Page 6 of Baby, it's Cold Outside
“Let me just say right now that your ex was a real big asshole who didn’t deserve you, okay? And I don’t care what he looked like or how steady his job was. Even if he kicked the gambling habit, he was never going to deserve you.”
“But you just met me,” she says softly. “How do you know that?”
“I just do.” And the urge to kiss her at that moment is so overwhelming that I have to take a step back. Like she said, I just met her. I don’t want to be that guy. “Come on. Let’s go.”
* * *
We walk the three blocks to the drugstore with an icy Chicago wind blowing in our faces, the cascading flurries growing thicker. I’m not sure how much snow we’re going to get this evening, but it could make for a long ride out to my sister’s house in the suburbs.
“Can we slow down a little?” Harlow asks, her shorter legs scrambling to keep up with my long ones. “I’m dying here.”
“Oh, sorry.” I shorten my strides and move a little less briskly. “I was trying to hurry because the weather’s getting worse. I have a long drive tonight.”
“I knew it!” She whacks me on the arm. “I knew you had somewhere to be. You should have told me. I can handle this myself.”
“Harlow, you were never going to get that tree up to your apartment if I hadn’t intervened. And even if you did, what was your plan—decorate it lying down?”
“I told you, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I don’t know anything about Christmas trees! We had an artificial one growing up. It stood on its own. Why shouldn’t a real one?”
“Oh my God. Come on in here.” I put my arm around her to shepherd her through the revolving door to the store, and it feels so good I wish I had a reason to keep it there.
“They have tree stands here?” Harlow looks around. Her nose is bright red again, and I want to warm it up with my lips. What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t even know this girl’s last name. And other than putting makeup on, she hasn’t really given me any indication she’s interested in messing around tonight.
Tearing my eyes from her face, I look for the holiday aisles. “Over there,” I tell her. “Aisles eight and nine.”
Three
HARLOW
We make our way toward the other side of the store, and I grab an abandoned shopping cart along the way. “I might need some other things too.”
“Like what?”
“Like decorations. Lights and ornaments.”
He glances at me. “You don’t even have lights or ornaments?”
“No, and stop making me feel bad. Getting the tree wasn’t even my idea, it was my boss’s.”
“What did you do last Christmas?” he asks.
My spirits sink even lower as I remember. “I put up a tree with the asshole ex in our apartment, but it was fake, just like his love for me. And I don’t want any of the stupid ornaments that we hung on our fake tree with our fake joy in our fake happiness. It was all a lie.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Michael sighs heavily.
“I’m going to grab some vodka too. Be right back.” I veer off down aisle four and head for the booze section. They probably won’t have my favorite brand here, but beggars can’t be choosers, and I really need something to take the edge off this holiday angst.
Too bad Michael won’t be able to stick around long enough to have a drink with me. It sounds like he has to drive somewhere, and the weather is getting worse by the minute. I’m lucky we ran into each other and he had mercy on me—I’d probably be stringing lights on a tree still stuck in the lobby door if he hadn’t.
God, he’s so damn cute. And charming. And sweet. There was a moment in my apartment, right after he touched my nose, that I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t. Did I imagine it?
Duh, of course you imagined it, you dummy! All you’ve done is make an ass of yourself and talk about your ex. He probably looks at you and thinks crazy ex-girlfriend. And look at the way he’s dressed—that man is too hot to be alone on a Friday night. He’s got a date.
I pull a bottle of vodka off the shelf and place it in my cart. Then I add a bag of Hershey Kisses, a box of candy canes, and a tube of ready-made sugar cookie dough. In aisle eight, I grab a few strands of lights and a box of colorful ornaments. Since we’re on foot, I don’t want to buy too much, but I can’t resist picking out a star for the top.
I find Michael in aisle nine looking at a box in his hands. My stomach flip-flops a little as I approach. He’s so tall. I wonder what he looks like underneath all those clothes, and for a moment I fantasize about unwrapping him layer by layer. The winter coat and scarf. The suit and tie. The buttoned-up shirt. I wonder if it has French cuffs or not.
I love French cuffs.
