Kissing Under the Mistletoe - By Marina Adair Page 0,3
to punch something.
Instead of backing away like a smart woman would do, Regan stayed put; her pert nose rose higher in the air, if that was even possible, and she did her best to look down at him—an amazing feat since he was a whole head taller.
“I will stop at nothing to protect my family from any further pain,” he continued, trying to ignore the panic filling her big blue eyes and the way she clutched the deer to her chest, rocking it as if out of habit. “So until I see those taillights of yours heading out of town, I will be at your side, watching your every move, making your life hell until you realize that a vacation in the wine country isn’t worth it.”
Regan must have squeezed a little too hard, because the deer’s nose lit up and a cheery, “Merry Christmas to one and all,” echoed across the parking lot.
“Okay, I give up,” Regan said, shutting the last closet door. Their new house was only seven hundred square feet. With only two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, and family room, there certainly weren’t many places that could conceal a dripping-wet, three-foot-tall urchin who was doing her best to avoid bedtime.
Regan glanced at her watch. She’d spent the past fifteen minutes trying to find Holly, a time span that most kindergarteners would lose patience with. Not her kindergartener.
Holly had the patience of Job and the determination of a hall monitor in training, which explained the “Dirty Jar” sitting on the coffee table. It was two-thirds full and strictly enforced. Every dirty word or rude action resulted in a twenty-five-cent fine. Regan went through lots of quarters. When the man at the bank, who was exchanging her twenty for two rolls of coins for the second time that week, suggested that the Laundromat had a change machine, Regan told him the machine was broken. Which cost her a quarter for lying.
Regan sighed. She had put off paying her fine from three days ago.
Draping the dry bath towel on the back of the couch, she dug through her purse, found her coin bag, and mentally added: shoplifting, bad words, cart to fender, ice cream to windshield—and one surly DeLuca—vandalizing Christmas display, raising her voice. She pulled out her buck seventy-five and dropped it into the jar, adding another dollar for stealing Rudolph, who was shoved in the trunk of her car.
At the clanking of coins, a giggle erupted from the far side of the family room. Regan spotted dark little ringlets sticking out over the top of a stack of moving boxes, which had a large tree drawn on them in pink crayon.
She leaned to look around the box, and sure enough, there were wiggling, naked toes. Eyes closed and clutching her favorite stuffed kitty, PurrKins, Holly stood silent in a puddle of wet carpet, careful not to give away her hiding spot.
“Gotcha!” Regan smiled as Holly screamed and took off for the back of the house, her bare feet slapping the hardwood. She picked up the useless towel and followed.
Ten minutes and another round of hide-and-seek later, the sitter was waiting on the couch and Regan had managed to corral Holly into her bedroom. She pulled a red nightgown covered with white kitties wearing Santa hats over her daughter’s head and brushed a kiss across her forehead.
Holly was old enough to dress herself, and normally, when there was a guest her daughter wanted desperately to impress, she insisted. Tonight, though, she let Regan brush her hair and teeth, not even expelling a single huff or puff when Regan pulled out the long-sleeved nightgown.
One look at the red envelope with glittery candy-cane stickers resting under Holly’s pillow and Regan didn’t have to question the stellar behavior. Taking in her daughter’s smile and the way she’d organized her toys in the bin, her heart melted.
Holly was adjusting like a champ. She’d made it through the first week of new house, new school, new life. And she seemed to be doing all right. More than all right—she was happy. Which made Regan happy, run-in with Gabe DeLuca notwithstanding.
This move was just what Regan had hoped it would be. A fresh start for them both. And tonight represented an end to six years of professional hell. She was about to attend her new company’s holiday party and, come Monday, Regan would awe them with her ideas for their new wine.
She smoothed her fingers through her hair, arranging it into a makeshift upsweep, a