13. On the Radio Simple Gifts

CHAPTER 13

ON THE RADIO: SIMPLE GIFTS

This ought to be really weird , is all Nicolette can think as she rides along to crash Damien’s Thanksgiving holiday.

But somehow, it’s not. It feels like hitting the reset button on her life. Cam doesn’t exist today. Not when she’s seated snugly beside Damien as he steers them down another country road.

Sitting here always felt right to her, and today is no different.

The Jeep slows down across from the Busy Bean coffee shop. Damien makes a turn toward the center of Colebury. From the backseat comes a small complaint.

“Oh, buddy,” Damien says, reaching into the back without removing his eyes from the road. “We’re almost there.”

When Nicolette glances over her shoulder, something in her heart gives way. The baby has hair the color of a darkened penny and a firm grip on Damien’s finger.

See? She’s not alone in thinking that Damien is easy company. Both she and the baby seem to grasp this on a gut level.

His family, though… “Are you sure I won’t be imposing?”

He chuckles. “No such thing. My mom is the kind of person who cooks twice as much food as necessary, every time, hoping someone extra turns up to justify her efforts. You’ll see.”

It’s not the food she’s really worried about, though. She probably looks like something the cat dragged in. The combination of her messy divorce, her father’s anger, and too little sleep has put dark circles beneath her eyes. And she’s wearing her most faded jeans with an old wool fisherman’s sweater that had belonged to her grandfather.

What will they think?

The Jeep climbs the hill into central Colebury. A moment later, Damien slows to a stop in front of a Tudor home on the town square. “Nice house,” she whispers.

“My sister’s partner played professional hockey. They do pretty well.” He retracts his hand from the back and puts the car in park.

The baby squawks, which seems to put Damien into a higher gear. He hops out of the Jeep and rounds the vehicle to pop open the back door first, clucking at the frustrated baby. He unsnaps him from the carrier and lifts him out. “See?” he says, holding him to his chest. “We’re back. No need to shout.”

The baby looks up at him with wide brown eyes. Then he rests a trusting cheek against Damien’s flannel and curls his little fingers into the fabric.

Now she’s jealous of a baby, because she knows how comfortable it is right there on Damien’s shoulder. “Let me carry the baby seat,” she says, climbing out of the Jeep.

“I got it,” he says, easily grasping it in his free hand and hip-checking the door shut. “Let’s go have some mashed potatoes.”

“Does he eat solid food yet?” she asks.

“I don’t even know,” he says, giving her a smile over the infant’s head. “I was talking about me.”

She laughs as he opens the front door into a gracious entryway with views into a comfortable living room. The clink of dishes and the sound of conversation wafts through from a dining room just out of view.

“I’ll take your coat,” he says. And then, in a louder voice, he calls out to his family. “We’re back! I brought a friend.”

A sudden silence in the other room makes Nicolette’s stomach bottom out. “Maybe I shouldn’t…”

In one smooth move, Damien sets down the baby carrier, drops her coat onto a hook and takes her hand. “Guys, this is Nicolette. Let’s find one more chair.”

He guides her into the dining room, where at least ten people are crowded around a big table. She can feel the flush creep up on her face. They’ve left an open chair for Damien, but just barely.

She shouldn’t have come.

Several people stand up at once, and everyone starts talking. A hot redheaded guy scoops the baby out of Damien’s arms. “How’s my little man?”

“I’ll find another chair,” says Zara.

“No, don’t,” says another tall, good-looking man from the other end of the room. And she recognizes him from the Gin Mill. He must be Alec, the brother who owns the bar. “I’m supposed to be at the Shipleys’ in a half hour for their Thanksgiving,” he says.

“You double-dipper,” chides an older woman who must be Damien’s mom.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Alec says, picking up his plate and water glass. “You’re just jealous. Take my seat, Nicolette.” He points at the chair. “It’s right next to Damien’s. I’ll grab you a fresh plate.”

She flushes a little deeper, but Damien guides her around the table, unconcerned, and pulls out her chair. So she sits.

“This is most of my family,” he says. Then he rattles off a string of names as he gestures around the table. “And this is Nicolette,” he says, reaching for the water jug and pouring her a glass. “Be nice to her because you all are a lot .”

“Hi, Nicolette!” they all say at once.

