A Mistletoe Affair

“Tomorrow,” she said. She hunched her shoulder. “I know a Tuesday night isn’t your typical date night, but he’s on call a lot at the E.R. Tuesday is his only night off this week.”

“Who cares what night,” Sandra said. “All I know is that the men of Wintersage had better watch out. Vicki Ahlfors is on the move.”

Chapter 2 (#ulink_b0ce7834-c551-5b0a-b483-eda53afec8e2)

“Don’t be an idiot,” Vicki murmured around the piece of twine she’d stuck between her lips. “You know better than this.”

Even though she did know better than to try to balance on the wobbly, backless stool, she remained standing on it. If she fell and broke her tailbone it would be sufficient punishment for forgetting to bring the stepladder she’d taken from the Victorian to hang the new artwork in her living room at home. As far as punishments went, maybe a broken tailbone was a bit harsh.

“But you don’t have to worry about that,” she said as she tied that last bit of twine around the garland, fastening it to the molding that framed the front door. She hopped off the stool and slipped back into her heels. Then she took a couple of steps back and observed her handiwork.

“Perfect,” Vicki said.

“I’d say so.”

Vicki whipped around, spotting Jordan Woolcott walking up the walkway. Sixteen-month-old Mason toddled alongside him on legs that still didn’t quite have that whole walking thing down yet. Vicki smiled as the chubby-cheeked sweetheart fought for his independence, trying to walk ahead of his father.

She stood on the top step and waited patiently while he slowly climbed up to meet her. She scooped Mason into her arms, plopping a kiss on his too-adorable-than-it-had-a-right-to-be face.

“How’re you doing today? You and your daddy coming to see your auntie Sandra?” She looked up at Jordan, who remained at the base of the porch steps, a tired smile tilting up the corners of his lips.

“Hello, Jordan,” she said.

“Hey there, Vicki.”

There went her idiot heart, doing that stupid fluttering thing it did whenever she saw him. Goodness, how pathetic that at twenty-eight she still had the same reaction to him that she did as a teenager. No, it was more than just pathetic, it was downright pitiful, because never once had anything in Jordan’s demeanor suggested that he felt anything even remotely similar toward her.

Yet when she’d sat in that salon chair last week and told the stylist to glam her up, it was with the intent of seeing Jordan’s reaction to the finished outcome.

Pathetic.

If the man hadn’t caught a clue in all these years, he certainly wouldn’t notice her just because she’d cut her hair.

“Is my sister up there?” he asked, gesturing to the building’s second floor with the hand that held Mason’s diaper bag.

“She sure is.” Vicki looked down at Mason. “You want to get out of this cold and see your auntie Sandra?”

Jordan joined them on the porch, but before Vicki could turn toward the door, he stopped her.

“What exactly did you do here?” he asked, motioning at his own head.

“You mean my haircut?”

“Yeah. The light brown color you added to the ends, too.”

“They’re called highlights.”

He nodded. “I like it. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” she answered.

She was not going to blush at a simple compliment.

Dammit, she was so blushing. She could feel the heat climbing up her cheeks. Her fair skin hid nothing, so in a matter of seconds Jordan would see it, too.

With Mason in tow, Vicki quickly turned for the door, leaving him to follow her inside.

“Wow,” Jordan said once they’d entered the building. “You all are really getting into the holiday spirit, huh? There are more flowers in here than at the Rose Bowl parade.”

“Well, it is a floral-design shop,” Vicki noted with a laugh.

“A busy one at that,” Jordan said, pointing to various arrangements in different stages of completion. They covered every available surface.

“When it comes to flowers, the Christmas season is second only to Valentine’s Day. Although, to be honest, I’ve been a bit busier than usual this week.”

Jordan peeled Mason’s puffer jacket off while the baby was still in her arms, and then stuffed it inside the diaper bag.

He gestured to her feet. “You don’t normally wear fancy shoes to make flower arrangements, do you? Is this something special you’re doing for the holidays?”

Vicki’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to be funny?”

The blank look on his face gave her his answer even before he said, “No.”

“I’m wearing fancy shoes because I have a date,” she said.

“Really?” Jordan’s head reared back slightly. He took Mason from her arms and the baby immediately started to fuss. “A date?”

Vicki couldn’t see past her irritation over Jordan’s apparent surprise at the news that she had a date. It both stung and pissed her off.

“Is it so hard to believe that someone actually wants to go out with me?” she asked.

“No,” he said with a hasty head shake. “It’s just that I didn’t know you were dating anyone.”

Not that that should come as a surprise, either. When had he ever taken interest in whom she was dating?

Vicki held no illusions about where she stood as far as he was concerned. She had never been in Jordan Woolcott’s league. For that matter, she had not always been in Sandra and Janelle’s league, either.

Unlike her two best friends, Vicki hadn’t been born into money.

She and her three brothers had spent the majority of their formative years in the public school system, not moving to Wintersage Academy until her sophomore year of high school, once her father’s business had taken off.

Ahlfors Financial Management’s success secured her family’s place among Wintersage’s elite, but their wealth didn’t reek of “old money” like that of the Howertons and Woolcotts. Although her friends never made her feel inferior, Vicki never let herself forget that one difference between them.

When it came to Jordan, there was no denying that they were different.

He had been several years ahead of her in high school, having already graduated from Wintersage Academy by the time she’d started there. Vicki had developed the most ridiculous crush on him from the very first day she’d gone over to the Woolcotts’ to study with Sandra one afternoon. It had taken her years to accept the fact that, if not for her being one of Sandra’s very best friends and their families knowing each other for years, Jordan wouldn’t know she existed.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Wintersage was a small town. He would know she existed—in the same way he knew Jocelyn Cornwell, who ran the realty office on Main Street, or Agnes Ripple, the owner of the corner bakery, existed.