Page 6 of A Very Naughty Christmas

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged, trying not to let his observation mar the enjoyment of the rest of her breakfast. “A lot has changed.”

“Ah,” was all he said, recognition dawning on his rugged features.

She would prefer they stop talking altogether and just eat, but Alex seemed to have other plans.

“I could help you. You know, if you wanted. I know that you guys prefer trees three times your own height and that can be a little hard to pull off solo.”

Okay, he was really starting to get on her nerves here. Didn’t he get that she didn’t want to talk about Christmas? Why was that so hard to understand? “Thanks, but I’ll be all right.”

“Oh, well, let me know if you change your mind.”

Sara nodded, not that she expected that she’d do anything of the kind. Still, hopefully at least the talking portion was over.

“You know, I can’t help remembering when I first moved next door. It was right after Thanksgiving, I think. You couldn’t have been older than, what, ten? You were cute.”

Ugh. There was that word again. She couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose in distaste.

“What? What did I say?”

“Nothing,” she sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“No, I want to know.”

Sara set her doughnut down in defeat. Someone really should educate the man about proper breakfast etiquette when a chocolate doughnut was involved. “Look, Mr. Maxwell, I just don’t want to talk about Christmas, or my parents, or really anything, for that matter. I know you’re just stopping by to be nice, but really, you don’t have to worry about me.”

His dark brows lifted. “So, we’re back to ‘Mr. Maxwell’ now, huh?”

She shrugged. “Listen, you’ve made it clear that you only think about me as some little girl next door, so…”

“How would you like me to think of you, Sara?”

The question was asked seriously, without so much as a hint of a smile. Yet, his voice was the essence of pure seduction. She wondered if he realized it. Was that something he could turn off and on—the charm that seemed to ooze out of every pore? Or was it something that only affected her?

“I… I don’t… just—”

Right at that moment, the radio he wore clipped to his belt went off and a static-y voice filled the room, alerting them to a domestic dispute that had been reported. Sara’s eyes widened in surprise, but Alex took it in stride. “Happens a lot this time of year. Family togetherness and all that,” he commented wryly. “I’m sorry, Sara, but I have to go.”

She nodded, not knowing whether to feel disappointed or grateful that she didn’t have to continue with her stuttering and embarrass herself further. Well, at least his leaving meant that she could enjoy the rest of her doughnut in peace.

* * *

Much to her surprise and irritation, Sara found that Alex’s seemingly innocent question haunted her for the rest of the day. There was no denying that her family had been Christmas enthusiasts. Itdidfeel a little weird to be in the house all by herself without so much as a sprig of mistletoe. She tried to push the thoughts away, determined to remain firm—just because she was spending one last Christmas in the house didn’t mean that she was going to decorate it. But the longer she sat around the house, the lonelier she began to feel without the familiar decorations. Mr. and Mrs. Claus were always at the door to greet her this time of year, not to mention that the doorway was usually bedecked with big, colorful poinsettias and tinsel. On and on the list went—nary a corner went untouched with Christmas cheer.

Maybe shecouldat least buy a few poinsettias for the mantel, she decided. Maybe even a snowman candle. That would be enough. She drew the line at actually using any of their old decorations. She couldn’t stomach that, not without her mother around to ooh and ah over them as her father launched into reminiscences they’d shared a hundred times. They all knew each word of every story by heart, but she and her mother listened with smiles on their faces all the same.

The memories pulled at her heartstrings and made her miss them more than ever, which was precisely the reason that shehadn’tdecorated. She’d hoped to avoid this empty, desolate feeling. But now that it had surfaced, she had to do something about it before she became one of those people who curled up in the fetal position on the couch and refused to budge.

That in mind, Sara grabbed her keys and, filled with determination, walked out of the house. She put in her Taylor Swift CD to avoid having to listen to the Christmas music that filled the radio stations.

She cranked the volume when ‘Wildest Dreams’ came on and began to croon along. She was so into the song, bopping her head and swinging her shoulders from side to side in time to the beat that she didn’t notice the red stop sign approaching. Nor did she see the ball in the middle of the road. It was only the flash out of the corner of her eye that caught herattention, just in time to make her hit the brakes. As her eyes landed on the little girl—no older than five or six—hugging the recaptured ball to her chest as she stood frozen in the middle of the road, her big, wide eyes on Sara, that her heart lurched into her stomach. She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw the stop sign. The one she’d run without even realizing it. And the little girl, the poor little girl who she’d scared out of her mind with her foolish mistake… it made her positively sick with dread.

Once the poor little thing had finally gotten out of the road, Sara resumed driving, this time at a snail’s pace, her heart hammering in her chest. As soon as she could, she did a U-turn and headed back for home. But it wasn’t her house she ended up parking at. Instead, she parked next door at Alex Maxwell’s, walked up to his porch, and sat down on the step.

* * *

To say that he had been less than thrilled when his breakfast plans had been interrupted would be an understatement. But it was just part of the job—a less savory part that he’d learned to cope with over the years. It was one of the things that had kept him from settling down and starting a family the way his other colleagues had. That, and the fact that he had never found the right woman.

Not that he was complaining—his life was simple, but he liked it. And besides, living in such a small town meant that the worst that typically happened was that Aunt Sherry got into the eggnog a little bit too early and started bringing Uncle Arthur’s skeletons out of the closet. Hence, the domestic dispute he’d answered earlier, because he was fortunate enough to live in a place where neighbors still called the police over such matters. When he’d pulled up, he’d found nothing more unsettling than Aunt Sherry tottering drunkenly in her high heels while a shame-faced husband begged her to remember that Lisa—whoever that was—and he had been finished over a decade earlier.

---