Maggie Shayne - An Enchanted Season

Bree stopped pawing through yet another bag and looked at her. “Hey. I just want you to be happy,” she said softly.

Shoot. Sister guilt. “I know. But you’re freaking me out with all this stuff. And I really, really think Will is going to have a heart attack, run screaming, and never speak to me again if I try to drag him under mistletoe and chant his clothes off of him.”

“No chanting in front of him—that would be a bad idea. We’re just going to load this mistletoe with a nice little hexen-symbol for lust. Then you can just pull it out and hang it up anywhere in his apartment and you’ll be good to go. He will rip his clothes off all by himself, no chanting required.”

Bree opened a pack of markers. “Now choose your symbols. Do you want sex, love, dominance, serenity, thrusting?”

Thrusting? The image of that both in actuality and how it might appear on paper rose up in Charlotte’s mind. She reached up and redid her hair knot, mouth dry. “How many can I pick?”

“As many as you want.”

“Then I’ll take them all except for the dominance.” Her friendship with Will was very balanced, and if they went beyond a platonic relationship, she wanted that aspect to remain the same. Then she added, before she totally lost her nerve, “And give me three of the thrusting ones.”

“Dang, girl,” was Bree’s opinion of that. “You got it.”

Charlotte could only sincerely hope that she would in fact be getting it before the night was over.

WILL DRIED HIMSELF OFF WITH A TOWEL AND DEBATEDcalling Bree and asking her what the hell she had meant earlier when she’d sworn to take care of things between him and Charlotte. He’d been worrying about that promise just about every minute since, and had concluded there was really only one thing he could do.

He needed to tell Charlotte the truth about his feelings before Bree did. He was twenty-nine years old. It would be lame as hell if the woman he loved found that little fact out from her sister. Jesus, the only thing worse would be a note folded up and passed across the room.

Charlotte deserved better. She deserved him looking her straight in the eye and telling her he loved her.

Which was why he’d taken a shower in anticipation of her coming over to put up his Christmas tree. He figured a guy ought to smell good when professing love, and if Bree was at all right—which he had to admit, he was hoping she was—then maybe, just maybe, they’d wind up naked before the night was out.

In fact, he was determined they were going to get naked. If she felt the same way about him, then he wasn’t going to dance around the issue anymore. He was going to dust off his dormant seduction skills and show Charlotte where she really belonged, which was with him, in his life, in his bed. Forever.

Damn it.

He was a cop. He’d taken a bullet in the shoulder in a robbery a few years back. Why had he been such a freaking wimp when it came to Charlotte?

Because he hadn’t wanted to lose her altogether. Having half of Charlotte, as a friend, was better than not at all, so he’d settled all those years. But no more. He wanted all of her.

His hair was bristle short, so it only required a quick rub for drying then he was done with it. Pulling on his boxer briefs, he opened the bathroom door to let out the steam and heard the phone ringing.

“Crap.” If that was Charlotte canceling, he was not going to be a happy man. Or worse, the police station calling him in. He loved his job, but at the moment, he had a woman to seduce.

He grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

“Will, it’s Amanda Delmar Tucker. How are you?”

The ex–Chicago socialite turned farmer’s wife had also ventured into real estate in the past two years. Will had approached her about looking for a house for him. “I’m great, how are you? Feeling okay these days?” When he’d seen her a few weeks past, she’d been green around the gills from her pregnancy.

“Yes, the morning sickness is gone, thank God. I haven’t puked that much since I was rushing my sorority in college and I just about had to drink my weight in cocktails to prove my so-called worth. How stupid is that? Why do we go along with lame things like that when we’re eighteen? Anyway, the puking is past, and I have a house for you.”

“Really? Where is it?” He had been going slow on the house search, wanting to be in town, but not really in one of the cookie-cutter subdivisions that had popped up in the last ten years. He didn’t envision himself in a vinyl-sided box on Turkey Trail in the Pheasant Hills subdivision. He just wanted a solid house, with some character, and a place for him to toss his muddy boots by the back door. A garage for his weight bench and boxing bag. A house like the one Charlotte was living in with Bree, though maybe not so big.

“It’s the gray house on Second Street. The Weeping Lady house. Jessie Stritmeyer wants to unload it now that she bought a condo in Florida and is going snow bird on us.”

“Maybe she can say hi to my folks. They’re living down in Florida now, too.” Will immediately knew the house Amanda was talking about. It was on a street with a dozen other hundred-year-old Victorians. A five-minute walk from downtown, with big old oak trees lining the street in front of the sidewalks, the neighborhood was one of elegant wide porches and an eclectic mix of people. Families, singles, and older folks who were fifth-generation townies all lived there, along with the occasional yuppie newcomer who worked in management at the plastics plant, or the new-ager attracted to the reputation of Cuttersville as Ohio’s most haunted town.

He’d like it there. As would Charlotte.

“When can I see it?”

“Whenever you want. Jessie left the keys in the mailbox and said you can go in whenever you feel like it. I guess she trusts you not to vandalize the place since you’re a cop.”

That was heartwarming, in truth, because Will had found out over the years Jessie was a shrewd businesswoman who trusted about no one. “Alright, thanks. I’ll drop by tomorrow. I’ve never seen the inside.”

“It’s small. I lived there for two months when I first came to town. But it’s in good condition, new roof, five-year-old furnace, and a damn good price. Plus it’s charming, and all that.”

There was a knock on his door. “Cool. Thanks. I have to go, Amanda. Charlotte’s pounding on my door.”

“Alright, tell her I said hi and that I love her for bringing Caribou Coffee to Cuttersville.”

Will laughed. “I can do that.”

He hung up and called out, “Come on in, Char, I’m getting dressed.” Not waiting for her response, knowing she was comfortable letting herself in, he went back to his bedroom in search of pants. While he wanted to end the night naked, he didn’t think it would go over well if he started things out in his underwear. Could be a bit awkward.

But he did hurry, just cramming himself into a pair of jeans and pulling on a random T-shirt. When he came out, Charlotte was staggering into his apartment, carrying two shopping bags in each hand. He rushed to help her.

“What’s all this?” he asked, taking all four bags from her.

She brushed her hair off her forehead, looking a little flushed. “Christmas decorations.”

“Oh.” Will peeked in a bag. A giant glittery tabletop snowman stared back at him. “Wow, that was nice of you, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have.” Really. She shouldn’t have.

“I wanted to. You need to get in the spirit of things.” She smiled at him, and he knew he’d let her outfit his entire place in candy canes and angels, right down to his toilet paper, if she wanted. He was that whipped, and manly enough to admit it. “There are a few more bags in the car,” she added.