The Christmas Compromise Page 5

  “Dallas Parker.” Addie’s nasally voice drifted from above. “How good to see you. Didn’t I see a woman come into the restaurant with you?”

  I held my breath.

  “Good evening,” Dallas said, and then there was a long pause. “No date for me tonight. Even if I wished I were on a date, I just have to settle with dinner.”

  I seriously considered biting his leg to halt his over-the-top performance. And was he emphasizing the word date for my benefit? Of course we couldn’t be on a real date when we’d been unwillingly thrown together in that business space, and sharing a business space with Dallas Parker was going to freak my mom out enough. She’d probably keel over if I were dating him. I had to give Dallas props for answering Addie’s question without lying, though. Bravo.

  Addie shifted on her feet. “I must be getting old and my eyes must be playing tricks on me because I could have sworn I saw you come in with a woman, but it was too dark to see who she was . . .”

  “No date for me. Alas.”

  Alas? Really?

  I peered at Addie’s feet, which were solidly planted on the floor and soon joined by a pair of super cute black heels.

  “Should I pour a glass for you and the lady, sir?” Emily’s voice rang out.

  I bit my lip, since she’d just given me away. I stared at the fringe of tablecloth, waiting for Addie to pull it back and yell, “Aha!”

  Stressed? Me? Maybe a little.

  “Yes,” Dallas said, clearing his throat. “A glass for me and another for Addie Wilcox, the lovely lady who visited lonesome me at my table.”

  Oh, man. I was so going to owe Dallas big time if we pulled this off.

  “Handsome lonesome you, Dallas,” Addie said, giggling. “I might have a friend’s daughter to introduce you to . . .”

  Dallas coughed loudly then nudged my shoulder with his knee. I nudged him back, jealousy flooding over me as I awaited his answer.

  “I’m not a blind date kind of guy,” he finally said.

  “Well, maybe I’ll just have to stage a chance meeting then,” Addie said, then laughed profusely as if she’d told the funniest joke. “I’d better get back to my table. Thank you for the wine, Dallas. I hope to be seeing more of you around town.”

  “Bye now,” he said, then Addie’s shoes walked off leaving only the pair of adorable heels standing by. All went silent.

  I stayed there, scrunched on all fours.

  “Would the lady under the table like a glass of wine, as well?” Emily asked, using a hushed tone.

  I slid upward and into my shadowed chair, my humiliation complete. “Sorry, I . . . um . . .” There really was no decent excuse to be made. “Fill my wine glass to the rim, please.”

  Emily nodded, keeping a straight face as she poured me a full glass before taking our orders and then rushing off. Very professional. Although I’d bet money she was laughing with her co-workers in the kitchen right about now.

  “Okay, let’s hear it.” Dallas took a swig of wine and then made a circling gesture with his hand. “Does this have anything to do with your parents? I get ducking Addie Wilcox, but your folks?”

  “It’s complicated.” I reached out to the makeshift candlelight centerpiece, unscrewing the low-watt bulb to make our table even dimmer. Then I ducked down in my chair, sipped my wine, wishing I’d been straight with my parents from day one. The red wine tasted rich and velvety, clinging to my tongue and sending warmth spiraling through my body. The silence at our table was deafening. I lifted my lashes, meeting caramel-brown eyes that were peering at me with concern. I let out a breath. “My parents don’t know I’m opening a beauty salon. In fact, they don’t know I’m a licensed cosmetologist.”

  His eyes widened. He choked on his wine. I could see my mom and dad from here. Thankfully they were seated in a way that their heads were turned away from us, at least for the moment and I was pretty sure the distance and the dimness would keep me from being spotted.

  “Why not? You should be proud of yourself.”

  Warmth flowed through me, either from his words or the wine, or both. “I didn’t tell my parents how I spent my inheritance from my grandparents. They thought I was using the funds to get an MBA. Instead, I went to the beauty academy. Now I’m opening my own salon.”

  His eyes gleamed. “You’ve changed, Morgan. The girl I knew would’ve never stood up for herself like that. Kudos.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled, feeling a sudden connection with him. We hadn’t seen each other in eight years, but he did know me. We’d grown up together. It was wonderful feeling understood. “I feel bad keeping this secret from them. I’d planned to tell them last night, but then thought they might take the news better if the salon were fixed up first. If they catch me in this lie, I’ll be guilty as charged.”

  “If I need help with a life of crime I’ll call you,” he joked, winking at me.

  I guffawed. “Me? You were a total juvenile delinquent.”

