Mistletoe Magic (3 page)

“I’ll get your bags.” Pete turned and walked back out.

Becca was engulfed by the family—hugs and greetings exchanged. Gina and Lita stood together, both comparing baby bulges. Vincente and Lorenzo flanked them, each with a hand protectively on their wives lower backs. Celeste and Enzo spoke to her for a few minutes, as did Frank and Eva. Having lived with her grandparents, who seemed to know everyone in the neighborhood, so long, Becca felt she knew everyone too. And that was especially true of these two families, so much like hers.

A huge Christmas tree stood in the corner bay window, festooned in gold and silver. Everything shone: the matching decorations placed around the room, the expansive tabletop, the sun shining off the windows and the bay in the distance, the fruit tarts and antipasti plates, the silver, china, and stemware, the sheen of the greys and light greens of the fabrics. Most of all, Becca felt the glow in herself, from the warmth of this family—her dear friends—and from the residual heat of Pete’s kisses.

Becca stood a little apart from the various groupings and touched her lips for a second. What was she doing? She should go help Pete and get her things put in her room, well, her room for the next week or so.

She walked into the hall and to the staircase. Pete jogged down. She stopped, appreciating his lean physique and tall frame.

“Put your things upstairs. Want me to show you?”

Becca opened her mouth then closed it. Being in a bedroom with Pete right now…to snuggle into his hard chest,
have
him hold her, listen to his breathing…

“Thanks. I’ll go up later. Don’t you want to say hi to everyone?”

Pete shrugged. Becca turned. Pete grabbed her hand.

“Would you like to go on a date this week?”

Becca’s face burned. “You don’t waste any time.”

He fingered her palm. “I’m a DeGrazia.”

Becca faced him and laughed. It was true—the DeGrazias were known for taking action, making quick maneuvers.

Pete’s grin was boyish, and more charming than she’d known Pete could be. “How can I resist?”

“Resistance is futile.”

Becca laughed again.
“No way.
You like ‘Star Trek’?”

Pete rubbed the side of his mouth. “Don’t tell, huh?”

“I won’t if you won’t. I had the biggest crush on Captain Picard.” Becca giggled as they walked forward. “You kind of look like him.”

“It’s the nose.” He tweaked her nose.

She laughed again. She hadn’t laughed so much in too long. They
strolled
arm-in-arm into the party.

Chapter Four

Pete rang the doorbell at Grandpop’s. It’d only been three days since the party—and the last time he’d seen Becca. Three days seemed like thirty. He tapped his foot. He hadn’t gotten to spend much time with her at the party, either, with everyone there: his family, their in-laws, and family friends.

The porch light shone bright. The door opened. Becca stood, beautiful. Her dark hair was backlit from the hall light, the curls in ringlets framing her face. She smiled. Pete pulled her toward him, under the mistletoe.

He caressed her cheek, her skin warm. He moved his hands down, gently tracing her curves. He kissed her, taking their embrace deeper, closer. Becca parted her lips then broke the touch, pushing at his chest.

Pete pushed out a breath. His chest pounded.

“Do I need anything?” Becca stepped back.

His plans for the evening were a surprise, so she probably wanted to be sure she was dressed for whatever they might be doing. He took his time taking her in—her bright eyes, red lips, hoop earrings, a wide cream scarf,
camel
coat, a red skirt peeking beneath the hem, stockings, and high heels. He eased his gaze back up, meeting hers.

“Perfect.” He held out his hand.

She grasped it. Her touch was a comfort, but more, a fiery brand, marking him, but not painfully. Each time they touched, he knew, knew she was the one for him.

One of his guys drove them in a town car down to the harbor. The city was bright, holiday lights adding to the usual display. A two-story high tree glowed from Pier 39. The elephant seals barked in the distance, amid the noise of cars, people, and music playing from street bands and various restaurants.

He walked Becca down to the waiting boat. The night air was chilly. As he’d hoped, Becca pressed herself close.

“We’re going on a cruise in the bay?” Becca’s voice was high, that of a little girl who got a prize at a street fair.

Pete smiled.
“Yep.”

She leaned into his arm. Heat coursed through him, better than a fire on Christmas Eve, better than a summer day on the beach.

“I’ve never been. I’ve taken the ferry over to Sausalito, but never toured the bay at night.” Becca squeezed his hand.

He returned her touch. “I hope we can share lots of firsts.” He faced her, cupped her cheeks in his hands.

Becca leaned up and kissed him, the sweet, heavenly caress of an angel. They both exhaled as they parted, needing to board the yacht. Pete took Becca’s arm in his and they strolled aboard.

***

Becca leaned back into Pete’s solid frame. The city glowed in the distance. The bay shimmered before them, lights reflecting in its glassy surface. They stood at the railing, watching the boat make its way back into harbor.

It had been a beautiful evening.
A sumptuous dinner, lovely sights, sensual music.
Becca and Pete had hardly talked, but it was a comfortable silence, the kind of silence that left room for experiences beyond words. The deepening of feelings, feelings Becca, in the stillness, felt fear creeping into. The fear that it wouldn’t work out, that there was something about Pete she didn’t know…after all, his brother, his father, pretty much every DeGrazia male, was known for some kind of womanizing. Not that her father was any different.

Becca fingered Pete’s hand. Pete was different. She’d watched him over the years, talked to him,
heard
what others said about him. Like Becca, he’d gone from one long-term relationship to another, until his last break-up. Like Becca, he was the family peacemaker, the reliable one, the steady one.

