That Man 3 (3 page)

My wishful thinking was short-lived. A tear escaped my eyes. I suddenly regretted
not accepting his offer to spend the day with him and telling him not to contact me—unless
it was a business emergency. Without warning, the floodgates broke loose, and tears
cascaded down my face. Who was I kidding? I desperately wanted to hear his voice.
Inhale his intoxicating scent And most of all, be held in his arms and kissed by those
lips.

*

Trying to get my mind off Blake, I spent the rest of the day reading an e-book, running
errands with my mom, and baking Christmas goodies. We assembled the gingerbread house
and put the final touches on our Christmas tree, which stood tall and noble by our
living room window, replete with charming ornaments my mother had collected over her
lifetime. The fresh pine scent of the tree mixed with that of the delicacies my mother
was forever baking and made the house smell delicious.

Yet, no matter how much I busied myself, nothing could distract me from thinking about
Blake. In the short time I’d been home, my feelings for him had intensified instead
of diminished.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
, my mother had always told me whenever Dad was away on an academic conference. She
would keep her eyes glued on the kitchen wall clock until he returned. Count down
the days, the hours, the minutes. Even the seconds.

I missed Blake. Plain and simple. Much like my mom did with my dad. I thought about
him every minute, every second of the afternoon… what he was doing… what he was wearing
(or not)… who he was with. The image of him surrounded by his O.K. Corral—his bevy
of blond beauties—made my stomach clench and sent my heartbeat into a frenzy.
Absence makes the heart wander
. The other side of the equation. I wrestled with the idea of calling him, but that
would be breaking my own rule. Rules sucked.

Late in the afternoon, while I was baking sugar cookies with my mom, she noticed my
anxiousness. It bordered on despondency.

“Honey, you seem a little on edge,” she commented, mixing a bowl of batter.

“I’m fine.” My voice faltered. I made up an excuse—something about Bradley. Truthfully,
he was the last person on my mind. I did, however, secretly wish for Santa to bring
him coal; that’s what Dickwick deserved. Upon taking a tray of cookies out of the
oven, I burnt my middle finger. Served me right for my wicked thought.

*

Christmas Eve came quickly. My mother was preparing her traditional meal with my help.
Taking a break once everything was in the oven, I played a game of Scrabble with my
dad. It was hard to beat the former English professor. Plus, I had a rack full of
shitty low-point letters. Then I spotted an opportunity. The word I had in mind sent
a rush of flutters to my core.

“O-R-G-A-S-M-I-C,” I spelled out, using all my tiles. In addition to scoring fifteen
points for the word, I earned another fifty bonus points for using all my tiles. A
grand total of sixty-five points. I smiled smugly at my dad. I was now significantly
ahead of him. I might even win the game. I had Blake to thank.

My father’s brows shot up. I think it was more in response to the word than my feat.
“Good one,” he muttered. My victory, however, was short-lived when he laid out all
his tiles and spelled the word “EXQUISITE.” In addition to also accruing fifty bonus
points, he got double and triple letter scores for the eight-point “X” and ten-point
“Q” plus a double word score for a total of two hundred twenty points.

“Sheesh, Dad,” I moaned.
Two hundred and twenty points
. It had to be a new
Guinness Book of Records
high. No matter what I did, I could never beat my dad at Scrabble.

The sound of Christmas music outside our house stopped me from contemplating my next
word. Of course, it was carolers—a group of locals from our church who made it a yearly
tradition to go house to house on Christmas Eve.

My mother heard them too and dashed out of the kitchen. Together, we hurried to our
front door. My father opened it, and the carolers, which included several children,
stood before our house. It was hard to distinguish their faces because there was a
thick layer of fog. And snowflakes were falling. I caught one with my tongue. Wouldn’t
that be something—a white Christmas?

My parents and I huddled together in the doorway as the carolers sang a succession
of traditional Christmas songs. I loved Christmas music; it moved me to tears. Every
which way it was sung—be it traditional renditions of the songs or contemporary rock
ones, instrumental or acapella. My favorite of all was
The Little
Drummer
Boy
, which, to my delight, they sang before dispersing to the next house.

After the carolers departed, my parents retreated to the living room while I remained
motionless at the doorway. There was one remaining lone caroler.

He stood tall before me, his hands tucked in the pockets of his heavy down jacket.
A knit ski cap with reindeer antlers covered his head, and somehow that silly hat
made him look more heart-stoppingly adorable than ever. My heart drummed against my
chest and then jumped into my throat. My eyes clicked open and shut like a camera
lens, taking a snapshot of this moment I wanted to keep forever. It was him.
That
man who made me delirious with lust and desire. Blake!

A giant lump swelled in my throat as he sang, “All I Want for Christmas is You.” His
sexy, raspy voice resonated like a rock star.
My
rock star! Tears poured from my eyes as I broke into a broad smile. In the background,
I could hear my mother yelling, “Jennifer, close the door. It’s freezing in here.”

