But at Christmastime...
God, the season slapped her silly. As soon as she saw the first decorated tree, the first string of Christmas lights, heard a favorite carol, the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future dropped by to say hi...
And soon they were whispering in her ear...
You should be looking for love. Wouldn’t you like a child someday, someone to buy gifts for, to watch his face light with joy when he sees the presents Santa left on Christmas morning?
Look at this lovely advertisement of a family having fun together. And—look!—they even have a dog! Don’t you want a family like that? What about a dog? You’d like a dog...
Adie stared out the grimy window of the cab, oblivious to the Christmas decorations and the sleet touching the shoulders and heads of the pedestrians on the sidewalk. At this time of year, she tended to obsess about her parents and wonder why they couldn’t love her, or show any interest in her, why her mom was so completely disinterested in being her mom. At Christmastime she had many “what if” thoughts—what if she had a husband, what if she had kids?
Would she feel happier, lighter, more fulfilled? Would having a family erase the hurt her parents caused? Did she really want to live the rest of her life being single? How long would flying all over the world, making her clients’ lives easier, fulfill her?
Would she ever experience a love-filled, cozy Christmas?
She never felt like this in March or September, in August or at the beginning of spring. No, her descent into being maudlin and morose was directly linked to the festive season so right now, she had to stay objective, practical and unemotional.
Adie didn’t want to backslide into bad habits so dating was out of the question. And having a festive fling when she wasn’t as emotionally strong as she could be... It wasn’t wise. She was a careful woman and she had no intention of walking through that minefield. She was vulnerable. This wasn’t a good time of year for her and her usually impenetrable, keep-the-hell-out wall was a little cracked.
Sleeping with Hunt—with any man, but especially with Hunt—would be like handing him a sledgehammer and pointing out the most brittle, easily broken bricks.
Nope, not happening. Not today, tomorrow or anytime soon. Not with Hunt or with anyone else.
Four
The next evening, Hunt found himself in Carnegie Hill, seated at the Williams’ long dining table covered in a bright red tablecloth festooned with Santas, Christmas music playing in the background and a glass of whiskey was in easy reach.
In front of him was an oversized cookie in the shape of a Christmas tree; and multicolored bowls of frosting, sprinkles and sweets littered the length of the table.
Rachel Williams, bright-eyed and thoroughly excited, stood at the head of the table, the wine in her glass sloshing with every gesture she made. Kate looked more like her mom than ever before, Hunt noticed.
“Quiet! Quiet!”
Hunt looked around the table and smiled as ten faces turned in her direction. Mike, the youngest was flying single at tonight’s Christmas event—he was, per Kate, an even bigger player than Steve had been and that was saying something. But Grant, the oldest brother, was married and had a two-year-old girl, Bella, and a four-year-old boy, Cayden. Cayden was sitting on Kate’s lap and nobody but Hunt seemed to notice the kid was sneaking pieces of his already-broken Christmas tree cookie to Rachel’s Maltese poodle sitting under the table.
Hunt’s eyes moved to Adie. Like him, she was still dressed in her work clothes, a white button-down shirt and black pants, severe but oh-so sexy. He ran a hand over his face. Sitting across from her, being here, felt right, like this moment was long overdue.
That being said, it was still overwhelming. He wasn’t used to so much noise: people talking over each other and the Christmas carols in the background. To Hunt, it felt like someone had dialed up the volume on his life, and he couldn’t help looking around for Steve, convinced his friend was in the kitchen or just around the corner. Then Hunt remembered Steve was dead and it was a gut punch.
Hunt had made a habit of distancing himself from this much emotion. He’d made a habit of forcing it down, pushing it away, and at work he could easily do that. He and Steve might’ve started the company shortly after they both retired from professional sports, but Hunt had managed and grown the business over the past ten years without his friend. The memories of Steve at work weren’t strong.
In this house, they were everywhere.
His being here tonight had to be hard for the family too, but they weren’t acting like it. When Rachel opened her front door and saw him standing there with Adie, tears leaked from her eyes. She’d pulled him into a hug, not letting go for the longest time. Richard, a little more stoic, shook Hunt’s hand and clapped his shoulder, and Grant and Mike greeted him like they’d seen him yesterday. Hunt felt guilty for avoiding this particular tradition, all their Christmas functions, and felt equally guilty for not spending more time with them than he had.
He’d missed them and they’d, apparently, missed him back. It felt good. Weird. But good.
Rachel banged her spoon on the table to make her noisy family stop talking and Richard reached up and gently removed the glass of wine from her hand. He placed it on the table and looked at Hunt, who was sitting to his right.
“She’s the clumsiest creature alive and this carpet frequently looks like a crime scene.”
Rachel tapped his shoulder with her spoon. “Hush now.”
Richard rolled his eyes at Hunt and turned his attention back to his wife. Rachel made eye contact with everyone at the table individually before speaking. “I’ve changed the Family Cookie Contest rules—”
“Are you allowed to do that without our consent?” Kate cheekily asked her.
“Yeah, Mom, can you do that? Isn’t this family run as a democracy?” Grant asked, purely, Hunt decided, to wind Rachel up. Grant was braver than he could ever be. Rachel was tiny but she was fierce.