Page 4 of Christmas Eve Do-Over
3
Shasta
All the excitement of yesterday distracted me from the memories of a Christmas Eve I would never forget. The next day dawned with every memory flooding back, haunting me, torturing me with such clarity so many years later.
So I did what I always do: got up, got dressed, and got on with it. I made up a big flask of coffee with cream and sugar, the decorative sign above the entry to my kitchen reminding me of my life's motto.
The only way out...is through.
Wearing body-hugging spandex and supportive underwire, I walked the few blocks to my studio, intent on getting in an hour of exercise on the mats, followed by catching up on my accounting and cleaning the sweat box from top to bottom. If that seemed like a sad way to spend Christmas Day, you didn't know me that well. A day to myself to catch up on everything that went on with owning a business? Heaven.
I blasted out old school rock and roll, knowing my neighbors' shops were closed for the day, got my daily sweat in, and then sat down to meditate. I switched the music to some new age crap leading to enlightenment in three minutes flat or some such shit like that. Kai, Hessa's fiancé, had convinced me to try meditation. And though I didn't think it was doing anything for my waistline or my longevity, I enjoyed the fifteen minutes of peace and quiet. Not that I'd ever tell him.
I was just shy of shaving my head, wearing a brown burlap sack, and vowing celibacy when the bell over the door to my shop rang out like a shotgun.
And in walked trouble.
Actually, it was a good-looking silver fox, so thank heavens I never quite got to that celibacy bullshit.
The gray at the sides of his head highlighted his dark midnight hair, still full and thick and gorgeous over a kind face with soft blue eyes. That little niggle in the back of my brain was back, letting me know something more than met the eye was going on. Instincts were number one in my book. If there was a red flag, I was paying attention. No matter how silly or out of place that caution may seem. My instincts had saved my life. I'd never ignore them.
Along with caution, my brain was also screaming "helllloooo" and whistling like a truck driver. The man was built, a snug t-shirt showing off arms that had seen a weight room more than once or twice, a solid chest that beckoned a soft landing for my tired head, and a flat stomach that was nearly extinct in the 40+ category I was solidly in these days.
Perhaps Christmas was turning out to be my lucky day. You know, payback for that shitty one many years ago. Karma finally evening things out.
"Can I help you?" I felt around behind me and grabbed the remote, shutting off the harp music, plunging us into awkward, charged silence. He was looking at me like I was the Christmas ham, gussied up for his ravenous hunger. My insides tingled, and I climbed to my feet, trying to ignore that my left foot had gone asleep while in meditation. Maybe that's where the tingles were stemming from. My damn foot, not a sexual inkling waking up and taking notice of a fine specimen in striking distance.
"Shasta?" His voice flowed over me like fine wine, making me drowsy and content in a single word.
"Depends on who's asking, sugar." The warning bells were back, slapping me in the face and reminding me of the red flags. The face, the voice, hell, even his posture...all of it combined to stir up my memories, making me realize I knew this man once upon a time. And instead of looking at the red flags, I was wondering about the state of my hair after being sweaty for an hour. Dammit, I needed to get my priorities straight. STAT.
He took a few steps into the studio and smiled at me, the many lines around his eyes and mouth telling me he smiled often. And that's when it hit me.
"Santa?"
He paused a moment, then continued his slow advance onto the mats, lessening the distance between us. He had the decency to cringe.
"Not my finest moment, I'd agree. But not because of what you're thinking." His eyes held humor in them, staying low on the creep-o-meter in my head. Interesting.
"So you weren't grabbing girls and putting them on your lap while dressed as Santa?" I forced my body to remain relaxed, though every muscle was standing at attention, ready to kick some Santa butt if things got out of hand.
"No. I was riding by, super slow so we wouldn't hit any little kid that jumped out of their distracted parents' hands. That girl stepped off the curb onto a grate over a gutter, but the metal plate tipped and she almost went down. I was right there, so I grabbed her and kept her from falling into God knows what lives in those things. I had visions of red balloons and clowns. I couldn't let her fall to that fate."
My lips quirked to the side, amused and charmed against my better judgement. "Mhm…so you say." I paused, thinking it through, still confused. "So, why are you here now? And how do you know my name?"
He took another step forward, now just several feet from me. His gaze swept me up and down and then jumped around my face as if to catalogue my features. I gave as good as I got, so I did the same, thinking I'd need to describe him to a police sketch artist later on.
The tiny mole above an eyebrow that had a white scar cutting through the hairline made me pause.
I knew that mole.
I'd bandaged that cut, telling him he'd need stitches and him waving me off like it was no big deal when he was dripping blood from his forehead. All the blood leftmyforehead as realization dawned.
"Duke?"
My jaw dropped and so did my defenses. You know those cartoons where the villain pulls the rug out from someone, completely upending them? That was how I felt, standing on solid ground, staring at the man I once knew. The boy I'd fallen in love with in high school. The man I'd left to make the worst decision of my life.
If all of my life's regrets could be boiled down into one person, remarkably, it wouldn't have been my ex. It would be Duke. Because every decision I made after leaving him, and including leaving him, had been a bad one. Our breakup was the fork in the road. The day I went down the wrong path. The day everything went to hell, and I lost myself.
