Their Christmas To Remember

“Okay, but I should warn you I have an early bedtime tonight,” Wolfe announced, at least giving himself a plausible reason to leave early. “I can go for the start at least. What time?”

Angel took too long to answer, especially given the way she avoided looking at him, but when she did there were strings of hesitation in the melody of her voice. “Starts at seven. We’ll need to get a cab soon to make it.”

He could smooth this over. Just be extra friendly to banish whatever doubts she harbored.

“Do I have time to change?”

“If you go now.” Angel gave a location to meet and then set about instructing Jenna on how to view the video feed.

Nothing else to do, he directed—just so his trip there wasn’t a total loss, “Eat the food, darlin’. We keep our promises, right?”

“I will.”

He winked at Jenna, then headed out.

This would be all right; it wasn’t a date. The heavenly smelling Dr. Angel was practically mute under most circumstances, even if she was currently trying to melt his Grinchy heart with acts of unexpected kindness with his young patient. She’d revert once they were alone, he was sure of it. Silent and introverted would counterbalance the distracting nature of her scent.

Outside the juxtaposition with the hospital’s natural scent, he might not notice her at all.

CHAPTER TWO (#u19305b5f-b9e4-59ee-8769-31ad286e0369)

HAVING CHANGED INTO street clothes, Wolfe stuffed his hands into his favorite lambskin gloves, protecting them from the already bitter winds of late autumn while he waited for Dr. Conley.

One of the few things in his life that he cared about—the state of his hands. It directly correlated with his ability to do his job to the highest level, which was the one thing that gave him any nobility. The same basic root as the reason he was about to participate in the evening’s looming horror show: to be a good doctor for his young patient.

People tended to look sideways at anyone who disliked Christmas as much as he did, and in no way did he ever want to explain his reasons. There really was no way to sufficiently explain without the gory details he’d fled Scotland to remove from his life by removing his parents. Which made this the time for expert-level faking, and he’d found it useful to focus his disdain on whatever subject of Christmas-centered conversation that came up, not the holiday. Trees, for instance. Or caroling. People couldn’t balk at him loathing eggnog. He refused to believe people actually liked that slimy abomination anyway. Dressing in ugly jumpers, singing songs that were either far too somber or far too cheerful? Who liked that?

He’d survived a lifetime of this particular yearly sacrifice to materialism, he could do it again. Wouldn’t be the last time his acting skills would be called upon this season.

“Hey.” Dr. Conley’s voice came from behind him, cutting through his rapidly spiraling pep talk, and he turned in time to see her swing on a boxy black coat with oversize buttons. The motion caused the waistband of her red jumper to ruck up, exposing what was either a tiny waist, or the curve of shapely hips. Or both.

The cold winds that had been chapping his cheeks suddenly caressed like a cool breeze on his heated skin and, despite that heat, a shiver ran through him. A flash of socially acceptable midriff and suddenly he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

What was wrong with him? She wasn’t that attractive.

Sure, she had those fantastic dark blue eyes, and what man wouldn’t want to shove his hands into that shining black hair? But it was probably the freckles that were messing him up. He loved freckles almost as much as he hated Christmas.

“You ready?” she asked, apparently not noticing he’d gone stupid, or prompting him because she had. “Can you get the cab? They ignore me.”

The request was enough to get him functioning and he did so while silently reminding himself why Conley was off-limits. Because we don’t bring scandal into the workplace. We don’t do scandal period. Scandal never did anyone any good and bringing it around the kids was completely out of bounds. Besides, she was so quiet and serious, he could almost see flashing above her head in neon: Commitment. Commitment. Commitment. Not a woman to have a casual, limited-time-only fling—his only type of relationship.

New plan for the evening: be his most ridiculous. Conley never laughed; she’d hate him being anything but seriously festive and seriously serious. Which would keep him from making any hormone-driven mistakes on the off-chance she felt the same pull of sugar-frosted temptation. Besides, Jenna would laugh at him being a dork. Two birds, one big stupid stone.

