Chapter 10
If guilt was the emotional throughline that tied the majority of Marisa’s family interactions together, then shame was the glitter all over the package that never left any surface clean.
Marisa sat in Alec’s car outside her parents’ house and looked for any excuse not to go inside.
At first, the heating vents had to get her Goldilocks treatment of finding just the right angle, then she’d pulled down the visor and checked her makeup, wondering whether a third coat of lipstick would be too much—it wouldn’t have been, but she restrained herself anyway.
By the time she’d started burrowing through her bag for a possible piece of gum she hadn’t carried on her in at least the past two years, she’d reached the end of her rope, and Alec finally had to call an audible—or whatever the rugby equivalent would have been.
“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. It’s your birthday, after all.”
“Of course I have to go. I said I would.”
“So? Just because I’m a man of my word doesn’t mean you have to be a woman of yours or that the words can’t change if you’re uncomfortable.”
Marisa banged her head against the back of the seat, then rolled toward him, cursing the good-natured smile encouraging her to take the out he offered, which helped not a whit. In what world could she disappoint a man who looked that good and had braved toll roads to get her there?
Not having a clue how fancy to dress as the guest of honor for an event that was more to honor the woman paying for the affair rather than the star attendee, Marisa couldn’t offer that much help to Alec when it came to appropriate party attire.
For her, she’d pulled on her standard-issue black sleeveless cocktail dress that she always doctored with cardigans of various colors.
Tonight, the cotton-poly blend covering her shoulders was a royal blue—a nod to the occasion, she supposed.
Topped off with simple stud earrings, her one pair of heels that didn’t destroy her instep after thirty minutes, and just enough makeup to look like she’d tried but not too hard.
It was about as glamorous as she got these days.
Which was a goddamn shame because Alec Elms and glamorous obviously had a very different relationship.
Forget the one wedding/funeral/Bar Mitzvah suit that always made appearances by most of the guys she’d dated.
Alec had foregone a suit altogether in favor of a silk burgundy button-down shirt that hugged more than it hid, expertly tailored gray slacks, and a charming smile that hadn’t left his lips ever since he’d picked her up and chariotted her across two full Garden State Parkway exits, plus an interchange.
Again, she wondered whether all Scottish men were so annoyingly cheerful and friendly or if she’d been blessed with the most good-natured one in the bunch.
Certainly the most good-natured one in Jersey, at any rate.
“I swear, you really are like one of those Scottish deerhounds,” she huffed under her breath.
Alec quirked his head to the side in a very doglike fashion and smiled. “What?”
“What?”
“Did you just say something about—”
“Never mind. I guess there’s no point in waiting in the car any longer.
If I’m going to face the firehose of criticism, best get it over with sooner so at least I’ll have time to dry off later.
” She could already hear how it was going to go.
The questions about her little candy business, whether she’d looked at any of those new housing developments offering rent-to-own options, and what her plans were now that she’d turned thirty, essentially serving all the standard when are you finally going to start adulting fare.
As if there were a drastic difference in her schedule between the final Tuesday of her twenties and the first Wednesday of her thirties, other than that Wednesday was laundry day.
Which she was notably missing so she could party it up with latkes, hopefully decent liquor, and a cupcake if she was lucky.
Marisa hitched her handbag strap higher and reached for the door handle, but Alec stopped her.
“Wait. I’ve got something for you before we go in.” Alec rose and twisted his torso around so he could reach the back.
That left Marisa at eye height with a wall of muscle that seemed to be doing its level best to make itself known through the thin veil of silk concealing it.
The proximity to all that strength pulled up fiery goose bumps along the back of her neck, especially as he adjusted himself and the fabric stretched even tauter, letting her see every lower ripple of his stomach as they tightened before he settled back into his seat with a rectangular box in his hands.
“Happy birthday, Marisa,” he said cheerfully as he handed her over a silvery package wrapped in a dark blue ribbon.
“You didn’t have to get me a present.”
He shrugged as much as the car’s tight confines would allow his large shoulders.
“This may be my first Hanukkah party, but it’s sure as hell not my first birthday party.
I know better than to greet the birthday girl’s mother without having given her daughter a birthday present.
I’m not that insane. I’ve got a mum, too, you know. ”
Smiling, Marisa held the gift up to her ear and shook it slightly.
“It’s clanking, sort of. Is it metal?” Then a wash of horror overtook her as her suspicion landed on another item.
“Oh, God, it’s not jewelry, is it? Because we never agreed on anything like that.
It goes way beyond the bounds of what we—”
Alec narrowed his eyes and put his hand over hers, bringing the gift safely back down to her lap. “Just open your present, woman.”
“All right, all right. No need to get all growly about it.”
“I’m not bloody growly.”
“He said with a growl.”
“Will you open your damn gift already?”
“Fine. Yes. Thank you. But you do snarl sometimes. Just saying.” Marisa pointedly ignored the eye roll Alec tossed her way while she slid a finger beneath the wrapping paper and ribbon.
He’d gotten her a present? An actual present?
But no amount of anticipation could have prepared her for what she found inside.
Her breath sawed in and out of her chest, and her eyes got to work ruining her carefully applied mascara with the single-minded efficiency of Christmas elves.
Within the carefully molded plastic packaging sat three shiny and rather unassuming metal cookie cutters.
They were made of the same stainless steel as any other cookie cutter might be, with their dangerously flimsy framework and in-no-way-dishwasher-friendly coating.
Wholly ordinary, except for their shapes.
A menorah, a dreidel, and a Star of David.
While Marisa sat there, shocked into stillness, Alec carefully cleared the brush of wrapping detritus from her lap.