She laughs nervously. “Hi. Wow. When I was a kid, I always wanted a big family.”

“But now she knows better,” somebody mumbles.

“Thank you for making space for me,” she says, her voice suddenly cracking. “I was having a rough day. I’m recently divorced…” She glances at Zara, who winks. “And Damien wouldn’t let me sit home by myself.”

“You shouldn’t,” his mother, Maria, declares. “Someone pass them the turkey platter. I made so much food. Why is nobody having seconds?”

“Because we’re still having firsts!” someone yells. “Chill, Mom.”

Beside her, Damien gives her a grin while quietly filling two plates with food. And although she hadn’t felt hungry a minute ago, Nicolette’s stomach rumbles.

“Here,” he says, putting a plate in front of her. “Now eat up so my mother has less to complain about.”

Nicolette spends a couple of hours fending off more food and drink and listening to the Rossi family making bets on various football and hockey games. Damien’s mom is warm and funny, and his siblings are, too. Benito’s girlfriend is very sweet. There are also two uncles, one of them grumpy, the other one reserved. And in addition to the baby, there’s a preschool-aged niece with fiery red hair and an impish smile.

It’s the best kind of chaos. Nicolette’s favorite part is watching Damien in his natural environment. His role seems to be the quiet sibling. He listens more than he talks. But he’s the same Damien she’s always known—loose and comfortable. Ready with a smile.

And every time they pass him the baby, she feels a little lightheaded. What is it about a strong man holding an infant that’s so attractive?

Eventually, though, she starts yawning. It’s been a long and stressful day.

Damien notices on the second yawn. “Let me get you home, okay? This family is a lot.”

“Take some leftovers!” his mom calls from the next room, where she’s doing a jigsaw puzzle with her granddaughter.

“Make her a take-home pack,” Zara says, nudging her brother. “I want to talk to Nicolette for a second.”

“Zara—” Damien protests.

But Zara is already leading Nicolette toward the entryway. “Can I have a word?”

“Of course,” Nicolette says. Because what choice does she have?

They stop in the foyer, and Zara drops her voice. “Look, it was me who sent you those photos.”

“He told me,” she whispers back.

“You should know how upset he was, though.” Zara pins her with big brown eyes just like her brother’s. “Damien is tough, but it takes a lot to make him take a swing at somebody. And he didn’t want to tell you. He said—and I’ll never forget this—‘I just want her to be happy. She deserves it.’”

Nicolette makes a low noise of dismay. “It’s not his fault I married a tool.”

She shrugs. “No kidding. But I just wanted you to know how much he cares about you.” Then she hands Nicolette her coat as Damien’s footsteps approach.

“What are you two talking about?” he asks, coming into view with a small shopping bag.

“Nicolette was just telling me that I have the cutest children ever. And that you should babysit for me on Saturday night.”

Damien snorts. “I just babysat for you on Tuesday. And Saturday night is a good taxi night.”

“It was worth a shot,” she says, holding the door open for both of them. “Nice to see you, Nicolette. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” she says, and realizes it might even be true. “Thank you for everything tonight. I don’t have very many friends in Vermont. And I’m going to be here for a while.”

“Come over for hockey night next weekend. Damien—make that happen.”

“Will do,” he says, leading the way down the steps.

He opens the Jeep’s passenger door for her, like a gentleman, and tucks her inside. Then he rounds the car, climbs into the driver’s seat, and starts the engine. While it’s warming up, he turns to her. “Is it true? You’re staying in Vermont for a while?”

“I am,” she says, giving him a faint smile. “The head of my literary agency went to Florida for the winter, so I can work from anywhere. And Boston doesn’t feel like home to me anymore. So I’m staying at the guesthouse and trying to figure out my next move.”

He looks out the window, where the streetlights pool their light onto the dark street, his long fingers tapping the steering wheel. “I know your life is complicated. But if it feels right to you, I’d like to see more of you. Just as friends, if that’s what you need most right now.”

Warmth fills her chest. It’s just hitting her that the upside of having her life implode is seeing Damien without feeling even a scrap of guilt about it.

“Just, well, think about it,” he says, misinterpreting her silence. Hastily, he buckles his seatbelt and puts the car in gear.

“That would be great,” she hurries to say.