  The arrival of our meals paused our conversation. I stared down at a glorious steak, still sizzling and crusted to perfection. I laid my napkin across my lap and then picked up my knife and fork.

  Dallas’s hands stilled on his utensils. “My criminal behavior is highly exaggerated.”

  “Is that so?” I chewed my steak slowly, remembering back. “Let me see. I remember you stealing the Christmas sled and taking it for a joyride one year . . .”

  “Okay, guilty on that one.” He cut a bite of his steak and nodded. “But they’d decided not to give out rides that year, remember? There were a bunch of foster kids living in the group home, who had been excited about going but then they announced the rides were off. So, I stole the sled. Yes, that was wrong. But my motives were good and I didn’t rat out a single rider when I got caught, because those kids had it hard enough already. They didn’t need a record to top of everything else.”

  “That was sweet of you.” My heart melted. I’d always been told he’d stolen the sled out of sheer wildness. I’d had no idea that he’d taken the foster kids from the group home out for the rides they had been eagerly anticipating.

  My heart went from melting to pounding as I saw Addie traipsing across the dining room, heading straight for my parents. The bite I tried to swallow felt stuck in my throat as Addie hugged my folks and began chatting with them, her hands waving wildly in the air.

  I guzzled the rest of my wine. “Uh-oh.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Addie,” I said, croaking the word out.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Want me to try to stop her?”

  “You’d do that for me?” I asked, touched as I watched Addie walk off. I saw my mother’s smile, which had been wide and warm, slowly die. She reached for her purse. My heart gave off a few loud and fast thumps. I fought to breathe normally. “Maybe it’s okay. Maybe Addie didn’t tell her about seeing me in town earlier.”

  My mother was digging for something and I hoped it was car keys. Instead, she took out a phone and tapped on the screen.

  A loud ring came from my purse. I dived for it, my hands sliding inside to grab my phone and cut off the ringer. Oh, please, please let her not have heard my phone ringing across the restaurant. Luckily, she didn’t look my way.

  “Coast is clear.” Dallas turned back to me, reaching for his wine.

  My gaze locked with his as he took a sip. “I’m so sorry to ruin your dinner, but I have to get out of here right now,” I said, hoping he didn’t get upset.

  To my surprise, he agreed and went to get the check.

  ****

  We left The Chop House minutes later and the further we drove out of town the further away my problems seemed, and the more the near run-in with my parents slipped from my mind. Distraction felt good right now. I was beyond curious to find out where Dallas lived.

  He turned down a private road until a small house came into view, nestled on a high ridge, acres of pines and firs surrounding it. I imagined how beautiful the area would look w
hen covered in a blanket of pure white, but it wasn’t quite cold enough for much snow yet even at this elevation and time of year.

  Dallas pulled into his driveway. The modest house was made of stone and wood, with tall windows lit up with golden light coming from inside. The porch looked like the perfect place to sit and take in this idyllic setting with its breathtaking mountain views.

  I turned to Dallas. “Your place is beautiful. How long have you lived here?”

  “Almost a year.” He cut the engine and grabbed our “to go” bags from The Chop House, which Emily had quickly packed for us when she’d discovered we were high-tailing it out of there with only a minute’s notice. I hoped he’d given her a big tip. “I loved this house from the moment I laid eyes on it,” he said. “The place immediately felt like home, as crazy as that sounds.”

  “It’s a special place, remote and peaceful. I can see why you love it.” I got out of the truck and headed up the short walkway beside him. “Are those mullioned windows?”

  “Good eye,” he said, his tone indicated his surprise that I’d named that type of window. “Someone was going to throw them out, so I bought them and installed them myself.”

  “They’re amazing,” I said, as he unlocked the front door. My gaze returned to the charming windows. The frames and decorative strips of metal and wood ran in long vertical and horizontal pieces, holding the small panes of glass into place. Beautiful.

  “Mullioned windows are rarely made anymore since people generally prefer one large pane of glass with a simple frame.” He opened the door, waiting for me to go inside first before he followed, shutting the door behind us. “I was lucky to find them.”

  “You found the windows in town?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I was in Idaho about six months ago, delivering furniture to a store that takes pieces on consignment. On my way out of town, I drove by this hundred-year-old Tudor home. The house was a teardown since it was too far gone to save. I love working with reclaimed stuff. When I saw they were about to demolish the house, I offered to buy the windows and they sold them to me.”