I was on fire. I could no longer contain myself. Before he could finish the song,
I bolted out of the house and ran up to him—in my sweats and barefoot. He swept me
into his arms and swung me around and around. As the flakes of snow danced in the
moonlight, his lips latched onto mine in a fierce, passionate kiss I wanted never
to end.

“What are you doing here?” I managed, my arms clinging to him, my mouth hungrily gnawing
at every visible ounce of flesh I could find.

He held me tight. A puff of his breath warmed the icy air. “Oh, tiger. Don’t you know?”

“Know what?” I gasped, gripping his scarf.

“I’m crazy about you.”

My eyes searched his face. “Meaning what?” He
was
a little insane.

“Meaning I can’t bear to be away from you.”

“Meaning…?”

My heart literally stopped as I awaited his response.

“Meaning I’m fucking in love with you, Jennifer McCoy.”

Hot tears fell from my eyes as the frigid night air shot through me. Trembling, I
struggled to get words out. “How do you know that?”

He tilted up my chin with his soft leather-gloved hand. My watering eyes met his;
not a blink. He licked a snowflake off my cheek before my tears melted it.

“Because your needs come before mine.”

My words! What I had once told him when he’d asked what it meant to be in love. Sobs
mixed with laughter. I shivered.

“Baby, you’re cold.” He drew me closer to him, blanketing me in the warmth of his
strong arms and snuggly down jacket. I pressed my head against his chest as he held
me tightly. He gently kissed the top of my head and then I looked up and held his
beautiful face in my gaze. Passion danced in his eyes.

“Mr. Burns, I only have one need.”
One word.
“You.”

His face broke out in that dazzling dimpled smile. Yanking off his wooly hat, he lowered
it over my head and then wrapped his scarf around my neck. “And that’s why I’m here.
You’re my world, baby. You’re everything to me.
Everything
.” His lips crashed back onto mine, and despite the freezing temperature, I melted
into him.

“Jennie McCoy! What are you doing outside in your bare feet? You’re going to catch
pneumonia!”

At the sound of my father’s voice, I hastily pulled away from Blake. “I love you too,”
I whispered before responding to my father who was standing in the doorway. I was
sure he hadn’t witnessed our embrace.

“Dad, this is a friend from work, who by coincidence, happens to be in town.”

“Hi,” said Blake cheerfully with a wave of his hand. I had to stifle my giggles.

“Well, don’t just stand out there and freeze. Invite him in.” My father headed back
inside the house.

I could no longer contain my laughter when Blake scooped me up into his arms and carried
me to the front door. His lips smothered mine. In my whole life, I’d never been happier.

*

Blake’s mother had her famous brisket; my mother had her famous Irish stew. It was
what she made every year for Christmas Eve dinner, and I never got tired of it. A
hearty blend of beef, potatoes, carrots, and onions that she marinated overnight in
a secret-ingredient beer-based broth, it was melt-in-your-mouth scrumptious. She promised
when I got married she would share the recipe; I was just going to have to wait longer
than I thought.

Just before we sat down for dinner, Blake ran to his rental car that he’d parked down
the street. When he returned, he was covered with a fine layer of snow and carrying
three oversized shopping bags. He withdrew three beautifully wrapped boxes from the
two largest and placed them under our tree. The third one he handed to my father.

“I thought you might enjoy these at dinner,” Blake said as my father removed the contents.

Fine wine. California Cabernet—not one, but two bottles.

“How thoughtful of you, Blake dear,” chimed my mother.

“My pleasure.” Blake beamed like a proud Boy Scout who’d had just received his first
medal of honor.

Smiling, my father examined the labels on the bottles. “A Napa Valley Select Reserve
from l990. An excellent year. The year our darling daughter was born.”

I felt my cheeks turn as red as the wine. Blake did everything right. Everything to
rouse me. He shot me a saucy smile and made me heat up more.

Dinner was served in our dining room. The table was festive. My mother used her special
holiday china. Votive candles and colorful Christmas balls were scattered across the
poinsettia-print tablecloth. The velvety wine flowed freely, and everyone ate as if
there were no tomorrow. I could tell my mother was pleased Blake adored her stew;
he even asked for seconds. He was a far cry from Bradley for whom my mother had once
painstakingly cooked a special vegan meal—most of which he didn’t eat.

Blake also bonded with my father over college football and was familiar with the Boise
State Broncos. To my relief, he avoided talking about work—and no mention was made
of heading a porn channel where I worked. Phew! My parents had no clue. I sure didn’t
need to give them both coronaries on Christmas Eve.

I was in heaven. My eyes made subtle contact with Blake’s every chance I had. My body
was aflutter; every nerve was buzzing. I couldn’t believe he was here celebrating
Christmas Eve with me. And I couldn’t believe he was in love with me. And I with him.
Blake Burns, my boss.
That
man who’d I kissed blindfolded in a game of Truth or Dare.
That
man who’d consumed my lips once again under a bough of mistletoe. And then fucked
my brains out and had given me what I thought was the best present of my life. A painting
I’d coveted called
The Kiss
. There was only one present better. More powerful. More precious. The gift of his
love.