He risks a glance at her. “You don’t have to say so to save my feelings, Overland. I know you’re going through some things.”

“No, I like this idea,” she says. “It’s almost time to go Christmas shopping again, you realize. I think we might need an outing.”

She watches his grin in profile. “I think you might be right.”

He pulls up in front of the guesthouse ten minutes later. He puts the Jeep in park but keeps the engine running as he steps out to walk her to the door.

It’s not like she can’t find her own door, but she doesn’t point that out. She’s always liked Damien’s old-fashioned manners. He waits for her to get the door unlocked before handing her the bag with the leftovers and wishing her a happy Thanksgiving.

“It was,” she says, turning to him with sudden shyness. “Thank you for, well, all that you’ve done.”

“Anything for you, Nicky Nicole.”

And he really means it. That’s the thing about Damien—she knows him. After fifteen years of friendship, no matter how sporadic, she knows the exact way his low voice resonates inside her chest. And the serious expression in his eyes as he gives her one last measuring glance to make sure she’s arrived safe and sound at home.

Her heart simmers with emotion. So she drops the bag, opens her arms, and hugs him.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he says under his breath. “You’re going to be okay.”

“I know,” she says with emphasis verging on frustration. “I know .” This hug wasn’t supposed to be a play for sympathy. Then again, she’s never been good at expressing what she really wants.

What she really wants is for this hug to last forever. Damien’s strong arms are holding her tightly, and she rests her head against the flannel of his collar. He has a couple days’ growth of whiskers, and the scruff outlines his cheek. She has the sudden urge to test its roughness against her lips .

And, well, this is supposed to be her year for breaking all the rules. So she does it. She stands on her tiptoes and slowly kisses the underside of Damien’s jaw.

It’s her first moment of flagrantly poor impulse control in over a decade. And, sure, it’s a strange place to start—just randomly kissing the nice man’s neck.

Although, he seems not to mind. He goes briefly still from surprise, before making a soft, bitten-off noise. Then two warm hands clasp her face, and he looks down into her eyes, his expression serious.

God. I’m such a weirdo , she thinks. He’s going to tell me to knock it off .

But that’s not what happens. Instead, he bends down and places one soft kiss at the corner of her mouth. And then another one. His whiskers tickle her sensitive skin, and every nerve in her body reacts.

Kissing him back isn’t really a conscious choice. It’s an automatic response—like thunder after lightning. She turns her head by two degrees and presses her lips to his.

He makes another broken sound that gives her chills. And then he swoops right in and firmly aligns their kiss.

It’s on . She grabs his flannel with both hands and parts her lips in clear invitation.

Damien tastes her. Thoroughly. And—whoa—he’s good at this. Really good. Her body crackles like a wood fire as he strokes her tongue with his. He tastes like apple pie and sex.

This is, by far, the single most exciting thing that’s happened to her in a long time. So who would blame her for getting a little greedy? She rises on her toes and moves her body closer to his.

For a beautiful moment, she forgets about everything else but this. She forgets about the running Jeep and tricky family holidays and the pile of torn-up photos in a shoebox. She forgets every detail that isn’t Damien’s mouth and the steady drumbeat of his heart against hers.

He kisses her again and again. She’d happily stay right here in this liminal space, unthinking. But suddenly it ends. Damien pulls back and takes a deep breath. “Okay, wow,” he whispers. “This day turned out a lot more exciting than I’d expected. ”

He smiles, and Nicolette would like to make a pithy comment, but she can’t. Not right now. She’s too busy remembering to breathe and staring up into Damien’s soft brown eyes.

“Look, I’m going to go home now before I forget how,” he says. “But let’s go out to dinner this week. Just the two of us.”

“Like a date?” she asks stupidly. But she really needs to know. Her heart can’t take any more uncertainty when it comes to Damien.

“Exactly like that,” he says. “If you’re up for it.”

“Okay, yes,” she says, her brain still running at a fraction of its usual capacity. “Um, you pick a night. I’ll just be here anyway, reading the slush pile for work and avoiding my family.”

He chuckles even though she wasn’t trying to be funny. “All right. I’ll text you tomorrow?”

“All right,” she says. And then she takes a step backward, so she isn’t tempted to lunge at him again.

