Kissing Under the Mistletoe - By Marina Adair Page 0,79
I was coming up to...how did ChiChi put it in her threatening call? Ah, yes. That I was to come up here and tell Regan that I would be thrilled to join the Costume Committee. And that since it happens to fall under my new job description as committee grommet, it is my task to find a location for Thursday’s sewfest, which I think will also double as a bitchfest.” Jordan’s smile told him just who they would be bitching about. “And since Regan’s place smells like decomposing fur, I was wondering if we could use yours?”
“My pla—”
“Yes? Great. Thanks, boss. You’re a stand-up guy.” With a final glance at Regan, one that women shared when bonding over castrating the opposite sex, Jordan turned and left. And with her she took all of the ease and comfort that Gabe and Regan had accomplished that afternoon.
“Explain to me how I ended up here, sewing glitter and shit on a costume for some kid that I don’t even know,” Frankie said, peeling dry, hot glue off her fingers. “Especially when I was supposed to be one of six committee members.”
“Pricilla and Lucinda are finishing up the last-minute details on the cupcakes for Holly’s party tomorrow. And ChiChi had a headache,” Regan explained, and didn’t believe the excuses any more than when the Mrs. Clauses had explained them to her.
“They didn’t know I had agreed to actually show up and help,” Jordan said, finishing the last stitch on the frog’s body and knotting it off. She cut the thread with her teeth and went on, confirming Regan’s suspicion. “Effectively ruining their matchmaking plan.”
“That still doesn’t explain why I got sucked into this.”
“Because scaredy-pants Regan didn’t want to do this alone,” Jordan said, jerking an obvious chin at Gabe, who sat on the couch with Holly watching Puss in Boots. “I figured since I had to be here, between the two of us we could pry out of her what’s going on between her and Gabe.”
Regan’s foot froze on the pedal, running the needle right up the crotch of the pantaloons and almost sewing her finger to the fabric. The Band-Aid, already firmly in place from her last needle run-in, saved her. She grabbed the seam ripper and angrily tore out each stitch.
“Nothing.” And that was the God’s honest truth.
Since Monday, absolutely nothing had happened. He hadn’t called or e-mailed or done more than send her a friendly smile when he’d come to visit Marc at the hotel. It should have made Regan happy. It was exactly what they had agreed upon. It didn’t. It actually made her feel a little foolish and a whole lot confused. And every time she thought she’d gotten a hold on her emotions, Gabe would show up and remind her that casual was a hard concept for her to grasp.
Tuesday she’d gone to Pricilla’s to pick up Holly after school, something that was quickly becoming the norm, and found Gabe building a throne out of plywood and PVC piping, the three Mrs. Clauses sipping peppermint lattes and acting as backseat builders from the comfort of their chairs. Gabe had been sweaty and manly, and the second she’d walked in the Mrs. Clauses had made a sudden and obvious exodus, leaving them all alone. Then Gabe said he had to go, tearing out the door and leaving Regan with the PVC and not a clue as to what she’d done wrong.
Wednesday she’d been at Stan’s Soup and Service Station, eating a bowl of chipotle tomato bisque while Stan ran a diagnostic on her car, when Gabe walked in to buy a part for one of the work trucks and to grab lunch. With a sexy smile he’d walked over, and Regan, determined to bring things back to seminormal, had asked him if he’d like to have a bowl of soup with her. He’d just taken a seat and inquired about Holly’s play rehearsals when Trey walked in. The youngest DeLuca shot one look at them and Gabe had immediately asked Stan to make his order to go.
By Thursday, Regan had accepted that whatever she’d felt had been one-sided. Even worse, she accepted that Gabe not only regretted their day together, but it had been such a bad experience that he was going out of his way to avoid her. Whether he was afraid she would get clingy or he was embarrassed to be seen with her, either way it hurt. A lot.