Page 8 of Back Home For Christmas

“What?” I asked.

“You never told me what you wanted if you win.”

“You know what I want?” I asked, rounding on him. “I want to watch you squirm. I want you humiliated like you have never been before.”

“Kitty Cat,” he said, eyebrows high, eyes wide, and voice a low growl. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What?” I asked, my cheeks burning as I picked up on how he had purposefully added innuendo where none was intended.

“I just didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.”

“You are an asshole.” My voice came out breathy, betraying my rapid heartbeat as my stomach tightened and my palms sweat. Why the hell was he having this effect on me? I had spent my entire life hating and avoiding Jay and now, after ten minutes standing in a booth together, I couldn’t keep my shit together. The thought of him thinking of me in a dirty, compromised situation left me swallowing hard past a dry mouth. Ew, this was Jay! “I want you in the Christmas smock, covered in Christmas confetti, telling everyone that I am a far superior shop designer than you.”

He thought for a half a second before nodding his head. “Deal,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Wait, what do you want?” He was thoughtful for a moment.

“If I sell more than you,” he said, closing the distance between us again. I thought for half a heartbeat he was about to say something that would leave me blushing, or worse. “I want you to give me one of your old photographs.”

“Seriously? Why? I got rid of them all,” I lied.

“Then you can take a new one,” he said. “I want a nice picture of the beach to hang in my apartment.”

“Fine,” I said, taking his hand in mine. There was no way I was getting my camera back out. I had given that up as far too painful a memory, and I certainly wouldn’t do it for Jay’s benefit. He had enough money, he could buy a hundred pictures of the beach. He didn’t need one of mine. As my fingers slid over his palm, I felt a little jolt of electricity as goosebumps rose under my bulky sweater. When I looked up, his eyes locked on me with a renewed fervor. It was the first time I had ever touched Jay on purpose. I pulled away and turned toward my table. I had to get serious.

My table was empty. I studied it, hoping for some flash of inspiration, but Jay moving around behind me, pulled all of my attention. The booth felt tiny with both of us in it, especially because Jay was a giant. Every time he shifted even slightly, I felt the air move around me, sometimes bringing a whiff of his cologne. The constant reminder of his presence killed my creativity.

Setting up the booth had never been challenging before. I just went through our inventory and chose a theme. The goal wasn’t to put out as much stuff as possible in order to blanket the stupid “market,” like Jay seemed to think. It was about a feeling. The perfect combination of holiday nostalgia and lighthearted joy that his rigid marketing principals couldn’t possibly manufacture. At least, I hoped it couldn’t.

I lifted the box that mom had given me to carry out onto the table, refusing to turn around. I didn’t want whatever Jay was putting together to get into my head. So, I lifted the top off the Tupperware and laughed when I saw the contents.

“Whattya got there?” Jay asked, standing menacingly over my shoulders. I slammed the Tupperware lid down. Not sure why I cared if he saw the contents, but they were all the things I had used to decorate the booth the last time I had done it four years ago. With a sigh I lifted the lid again, feeling a little exposed as I dug through the contents with Jay watching over my shoulder.

There was a garland of plush crabs, seahorses and starfish wearing Santa hats, a lamp with Santa in a bathing suit, a string of seashell Christmas lights, and countless beach themed ornaments. I felt tears prickle my eyes. Had my mom remembered my theme? Had she thought I might want to use it again?

“Cute,” Jay said in his condescending way. “You have your side all planned out?”

I turned on him, without realizing just how closely he was standing behind me. There was less than an inch of space as I wagged my finger at him, but just ended up brushing my fingers against his firm chest. I sucked in an involuntary breath as whatever words I was about to utter, evaporated on my lips. I tried to step back when my butt bumped into my table.

“Personal space,” I forced myself to say, even as my body reacted to being so close to his. My hormones were traitors. They always had been. I had never had crushes on the “right” guy. Jay stepped back exactly one inch as he smirked at me, waiting for a reaction. If he could pretend not to care, then so could I. What if he wasn’t pretending and actually didn’t care? The little thought popped into my head before I could chase it away.

Chapter Eight

“I will have you know that I never repeat a theme. Even I am not that tacky,” I said.

“You should stick with what works,” Jay said. “Was the beach theme successful?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then you should incorporate it this year. It is important to keep fresh ideas without abandoning what works,” he said, using his lecture voice.

“Thanks,” I said, making sure to deepen my frown as much as possible, so he understood just what I thought of that idea. “I don’t think I need advice from someone who uses a ruler to space out the Christmas Tchotchkes.” His table looked like it was cooked up in a lab. Everything just so. He wasn’t done, but already it was laid out with the same rigid lack of joy that Jay brought to everything in his life. Even in his selection of items, they were nice things because they came from our shop, but they lacked cohesion, personality, or charm. He had two rows of mugs, a case of gloves and scarves, some stationary. It was as if he had a checklist called, “things tourists buy,” and he wasn’t willing to stray from it.

“You need somewhere for the eye to go,” he said, as if that were obvious.

“No, you need to create a feeling,” I said. I was talking with my hands, like I always did when I got worked up, but with Jay only a few inches from me, my hand brushed over his chest, bringing my eyes darting up to meet his. His expression held something dark that reached across the small gap between us and caused my stomach to tighten. I had touched him more in the last five minutes than my whole life combined. I wished he would give me a little personal space. If I didn’t know better, I might start to think he was doing it on purpose.

I felt like I had known Jay my whole life. I practically grew up with him at my house, but when I tried to dial down to specifics, I came up blank. He never seemed to want to go home. I knew that his mom traveled a lot, and his dad could be a hard ass, but beyond that, our relationship existed in passing.

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