Page 31 of Santa Baby Maybe
7
Six Weeks Before Christmas
W.B.
She was avoiding me. I knew this because I had done the same thing to her weeks ago. It was relatively easy to do. I knew it was happening when a full week passed and I hadn’t once seen her throughout the company. Not in the hallways or any of the break rooms. And she hadn’t come to my office for any reason.
Of course I’d seen her from a distance on the first floor amongst her crew of glass blowers when I entered the building every day, but I had no reason to walk over to her and ask her why she was avoiding me.
Why she hadn’t texted me her address. Why she hadn’t let me pick her up and drive her to work.
There had been no more ornaments for my tree. There hadn’t even been a reaction when I sent her an email suggesting she could contain costs on the Sunday events by cutting down on the unlimited supply of marshmallows allowed in the hot chocolate. Just a simple reply that she would look into it.
It shouldn’t have bothered me. Or, more accurately, I was determined to not let it bother me. Only I wasn’t succeeding very well. The hard truth was that I liked being around Joy. I liked the easy banter we shared. I liked that there would never be a first date between us.
No awkward meeting. No stiff conversation. No assessment of her personality, looks, and personal ambition. Because I didn’t look at Joy as a potential wife.
I simply looked at Joy.
Which was why I was waiting outside of the Kane Co. building on Sunday afternoon for the ornament-making event to be over and everyone to leave. Joy was teaching the class this week. I knew that from Sophie, who had oddly felt the need to let me know that in the break room on Friday.
The plan was simple. Wait for her to come out and then walk by her as if it was the most natural thing in the world for us to bump into each other on the sidewalk. She’d ask me what I was doing downtown, and my cover was Christmas shopping. She didn’t need to know I only ever sent my mother money for Christmas.
I pulled the wool coat around me a little tighter and shoved my gloved hands into my pockets. It felt as if the temperature had dropped a couple of degrees while I’d been standing out there, making me rethink my mental sanity.
All I had to do was walk inside, where it was warm, and ask her straight up.
Why are you avoiding me? What did I do? And maybe more importantly, can I fix it?
Instead, I shivered into my coat and listened as the door to the building opened and a group of people poured out. I pulled my hand out of my pocket and glanced at my watch. Just after two. They were done. I listened as the group, mostly women, although some men, walked by me, showing each other their personalized ornaments. All seemingly pleased with their efforts.
Or maybe that was just a residue of happiness from being in Joy’s presence for an afternoon. She was the type who infused her good nature into everything she did. Including instructing others in how to blow glass ornaments.
Joy wasn’t in the first wave of people who exited the building, which made sense. She would need to stay behind, straighten up for the cleaning crew who would come shortly to clean up after the event. Patiently, I waited five minutes. Then another five minutes.
What the hell was taking so long?
Unless she had her cat with her. Maybe trying to corral him into his crate for transport was an effort.
Shit, did she need help? Maybe I could walk inside with the excuse I’d been downtown shopping and thought I would check in on the event. Without thinking about it too hard, I abruptly pushed myself away from the building and started toward the entrance. And bumped hard into someone who was at that same time walking in my direction without seeing me.
“Oh!”
“Shit.”
I tried to reach out to catch her but it was too late. Whether it was the force of slamming into me, or simply the surprise of someone being where she wasn’t expecting, Joy stumbled a few feet backward and then promptly fell smack on her ass.
“Ow!” she screeched as she landed. Then she looked up at me and sighed. “This seems to be a theme with us.”
I crouched down in front of her. “At least this time you can’t blame the margarita.”
“No,” she said, her face scrunched up in a frown. “I blame the big bulky guy who came out of nowhere. Were you trying to scare the crap out of me?”
“I was just walking down the sidewalk. Christmas shopping,” I lied really badly. “Let me help you up.”
I did that, but as soon as she put weight on her right ankle, I felt her buckle and a low moan came out of her mouth.
“What?” I asked, panicked. “What’s wrong?”
