Well, bad memories never truly went away, but they could certainly be smacked into the background by good ones.
“Your call,” he replied, tsking. “But remember, you don’t have to shop. Don’t you think you’d have fun watching the crazed parents fighting over the last Suzy Pees Herself doll, or the My Kid Ain’t Gonna Be Gay Monster Truck playset?”
Lucy laughed out loud, as he’d hoped she would. “When you put it that way, how could I possibly refuse?”
“You can’t. Anyone with an ounce of schadenfreude in their soul—which I suspect you have, at least when it comes to Christmas and oddly-penised exes—would race me to the door.”
Mischief danced on her face and a dimple appeared in her cheek as she offered a self-deprecating grin. She didn’t deny it. That was something else he liked about her. Most other women he knew kept up that I-love-puppies-and-kitties-and-everyone front, at least at the beginning of a relationship. Lucy hadn’t bothered. Hell, she freely admitted she hated Christmas, and had been fantasizing about cutting off a guy’s dick when they’d met. Talk about not putting on some kind of nice-girl act. Was it any wonder he already liked her so much?
“Okay, Mount Doom, here we come,” she said, taking his hand.
It was cold out—very cold—yet neither of them wore gloves. His were tucked in his pocket, and he knew she had some, too, since she’d worn them when they’d first left the coffee shop. But neither of them had put them on once they’d left her ex’s place…once she’d taken his hand. Her fingers were icy cold, and he suspected his were too. But it was worth it.
Slowly making their way through the crowds outside, they ventured into the hell that was called a toy store the day before Christmas Eve. The moment they entered, they were assaulted with heat and noise and color. Any kid would have thought they’d entered wonderland—the whole place was set up to inspire thoughts of childhood fantasy. Well, if your fantasy included being pressed jaw-to-jaw with strangers. Oh, and getting into the spirit of the season by elbowing each other to get closer to the front of the long lines at the cashier stations.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she said when she realized it was worse than she’d predicted. Not a square foot of floor space seemed to be unoccupied. The merriment from outside hadn’t worked its way in here. These people were shopping like they were on a mission: Nobody gets between me and my Bratz dolls.
“I think we’ve just entered shark-infested waters,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the loud music and the general thrum of too many people packed in too small a space.
“Stick close to me, minnow.”
“Gotcha, big white. But please tell me this dinosaur you’re looking for isn’t the hottest toy of the season.”
“Nah, that’s the Suzy Pees Herself and Drives a Monster Truck doll.”
“My kind of girl. Uh, other than the peeing herself part.”
“Whew!”
Finally, after one too many stomps on her foot, Lucy reminded him she wasn’t the one shopping. She ducked into a corner and waved him off. Every time he caught sight of her, watching the hysteria that surrounded her, he noted the expression on her face—amusement, yes. But also, he suspected, relief that she didn’t have to actually be a part of this.
Maybe one day she’d want to. One day when she didn’t have just her brother, and a single broken gift to look forward to for the upcoming holiday weekend.
And me.
Ross was reaching around a glowering man—who was arguing with a sharp-tongued woman over what was apparently the last Barbie doll in Manhattan—when that realization struck him. He was here, alone, with plans to do nothing more than eat Chinese food and watch National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation this weekend. And Lucy was going to be here alone, too.
His mind didn’t go where it might have gone a year or two ago, when he’d been more focused on what happened at the end of a date with a girl than during it. He didn’t immediately picture the two of them naked under the mistletoe.
Well, it wasn’t the only thing he pictured when he thought about spending Christmas with her. But mainly, he thought about seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, touching her soft skin and that amazing hair. Even if they spent the weekend pretending Christmas didn’t exist, he really wanted to spend it with her.
After some hunting, Ross found the Robo-Raptor toy he’d been seeking. The thing was expensive, but, considering it would likely be late, he wasn’t going to quibble over the cost.
Grabbing it, he made his way back to Lucy, finding her not too far from where he’d left her. She stood by herself, having found another quiet corner, and was gazing at a display in the games area. A huge Candyland display, with nearly life-size gingerbread men game pieces and tons of pink fluff that looked like cotton candy.
Lucy’s expression was definitely wistful. As he watched from several feet away, she reached out and touched a large fairy-type doll—he couldn’t remember the name, it had been a long time since his board game days. Her hand shook slightly, but the touch on the pale blue hair was tender. Sweet. As if she were reaching out and stroking the gossamer wings of a beautiful memory that flitted in her subconscious. Having noticed the hint of moisture in her eyes, he suspected she was.
As he approached, he noticed her reach up and swipe at her face with her fingertips, confirming that moisture had begun to drip. Ross dropped a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”
She nodded. Her voice low, she explained, “This is so pretty. I loved this game as a kid.”
“I was more of a Chutes and Ladders fan, myself.”
She barely smiled, and he regretted making light of it when something was on her mind.
As if knowing he was curious, she admitted, “I used to beg my mother to play with me all the time. She ran the business with my Dad, and had more time at home than a lot of moms, so I assumed that meant she was mine 24/7.”
“I think every kid feels that about their mom.”
“Well, I was pretty relentless, and eventually we had to start negotiating. ‘Just let me finish this paperwork, and I promise we’ll play one game of Candyland.’”
“Kinda like how my parents negotiated with me—eat one more green bean and you can have ice cream after dinner.”
She nodded. “Exactly. I outgrew the game, of course, but one day when I was older, it occurred to me that every time we had played, I would always get the Queen Frostine card within the first couple of hands. So I always won.”
He glanced at the board on display, seeing how close that particular character was to the winning space, and smiled slightly. “Quickly.”
She laughed. “Exactly. I was a world champion Candy-lander. My mom was a world champion cheater for fixing the deck so I’d get that card and win the game super-fast every time.”
“Did you confront her about it?”
“Uh-huh. When I was eleven or twelve.” Her laughter deepened. “She totally confessed, saying
