dipped toward his nose, but he didn’t move.
He saw me crying.
If he knew how difficult pushing him away was, would he use that knowledge to his advantage?
Lowering her head, she stepped close enough to turn the deadbolt and then the lock on the knob. As metaphors went, locking him out seemed like a good one, even when part of her didn’t want to.
Her gaze strayed upward without her permission as she started to turn, catching sight of a fogged pane in the bottom row. I ? U filled the steamed-up square.
The simple message woke memories of him doing the same thing on her bedroom window hundreds of times. He’d rarely let a cold day go by without telling her how much she meant to him that way.
On the verge of bawling, she rushed toward her bedroom. Halfway there, she detoured to the dark bathroom and shut herself inside. Sleeping would be impossible with his presence lingering in her personal space and his masculine scent clinging to the pillows and blankets. Another night in her father’s room with his indifference haunting her wasn’t an option, either.
The couch? The bathtub? My car?
She sat on the toilet lid and buried her face in her hands. Returning to Creekside, even temporarily, had been a disastrous decision. The man who’d barely tolerated her existence should’ve named someone else—anyone else—his beneficiary.
The low hum of an engine outside the bathroom window, the crunch of gravel, and the flash of headlights across the wall announced Sven’s departure. Only near-darkness and her gasping sobs remained. Instead of bringing relief, being completely alone pushed her to the edge of despair.
Not once since she’d packed her suitcase and bought a bus ticket to Cleveland had she surrendered to grief. She’d fought tooth and nail to stay strong and forget the past. Her life had consisted of working in the library, going to class, studying, and squeezing in a few hours of sleep when she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She’d been self-reliant and self-sufficient by necessity as much as choice.
Her mindset hadn’t allowed anything to change during her internships or numerous jobs after graduating twice—stay busy, help her patients, and move on when the time felt right. She’d faltered twice. Her body, if not her heart, had betrayed her. Two kind men had convinced her to give them a chance, leading to adequate sex and a pair of marriage proposals that had ended soon after. Neither breakup had been painful or terribly disappointing.
Sven wanted her to show her entire self to him, including all the broken parts she’d had to acknowledge during her most-recent attempt to find peace. The psychologist had subtly convinced her to find closure in Creekside, but being here had reopened old wounds rather than healing them.
Too exhausted to continue rehashing her ghastly history with interpersonal and familial relationships, she trudged to the couch, curled up in the corner farthest from the recliner, and dropped her forehead to her knees. Only her professional acquaintances had brought normalcy to her life since she’d become an adult, but that was at risk with her association with Brenna.
After tomorrow’s fundraiser, Mrs. Claus would turn back into a pumpkin to finalize settling Walter Rime’s estate, pack up her few belongings, and make a quiet exit. Self-preservation would save her again.
Holding on to her wig and bonnet, Christy hurried along the vaguely familiar corridor, the click , click , click of her black lace-up ankle boots echoing off the walls. Despite last night’s turmoil, she’d fallen into a deep sleep and awakened to bright sunshine forty-five minutes before Claus for a Cause and Mrs. Claus’s Cookie Kitchen were set to welcome patrons. A quick shower and a lot more makeup than usual later, she’d put on her costume in the faculty restroom near the main office and hightailed it to the other side of the building.
It's a good thing I have lots of practice pretending to be happy.
As she approached the old Home Ec. room from her high school days, Brenna rounded the corner not far beyond the classroom entrance, clad in a green tunic and candy-cane striped leggings. Red pointy-toes slippers matched the outfit. Her long strokes propelled her along the straightaway much faster than Christy could run in her heels. She coasted the last several yards, adjusting her Santa hat as her chair slowed. “You look amazing! Thanks again for agreeing to help with the cookie decorating and pictures. You really saved the day.”
“Glad to help.” Christy followed her guide into the festively decorated space. Luckily, the wire-rimmed glasses she wore didn’t have lenses to blur the lighted snowflakes hanging from the ceiling or the strands of white lights framing the windows. Round tables with red-and-green plaid tablecloths were set with laminated placemats, child-sized butter knives, small tubs of colored frosting, and shakers of sprinkles. More supplies were organized on a long counter at the back of the room. The aroma of freshly baked sugar cookies filled the air. Not until she’d lived on her own had she associated the smell with Christmas. “How did you not have a hundred volunteers for this job?”
Brenna’s genuine laughter added to the ambience. “Mrs. Barber has claimed it for as long as I’ve been alive, and I needed a substitute in a hurry. You were in the right place at the right time. The bakers will be wheeling out trays of cookies at ten on the dot and your helpers will be arriving any minute. Text me if you have any questions. Ten minutes until the invasion. I’m off to check on the craft room, the toy workshop, and the retail shop. And I need to text Santa to be sure he and the outdoor elves are ready to pass out pellets to feed to the reindeer.”
An involuntary shiver raced through her. “Brr. It’s cold out there today. Better them than me.”
Brenna grinned and pivoted toward the doorway. “Right? See you at lunch. Ten after twelve in the teachers’ lounge. You have a thirty-minute break starting at noon, so don’t be late!”
“Got it. Time for a stop in the restroom and a quick bite to eat.” Christy saluted her supervisor. “I’ll save a cookie for you.”
“Ha! I already snagged one from the kitchen before you got here, but thanks for thinking of me. You’re the best.” Brenna glanced over her shoulder with a sweet smile exactly like her father’s. Then she zipped into the hallway and out of sight.
