Debbie Macomber: Home for the Holidays: The Forgetful Bride / When Christmas Comes

She realized with surprise that Joe hadn’t said or done anything to embarrass or fluster her. She’d expected him to arrive with a whole series of remarks designed to disconcert her.

“Timmy’s ten, Kurt’s eight, Jenny’s six and Clay’s four.” She introduced the freckle-faced youngsters, pointing each one out.

“They’re handsome children.”

“They are, aren’t they?”

Cait experienced a twinge of pride. The main reason she went to Minneapolis every year was Martin’s children. They adored her and she was crazy about them. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without Jenny and Clay snuggling on her lap while their father read the Nativity story. Christmas was singing carols in front of a crackling wood fire, accompanied by Martin’s guitar. It meant stringing popcorn and cranberries for the seven-foot-tall tree that always adorned the living room. It was having the children take turns scraping fudge from the sides of the copper kettle, and supervising the decorating of sugar cookies with all four crowded around the kitchen table. Caitlin Marshall might be a dedicated stockbroker with an impressive clientele, but when it came to Martin’s children, she was Auntie Cait.

“It’s difficult to think of Martin with kids,” Joe said, carefully placing the family photo back on the mantel.

“He met Rebecca his first year of college and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“What about you?” Joe asked, turning unexpectedly to face her.

“What about me?”

“Why haven’t you married?”

“Uh…” Cait wasn’t sure how to answer him. She had a glib reply she usually gave when anyone asked, but somehow she knew Joe wouldn’t accept that. “I…I’ve never really fallen in love.”

“What about Paul?”

“Until Paul,” she corrected, stunned that she’d forgotten the strong feelings she held for her employer. She’d been so concerned with being honest that she’d overlooked the obvious. “I am deeply in love with Paul,” she said defiantly, wanting there to be no misunderstanding.

“There’s no need to convince me, Caitlin.”

“I’m not trying to convince you of anything. I’ve been in love with Paul for nearly a year. Once he realizes he loves me, too, we’ll be married.”

Joe’s mouth slanted in a wry line and he seemed about to argue with her. Cait waylaid any attempt by glancing pointedly at her watch. “Shouldn’t we be leaving?”

After a long moment, Joe said, “Yes, I suppose we should,” in a mild, neutral voice.

Cait went to the hall closet for her coat, aware with every step she took that Joe was watching her. She turned back to smile at him, but somehow the smile didn’t materialize. His blue eyes met hers, and she found his look disturbing—caressing, somehow, and intimate.

Joe helped her on with her coat and led her to the parking lot, where he’d left his car. Another surprise awaited her. It wasn’t a four-wheel-drive truck, but a late sixties black convertible in mint condition.

The restaurant was one of the most respected in Seattle, with a noted chef and a reputation for excellent seafood. Cait chose grilled salmon and Joe ordered Cajun shrimp.

“Do you remember the time Martin and I decided to open our own business?” Joe asked, as they sipped a predinner glass of wine.

Cait did indeed recall that summer. “You might have been a bit more ingenious. A lemonade stand wasn’t the world’s most creative enterprise.”

“Perhaps not, but we were doing a brisk business until an annoying eight-year-old girl ruined everything.”

Cait wasn’t about to let that comment pass. “You were using moldy lemons and covering the taste with too much sugar. Besides, it’s unhealthy to share paper cups.”

Joe chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “I should’ve known then that you were nothing but trouble.”

“It seems to me the whole mess was your own fault. You boys wouldn’t listen to me. I had to do something before someone got sick on those lemons.”

“Carrying a picket sign that read ‘Talk to me before you buy this lemonade’ was a bit drastic even for you, don’t you think?”

“If anything, it brought you more business,” Cait said dryly, recalling how her plan had backfired. “All the boys in the neighborhood wanted to see what contaminated lemonade tasted like.”

“You were a damn nuisance, Cait. Own up to it.” He smiled and Cait sincerely doubted that any woman could argue with him when he smiled full-force.

“I most certainly was not! If anything you two were—”

“Disgusting, I believe, was your favorite word for Martin and me.”

“And you did your level best to live up to it,” she said, struggling to hold back a smile. She reached for a breadstick and bit into it to disguise her amusement. She’d always enjoyed rankling Martin and Joe, though she’d never have admitted it, especially at the age of eight.

“Picketing our lemonade stand wasn’t the worst trick you ever pulled, either,” Joe said mischievously.

Cait had trouble swallowing. She should have been prepared for this. If he remembered her complaints about the lemonade stand, he was sure to remember what had happened once Betsy McDonald found out about the kissing incident.

“It wasn’t a trick,” Cait protested.

“But you told everyone at school that I’d kissed you—even though you’d promised not to.”

“Not exactly.” There was a small discrepancy that needed clarification. “If you think back you’ll remember you said I couldn’t tell anyone I’d been inside the fort. You didn’t say anything about the kiss.”

Joe frowned darkly as if attempting to jog his memory. “How can you remember details like that? All of this happened years ago.”

“I remember everything,” Cait said grandly—a gross exaggeration. She hadn’t recognized Joe, after all. But on this one point she was absolutely clear. “You and Martin were far more concerned that I not tell anyone about going inside the fort. You didn’t say a word about keeping the kiss a secret.”

“But did you have to tell Betsy McDonald? That girl had been making eyes at me for weeks. As soon as she learned I’d kissed you instead of her, she was furious.”

“Betsy was the most popular girl in school. I wanted her for my friend, so I told.”

“And sold me down the river.”

“Would an apology help?” Confident he was teasing her once again, Cait gave him her most charming smile.

“An apology just might do it.” Joe grinned back, a grin that brightened his eyes to a deeper, more tantalizing shade of blue. It was with some difficulty that Cait pulled her gaze away from his.

“If Betsy liked you,” she asked, smoothing the linen napkin across her lap, “then why didn’t you kiss her? She’d probably have let you. You wouldn’t have had to bribe her with your precious baseball cards, either.”

“You’re kidding. If I kissed Betsy McDonald I might as well have signed over my soul,” Joe said, continuing the joke.

“Even as mere children, men are afraid of commitment,” Cait said solemnly.

Joe ignored her remark.

“Your memory’s not as sharp as you think,” Cait felt obliged to tell him, enjoying herself more than she’d thought possible.

Once again, Joe overlooked her comment. “I can remember Martin complaining about how you’d line up your dolls in a row and teach them school. Once you even got him to come in as a guest lecturer. Heaven knew what you had to do to get him to play professor to a bunch of dolls.”

“I found a pair of dirty jeans stuffed under the sofa with something dead in the pocket. Mom would have tanned his hide if she’d found them, so Martin owed me a favor. Then he got all bent out of shape when I collected it. He didn’t seem the least bit appreciative that I’d saved him.”