“I don’t know what your plans are for the treats you’ll be making for the Christmas Ball, but I can honestly say—and most red-blooded men would agree with me on this, I wager—that I didn’t much care for the way you were going all gooey-eyed over that sugar hook thing your friends gave you.
I didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss it, kill with it, or castrate the next poor bastard who looked at you wrong.
Instead, I figured these might suit you just fine.
And to be clear, I’m not saying you need to use them for the Ball or anything.
There are only three cutters, and I imagine you’ve got grander plans for your big reveal than what these wee things can help you achieve, but they were amusing and reminded me of you.
” Then he covered her hand, the one not stroking soft pets through the plastic along the menorah’s shamash, and squeezed his comfort into her.
“You have a beautiful heart, Marisa, and you want to make people smile with your work. That’s something worth defending and something any family should be proud of. ”
Marisa held the small symbols of her life—for that was exactly what they were, a grossly mismatched mix of who she was and what she loved—closer to her chest, doing her best to release her throat from the tightness her unbidden emotions were inflicting upon it.
In the end, the only remaining avenue was a single nod of thanks.
“You’re welcome.” Alec pulsed her hand again.
The gentle pressure in his touch was warm and weighty, anchoring her to the tiny moment where she was locked safely in his car, holding to her heart the baking equivalent of her blueberry candy canes, and could just exist, without explanation, in the magic of the moment.
Of the season.
Of his kindness.
Of his presence.
She still hadn’t said anything, but the effort was massively hindered by the man sitting next to her, balling up the wrapping paper and ribbon in one hand and silently supporting her with the other.
In the cocoon of their little car cave, she could finally see him in a way she hadn’t before.
There was something about the windows around them, the darkness shadowing the car that allowed for them to look out at the world, but not for the world to look in, that made her feel as if she were truly sharing a special secret with Alec, one that went far beyond the lie they’d agreed to front for both their sakes.
And he knew it, too, she suspected, or at least knew something he wasn’t prepared to share with her just yet.
Which was fine. She was too busy acknowledging the true beauty of the man before her.
Dark eyes, which had usually been hidden by garish lighting either from a cocktail party, Enzo and Sal’s fluorescent bulbs, or had been tempered with worry and shock following his run-in with Sid and the boys, now charted a map of her features.
And damn, it was just ten kinds of not fair for a man to have lashes that luxurious, but even more so when they caused her to wonder what they might feel like brushing against the tops of her cheeks if she moved just a little closer.
A flurry of insistent butterflies had pulled the choke on her long-cold physical attraction motor, and there was no cutting it off now.
Her imagination scooped up her thoughts and ran them far away from her sane and civil mindset, leaving only admiration, wonder, and curiosity about the man sitting before her.
On instinct, Marisa pulled on his hand, perhaps for strength or support, she didn’t know, but it brought him the tiniest bit closer, a move he didn’t seem to resist. The top button of his silk shirt was undone, revealing the bare beginnings of smooth hairs that dusted light shadows over his skin before the collar stole them away from her.
God, he was handsome, in that rugged way only found in men who tackled life head-on.
Marisa knew he played rugby. Though her knowledge of the sport was minimal, she was at least aware that it came with its own intensity and physicality.
It was evident in not only the strength filling out his skin but also the way he treated her.
Like a teammate. Like a woman.
Like someone . . . worth defending.
The weight of Alec’s words made Marisa’s fingers go slack in his hand, but instead of pulling away and leaving her to yet another hyper-emotional moment, he moved closer and turned her palm upward in his.
Then their fingers joined, interlocking together in a neat little cage of security, his hardness bolstering her softness, protecting it, defending it.
Any other time, she would have said it was all too much, that they were no more than business associates and should stick to the plan.
However, what the hell kind of plan was there for a fake relationship with a rugby player who was about to light the Hanukkah candles with her family and fend off her aunt’s bizarre boy of a birthday present, all while she tried not getting grease stains on his silk shirt?
It was the Jewish mother of all bad scenarios.
So, why the hell was her heart one hot minute away from saying, eh, fuck it?
She leaned forward, close enough to scent both his cologne and Alec’s earthiness beneath it, and knew that she much preferred the latter. His lips parted slightly as he nuzzled the side of her nose with his, testing the limits of what she’d started.
“Marisa,” he said, and the rolling R in his accented version of her name did interesting things to her insides. Man, she could listen to that all day and twice on one of the umpteenth Jewish holidays she’d long ago forgotten. It was just so exciting, so attractive, so—
He reared his head back and dropped her hand. “Are you crying?”
The record in her mind ripped a teeth-clenching scratch through her fantasy.
Was she? Well, the moment had been beautiful, and he’d given her those wonderful, perfect cookie cutters, and for the first time, she had a teammate to face down the holiday with.
So maybe . . . yes?
She lifted her hand to swipe at her cheek, but Alec’s fingers were already there.
“Och, don’t be doing that, getting all weepy on me.
I wouldn’t want your mother to think I’m the type of lad to make her daughter cry or anything.
” He leaned forward and swept a curled finger beneath her eye, catching the one tear that had managed to break free of her emotional dam, rescuing her from having to explain to her nose-in-the-air aunt why she’d worn a cardigan with wet spots all over it to her—not Marisa’s, but her—party.
With a face all fresh and clean, she simply shook her head and smiled away the memory. Then she set the cookie cutters beneath her seat and grabbed her purse. “No tears tonight. I promise. C’mon. It’s time we entered the belly of the beast.”
As they walked toward the front door to meet their fate, Marisa figured it wasn’t entirely inappropriate, given the occasion, to hope for a frickin’ miracle.