She let out a contented sigh and snuggled in closer to Pete. He wrapped his arms around her. Closing her eyes, she smiled as images of more kisses, quiet dinners, making love, a wedding…Becca stiffened and opened her eyes. Why did she do that? This was only their first real date and there she was, imagining them getting married. She did that—felt close to a man, before they’d been boyfriends—and before she knew it, she was planning where it was going, for the future. She wanted to be with Pete, now, in this moment. He pulled her closer. He wanted to be with her too, she could feel his tenderness in every caress, every long glance,
every
kind word.

Pete turned her to face him. He kissed her. Becca opened her lips to him—her heart followed. Their kiss deepened, until all she felt was Pete, his heat, his scent, his solid presence. Something vibrated from Pete’s pocket. It took Becca a moment to realize it was his phone.

He stepped back and pulled out his phone. “Sorry.”

Becca crossed her arms, suddenly cold. Tension tightened her biceps, into her fingers, which gripped on her coat. Her dad used to interrupt family events, important moments, by taking phone calls, as if whatever, whoever it
was,
was more important than his family, his daughters.

Becca took some deep breaths while Pete spoke in a low voice on the phone. There was no need to spin this out into something huge. She’d forgiven her father, and she forgave herself for any lingering hurt.

Pete ended his call. Becca eased her arms down, rubbing her fingers.
“Everything okay?”

“Just work.” Pete shoved his hands in his pockets.

It wasn’t like there was anything he could do about work from here.
Though the boat was approaching the pier.
Becca leaned into the railing. The rush of water beneath them matched the splash of coldness that edged through Becca.

“I’ll have to go in. Sorry to cut the evening short.” Pete made no move to re-engage, to get close again.

“That’s okay.” Becca focused on her breathing. Disappointment iced into her. She crinkled her forehead. No big deal. She’d see him again on Christmas, just a couple of days away. But a couple of days was two too many.

***

Pete watched Becca go into the side door at Grandpop’s. His chest felt heavy. No, he felt like a heel for not walking her in, not talking to her the whole drive back from the ferry, not telling her how great a time he’d had, how special she’d become to him, not kissing her goodnight.

But an old problem demanded his attention, again. His brother Gianni had warned him that Kerry was high maintenance, and she’d proven Gianni right too many times, including tonight. Within minutes, his driver pulled up to Pete’s building. Pete hopped out and walked to one of the town cars in his fleet. Kerry leaned out the open window. Her eyes drooped.

“Pete, tell this idiot to let me in. I’ve been telling him for an hour.” Her words slurred slightly and the sharp tang of alcohol seeped from her breath and clothes.

“Get out of the car, Kerry. You’re lucky he hasn’t called the cops on you.”

Kerry eased unsteadily from the car. She leaned into Pete. He turned his face from her and pushed her back, so she was propped against the car. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, Petesy-Weetsy?” Her sickeningly sweet tone made him cringe.

“Yeah, I would. You’re not my problem anymore.” He’d thought he needed to take care of this, but he could have left it to the driver. He’d thought he needed to be the good guy, but what he needed was Becca. And he’d blown her off for Kerry. He shook his head.

Kerry leaned toward him. “But you came—”

“A mistake.
Either let him take you home, or get a cab. And next time you need to hire a car, don’t call us.” It wasn’t his problem that Kerry’s fiancé had dumped her. He paid his drivers well. They could handle the odd drunk woman complaining the men in her life had done her wrong.

Pete leaned in to talk to the driver. “Did you get all that?”

The driver nodded. “I’ll get her home, or someone will.”

Pete clapped him on the shoulder and hopped back into the car he’d arrived in. He needed to make things right with Becca. Old habits had pushed on him for the last time. He had a new life to start. No time like now.

***

Becca sat at the kitchen table with Grandpop. They sipped cups of decaf coffee in comfortable silence. It was close to eleven o’clock. Tomorrow was her thirtieth birthday.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with my nephews.” Grandpop muttered something in Italian. “You deserve better, my dear.”

Becca smiled. Grandpop appeared tough and aloof to many, but with her, he was as big a softie as her grandpa.

“I had a wonderful night, like I told you.
So, any news on Lorenzo and Lita’s baby?”

“She’s been having pains, but so far, not ready yet. Her midwife is on call. The miracle will happen any day.” Grandpop’s gaze went past Becca. He was probably seeing into the past. Often her grandparents had similar far-off looks when they spoke of their childhoods in
Italy,
or the birth of Becca’s father—their only child—so many years ago.

Grandpop twisted the wedding ring he still wore, though his wife had passed away several years before. “Are you certain you don’t want to celebrate your birthday? Your birth was a miracle too. How can we not celebrate each one we are given, eh?”

“It’s enough of a celebration to be here, with friends.” Becca meant it. She didn’t want a big party. It would’ve been good to have her grandparents, father, and sister here too, but they’d already all made plans and Becca’d told them not to change them.

The side door opened. Becca turned. Pete. She pushed her toes into the floor. He’d come back. She smiled. Grandpop rose.

“I’ll be off. Goodnight.” Grandpop kissed Becca’s cheek. He stepped to Pete, whispered something, and went into his sitting room, shutting the door behind him.

Becca looked up at Pete. He didn’t smile.

“I didn’t expect to see you again tonight.” Becca’s words rushed out. Being nervous made her talk too quickly. “Want something to drink? I could get you some coffee—”

Pete leaned down and kissed her, firm and long. He stepped away, pulled a chair close, and sat.

“Oh,” Becca said on an exhale.
That kiss
…

“I don’t know why I left earlier.” Pete placed his hand on the table.

Becca touched his hand. “It’s okay. You own your own business. I know things come up.”

“It wasn’t really
work
. It was my ex, Kerry.”

Becca edged her back into her chair. Her cheeks stung as if he’d slapped her. He’d lied. “I see. Look, you don’t owe me an explanation. We went on a date, that’s all.” Becca stared at her hand, still near Pete’s.

“That’s not all. I don’t want to date you. I want—”