“You go to your neighbor’s cookie decorating party?” She loads up her fork with pasta.
I wipe my mouth and nod. “Hell yeah. I never miss it. I leave with dozens of cookies that keep me well fed through New Year’s Eve.”
“I can’t picture it, The NFL QB at a cookie decorating party. God, they must love having you hanging out.” Amy laughs and bumps my shoulder with hers.
“You’ll love the gang.”
“The gang?” She laughs and tears of a piece of bread. “Who even are you?”
“Come with me tonight and find out.”
“Tonight?” She meets my eyes just as her lips curl around the tines of the fork.
“It’ll be fun, I promise. And it might even take your mind off missing your family.”
“It sounds like a lot of fun. I’d love to go. Am I dressed okay?” Amy sweeps her hand down her body.
Damn. She is really fucking sexy.
“Need I remind you—you’re wearing one of the signature colors of Christmas. I’d say you’re ready to party.”
“Speaking of Christmas colors,” she drawls out. “Where’s your tree? And decorations?”
I blow out a deep breath and toss my napkin onto the island. “The decorating company was supposed to be here this morning but there was some kind of mix-up, so I guess I don’t get a tree this year.”
Her mouth drops open and her eyes go wide. “Oh no. We can’t have that. Santa sent me here for a reason. Consider me your very own Elf in Chief for Christmas.”
“Elf in Chief, huh?”
She bobs her head and takes another bite of pasta. “Yeah, we’re going to find a way to decorate your place. Even if I have to make popcorn garland. Also, you need to have your decorators here the day after Thanksgiving.”
“Duly noted.”
Together, we clean up the kitchen. Amy washes and I dry the dishes. I told her she didn’t need to help since she’s my guest. But she insisted that it’s the least she could do.
“I need to freshen up before this cookie party. Get some of the airport off me.”
I smile. “Sure thing. The guest suite is this way.”
Guest suite? Ugh. I sound like a snob and a half.
Amy follows behind me down the hallway, her heels clicking against the hardwood with each step. “Oh shoot. Should I have taken off my shoes? Your floors are super nice.”
I open the door to the guest suite and flick on the lights. “No worries. Mrs. Young mops my floors every Monday.” I step aside as she pulls her luggage into the room.
“Fancy. A bedroom with a fireplace.” Her fingertips smooth against the down comforter and then she takes a seat on the edge of the bed bouncing up and down.
“The sheets are eight hundred thread count. In case you’re wondering. I hope you’ll be comfortable in here.”
I sound like an asshole. Reel it in, Spencer.
She smiles and runs a hand down her hair, fingers brushing through it. It shines under the soft lights.
“Thanks Spencer. This is wonderful.” She piles her hair into a bun on top of her head giving me a lovely view of her flawless neck.
A neck I’d love to kiss…bite?
Maybe I’ll get the chance. If I do, I might just start believing in the miracle of Christmas.
CHAPTER THREE
Amy
An hour later, Spencer and I are in the elevator on our way to the cookie party. He fills me in on the party details and gives me a little bit of information on our host, Mrs. Kilroy.
In a former life, she was a fashion photographer. Spencer describes her as being, “a real character.”
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to come to the party?”
“Yes. You’re my guest.”
“I know. But I don’t have a hostess gift.”
A slow sexy smile slid across his lips and those sparkling blue eyes wash over me. “You’re something else, Robertsen. I’ve got that part handled and it can be from both of us.”
He slides his card into the panel and presses the button for the second floor. Tony Bennett’s voice pumps through the satellite radio crooning out, “Winter Wonderland.”
The elevator doors seem to open on every floor, pushing Spencer and me closer to the back and closer together. His huge bicep bumps into my shoulder and I get a whiff of clean soap mixed with a spice.
Is it hot in here? Just me.
Finally the chrome doors part, but no one moves.
Spencer grasps my hand. “Excuse us.”
He’s holding my hand, and I’m very aware of the tingling zapping through my veins.
Does he feel it too?
A smile breaks out on my face as I see the women in the elevator staring at Spencer and me.
The smell of cinnamon and sugar hang heavy in the air as we trek down the hallway. We step up to apartment 202 and Spencer knocks on the door. The festive boxwood Christmas wreath bounces with the rap of his hand.
It’s so quiet on the other side of the door, I wonder if we even have the right place. The door flies open and a woman with a festive Christmas tree sweater beams with excitement.”
“Ah! My darlin’, Spencer. Come in.” Her Texas drawl is thicker than my mom’s mashed potatoes.
He bends and kisses both her cheeks. “Merry Christmas, Sheila. This is my friend, Amy.”
Sheila lunges forward nearly spilling her champagne. “Friend Amy, huh? Darling she’s a stunner. And if I weren’t already married to the hottest woman in all of the world, I’d steal her away from you.”
Blush flames my cheeks. I like her.
“Hello, Mrs. Kilroy. Thank you for having me tonight.”
She looks at Spencer. “And manners too. This one’s a keeper.” She turns to face me. “I keep tellin’ him, he needs to find a gal that’s one part vixen, two parts smarts, and one part lady.”
Spencer laughs. “How much of Ann’s hooch have you had tonight, Sheila?”
“Oh you shush that smart mouth of yours.” Sheila raises a hand in the air and motions for us to follow her. “Shall we talk about your game performance instead? Dropped balls. Sacks. Good Lord, Spencer—were your hands greased up with barbeque sauce last night?”
“No ma’am. Just pure sweat.”
I bite my lip to suppress my laughter.
Birchwood branches decorated with white poinsettias and slim white trees with lights line the hallway. So festive.
“The party started at five, but don’t you worry this old gal is going to party like it’s nineteen seventy-four tonight.”
I laugh. “Oh good, Studio 54 style.”
“I wish, dearie. Those were the days. I was eighteen in seventy-four. The party at Studio 54 started in seventy-seven. Great fucking year.”
Sheila Kilroy is a fascinating woman.
“Help yourself to the bar. We’ll get started making cookies soon.” She turns on her heel and glides away as her taffeta skirt sways with her hips.
The music thumps a little louder with every step we take. Burl Ives’ “Holly Jolly Christmas” blasts around the room.
Spencer introduces me to a few people that he knows from the building.
A giant Christmas tree lights up the entire space. My eyes don’t know where to look first—the fireplace and the gigantic evergreen garland with red and white flowers that adorn it or the canopy of metallic baubles that hang from the ceiling.