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Chapter One
Carina
I have some seriously mixed feelings about coming home for the holidays. Don't get me wrong, there's no angst whatsoever between my parents and I. I love them both and I'm even happy to be around my stepmother. I don't know many girls who can honestly say that. It helps that Dad picked an age appropriate woman to be his second bride, not one in competition with me.
Mellie is actually his second chance love, the one that got away after everyone left college. It's good to see your parents happy at last. The possibility that the same can happen for me is a comforting thought to have on the back burner.
The problem with coming home is feeling like I'm taking a trip backwards through time. All my hard won attempts at being an adult slither back down the slippery slope of being told what to do and what to think. Parents can't help but give out advice even when you haven’t asked.
Sometimes I’d like to make a few mistakes of my own so I could learn from them. Going to college out east and now having a new job there is giving me the opportunity to put some distance while I flex the muscles of grown-upness.
Like paying bills. Ugh.
“I thought I'd go to the mall this afternoon. If you're up for it we could grab some lunch first?”
I groan at the thought of battling through holiday shopping hell, but I know Mellie's trying to be a mom-let so I agree with a smile.
We have a girly lunch at Tinkerbell, then get elbow-ready for the charge. At least as we cruise the stacks of traditional gift ideas in the women's designer section at the mall's big department store, I'm not getting the tenth degree.
All through lunch whenever conversation lagged, Mellie jumped in with the usual, “How's the job going?” and “How's your love life?” questions. To which the responses are 1. Okay, I guess. 2. Hopeless.
“Are you putting yourself out there?” Mellie asks, one eyebrow squinting like she knows I'm a cave bear that prefers to be at home in cozy lounge pants, with popcorn, red wine and Netflix set to binge. “You won't meet anyone sitting on your couch.”
“I thought that was exactly how everyone hooked up these days,” I say. “Internet dating is the way to go.”
“Oh god, the horror,” Mellie groans. “I remember those days of psychos and married men. Before I ran into your father again of course.”
“Of course.” Because it's not like there are only single people with a profile on Match.
In fact the only men that ever give me a wink are the over-forty married guys. The ones posting photos with the family ineptly cropped out. Aside from that, I've had one date with a geek from MIT that failed to get to a second and one with a nerd from Harvard that wanted to talk politics until I slithered off the chair from boredom. Not because of his views but on account of his flat refusal to hear any alternative opinion.
Talk about alpha. The joys of living in Boston, I guess. Young geek and nerd dudes working their dominance muscle.
“What do you think of this sweater for Lucy?” Mellie asks, holding up a red furry thing with beading at the neckline.
“Um, Lucy's working a goth vibe a the moment,” I remind her. “She usually wears black.”
“Exactly. Your dad would love to see her in something colorful for once,” Mellie says.
“I'd say you better keep the receipt.” For sure my little sister will return that.
Idly turning over the price tag, I notice it's an expensive item, not the usual throwaway sweater gift. The furry tops are piled high on the display table. Every color in the spectrum represented, some all wrapped around with glittery bows, on the off-chance that anyone's forgotten gifting season is here.
It's all incredibly sparkly and pretty, which renders the large hand resting on a stack of pale pink angora all the more incongruous. My eyes trail up the arm, intrigued by how solidly muscular it is, enveloped in snug charcoal wool, bulging from the elbow into a hard round bicep.
My heart does a little flutter when I reach the man's face. The sexiest, most handsome and rugged face on the planet. Impossibly gorgeous, the carved jaw emphasized by the border of his lush sweater. Waves of glossy hair scraping the back of the roll neck. I'm lost in wondering whether his rough stubble catches on the luxurious thread and what it would feel like against my skin.
Oops.
“Earth to Carina... What about the beige for Anya?”
Mellie's voice has pitched up a notch, indicating I wasn't listening and she's had to ask me twice. I was lost in the older dude with his heavy hand on the soft rabbit fur, the heavier swell of his lean muscle and the powerful jaw. What a combo. You don't see guys like him back in Boston. The rugged, sporty, comfortable-with-where-I’m-at package of confident masculinity.
Am I gushing? Yes and not only from my tongue. The hunk is seduction in a sweater and it's making my panties drip molten lust.
“Carina?” Mellie jolts into my thoughts for the thousandth time when I just want to be left alone to drool.
“Yes, sorry.” I force myself to tear my eyes away and concentrate. “Er, not sure. I know she's heading for law school but beige is kind of vanilla even for Anya.”
The perfect hunk's eyes meet mine from across the large display table and a glint of something rises as he takes me in. Humor. He heard me and he's trying not to laugh. A tiny smile lifts at the corners of a delectable mouth, on lips thick and strong enough to devour me, forcing me to cross one foot over the other and squeeze the tops of my legs. Damn, perhaps he’s a lawyer.
He wanders away and a horrible sense of missing out passes through me. My gaze fixes on the perfect ass in the low slung jeans, the worn-in boots. I'm praying he won't leave the ladies' separates department just yet.
And heaven must be listening, because he halts and those powerful fingers lift a dark soft wool wrap from another stacked display unit. As he caresses the material, like he's considering its worthiness to be touched by his Viking God fingers, his eyes scrape back to mine.
I look away quickly. Not because I want to but because my cheeks flush hot and I'm losing the ability to stand on my feet. The store seems too hot and airless. I am completely losing my mind, my body all flustered over some old guy I'm hot for in a suburban department store for chrissake.
Mellie is bugging me with endless requests for my opinion that she doesn't heed and my mind won't formulate a response to her constant demands when it's busy picturing all the things the hunky dude's hands could do to me.
Why weren't there guys like him in college? Why isn't his twin working at my tedious marketing company where we're all too obsessed with making the rent to have much fun? I do try to get out, as Mellie has recommended more than once today. But despite being a Colorado girl, I'm not much of one for the outdoors like my co-workers. I'd much prefer to stay home, cuddled up with a guy like sweater hunk.