“Good night,” he says. “Can’t wait to see you again.’’ He leans in and kisses her cheekbone smoothly. “Call me if you need me,” he says, just like in the olden days.

After he leaves, she closes the door and listens to the sound of his car receding back down the long drive.

Even when it’s silent, though, she stands there, two fingers pressed against the spot on her cheekbone where he kissed her goodbye. Her mind is static, but her body buzzes with desire. She feels like a teenager who just had her first real kiss.

Arguably, she just did. It’s suddenly obvious that the handful of people she’s kissed before weren’t nearly as good at it.

Okay, well, that’s exciting. And a little intimidating.

She kicks off her shoes and tosses her jacket onto a hook. Then she pulls out her phone and crosses the room to collapse on the couch.

She makes a call, and Cici answers on the second ring. “God, save me from my cousin’s children,” she says by way of a greeting. “You okay? Was your dad an asshole during dinner? Do you need bail money?”

The family Thanksgiving meal feels like it happened in another lifetime. “Um, I stormed out,” she said. “After the fifth critique of my divorce. I was keeping a count.”

“Oh ouch,” she says. “Your dad is a piece of work.”

That’s true, of course, and she’s happy to have someone else agree with her about this.

The wild thing, though, is that Cici is willing to discuss this. One weird twist to the end of her marriage was getting Cici back as a close friend.

“Maybe it’s counterintuitive,” her old prep-school roommate had said during the aftermath. “But you and Cam never made sense to me. And I couldn’t take the pressure. I thought one of you would eventually break the other one’s heart. But it sucks to be right.”

“I guess you had good instincts,” Nicolette had said sheepishly.

Now they can speak openly about the divorce. And Cam knows better than to bring it up with his sister, because there was only one cheater in this marriage, and it was Cam.

But none of that matters right this second. “Remember the taxi driver?” she blurts.

“Oh him ,” Cici says with a laugh. “You haven’t spoken about him in years. Did you see him?”

“You could say that. I just kissed him.”

Cici makes a squeak of excitement. “Omigod, hang on. I have to sneak away.” A moment later, Nicolette hears a door slam. “Okay!” her friend says a little breathlessly. “What happened?”

Nicolette tells her the whole wild tale—about the origin of the photos, which Cici has seen, and about summoning Damien to yell at him.

And about Thanksgiving.

And the kiss.

“This is amazing,” Cici gushes. “What are you going to wear on your date? Don’t forget the good lingerie. Something sexy.”

“Slow your roll,” Nicolette says with a laugh. “I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“Oh, but you are,” Cici insists. “You two have so much chemistry you won’t want to hold back.”

Nicolette squeezes her eyes shut. “That would be a mistake, though. I just got out of a marriage.”

“And so what?” her friend demands. “There’s not enough passion in your life. There never was. ”

Nicolette opens her mouth to argue but then closes it again. That kiss . “Even so,” she says slowly. “It’s been a long time since I slept with anyone new. I’m going to have to get used to this idea.”

“Do you, though?” Cici asks. “Nobody is more thoughtful than you are, Nic. But maybe this isn’t a moment for deep reflection. It’s fine to seduce that man just because you both want each other. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“I think we used to have this same conversation when I was nineteen,” she grumbles.

“You trust this guy, right?” Cici asks.

She doesn’t even have to think about it. “Of course.”

“That means something,” her friend says firmly. “When people tell you not to jump into a new relationship, they mean that you shouldn’t lunge at the first man you see because you’re afraid to be alone.”

“Yeah, no. I think being alone might be good for me.”

“It could,” Cici agrees. “But how many years did you waste making moon eyes at Damien?”

“Oof,” Nicolette grunts. “A few.” A lot .

“That man knows you just got a divorce. He asked you out to dinner. He didn’t ask you to set a wedding date.”

She chuckles. “Fair.”

“So shave your legs and have dinner with the man. Go to bed with him if you feel like it. Don’t overthink it.”

“But that’s what I do best.”

“How’s that working for you so far?”

“Oof,” she says again.

“You really like him,” her friend says softly. “When he was in the army, you used to listen to the news about Afghanistan like there’d be a quiz later.”

This isn’t wrong.

“Trust him. Trust yourself. And wax your hoo-ha.”

“Cici!”

They both laugh.