Home for the Holidays: The Forgetful Bride / When Christmas Comes

Cait took a sip of her wine to hide a smile. Joe hadn’t changed in twenty years. He was still witty and fun-loving and a terrible tease. “Very funny.”

“Hey, I wasn’t kidding. I’ll pretend I’m Paul and—”

“You promised you were going to be good.”

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I will be. Just you wait.”

Cait could feel the tide of color flow into her cheeks. She quickly lowered her eyes to her plate. “Joe, cut it out. You’re making me blush and I hate to blush. It makes my face look like a ripe tomato.” She lifted her slice of pizza and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t understand you. Every time I think I have you figured out you do something to surprise me.”

“Like what?”

“Like yesterday. You invited me to dinner, but I never dreamed you’d take me someplace as elegant as Henry’s. You were the perfect gentleman all evening and then today, you were so…”

“Low and disgusting.”

“Exactly.” She nodded righteously. “One minute you’re the picture of charm and culture and the next you’re badgering me with your wisecracks.”

“I’m a tease, remember?”

“The problem is I can’t deal with you when I don’t know what to expect.”

“That’s my charm.” He reached for a second piece of pizza. “Women are said to adore the unexpected in a man.”

“Not this woman,” she informed him promptly. “I need to know where I stand with you.”

“A little to the left.”

“Joe, please, I’m not joking. I can’t have you pulling stunts like you did today. I’ve lived a good, clean life for the past twenty-eight years. Two days with you has ruined my reputation with the company. I can’t walk into the office and hold my head up any longer. I hear people whispering and I know they’re talking about me.”

“Us,” he corrected. “They’re talking about us.”

“That’s even worse. If they want to talk about me and a man, I’d rather it was Paul. Just how much longer is this remodeling project going to take, anyway?” As far as Cait was concerned, the sooner Joe and his renegade crew were out of her office, the sooner her life would return to normal.

“Not too much longer.”

“At the rate you’re progressing, Webster, Rodale and Missen will have offices on the moon.”

“Before the end of the year, I promise.”

“Yes, but just how reliable are your promises?”

“I’m being good, aren’t I?”

“I suppose,” she conceded ungraciously, jerking a stack of mail away from Joe as he started to sort through it.

“What’s this?” Joe asked, rescuing a single piece of paper before it fluttered to the floor.

“A Christmas list. I’m going shopping tomorrow.”

“I should’ve known you’d be organized about that, too.” He sounded vaguely insulting.

“I’ve been organized all my life. It isn’t likely to change now.”

“That’s why I want you to lighten up a little.” He continued studying her list. “What time are you going?”

“The stores open at eight and I plan to be there then.”

“I suppose you’ve written down everything you need to buy so you won’t forget anything.”

“Of course.”

“Sounds sensible.” His remark surprised her. He scanned her list, then yelped, “Hey, I’m not on here!” He withdrew a pen from his shirt pocket and added his own name. “Do you want me to give you a few suggestions about what I’d like?”

“I already know what I’m getting you.”

Joe arched his brows. “You do? And please don’t say ‘nothing.’”

“No, but it’ll be something appropriate—like a muzzle.”

“Oh, Caitlin, darling, you injure me.” He gave her one of his devilish smiles, and Cait could feel herself weakening. Just what she didn’t want! She had every right to be angry with Joe. If he hadn’t brought that pizza, she’d have slammed the door in his face. Wouldn’t she? Sure, she would! But she’d always been susceptible to Italian food. Her only other fault was Paul. She did love him. No one seemed to believe that, but she’d known almost from the moment they’d met that she was destined to spend the rest of her life loving Paul Jamison. Only she’d rather do it as his wife than his employee….

“Have you finished your shopping?” she asked idly, making small talk with Joe since he seemed determined to hang around.

“I haven’t started. I have good intentions every year, you know, like I’ll get a head start on finding the perfect gifts for my nieces and nephews, but they never work out. Usually panic sets in Christmas Eve and I tear around the stores like mad and buy everything in sight. Last year I forgot wrapping paper. My mother saved the day.”

“I doubt it’d do any good to suggest you get organized.”

“I haven’t got the time.”

“What are you doing right now? Write out your list, stick to it and make the time to go shopping.”

“My darling Cait, is this an invitation for me to join you tomorrow?”

“Uh…” Cait hadn’t intended it to be, but she supposed she couldn’t object as long as he behaved himself. “You’re welcome on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“No jokes, no stunts like you pulled today and absolutely no teasing. If you announce to even one person that we’re married, I’m walking away from you and that’s a promise.”

“You’ve got it.” He raised his hand, then ceremoniously crossed his heart.

“Lick your fingertips first,” Cait demanded. The instant the words were out of her mouth, she realized how ridiculous she sounded, as if they were eight and ten all over again. “Forget I said that.”

His eyes were twinkling as he stood to bring his plate to the sink. “I swear it’s a shame you’re so in love with Paul,” he told her. “If I’m not careful, I could fall for you myself.” With that, he kissed her on the cheek and let himself out the door.

Pressing her fingers to her cheek, Cait drew in a deep, shuddering breath and held it until she heard the door close. Then and only then did it seep out in ragged bursts, as if she’d forgotten how to breathe normally.

“Oh, Joe,” she whispered. The last thing she wanted was for Joe to fall in love with her. Not that he wasn’t handsome and sweet and wonderful. He was. He always had been. He just wasn’t for her. Their personalities were poles apart. Joe was unpredictable, always doing the unexpected, whereas Cait’s life ran like clockwork.