Page 16 of Picture Perfect

What—like modeling for him again?

I’d been stupid…but that wasn’t going to happen again. I told him good day and left to ponder my future—and pray that no one important saw those damn pictures.

* * *

What kid didn’t love Christmas? I always had. I remembered as a little one being excited to get up early Christmas morning to find what Jolly Old Saint Nick had thoughtfully left for me under the tree. But some little jerk spoiled it all for me in the third grade and the holidays had since lost their hold on me. Now Yuletide merely meant a respite from intense learning and studying—and grading as well, considering I still taught a couple of undergrad classes as part of my studies.

Christmas also meant congested department stores and idiots on the street who seemed to have forgotten since the last year that ice on the road requires a different pace. We also had our fair share of shoppers come into the coffee shop for a little break in between sessions of blowing money on stupid shit that no one really wanted.

Yeah, I hated Christmas. Having no family didn’t help. I had no siblings and I’d lost my mother a couple of years earlier. My dad had left her before that, right after I’d gone to college. I’d decided then that he was dead to me, especially since mom was already showing signs of her illness and dad wasn’t just leaving, he was running to someone else.

Asshole.

So the holidays were nothing but rest for me. The snow and flashes of red and green everywhere were reminders of the holiday, but I tried not to focus on it. Fortunately, this year, I needed to spend my break going through my dissertation one last time before shipping it off to my advisor in its entirety. The rest of my break would be spent relaxing…as much as I could, considering I still had the worry of those damned pictures.

But a few days before Christmas, I had a new customer walk into the coffee shop. The guy was tall and gorgeous.

What the hell was Shane Sanders doing in my coffee shop?

When he noticed me as he walked to the counter, he grinned, showing off that winning model smile. God, this guy did it for me every single time. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

I couldn’t help but smile back. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?”

“Eh. I’m back in town, hanging with my family for the holidays. Trying to figure out something to get for the people who already have everything they want, and I decided a cup of hot cocoa might get me in the holiday spirit.”

“Can’t hurt, right?”

“Right. Kind of hard when you’re having to work your way through the greedy masses who want that one last thing on the shelf you’d been eyeing.”

I frowned. “So hot chocolate, then?”

“Yeah. Your company would be nice, too.”

Tilting my head, I said, “That’s sweet. Unfortunately, I’ve got another four hours on my shift, and you’re just one of hundreds of shoppers who’ll be in here this morning.” I would have loved nothing more, though, because my nerves were already standing at attention, remembering this man’s touch.

“I’m only in town for a few days…but I’d love to see you while I’m here.”

I paused as I touched a couple of buttons on the cash register. Was he asking me out on a date or just for a romp in the hay?

And did I care?

After the way I’d been feeling, I knew a little dose of Shane would definitely be the cure. “When are you free?”

* * *

So the idea of a real date had been nice, but I hadn’t expected it to be in an expensive restaurant that required reservations. That had been just the beginning, though.

I’d only ever eaten French food once or twice, so I found myself wondering if all French restaurants were like this one, with a menu completely in that language (and while I knew what some words—like bouef and poulet and fromage—meant, other items like gigot d’agneau dauphinoise escaped me). Fortunately, our waitress expected that and actually took time with the menu. I let myself drink in the experience and realized that it was all part of the ambience—being immersed in the culture.

I was afraid of spilling wine or food on the linens or breaking some of the delicate china on the table. In that restaurant, I felt like I’d been transported far away from my home, my life, and even my worries, and I allowed myself to relax. I’d been stressed and worried and, while those problems weren’t going away, I decided to let them go for the time I was with Shane.

I settled on a chicken dish that sounded absolutely divine and then sipped the white wine from the delicate glass. I felt all the tension in my muscles slowly easing out of my body and reassured my brain that it was okay to enjoy myself. When I set my glass on the table, I looked at Shane. We were seated closely to one another rather than across, and it made for more intimate conversation. The restaurant wasn’t packed and parties were spaced far apart, so it was like Shane and I had our own little corner of the world.

He was smiling at me, but I couldn’t read him, so I asked, “What’s put that look on your face?”

Shrugging, he said, “I’ve never seen you in a dress.”

I grinned then, shaking my head. “Uh, that’s what a lot of women wear on dates, you know.”

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