Choosing Christmas (A Piper Anderson Novella) (Piper Anderson Series) Read online

  Chapter Two

  “Do you want something to eat?” Sydney asked, thoroughly freaked out by the little dark-eyed boy who’d hardly said a word since she’d gotten him off the bus four hours ago. She’d done everything Chris had asked. She used the code phrase, ‘Cherry Coke,’ to ensure the boy would know she was someone he could trust, someone sent by his father. They’d entered the nondescript, cookie-cutter house and set the complicated alarm. And then they waited.

  “Do you know how to make asparagus risotto or eggplant rotini?” the boy asked, his face lighting for a second. “We had friends here for a couple weeks and one of them, Betty, she could cook anything. She made most of the recipes in my great-grandmother’s cookbook. After they left, my dad tried to order a pizza and it was so gross. After eating all that good food we couldn’t go back to the junk. He tried to make baked ziti. It wasn’t that good, but he let me help and that part was fun. Now we’ve been trying to cook together a lot.”

  “That’s sweet. I’m sorry though, I don’t know how to make either of those,” Sydney answered with a skeptical smile. “I don’t even think I’ve eaten them before.” Was this some kind of a test or a joke at her expense? She headed for the refrigerator and pulled open the door. She could cook, maybe not whatever gourmet dishes this kid was used to, but she certainly wasn’t completely inept. “Do you like grilled cheese?”

  “With Fontina cheese and pesto?” Little Chris asked, his eyes hopeful.

  “With whatever you have in the fridge.” She moved some things around and found some sliced prosciutto and, hey, the kid was right, there was a block of Fontina cheese, too. She didn’t have too many tricks up her sleeve, but she thought of one recipe she knew that he might like.

  Sydney made her way through the kitchen and found everything she needed. This was good; she needed the distraction. If she was thinking about chopping garlic, then she wasn’t contemplating the terrifying thought that Chris may never be coming back. Maybe his selfless act of intervening on her behalf would land him in prison for a long time. He’d talked Caleb out of slicing her throat with a knife, but it may have cost Chris his freedom. No, she thought, steadying herself against the dark granite of the counter, just slice this loaf of bread. That’s all you’re doing right now.

  “Here it is,” Sydney chirped with a smile as she carried over two plates to the kitchen counter where Little Chris sat on a stool.

  “What is it?” he asked with his mouth curled into a scowl. “It looks weird.”

  “It does not,” she shot back, forgetting for a moment that he was a child. She was not used to spending time with anyone under the age of eighteen. She dealt with adult children all the time. Kids who had just gone from being big fish in the their high schools and were now scared to death as they tried to convince her that they were the right fit for the university.

  Most of them had been spoiled, and she felt it was her role to feed them a heaping dose of reality. But this was different. Here was a little boy, still chunky with baby fat and waiting patiently for his grown-up teeth to fill in the gaps in his smile. Even if he wasn’t showing it, he was likely afraid.

  “I think you’ll like it,” she said, softening her voice and cutting the sandwich on a diagonal, then in one quick motion removing the crust.

  “That’s how my mom used to cut my sandwiches,” Little Chris said, flashing his gapped grin.

  Don’t ask, don’t you dare let your stupid curiosity invest you in this mess any further, Sydney chanted to herself. You don’t want to know where his mother is, you don’t want to hear that story. She didn’t want to know if Chris was single. “Oh yeah? My mother did, too.”

  “Where is your mother?” he asked, after taking an enormous bite out of the sandwich and showing half of it as he spoke.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s not polite.” No, she wasn’t the manner police, but it would keep her from having to answer that question, at least for now.

  Little Chris rolled his eyes and took a big swig of the milk Sydney had brought him. “What kind of sandwich is this? I like it.”

  “It’s like a grilled cheese except I made it with garlic bread and it has prosciutto in it. I dated an Italian guy once and his mother forced me to spend every Sunday in her kitchen learning how to cook.” Nice one, she thought to herself. This was certainly an appropriate conversation with a child.