Ignoring the knot in the pit of her stomach, Christy crossed to the supply counter to familiarize herself with the setup. Low voices carried into the room from the corridor, and she braced for the first test of her disguise.
A trio of women sashayed into the Cookie Kitchen, dressed more for a night of clubbing and hookups than a morning of frosting and nonpareils. Their gold, silver, and black sequined halter tops caught and reflected the light from the snowflakes. All three aimed death stares at her as they continued past the tables.
The blonde in the middle stopped and the others followed suit, like they’d never matured past the high school cliques they’d obviously been a part of. “Who did you sleep with? Was it Sven?”
Hmm. I know that screechy voice.
Thoroughly confused by the woman’s question, Christy set down the tub of icing she’d picked up and mentally crossed her fingers the popular girls weren’t the volunteers Brenna had mentioned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Their spokesperson pursed her blood-red lips and narrowed her spider-lashed eyes. “How did you get the job of Mrs. Claus? There’s a waiting list for when Mrs. Barber dies or can’t do it anymore, and I’m pretty sure you’re not on it. I’ve never seen you before, so you must not be from Creekside.”
Well, I’ve seen you, and you haven’t changed a bit.
Determined to hide her identity from the snobs who’d tried to bully her from kindergarten to graduation, Christy stood her ground. “I don’t know anything about a waiting list, but I was asked by one of the organizers and it was okayed by Mrs. Barber. Are you here to help with the cookie decorating?”
“What? No, of course not!” The former homecoming queen scrunched up her nose and lifted her chin. “I’m in charge of the retail shop, the biggest moneymaker of the—”
“Sorry, we’re late!” Two girls and two boys who looked to be college-aged rushed through the door. The shorter of the young women whipped off her ski jacket. “The dog threw up, my tights got a hole in them, and then there was a traffic jam where they’re fixing the pothole at the intersection in front of Lorenzo’s. I’m Anna. My friends are Isaiah, Grace, and Byron. Hey, Mrs. Potter. You look…different. Did you have some work done?”
The look the mean-girls ringleader leveled at Anna should’ve turned her to ash.
“Oh, and the principal is looking for you. He said to tell you to get down to the store right now if we saw you.”
Whirling on her no-doubt designer shoes, the blonde bully motioned for her cohorts to follow her. “Don’t think this is the end of it. I’m going to have a talk with the mayor.”
Anna snorted as the trio made their grand exit. “Talk? More like do the nasty with. I swear she’s cheated on her husband with every willing guy in town.”
Christy extended her hand to her savior, hoping to conclude that topic. “I’m Mrs. Claus. It’s nice to meet you. Thanks for volunteering.”
The young man with glasses unzipped his coat and shrugged it off. “Brenna was always nice to us in school, even though we were three years behind her. We’re happy to help with the fundraiser whatever way we can.”
“Who’s collecting tickets? There’s a bucket here with the extra frosting and sprinkles.” Christy stepped aside to let her helpers stow their winterwear by the storage closet. Rattling alerted her to the first cookie delivery from the connected kitchenettes next door and the imminent arrival of their patrons. “The Cookie Kitchen opens for business in two minutes.”
A steady stream of children, teenagers, and adults kept her and her team busy for the entire two-hour slot, and the full bucket suggested a decent number of residents had shown up to support the event, the community, and one of their own.
She boxed up the few remaining cookies, added what was left of the frosting and sprinkles, and set it on the cart the bakers would retrieve soon. The rest of the crew had promised to take care of table cleanup so she could grab lunch and a potty break before pictures with her make-believe husband.
After a last scan of the room, she picked up the bucket of counted tickets by the handle and headed for the door. “Thank you so much for volunteering. You were great with the kids and the parents. Be sure to stop by the hot cocoa booth tonight. My treat.”
“Thanks!” All four of her elves sang out their appreciation in unison.
Anna dumped a placemat of sprinkles into the trashcan and grinned. “You make an awesome Mrs. Claus. I hope the Cause Committee asks you to do it again next year. See you tonight!”
Offering a noncommittal nod, Christy turned left into the corridor. She wouldn’t be here next year to play the role she’d been roped into by Brenna. She wasn’t even sure about going to tonight’s festivities. A spark of regret burned in her stomach, but staying wasn’t part of her plan. It never had been.
Get in. Get the job done. Get out.
That was her mantra.
She stayed in character on the brisk walk to the opposite side of the building. When the coast was clear, she checked her phone to see if she had time for a restroom stop before lunch.
12:08. Food first. I’ll just have to eat fast.
Brenna rolled into the hallway as Christy hurried toward the teachers’ lounge. “You didn’t get lost, did you?”
Holding up the bucket, Christy shook her head. “We still had a few people in line at noon and I wanted to make sure everyone got to decorate a cookie. Here are the tickets. One of the helpers counted them.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Brenna reached for the handle. “I’ll take that. Go eat while you can.”
“You’re welcome.” Grateful for the short break, Christy headed into the mostly empty room and straight to the table of boxed lunches. She chose the turkey wrap option, pulled a bottled water from the small refrigerator, and sat facing the window.
The silence lasted only a few seconds before Brenna greeted whoever was impersonating the main attraction. “Hey, Santa. Help yourself to the free food. There’re drinks too. Coffee, iced and hot tea, water. Twenty minutes until wishes and pictures.”
A heavy sigh warned Christy that Santa wasn’t in a very jolly mood. “Kids only. No. Adults .”
Her pulse stuttered at the unexpected voice.
Sven Carlsen was Santa Claus.