Debbie Macomber - That Christmas Feeling

“Why won’t you come to the party tomorrow night?” she asked minutes later.

The building’s Christmas party was the last thing on Philip’s mind. He led her through the darkened living room, sat down and drew her into his lap. “Let’s talk about that later, all right?” He didn’t give her time to say anything, but directed her lips back to his.

“Why later?” She nibbled the side of his neck, sending delicious shivers down his back.

“I’m not sure I trust Madame Frederick.”

She laughed and he felt her breath against his skin. “She’s completely harmless.”

“So they say.” He placed his hands on either side of her face and brought her lips down to meet his again. The kiss was long and deep, and it left him breathless.

“The people in this building are a bunch of oddballs. Half of them are candidates for the loony bin,” he said when he’d recovered sufficiently to speak.

Carrie stiffened in his arms. “You’re talking about my friends.”

“No offense,” he said. But surely she recognized the truth when she heard it.

Carrie squirmed out of his lap and stood in front of him. “I live in this apartment complex. Is that how you think about me?”

“No.” He sighed. “If it means so much to you, I’ll attend this ridiculous party.”

“No, thanks,” she muttered. “I wouldn’t want you to do me any favors.”

From her tone of voice, Philip realized he’d managed to offend her, which he regretted. Yesterday’s conversation with Gene had made him understand that she was a blessing in his life. A gift.

A gift he wanted to accept …

“Carrie, I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

“Is that what you really think of us, Philip?” she asked, her voice uncertain.

He didn’t respond right away, afraid anything more he said would only make things worse.

“That’s answer enough. I’m tired… . I’d like you to leave now.”

“Carrie, for heaven’s sake, be reasonable.”

She stalked over to the door and opened it, sending a harsh shaft of light across his face. Philip squinted and did as she asked. “We’ll talk about this later, all right?”

“Sure,” she said in a sarcastic murmur.

Rather than wait for the elevator, Philip took the stairs to his apartment a floor above Carrie’s. He’d discuss this with Mackenzie, get her advice on how to handle it. Ironic that he was turning to his thirteen-year-old daughter for help with the very situation she’d engineered… .

The apartment was dark and silent when he entered. He switched on the light and walked down the hall to Mackenzie’s bedroom. Her bed was slightly mussed as if she’d sat on it.

“Mackenzie!” he called.

No response.

He checked the other rooms and found a note from her on the kitchen table.

Dad,

Mom left me a message. She said she wouldn’t be coming for me, after all, and that I couldn’t spend the holidays with her. I guess I should’ve known she’d be too busy for me. She has time for everything else but me. I need some time alone to think.

Mackenzie

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