Once in the cab, he settled in beside her and tried to focus on the unpleasant cab odors rather than the sweet scent she seemed to emanate.

She sat less than a foot away, and the way she snugged the coat around herself and looked the other direction should’ve made him feel more relaxed about the likelihood she’d encourage him to do something stupid.

The silence sat so heavily even the cabbie was put off by it. Wolfe was usually good at meaningless chatting. Putting her at ease would at least make it easier to get through the evening.

“So,” he started, looking back over to find her fidgeting with one of the oversize buttons, tugging and rolling back and forth. “What’s the plan? Film the whole thing?”

She stopped flipping the button about and just rubbed at it like a worry stone. “I don’t really know. When I offered, it sounded very straightforward. She’s going to tell us what she wants to see, and I think she’ll see the performances on television. I really don’t know what there will be to look at on the ground, but that’s what she focused on, that the broadcast was far away, and she couldn’t look up at the tree towering above. Probably just the tree. I hope just the tree. Not sure I’ll be able to find anything but the tree and the rink.”

Although she said a whole lot, she didn’t once look at him. She looked everywhere else—out of his window, through the partition to the front seat at the posted license, at her buttons...

Knowing how little she really wanted to interact with him should’ve made him happy. Really shouldn’t have felt like a challenge.

“Start at the tree, then?”

She nodded, fumbling her phone from her pocket and wordlessly typing into a search engine.

“What are you looking for?”

“They get the tree from a different part of the country and a different breed of pine every year.” She paused, finally looking over at him. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re watching me like I’m doing something dumb.”

“I’m watching you like you’re about to waste time looking for information I already possess.” He plucked the phone from her hands, flipped to the camera, took a smirking selfie and handed it back to her.

Her stunned expression made him want to misbehave a little more. With his best rendition of her Southern accent he mimed back, “What? You’re watching me like I’m about to do something dumb.”

It took her a moment, but her reaction finally caught up with her and the plush mouth that had been hanging open stretched in a slow, bemused smile. “I will...treasure? This?”

There was a question at the end of every word she paused her way through. Then she laughed. An actual laugh that accompanied her turning the phone off and stashing it again.

And just like that, his plan not to get too friendly went up in flames.

“Consider it an early Christmas gift,” he murmured. “And the only gift I’m giving this year, so be honored.”

“You don’t do Christmas with your brother?”

Of course she’d ask about Lyons. She worked with his brother more than she worked with him, but his mention brought up that mixed bag of emotions he’d been struggling to deal with for a while. Before Lyons had been shot, they’d both been content ignoring the holiday, but this year Wolfe just didn’t know what to do with his brother. They weren’t close, but since last Christmas, Wolfe had been ineffectively trying to change that, and knew beyond any doubt that Lyons shouldn’t be alone when this Christmas rolled around. But he didn’t know how to talk about it. Just as he’d failed to know how to talk to Jenna.

“Lyons doesn’t do Christmas either,” he said after a lengthy pause.

“Is it a Scottish thing?”

She was funny. Or dumb. Both of which appealed in entirely different ways. “Scotland’s a Christian country...”

“Yes, but don’t you do gifts on Boxing Day? I’m not entirely sure what that is, to be honest. But there’s also the chance that you all do something with kilts and flinging massive logs,” she offered, and, instead of turning the phone back on, gave the buttons a rest to flip the case open and closed, open and closed, open and closed.

“The only massive logs I like to fling are the ones that fit into my fireplace.” He was supposed to be the one being a dork tonight, but she was getting in the good zings. “How do they celebrate Christmas where you’re from?”

Such a simple question, he didn’t expect the color to drain from her cheeks, which only darkened the swath of freckles that were thickest at the apples and across her nose.

He knew enough about paling to know that it didn’t come lightly and guessed, “That is the face of someone who dislikes Christmas.”