  “My Dad is Italian, are you dating him?” he asked, his mouth again full with sandwich.

  “No,” a voice from behind them called, nearly startling Sydney off her stool as she banged her legs on the counter.

  “Ouch,” she exclaimed, cupping her hands over her knees as she spun to see Chris standing there, looking haggard but otherwise unscathed.

  “You all right?” he worried, hurrying over to pull her stool out and set her free from the tight space.

  “I’m fine,” she replied, stepping almost fully across the room, the farthest point from Chris. She didn’t know why she felt the extra space was necessary; she just knew it was. Perhaps she was afraid of him: of the man he seemed to be, of the way he’d spoken to Caleb. Or maybe she was scared of her own judgment. He’d saved her life today, risked some pretty serious trouble for himself. That alone, unfortunately, was innately attractive. That wasn’t her fault. It was a story that went back centuries, a fairy tale that had been ingrained in every little girl. A hero was always magnetically alluring, and the only way to pay back your debt was to fall into his arms and give yourself over to him. That couldn’t happen if she stayed on the other side of the room. Right?

  “Dad,” Little Chris exclaimed, hopping down from his chair much more gracefully than Sydney had.

  “Hey, buddy, did you have a nice afternoon with Miss Sydney?” He tousled his son’s hair and pulled him in for a hug. He was human, she reminded herself, maybe he wasn’t a monster after all.

  “Yep,” the boy said, pulling his dad by the arm over to the sandwich. “Look what she made me. It’s almost as good as Betty would make it.”

  “Wow, that’s really saying something. Why don’t you hop up and finish it while I talk with Miss Sydney for a little bit in the living room.” He leaned down and kissed the brown mop of messy hair and gestured for Sydney to follow him.

  He settled onto the couch but she chose a far less committal position, standing by the doorway, leaning on the wall.

  “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin,” Chris said, not dancing around the elephant in the room.

  “It’s not every day I get a knife put up to my throat. I guess I’m just a little shaken up.” That wasn’t technically a lie. She was still on edge from Caleb’s attempt to kill her. “How did you make out? Are you in trouble?”

  “Nope,” he said, casually crossing his legs and smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary.

  She was relieved, grateful her mistakes hadn’t landed him in jail. This also meant there was hope to still put all of this behind them. She’d make her exit now while the stories were still untold, the mystery between them thick—expansive enough to keep them from ever knowing each other any better.

  “Well, I’m so glad it worked out,” she said, pushing her glasses up tighter to her face and grabbing her coat from the hook by the door.

  “Where are you going,” Chris asked, dropping his crossed leg and leaning forward.

  “Home,” she said curtly. Her eyes darted away from his. How exactly did a man walk around every day looking like that and not be cast in a movie or invited to model designer suits on a runway? Was it really possible to be as good looking as Chris and just be an average guy working at a university? She doubted it. His eyes were frightening to her. They were just brown, not some sexy icy blue or mysterious hazel like she’d normally be attracted to, but the depth in them was staggering. For the first time she wasn’t attracted to how the eyes looked to her, but rather how they looked at her. He had that smoldering, broody look that always meant trouble. His broad shoulders and arms f
illed out his white business shirt perfectly. “You’re not in any trouble, Caleb is in jail, and your son seems like he’s all set. Everything has worked out. I’m very grateful for your help today, and I’m sorry for any headache it caused you. We’ll finish the conversation Caleb interrupted at work tomorrow.”

  “The hell we will.” Chris shot up and moved toward her with such purpose that she stepped back against the wall, shaking slightly. She watched as he stopped abruptly, almost reaching his hand out to her and then lowering it. He seemed to realize he evoked some fear from her.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I just thought we might have some things to talk about, I wasn’t expecting you to run off so quickly,” he apologized.

  “Chris,” she began before trailing off, choosing her words carefully, “I think we both lucked out today. We could sit down in your living room and I can tell you why Caleb was so angry that he was contemplating killing me and you can tell me how you managed to dodge prosecution. I’ll rehash every dumb choice that put me there this morning and you can try to explain to me what kind of person carries a gun without a permit and says . . . well, all the things you said to him in my office today. But what is that really going to get us?”

