Mistletoe Magic (2 page)

Chapter Two

“Pete, glad you could join us.” Uncle Carlo clapped him on the shoulder. “Everyone’s in the living room.”

Pete nodded and followed Uncle Carlo down the hall. Aunt Sophia’d decorated the place to within an inch of its life, as usual. Pete smiled. It was nice, cheerful.

“Want something to drink?” Uncle Carlo asked as they approached the doorway.

Pete shook his head. They walked in. Joey and Vincente stood by the fireplace and both nodded him a hello. Grandpop sat in an armchair by the couch, where Sophia sat with Gina and Becca. They smiled at him. Becca’s smile made Pete swallow. God, she was sweet, the way her plump lips curved up, her dark, tight curls haloed around her peachy skin.

Uncle Carlo stepped forward.

“I think I’ll grab a beer,” Pete said. His voice sounded like he had a cold. He turned and strode into the kitchen. He wiped his hands on his chinos. No worries—it was just a family dinner. Becca was just Becca. He’d known her for years. Not well, since he, Gianni and his mom had moved back east after his parents’ divorce when he was a kid. But once he and Gianni’d moved back to San Francisco, he’d started seeing Becca more. He’d liked her from the first. He opened the fridge and clinched a Red Tail Ale in his hand.

What wasn’t to like? She was a good person, a devoted elementary-school teacher, reliable, loving to her family and friends, and pretty, full of innocent fun. Pete pushed the fridge door shut. Before, he and Becca had both been in relationships. But now…He blew out a breath. She’d never given any indication she liked him as more than a friend.

He walked with slow steps to the living room. He felt someone in front of him. He looked up. Becca, her sweet face inches from his. He stood still, staring.

“Pete?” She sounded puzzled, and amused.

Duh, Pete, move. He stepped aside, but Becca stepped the same way. Then they both stepped the other way. She laughed and touched his arm. He needed to kiss her. He stared at her again then looked over her shoulder.

Grandpop grinned at him. “Pete, you’ve got a pretty girl under the mistletoe! You’re a DeGrazia!
Andiamo
!”

Becca stepped around him. He turned and slid his arm around her waist, stopping her. She glanced up at him, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. He let out a breath and leaned close. Their lips touched.

He kissed her. Becca leaned into the kiss. Pete was kissing her. His touch was warm, gentle. He pulled back and stepped away. Becca smoothed her skirt over her hips. Her stomach tingled. Oh, that wasn’t just her stomach. She frowned.

Pete shrugged, as if he felt he had to apologize.
“Tradition.”
He grinned like a little boy who’d been caught with more candy than his share.

Becca ducked her head and hurried into the kitchen. She leaned against the counter and touched her lips.
Wow
.
Wow
.
Wow
. Her lips were still warm, moist. She felt a tiny pulse, a tremble, as if Pete’s kiss had awakened a new life in her. She shook her head. Stop it, he’s just Pete.

She turned to the antipasti tray, peeled off the plastic wrap, and hefted it into her hands. Her stomach tightened. A year ago, she would’ve thought it was hunger. And it was, but not for food. It was hunger for closeness, for touch and intimacy. She took a few deep breaths. The scent of tomato sauce on the stuffed pasta shells in the oven greeted her. Friendly hugs and conversation were enough. She stepped forward. Maybe she was ready to date again.
But Pete?

Pete didn’t look at her when she walked back into the living room. He and Joey sat in chairs in the far corner. Carlo lit a fire in the fireplace. She offered the tray to Grandpop, who winked as he picked up a piece of salami and red pepper. She smiled. Grandpop was a natural charmer. She set the tray on the coffee table. Gina leaned back, running her hands on her protruding pregnant belly. Vincente now sat next to her and Gina leaned into him.

“Are you sure you didn’t want anything, Gina?” Becca said.

Gina beamed. “I’m fine. He’s just kicking me.
Likes the excitement of the holidays.”

“Seems to be a family trait.”
Becca slid into a chair.

“It’s one of the things the D’Angelos and DeGrazias have in common.” Gina held her husband’s hand.

“You’ve all got a lot more in common now.”

“Always have, I think. Sometimes similarities cause conflict, same as differences can.” Gina leaned forward and picked up a handful of carrot and celery sticks.

Becca glanced at Pete. His gaze met hers. She snapped her focus back to Gina, who was munching on her snack.

Vincente smiled at Becca. “Grandpop said you turned down his invitation to stay with us while your family’s out of town.”

