“Sit,” he commanded before exiting the car.
Last night I’d texted Cal and said we’d pick him up, and he graciously sent me his address. I’d mentioned Frank was coming but left out his nasty mood. Although I didn’t think it was a stretch for Cal to imagine it after yesterday. I watched Frank walk up the stairs to Cal’s door, looking ominous in his black wool coat and dark gray beanie, and I was more than certain Cal would pick up on the finer details of Frank’s demeanor. He was a smart man.
As soon as Frank hit the top step, Cal opened the door and emerged wearing a forest green puffy coat and a bright red Santa hat. I couldn’t help the smile spreading across my face, no doubt causing a million and one crow’s feet to form around the corners of my eyes. My skincare person would be aghast.
I stared out the darkened window as the two men shook hands and Frank said something—I was sure he was explaining his rules, regulations, and protocols—and then they were walking toward the SUV.
Frank opened the door with a roughness I hadn’t experienced in a while, nearly yanking the thing off its hinges.
If Cal noticed, he didn’t let on. After saying a quick, “Thanks,” he slipped in next to me. “Hi,” he whispered as Frank was getting into the passenger seat.
“Hi,” I said quietly back. A jolt of energy passed between the two of us and I felt like a high school girl going to prom. At least, what I thought a high school girl going to prom felt like… I’d skipped mine for a party near the White House. My Supreme Court father and socialite mother had insisted I attend the affair rather than go to some “dumb dance,” stating that my brother Ford had “missed a family function for prom and had the worst time.” Years later, he told me he’d had the worst time because he didn’t go with Jamie like they’d planned to—his hand also forced by my parents.
The SUV pulled away from the curb, and Cal’s palm settled on my knee.
“You okay?” With his voice low and words only meant for me, a chill ran my spine. I nodded at the same time he said, “You’re cold.”
This time I shook my head, all my consonants and vowels continuing to escape me.
My gaze flitted toward the front, seeing Frank was busy on his phone, the soft crooning of Christmas carols ringing through the car. I took a moment to clear my throat before speaking. I used one word to explain to Cal. “Excited.”
His fingers laced through my gloved ones, his warmth seeping through the fabric. “Love the hat,” he commented.
“Love yours.”
This was the way it was with us—when we were together I felt on the fringe of being normal. A man and woman simply having fun, making small talk. Except I’d been childish over his emergency call, and we were traveling in the back of an SUV with a security detail.
“Did you have a real tree growing up?” Cal turned while asking, angling himself catty-corner so he could see me, our fingers still melded together.
I felt my fake eyelashes lower and graze the delicate skin below as I closed my eyes.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, no.” Squeezing his hand, I spoke. “A team of people fell on our house every year the day after Thanksgiving—Black Friday. My dad never wanted them to work that day, but my mom wouldn’t have it any other way. They’d light up the exterior and fill the interior with all kinds of decor. There was always a theme. One year it was Christmas Cornucopia, and we had all these cornucopias filled with glass ornament balls. They were in every corner and on every shelf. Big and small ones, miniature versions, and two giant-sized horns set on the porch on either side of the door. Another year it was Blue Christmas, and our house was drowned in blue tinsel. Anyway, you get the picture. Our house was professionally decorated for us down to the formal tree in the bay window, except for a small live tree in the playroom. Our nanny, Maggie, always brought it for us after she went to get a tree for her own home. Even when we were teens, we used to trek up to the abandoned playroom to string popcorn and hang all our homemade ornaments from over the years.”
Cal allowed me to ramble on, never losing focus on me and without interrupting. I’d actually forgotten about the tree in the playroom until this morning, when I’d been thinking about today’s adventure over my coffee.
“Sounds perfect.” He grinned and leaned a little closer. “Wish I could kiss you,” he whispered.
Me too, I mouthed. I knew it had taken a lot for Cal to declare his wishes, especially with Frank nearby.
A beat passed between us, a moment of silent discovery, our hearts beating in unison, speaking a language we didn’t understand.
I finally broke the moment. “Tell me about your Christmas growing up.”
“I grew up in Swarthmore. It’s an older, established neighborhood outside Philadelphia, full of families. My dad worked at the hospital nearby…as a doctor… He always would schedule off on the Monday after Thanksgiving. We never had school because it was the first day of hunting season—”
“Really?” I couldn’t help but interrupt.
“Really,” he said, nodding.
Our hands still tangled, my knee grazed his and the heat became overwhelming. I unzipped my coat with my free fingers.
“A nearby church would have a Christmas tree sale and we would get our tree and bring it home. We’d spend all day decorating it, laughing, singing, drinking hot cocoa. It was all very Norman Rockwell until it wasn’t anymore…”
His voice trailed off toward the end, and I couldn’t help but feel I’d stepped on a landmine or out of line. “I’m sorry.” We’d only had a couple of dates, and while I knew Cal had golfed at Penn before attending medical school, I hadn’t heard much about before college. Clearly, there was a reason.
“It’s all a very sad ending to a happy beginning,” he added.