  “What’s the alternative? You leave right now, go back to you house and nine cats, and cry yourself to sleep? I tuck my kid in and demolish a bottle of bourbon just to try to catch a couple hours rest? Then we show up at work tomorrow and act like none of this ever happened?”

  “I don’t have nine cats. And what makes you think I cry myself to sleep?” This man, with his dark-rimmed eyes and shaggy, carefree hair, was infuriating. He constantly found ways to irritate her and insult her all while flashing that much-too-wide grin that made the skin around his eyes crinkle.

  “Five cats and the occasional pint of Rocky Road?” There it was again, that damn smile. She put her hand on the doorknob, her coat tossed over her arm. “Wait,” he said, his hand on her shoulder now. “We both had a rough day, I think it would be good if we just sat down for a little while. I don’t think it would be good for us to be alone right now.”

  “What makes you think I would be alone? I have tons of friends, a long list of people I could call tonight if I felt like I needed to talk.”

  “I don’t,” he whispered, dropping his hand from her shoulder and she could tell he was laying out all the cards in a last attempt to get her to stay.

  Without a word she hung her coat again on the hook and brushed past him. She didn’t need him to know that was a lie. That all her “friends” had moved on from her. Married, children, living the lives they had hoped. She was the only one left still floundering around, bouncing back and forth between jackass guys and stretches of time alone. She couldn’t find common ground with any of them anymore. When she’d try to talk about her last night out at the club, they’d laugh at how ridiculous a life she was living. They’d say things like “Your life really doesn’t start until you have kids,” or “Sydney, you wouldn’t understand, you aren’t married.” Whether the intent was there or not, the remarks had driven a wedge between her and all the people she used to consider her second family.

  “What do you have to drink?” she asked as she flopped herself down onto his couch. “Don’t even bother offering me bourbon. As you can tell, I’m not a middle-aged man, so I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

  “I’m not a middle-aged man,” Chris argued, pulling open his locked liquor cabinet and scanning for something she might enjoy. He pulled out a bottle of tropical rum. “How’s this?”

  “I’m also not a twenty-two-year-old sorority girl.” It was obvious to her that her attitude riled something in him. She wasn’t naturally funny; she was more snarky than anything. It wasn’t understood by everyone, and certainly not appreciated by most, but he seemed to get it.

  “Let me see what I have for a high-maintenance know-it-all with a bad attitude.” Chris pretended to hunt feverishly through the various options. He grabbed his bottle of top-shelf vodka, vermouth, and a jar of olives and mixed up a dirty martini. He handed her the glass and poured his own bourbon over ice.

  Sydney was a martini girl, and it frustrated the hell out of her that he was able to peg her as one so quickly. It was the drink she ordered when a man came up to her in a bar and said, “How ’bout I buy you a drink?” or “The next one’s on me.” All cheesy pick-up lines she pretended to be above, but fell for every time.

  As Chris sat down next to her at a respectable distance, she took the glass and smiled. “This will do,” she admitted sheepishly.

  “So where should we start? Are we delving into your screwed-up relationships or my deep dark secrets? I personally think you should go first. I mean, your boyfriend almost stabbed me to death today. I feel like I at least deserve to know why,” Chris teased, taking a minute to peek over his shoulder at his son who had helped himself to some ice cream.

  Sydney sighed loudly, pretending to be annoyed. “It didn’t seem like you were too worried about being stabbed to death. You actually seemed pretty smug. I think I deserve the explanation for that.”

  “Fair enough,” Chris relented, taking a sip of his drink and lounging back. “That may not have been my first time staring down a knife. I could tell the kid didn’t really know what he was doing. He wasn’t going to kill you. It takes a certain kind of person to be able to take someone else’s life, and he didn’t have it in him. That’s why I was so confident.”