Becca nodded, but didn’t comment. She didn’t feel like explaining herself. She crossed her ankles and clasped her hands. Pete’s kiss had opened feelings, uncomfortable feelings, and she was too emotional right now as it was.

“We’d really like it if you’d stay with us.” Vincente lowered his tone. “Grandpop won’t say it, but he misses Grandma most this time of year.
And all the family who don’t want to be home for the holidays.”

Grandpop’s wife had passed away several years ago, and his son and daughter in law—Vincente’s parents—years before that. Also, his only daughter was estranged from the family, and some of the cousins, like Pete’s brother Gianni, were as good at disappearing during holidays as Becca’s dad and sister. Becca pressed her thumb into her hand and glanced at Gina. Her expression hadn’t changed from the happy smile she’d had since they arrived.

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be an imposition?” Becca didn’t like to trouble people.
But if she could really be a help…And it would be nice not to be alone over the school break.

“We’re sure. You know we have plenty of room. You’re part of the family.”

The tingling discomfort was mellowed by the warmth of being included, of gratitude for her family and friends. “Thanks. I, well, I’d like that.”

“Good. Let me know if you need help getting your things.”

Becca nodded. Carlo joined Sophia on the couch.

“I better get the rolls in the oven,” Sophia said.

“I’ll do it.” Becca hopped up and hurried into the kitchen.

Pete watched Becca rush out, her curves jiggling. He rubbed his hands on his thighs. He glanced at Joey, who grinned at him. Pete set down his beer on the side table and rose. He followed Becca’s path to the kitchen.

Becca slid pans into the oven. Her heart shaped rear was outlined in her slightly clingy skirt. Pete let himself stare for a moment, tracing the line of her hips up as it curved into her huggable, soft waist, up her back to her hair, springy and shining in the bright light.

Pete forced his gaze around the room as she turned. “Need any help?” Stupid thing to say, since clearly everything was ready, down to the table set, the napkin on the bread basket unfolded, waiting for the rolls.

“The rolls’ll take about fifteen minutes.” She straightened the cookie jar on the counter island. It was filled with biscotti.

“Those look good.” Pete motioned to the cookies.

“Want one?” Becca pushed the cookie jar toward him.

“I can wait. Good things are worth waiting for.”

Becca stilled. She twirled her finger in a stray curl. Pete walked toward her, a heat-seeking missile in a cartoon, locked on target. Becca stepped back, her cheeks flushed. Pete stopped and gripped the counter.

“How’s work been?” Becca fluffed her hair and dropped her hands.

“Fine.
Business is good.” People always needed transport, and his family provided a steady flow of work. He had a sizeable nest egg, a comfortable flat to live in, big enough for a little family.
“Ready for school break?”

“Mmm-hum.”
Becca was usually more talkative.

“I guess you don’t have a lot of free time this week?”

Becca shook her head. Pete knew it was the last week before her break.

“Will you be at Grandpop’s party next weekend?”

“Yes, I’ll be…They invited me to stay since my
family’s
out of town.” Her words were rushed.

Pete let the silence linger. Their kiss might have made her uncomfortable. It had been unexpected, and Becca seemed to live in an orderly, steady way. Pete stepped closer to her. She stayed still, watching him.
Progress.

“Good.” Grandpop liked to catch people out by having mistletoe in every doorway. Pete’d like to catch Becca again. He smiled.

Becca tilted her head for a moment.
“Always good to see friends.”
She rubbed her hand along the counter, her eyes following her fingers.

Pete reached out and grasped her hand. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

“No.” She met his gaze. Her brown eyes had little flecks of green and gold he’d never noticed before. She was a treasure.

He squeezed her hand. She had long, beautiful fingers, smooth skin, her nails rounded, like half-moons. He lifted her hand and kissed it with a gentle touch of his lips. Becca sighed, a contented release. Standing tall, he enclosed her hand in both of his.

“What are we doing, Pete?” Becca whispered.

“Something new.”

“The rolls smell ready.” She slid her hand from his. She brushed past him. Her hair smelled faintly sugary, fresh as the yeasty scent of the rolls.

Pete stood and watched Becca while she pulled the rolls from the oven. Ready—he was ready, ready for the magic. Was Becca?

Chapter Three

“Could you tell everyone dinner’s ready?” Becca said to Pete without glancing away from the rolls she placed in the basket on the kitchen table. Since there were only eight of them, Sophia’d decided they’d eat in the kitchen, where it would be cozier. Becca now wished they were eating in the dining room, where there’d be more distance between her and Pete.

