One Winter's Night: The Twelve Dates of Christmas / Frozen Heart, Melting Kiss / A Cadence Creek Christmas

This wasn’t her party. It was his. Plus, telling him about her past hadn’t changed her mission. If anything, it had strengthened it. She’d stayed too long in her self-pity. She’d lingered too long with her guilt. If the best way to get out was to help someone else, she would help him.

She smiled. “Hey, go. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine.”

She turned to walk over to the women, who had all gathered in a cluster but, on second thought, faced him. “Can I get you a beer?”

He smiled. Really smiled.

Their gazes caught and held, as one door of their relationship closed and another squeaked open. She was no longer a poor girl who needed his help. She was a woman who’d confided her past. He wasn’t just a rich guy who wanted a date. He’d listened. He hadn’t judged. He’d sympathized.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Pitchers are all on a table in the back,” the guy who’d challenged Ricky to the pool game said. “Help yourself pizza and wings, too. We don’t stand on ceremony. It’s self-serve.”

She smiled at Ricky again. “I’ll be right back.”

She got him a beer and put two pieces of pizza on a paper plate for him. She took them to a table near the pool game, pointed them out for Ricky and walked over to the gaggle of women.

“All right. Spill. Who are you, and how the hell did you get Ricky to go out, especially at Christmas?”

Holding the glass of beer she’d poured for herself, she smiled at the dates of his fraternity brothers. “As I told Binnie, Muriel and Jennifer on Sunday, we met at the Christmas party of a mutual friend.”

“Tucker Engle,” a short, dark-haired woman supplied. “Jeremy and I were there and we saw you. That means you haven’t known each other long.” She stuck out her hand to shake Eloise’s. “I’m Misty, by the way. I date the tall guy over there.” She pointed at a true geek with glasses and a sweater vest. “Jeremy.”

“Nice to meet you.”

The remaining women introduced themselves, but as the conversation moved on, thoughts of Sunday’s dinner party came back to her. Especially Muriel and Jennifer talking about his tragedy.

She glanced back at Ricky. When she’d told him about Wayne, she’d handed him the perfect opportunity to tell her his trauma and he hadn’t taken it.

She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that their relationship was only an arrangement, but tonight that argument didn’t float. Not because she liked him or because the new feelings that had sprung up made the situation feel real. It was because she suddenly realized she might be fulfilling her end of their bargain, but he wasn’t doing anything about his. He hadn’t gotten her one interview. Not one.

She was doing everything he wanted, even confiding her secrets, but he wasn’t doing anything for her.

* * *

It wasn’t long before everyone had congregated together at a table. Soon, they pulled a second table over and then a third. As Ricky played game after game of pool, he watched Eloise kick back and chat, sip beer and eat a piece of pizza.

He was glad. He didn’t know how his search had missed the death certificate of her husband, except that he hadn’t been looking for a death certificate but a divorce decree. When he hadn’t found one, he’d gotten angry and stopped searching.

He’d tried to rationalize her situation with the fact that every time he’d gone to her apartment, he’d only seen signs of two women living there. No man. No husband. And his internet search had confirmed that she worked as a temp in New York City, but she’d married in Kentucky. He’d assumed she’d left the bad marriage behind and was waiting until she could afford a divorce. Which wasn’t a crime, but it was something she should have told him.

So her story in the limo had stopped him short. Especially the part about the guilt. Lord knows he understood guilt over someone dying. Most people understood the grief. He understood the guilt.

He started another game, but noticed that his fraternity brothers were ambling toward the tables with the women. They pulled chairs behind the chairs of their dates, but those without dates—and there were plenty—seemed to be congregating around Eloise.

As he played pool with Jonathan Hopewell, the laughter from the now crowded tables rolled over to him. He glanced up and saw Kyle Banister, who was seated on a chair behind Eloise, lean in to say something to her. She smiled prettily and twisted to face him. Ricky missed his next shot.

Whatever she’d said made Kyle laugh. He reached across her, grabbed the pitcher of beer and refilled both their glasses.

“Your shot.”

He spun to face Jonathan. “Sorry.”

“I know it must be boring to never lose and have to play every challenger, but at least pretend it’s hard to beat me.”

He laughed and lined up his shot, but just as he slid the stick forward Eloise’s laughter floated to him. He missed.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

He ran his hand along the back of his neck. “No. I’m distracted.”

Jonathan followed the line of his gaze and laughed. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Of course not.” They were in an arrangement. The fact that Kyle had outgrown his geekiness, fit into his sweater and had hair that could have been on an infomercial for workout videos meant nothing.

Jonathan put his next three balls into the pockets with ease. “I’m getting confidence from your jealousy.”

“I’m not jealous.”

Eloise’s giggle reached him again. He nearly cursed. Not because he was jealous. He couldn’t be jealous. Refused to be. He was worried about their charade.

He put his stick on the table. “You win, Jon. You play the next challenger.”

“But everybody wants to beat you. Geez, you’re no fun when you have a girlfriend.”

Ricky heard Jon’s words, but they barely penetrated. He was focused on his date, who was currently being chatted up by one of his friends.

“Hey, sweetie,” he said as he ambled up to the table.

She looked up at him with bright, happy eyes and his stomach plummeted. He’d never been able to put that look in her eyes. But Kyle had.

“Hey!” She scooted her chair over and made room for a chair for him, which someone immediately provided. “Kyle was just telling me that his company is looking to hire a human resources director.”

Ricky glanced at Kyle, who reddened guiltily. “Really? I thought you were just in start-up stages.”

“We are,” Kyle said defensively.

Which meant he didn’t need an HR person for at least a year. He didn’t have to say it. Kyle got the message.

“Think I’ll go play pool with Jon.”

Ricky found himself saying, “You do that,” and then wondering why he had. He was not the type to get jealous. Ever. Eloise wasn’t really his date. She was a cover. A symbol to let people know he was getting past his grief. So why was he behaving like a Neanderthal?

Eloise patted the chair beside her. “Have a seat.”

Confusion buffeted him. The noise of the bar closed in on him, and the last thing he wanted was to be squeezed into a cluster of people.

“I want to go home.”