the dining room,” she said, her tone frosty. “We may as well serve our plates in here. That way things won’t get cold. I took the liberty of opening a bottle of wine. Let me have the baby. After you fix your plate, I’ll do mine. There’s plenty, but save room for dessert.”
The solid meat-and-potatoes meal reminded him of something his grandmother might have prepared. His mother had grown up in her aunt’s home, an orphan by the age of eight. But Nathaniel had substantial memories of his paternal grandmother. She had come over from Italy and spoke heavily accented English. Her cooking had been sublime.
He piled food onto his plate unapologetically. After his marathon trip in the snow today, a few extra calories were neither here nor there. Once he had set his plate in the dining room, he took the baby back. “Your turn, Madam Chef,” he said lightly. To his surprise, Dani disappeared and came back lugging the Fraser fir—stand, lights and all.
“That’s the advantage of a small tree,” she said smugly. “They’re sort of portable.”
She plugged in the lights and sat down. At the last moment, she took her phone from her pocket and cued up Christmas music. Soon, they were eating in silence, save for the holiday tunes playing softly in the background.
With every bite Nathaniel took, his stomach tightened. The food was spectacular. The baby behaved. It was something else, something powerful and dangerous that stole his appetite and tightened his throat.
In this room, here and now, was everything he had never had, everything he told himself he didn’t need. Family time. Cozy holidays. A beautiful, capable woman willing to work at his side to create a home.
He forced himself to clear his plate in deference to Dani’s efforts on his behalf. Two glasses of wine didn’t still his unease. They chatted lazily during the meal about the weather and the bowl games and whether the thaw would start Monday or wait until Tuesday.
Eventually, the baby fell asleep in Dani’s arms. The two females were flushed and beautiful, Madonna and child.
“I feel terrible about this,” Dani said suddenly, her expression troubled.
“About what?” There was no way she could have read his mind.
“About Peaches’s first Christmas. She should have a stocking and leave cookies for Santa. That’s how it’s done, or so I’m told. Her mother’s selfish behavior is robbing her of a special occasion.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “As far as that baby’s concerned, today might as well be April Fools’. The kid doesn’t know the difference.”
“I know,” Dani said stubbornly.
“There’s nothing we can do about it.”
“If this was Little House on the Prairie, I’d make her a pinafore out of a flour sack, and you’d carve her a toy train with your pocketknife.”
Even in the midst of his turmoil, he was amused. “I don’t own a pocketknife.”
“Well, I should have bought you one for Christmas.”
An awkward silence fell. Nathaniel wished he was holding the baby. Peaches was a helpful decoy and a place to focus his attention.
In a few hours, it would be Christmas Day. If this was how Dani did Christmas Eve, what did she have up her sleeve for the following morning?
For the briefest of moments, he caught a flash of the two of them in bed, laughing, the baby between them. At the table eating breakfast. In front of the tree, opening presents. Panic shot through him with the force of an erupting geyser.
“This isn’t real,” he said, concealing his desperation beneath a veneer of calm.
Dani looked at him with a frown. “What’s not real? The food? The baby? The tree? I’m confused.”
He stood up to pace, tossing his napkin on the table. “We need to talk, Dani.”
Her face went white, and she clutched the baby closer. “Go right ahead. Say what you have to say.”
“None of this is real,” he said doggedly. “We’re not a family. This isn’t a Norman Rockwell Christmas Eve. You and I are business associates. Peaches being with me is a big misunderstanding.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Dani said quietly. She watched him with big blue eyes that saw far more than he wanted her to see.
Seeking to temper his anxiety and his distress, he sucked in a huge breath and turned his back for a moment on the sight of Dani and the baby sitting at his elegant mahogany table. The blizzard was to blame for all of this. All he had to do was remember that life would get back to normal soon.
He swung back around and sighed. “My father lost his company in his midfifties.”
Dani blinked. “He did?”
Nathaniel nodded jerkily. “I told you my mother was not diagnosed until I was in high school. The episode that triggered her hospitalization was so severe she suffered a massive break from reality.”
“That must have been terrifying for you and your dad.”
“My father protected her as best he could all those years, but now she was institutionalized with little hope of returning home. It crushed him. He couldn’t or wouldn’t confide in me. Maybe he thought I was too young. The stress affected his health. Eventually, he found solace in the arms of a woman who worked for him. It didn’t last long. Still, the damage was done. The employee filed a sexual harassment lawsuit, including charges for mental pain and anguish. A court awarded her a huge settlement, and my father had to liquidate the company to meet his obligations.”
Nathaniel expected some response from Dani, any response. She stared at him blankly, as if nothing he had said made sense.
The silence grew—with it, the certainty he had ripped apart something fragile and wonderful. Dani’s long-lashed blue eyes shone with tears. To her credit, she blinked them back successfully.
She bit her lip, her pallor marked. “Let me be sure I understand. This lecture you’re giving me is because I cooked dinner and dared to acknowledge that tonight is Christmas Eve? Based on that, you’re afraid I’m going to sue you and take away your livelihood? Have I got it, Nathaniel? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“You’re making me sound like a lunatic,” he said sullenly.
Dani jumped to her feet, glaring at him, and headed for the door. Her chin wobbled ever so slightly. “No,” she said, her voice tight with hurt. “You’re doing a fine job of that all on your own. The thing is, Nathaniel, you’re not a Scrooge at all. You’re something far worse. Scrooge had a change of heart in his life. You don’t have a heart at all. You’re a machine. A cardboard figure of a man, a coward. I hope you choke on your pie.”
If she had stormed out of the room, he might have found the energy to fight back. Instead, her icy, dignified departure warned him to let her go. It was Christmas Eve. The woman who had helped him with his baby crisis and done her best to create a bit of holiday joy in the midst of a snowstorm was insulted and pained beyond words, and it was his fault.
He should have handled things better. Nothing