Becca placed the dish of stuffed shells on the hot pad on the table and then washed the roll pan. She dried it. As she placed it in the cabinet, everyone walked in and began to sit at the table. Great, only one spot left, right next to Pete.

She slid into her seat and hunched, wanting to disappear. They said grace. Becca kept her hands in her lap. She wasn’t ready to repeat the experience of Pete holding her hand. She had a busy week ahead. There wasn’t time for new feelings, new possibilities. She focused on her food, savoring each bite so she’d enjoy it and know when she was full. She listened to the others chat about the holidays and Lita and Lorenzo’s baby, and Gina and Vincente’s. There hadn’t been any babies in their family, or Becca’s either, for years. Pete sat quietly beside her, his usual serene presence undermined for her because of his kiss, and his hand holding, and his words.

She and Pete hadn’t been close, but she realized he’d been a reliable person to sit with, someone who didn’t seem to expect anything from her, but let her be herself, whether she was in a talkative mood, or a quiet one. He’d seemed accepting. But his acceptance now seemed tainted by possible expectations. She dabbed at her lips with her napkin, the linen a little rough, like Pete’s slight stubble.

Her face heated. She twisted the napkin in her lap. She was over-thinking. Pete had seemed clear he didn’t have any expectation, not until the party. By then she’d have had time to sort through her feelings.

“Becca,” Grandpop said at a lull in the conversation. “I’ll send Nico down for you.”

Nico was their security guy. Becca wondered if she’d made the right choice.

“He’s out of town, remember?” Vincente
said,
his voice even.

“Ah, yes. Pete, you go with Becca to get her things.”

“That’s okay,” Becca said quickly.

“Nonsense.
Pete’s driving me this week. No need for you to use your car.”

“I’ll need it this week. There’s a lot going on at school. Would you mind if I delayed my visit? I won’t be home much anyway.”

“I promised your father I’d watch over you,” Grandpop said.

Becca squeezed the napkin. Then she remembered Vincente’s words. Though she didn’t doubt that Grandpop and her father had been talking about her safety, she also believed Grandpop really wanted her company, and that of his family, during this special, but often difficult, time of year.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll call you every day, if you want. And then I’ll be there for two weeks. You’ll be tired of me.” Becca smiled.

Grandpop studied her, his intense brown eyes seeming to read her thoughts. His silver hair gleamed. He grinned. Becca marveled again that this robust man was only a year younger than her tiny, frail-looking Grandpa.

“No one would tire of you, my dear.” Grandpop’s smile broadened and he glanced at Pete. “You’ll pick her up Saturday, then.”

“Glad to.” Pete glanced at her. “Four okay?”

“Yes, thanks.” She had her week. Now she just had to make it through tonight.

***

Pete had been ready to go for awhile. They’d finished dinner and had dessert. Becca had avoided his gaze, avoided his attempts at conversation. She didn’t seem hostile, but closed-off, wary. Vincente, Gina, and Grandpop had gone home. Pete sat in the armchair. Sophia and Becca talked on the couch. Carlo and Joey’d kicked him out of the kitchen clean-up duty. Probably they thought they were doing him a favor, but it didn’t feel like one.

This was ridiculous. The room quieted. The log fell in the fireplace grate. Pete stood. Sophia and Becca looked up at him.

“Becca, how about I walk you home?” Pete ran a hand over his short hair. He tried for his usual friendly smile.

“Okay.” Becca hugged Sophia.

They said goodbye. Becca slid on her coat and slung her purse on her shoulder. Pete shrugged on his jacket. They stepped into the kitchen and said goodnight to Carlo and Joey. Pete made sure not to touch Becca. He wasn’t giving up. But he didn’t want to push too hard. Pete was quiet. He heard a lot. Like that Becca’s boyfriends hadn’t treated her right. And he’d been paying attention—she went the safe route, at least where she was concerned. She’d put herself out for her students, her family, her friends, her faith. And he liked that about her.

They walked down the block. Cold air pushed toward them. Pete shoved his hands into his coat pockets. Becca did the same. The city, brightly lit and busy, surged below. This block, with its tree-lined sidewalks and boxy Victorians, was quiet, the traffic distant. Streetlights bathed the sidewalk in a soft glow.

“We’re friends, right?” Becca’s words were hushed.

Pete considered the implications of her question. She wouldn’t ask if she didn’t think of him as a friend. “Yes.”

“My friends are like family to me.” Becca’s voice was firmer.

“I like that about you. Loyalty and kindness are important.”

Becca stopped in front of her grandparents’ house. The porch light shone around her, making her look even sweeter than usual. He stepped closer. She edged back. Pete moved away again.