  Sydney hesitated, choosing to sip her drink rather than speak right away. Something inside of her kept screaming, You can’t be serious. You can’t honestly be looking at this man, this clearly screwed up guy, and getting all warm and squishy. There was something terrifying about Chris. She just needed to replay his words back in her office as he faced-off with Caleb, listen as he gave insight into his vast knowledge of what it took to kill someone.

  “Don’t give me that look,” Chris said, rolling his eyes. “I think by now you’ve figured out I’m not a very good office employee, but my skill set does come in handy.”

  “And what exactly is that skill set?” she asked, not sure if she really wanted to know.

  “No, no,” Chris cut in. “It’s your turn. What exactly did you do to want poor little Caleb to kill you?”

  “Why do you automatically assume that I did anything? Maybe he is just a lunatic with a mental disorder.”

  “Okay, you’re right. Let me reword my question, Your Honor. What did Caleb think you did to make him want to kill you?”

  “Caleb is a narcissist. I have no idea how I even ended up with such a jackass. He was one of those guys who needed to be in control all the time. He hated the fact that I had a mind of my own. About three months into our relationship we were supposed to go to a concert. He went back to his place to get ready but left his phone at my apartment by accident. It was ringing off the hook for almost two hours. I finally picked it up to find out it was his other girlfriend. Apparently, they’d been dating for almost two years. When Caleb came back to my place I handed him his phone and told him to get the hell out. I expected him to kind of hang his head and leave. Maybe he’d beg me to forgive him or offer me some explanation.” Sydney couldn’t believe she was even rehashing this nightmare. But maybe Chris did deserve the context.

  “It sounds like it didn’t go that way?” Sydney could feel the shadows filling her eyes. She took another sip of her perfectly mixed martini and continued.

  “No, it didn’t go that way. He was furious, not apologetic. I’ve dated some real idiots in my life, guys who’ve treated me like dirt. But I’ve never dated anyone who would put his hands on me. I guess I just wasn’t expecting it.” Sydney was looking away now, her eyes fixed on a colorful swirly painting on the wall across from her. “He beat the hell out of me. He told me if I ever answered his phone again he’d really teach me a lesson. I think he expected me to just forget about the other girl and act like nothing happened. The second he left, I called the police. I had him arrested. There was no way
in hell this guy was going to get away with it. I absolutely destroyed him legally. I recorded phone calls of him threatening me. The trouble got him fired from his job. The restraining order was something that would follow him around for a while. He wasn’t expecting me to be someone who would fight back.”

  “Really?” Chris remarked, stunned. “I knew the moment I met you that you were a scrapper. If he couldn’t see that you were different than all the other girls he’d pushed around then he really is an idiot.”

  “Thanks, but you give me way too much credit. I was terrified the whole time today. You might not have thought he was going to kill me, but I wasn’t quite as convinced.”

  “Even if he did have the stomach for it, I wouldn’t have let him.” Chris leaned over again and peeked at his son who was now putting his dish in the sink. “Hey buddy,” he called, getting his attention. “Go wash up and put your pajamas on.”

  Sydney took a haggard breath and feigned annoyance. “So now that it’s your turn, tell me how you got them to drop the charges. My guess is this is about to turn into some terribly written and predictable romantic comedy. You lie to me about who you are so I don’t run from here screaming. Then I somehow stumble upon the truth and you do some wild thing to get me to forgive you?”

  “Romantic? Who said anything about romance?” Chris raised his eyebrows, as Sydney fought the pink rising in her cheeks.

  “I just meant there is clearly something more going on with you here.” She tried to compose herself. “And it’s not like you’re just going to come right out and tell me. The romantic comedy was just a metaphor; don’t get too excited. I’m way out of your league.”

  “I can assure you, you’re not.” He leaned in, pushed her hair off her shoulder and behind her ear, exposing the soft, under-utilized skin of her neck. He ran his finger from the top of her shoulder across her neck and finally behind her ear. He cupped her cheek and leaned in, kissing her tentatively. Sydney pulled her head back quickly and slapped at his hand.