Jill Sorenson - Risky Christmas

Vanity had her reaching for the makeup kit in the back of her underwear drawer. She applied a touch of mascara and a hint of lip gloss, her hands trembling. After shoving her feet into black flats and running a brush through her damp, shoulder-length hair, she walked down the hall to retrieve the presents.

Brian had bought her daughters exactly what they’d asked for. The toys were from two different stores, and had probably cost him a day’s hard labor. She took the half-wrapped gifts to the girls’ bedroom, watching their eyes brighten with hope. “I’m going next door to say sorry. You both stay right here.”

“Can we play with our new toys?”

“I suppose,” she said, setting them down. If Brian didn’t accept her apology, she’d offer to pay him back for the gifts.

“Thanks, Mommy!”

“We’ll have to write a thank-you note.”

They both agreed, tearing into their presents. Leah never left them unsupervised but she’d only be gone a minute. Tugging on the hem of her shirt, she walked outside, squinting at the strong California sunshine.

In Kansas City, they’d have had a white Christmas.

Her pulse fluttered as she approached his screen door. The thin barrier was torn in several places, and had a flimsy-looking frame. If she wanted to, she could slip her hand inside and reach the latch. She felt a twinge of resentment over his lackadaisical security. Single women couldn’t afford to be so careless.

As she raised her hand to knock, she saw Brian standing in the kitchen. He’d ditched the fur-trimmed coat and not bothered to put on a shirt. His skin was smooth and tanned, his torso etched with muscle.

While she watched, her mouth going dry, he lifted a plastic water bottle to his lips and took a long drink. Her eyes traveled from his strong brown throat, which worked as he swallowed, to the fine sheen of perspiration on his chest. The red Santa pants he was wearing rode dangerously low on his waist, held up by a thin white drawstring, and his stomach looked as flat and tight as a drum. This was no bowl full of jelly.

She might have made a noise, because he caught sight of her and startled, the bottle slipping from his hand. It bounced off the tile floor, spilling everywhere.

“Damn!”

“I’m sorry,” Leah said, clapping a hand over her eyes. Maybe if she didn’t stare at his naked chest, she could remember what she’d walked over here for.

He scrambled around for a minute, sopping up the water with paper towels. As he came toward the door, still shirtless, she tried to keep her gaze above his neck. It was a difficult task because he was a head taller than her.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, making no move to step inside when he opened the door. From what she could see, there was no furniture. A table saw with a long, orange extension cord dominated the living room. “I just wanted to apologize for being so rude. My girls aren’t supposed to open the door to strangers.”

He leaned against the screen, holding it ajar. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Well, you’re not a mother.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “True.”

She moistened her lips, flustered. “It was really nice of you to bring the gifts.” Before he had a chance to reply, she rushed ahead. “Look, it’s Christmas, and we have plenty of food. Would you like to join us for dinner?”

His brows rose in surprise.

“I mean, I’m sure you have other plans.” She glanced into the empty space behind him. “But if not, we’d be happy to have you.”

He hesitated. “Actually, I don’t have other plans.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. “Well, great,” she said, forcing a smile. “Everything should be ready at noon.”

“You eat dinner at noon?”

Leah remembered that Californians didn’t use the same terms as Midwesterners. “Lunch, I should say.”

He gave her a curious look. “What’s your name?”

“Leah,” she said, careful not to add the n. Back in Kansas, she’d been Leanne. Now she was just Leah. Her identity, her family, her entire world—slashed.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, sticking out his hand.

She shook it quickly, noting that his palm felt warm and hard and as tough as leather. “See you at noon?”

He nodded. “I’ll be there.”

Smile faltering, she backed away, almost tripping over an uneven place in the sidewalk. He really needed to get that fixed.

Leah made a traditional Christmas meal.

There was spiral ham, scalloped potatoes and fresh green beans. She’d steamed corn on the cob and made rolls from scratch. If anyone had room for dessert, she’d offer a warm cherry torte with vanilla ice cream.

Brian arrived on time, but Leah wasn’t quite ready. Mandy and Alyssa had been in high spirits all morning, running wild through the house. They tended to get overexcited on holidays, especially when Leah was too busy to discipline them. After she got fed up, threatening to take their presents away, they sat down to write Brian a thank-you note.

At the sound of the doorbell, she wiped her hands on a towel and went to answer it, glancing through the peephole. Her neighbor had cleaned up a little. His hair was combed back, his face freshly shaved. He’d also brought another gift—a large poinsettia.

Smoothing her apron, she opened the door. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

She waved him in, studying his appearance from beneath lowered lashes. He was older than she’d first estimated, at least thirty. Years of surfing or working outdoors had given him a rugged, weathered look. His T-shirt and jeans were far from new, but his boots were spotless and he smelled good. Like soap and sawdust.

She locked the door behind him, gesturing at the poinsettia. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“It was no trouble.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, accepting the gift. Their fingertips brushed as he transferred the plant to her. Heart jittering, she stuck the poinsettia on the coffee table, admiring its festive red leaves.

He nodded hello to the girls, who regarded him with curiosity. “I’m Brian,” he said. “You might remember me as Santa.”

“This is Mandy,” Leah said, touching her older daughter’s head, “and that’s Alyssa.”

“Pleased to meet you both.”

The girls shed their shyness like a winter coat. “I drew you a picture!” Alyssa said, hopping to her feet. She showed him a drawing of a stick figure in a red hat and coat, standing next to a colorful green triangle. Not to be outdone, Mandy brandished her own artwork, a thank-you note decorated with bows and boxes. “I made you a card.”

Brian weighed the merits of each offering, giving them equal attention. “I like the Christmas tree,” he said to Alyssa, who beamed at the praise. Smiling, he turned to Mandy. “And you write very well for a first-grader.”

“I’m in kindergarten,” she said.

“Really? You must be the smartest girl in class.”

She glanced sideways at Leah, her face solemn. Mandy wasn’t as good a reader as Brittany, one of the other students. But she tried very hard at school and Leah couldn’t have been more proud of her. “I’m not.”

He chuckled at her honesty. “What about you?” he asked Alyssa.

“I’m the best drawer,” she said, ever-humble.

“I can see that.”

“Why don’t you girls set the table?” Leah suggested.

While Mandy transferred the good plates from the hutch, Alyssa dispersed the silverware, and Leah walked to the kitchen to take the rolls out of the oven. It was a warm day, even by California standards, and she was sweating. Shifting the rolls into a basket, she pushed a lock of hair off her forehead.

“Can I do anything to help?” Brian asked.