“I’ll just wait until you’re in the house.” Pete shrugged slightly and nodded. He pulled out his wallet and got out one of his business cards.

Becca unlocked the door. “Thanks.” She waved.

“Wait.” Pete ran up the stairs and handed the card to Becca. Chances were she wouldn’t call, but… “Here’s my cell number, in case you need anything. Otherwise, see you Saturday.”

Becca flashed a smile then ducked her head and went inside.

Pete waved.
“’Night.”

Becca shut the door. Pete jogged down the stairs and up the street. He had to let Becca set the pace, for now, until he was sure she could see him as more than a friend. They both had a busy week ahead. It would give her time to think. And Pete time to plan. Saturday, plans into action.

***

Becca glanced at her watch. Pete would be here in a few minutes. Her suitcases stood by the door, along with a couple of shopping bags of wrapped presents. She’d hoped the week might bring some clarity about her feelings, but her stomach twisted in the same knots her thoughts did, like a ball of yarn the cat had been playing with. She’d tangled herself in a mess of “It wouldn’t work out” and “Pete’s just a friend” and “You’re not his type” and “You’re not ready for a serious relationship.”

She glanced in the mirror. Her hair was in pretty curls today, not the unruly mess it sometimes was, and her makeup was in place, a little mascara and pink lipstick enhancing her features.

Becca stuck out her tongue at herself and laughed. “Have fun!” And that was what she’d do. If that meant kissing Pete, she’d kiss Pete.
So there, Miss Doom-and-Gloom.

The doorbell rang. The knots in her stomach loosened, fluttering. She smoothed her red wrap dress over her hips. She pulled open the door. Pete, in black chinos and a red dress shirt, neatly groomed and tall, tugged at the loose threads in her. She bit her lip to stop her huge smile. But when Pete smiled, she couldn’t stop hers.

“You look great.” Pete gave her a quick appreciate up-and-down glance.

The flutters tickled at her.
“Thanks, you too.”

Pete’s smile widened. “I’ll get your bags.”

Becca grabbed her purse and the shopping bags while Pete took her suitcases. She locked up the house and joined Pete by the town car. He opened the door for her. She slid into the seat. The interior smelled of sandalwood and spice. She wriggled.

“Excited?” Pete said as he hopped into the driver’s seat.

Becca glanced out the window. “It’s Christmas-time.”

Pete started the car. The radio was on the all-Christmas-music station. Becca smiled again.
“Seems I’m not the only one.”

“Love Christmas.” Pete drove up the street and made a left at the corner.
“And been looking forward to this all week.”

Becca wasn’t ready to think about what exactly he was looking forward to. “Have you always loved Christmas?” As a child of divorce, Becca hadn’t liked the holidays sometimes, with the back-and-forth, sometimes the complete lack of celebration because of the fights and blaming. Like her parents, Pete’s parents hadn’t had a pleasant divorce.

“No.
You?”

“Uh-uh. But once I got older, I appreciated the fun—and the reminder that love and forgiveness are possible.”

“Miracles.”
Pete pulled the car into the gated drive of Grandpop’s white mansion.

Pete was a man of few words, but those words mattered—he got to the point, the heart of things. Becca stroked her fingers. Pete came around to open her door. She glanced up at him. She stood, taking the hand he offered. His strong jaw and distinctive features, the thoughtful, tender look he had, got to her heart. She fingered his hand. His palm was warm, his hand sinewy and strong. But the caress of his fingers on hers was gentle, tentative.

They walked around to the front door. Pete rang the doorbell and glanced up. Becca’s gaze followed. A large mistletoe ball hung in the alcove. Pete kissed her forehead. She smiled. Her fingers lightened. He kissed her nose. The lightness pulsed through her, like twinkling tree lights.

“Pete,” she whispered. This felt too good. Someone would answer the door any second.

“Hum…”

“One kiss per mistletoe.”

Pete chuckled. The sound reverberated through her. She leaned closer to his hard chest.

“Okay, Miss Polito.” His voice was husky, but teasing. He encircled her waist with his arm. He kissed her. The pressure of his lips on hers, his closeness, made her lean into him, her hands on his chest.

Pete pulled away. Becca tilted her head, wanting another kiss. Pete smiled.

“Just one.
I follow the rules.” He winked.

Becca plopped onto her heels. The front door opened. Grandpop spread his arms wide in welcome.

“Becca,
bellisima
.”
Grandpop kissed her cheeks. He led them down the long hall into the dining room.