Tree.” She looked happy. Like she belonged in this house with its hand-me-down decorations and cozy holiday atmosphere.
Not that he found any of this cozy.
Only there was something about Abby that made him feel warmth where only coldness had resided for so long. There was also something about her that made him want to hold mistletoe over her head and kiss her.
He’d need a thatched hut with a mistletoe roof over her head to justify all the places he wanted to kiss Abby Arnold.
He wanted to do more than kiss her. Lots more. Like take some of that fudge and smear it across her…
Her gaze lifting from the glass bowl she held, she smiled, knocking the breath from his lungs with her beauty and sincerity. “I can’t believe you wanted homemade fudge as your any time, any place, any thing.”
Her smile said he’d pleased her with his ravings about the goodies she’d brought to the break room at the hospital and how he wanted another bite.
He wanted another bite all right.
Her dimples dug a little deeper into her lovely face. “Some men are so easy.”
Smiling at him like that, she made him feel easy. Like he was cookie dough in her hands, waiting for her to mold him into whatever shape she wanted. So why was he still there? Why hadn’t he told her he was leaving as he’d come in here to do?
Why was he smiling back at her? Why was he eyeing the pan of chocolate-chip cookies she’d taken out of the oven and feeling a pang of hunger in his belly? A pang that didn’t begin to compare to the one below his belt caused by eyeing Abby.
“If they’ve tasted your homemade goodies, I understand why. Especially the peanut-butter fudge.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes sparkled like the silver tinsel draping her tree. “It was my mother’s recipe.”
“Was?”
A flicker of pain crossed her face. “She died.”
“I’m sorry.” He was. Death was never easy. If anyone knew that, he did. In spades. No, death wasn’t easy. Not even when you were a highly trained doctor who’d been dealing with life and death on a daily basis for years.
Just look at how stupidly he’d behaved that first night he and Abby had worked together. Even now, his reaction to the motor vehicle accident victims bothered him, but he understood why, understood that when he’d been battling to save the mother and daughter, he’d been trying to save his wife, trying to save Shelby.
Only to fail.
But he’d held up fine, wearing the mask he’d perfected in those months following their deaths. Pretending he was okay when inside all he’d felt was cold.
Until he’d run into Abby.
He’d been on his way out of the hospital, had caught the elevator just as the door had started closing, and been startled to see a red-eyed Abby eyeing him in surprise.
After shift change, she’d obviously slipped into the bathroom and had a good cry, was still fighting tears. She’d looked vulnerable, needy, way too distraught to be getting behind the wheel of a car.
Way too distraught for him to let her.
He’d insisted on driving her home.
Which was all fine and dandy.
Walking her to the door, going inside, staying, was where he’d messed up.
He didn’t date hospital employees, wouldn’t date hospital employees.
He hadn’t really dated Abby. He’d just not been able to stand the sadness in her eyes, to stand the thought of her driving upset and possibly something happening to her. They’d ended up naked, in her bed, making love until they’d both collapsed in each other’s arms and slept the day away.
He shouldn’t have done that.
Shouldn’t have agreed to be her Santa.
Shouldn’t be here now.
So why was he pulling up a chair, willingly staying somewhere Christmas tunes played, instead of beating a path to the door?
Was her imagination running wild or was Dirk looking at her like he’d rather take a bite out of her instead of the peanut-butter fudge?
Abby turned away from his intense blue eyes and took a deep breath. Needing to do something with her hands, she twisted on the faucet and filled the sink with sudsy water to wash the dishes she’d used to make the cookies and two batches of fudge—one chocolate, one peanut butter.
“This is really great.”
There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice. She’d swear she heard him moan a moment ago.
Without turning toward him, Abby began stacking the dishes into the hot water to let them soak a few minutes.
“My mother had tons of great recipes, but…” But most of them had been lost in the fire. Only her mother’s Christmas recipes packed away in the crates in the basement had survived. The items stored in the basement had been the only items that had survived, period. Almost every box had contained precious Christmas items. “I always bring several big platters full of goodies to the hospital every Christmas.”
“Like the fudge you brought the other day?”
“That, and more.” She grabbed a dish towel, turned toward him and leaned against the sink. “I like to bake. I like how the house smells when I have cookies in the oven and candies going on the stovetop and…”
Realizing she was probably boring him, heat flushed her face. She wiped her hands more with the dish towel, wondering if the moisture was from the dishwater or from nervous clamminess. Dirk made her edgy.
“Sorry.” She smiled wryly. “Christmas is my favorite holiday and I get carried away at times.”
“Obviously.”
Despite the amusement in his eyes, something about the way he said the word struck her as wrong. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His grin stayed in place but, still, there was something off kilter, something a bit too brittle about him. “Just that it looks like Bing Crosby should be showing up any moment to start singing about a white Christmas.”
“What would be so bad about that? He was a great singer. What’s wrong with you anyway? All day you’ve acted like you really don’t like Christmas.”
He shrugged. “I don’t.”
“Say it isn’t so!” Astounded, flabbergasted, shocked, her mouth dropped open and her palm flattened against her chest, dish towel and all.
“Why?” He shrugged, looking so serious it made Abby want to loosen her apron strings. “It’s the truth. I’m surprised you buy into such a commercialized holiday.”
“The business world commercializes