  “What a great history your windows have,” I said, admiring his passion and how he went after his dreams. My awe grew as we walked through the hallway into a great room with wide, planked floors. I glanced down at the gleaming wood and then took in the cozy living room, the incredible windows, and the beautiful furniture. I ran my fingers over the back of a brown leather sofa by the fireplace. “I saw this sofa in a furniture store in Miami.”

  “Not possible,” he said, setting the dinner bags on a rustic dining table that appeared made of reclaimed pine, complete with knots and imperfections. “I made that sofa myself.”

  My mouth dropped open. “For real?”

  Pride lit up his face. “I made all the furniture here.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive,” I said, swiveling in a slow circle taking in the dining table with four chairs and a matching long bench, a low coffee table that featured carved legs, and a club chair upholstered in a geometric pattern that really popped against the rest of the rustic furniture. “Your work is amazing, Dallas.”

  “Thank you.” His mouth curved upward and he winked at me before heading to the kitchen. He opened a drawer, reached inside, and then returned to the table with forks and knives.

  I surveyed the living room and frowned, trying to figure out what was missing. Finally, I snapped my fingers. “No tree.”

  “Huh?” He stood beside the table, staring at me like I’d spoken a foreign language.

  “You don’t have a Christmas tree.” I joined him at the table and he gestured for me to take a seat. “Your tree would look perfect next to those windows. Why don’t you have a tree up yet?”

  He filled our plates and then sat down, his expression impassive. “I don’t get a tree.”

  “Since when?” I asked, diving into what was left of my steak as he filled glasses of red wine for us. “You were always crazy about Christmas. You and my brother both.” A memory hit me then. “Don’t you remember the time you two built a sleigh out of old go-karts?”

  Dallas swallowed his bite, and then laughed. “I can’t believe you remember that. Connor and I were about twelve, so you were only ten.”

  “How could I forget?” I leaned toward him, my fork in one hand and my other hand resting on the table’s silky wood surface. “You two forgot to take into consideration there would be snow and that the brakes were touchy. When you flew around that corner, you must’ve hit the brake hard because I watched you fly right out of that thing and sail into a snow bank,” I said, laughing at the scene in my mind.

  Dallas chuckled, taking a bite of steak. “Yeah, your brother landed right beside me as I recall. And you went running home to tell on us. Again.”

  We both laughed until my stomach hurt. Dallas sobered up first and wiped his eyes before finishing off his steak and potatoes. His gaze drifted to the windows and I wondered if he was picturing a tree there like I was. I also remembered he hadn’t answered my question.

  “So, why no tree?” I took my last bite of steak and then set my fork down. I reached for my wine glass and our eyes met, the comfortable energy between us suddenly turning tense.

  “Too many bad memories.” He lifted his wine glass. The large gulp he took told me how uncomfortable he was on this subject. I wondered what bad memories he was talking about but wasn’t sure if I should pry.

  I twisted my lips to one side. “I love this dining table. Is this the kind of furniture you’ll be selling at the store?” I asked, vaguely remembering that my plan was to get him out of my business space, not give him encouragement to stay there.

  He nodded. “I have stock built up that I keep in a back building on my property. Since we’ve both finished dinner, why don’t we sit by the fireplace and I’ll light a fire?”

  The idea of sitting beside him on that sofa, in front of a fire, and with a glass of wine sounded so . . . incredibly romantic. My brain told me to say no, but I must’ve indulged in too much wine. Or maybe that close call at the restaurant had unhinged me. Either way, I bit my lip, unable to resist. “That sounds lovely. Let me help you clean up first.”

  We cleared the table and then took our glasses to the couch. I perched on the edge, watching him light the fire. Then he hit a dimmer switch and the room darkened in the corners but the fire burned a cheerful orange-red. I stared at those flames, mesmerized.

  He sat next to me, the scent of his woodsy cologne making my belly flutter. The mood was intimate and romantic, with shadows on the walls cast by the flickering firelight. His thigh brushed mine, sending ripples of goosebumps up my arms.

  The coziness of the room and the decadent plushness of the sofa lulled me for a moment, inviting fantasies of a long kiss and the feel of his arms around me. The pull of that fantasy was so strong that I actually leaned closer to him, my shoulder meeting his solid body with a brush that sent flitters of excitement tingling through me.

  This was not a good thing.

  I jerked back and turned away from him, my gaze landing on a silver-framed photograph sitting on the fireplace mantel. “Is that you as a boy?” I asked, recognizing a younger version of Dallas that must’ve been from his early high school days sitting next to an older gentleman with a plaid shirt. “Who’s that with you? Your dad?”

  He sucked in breath. “My uncle.”

  The pain in his voice was clear, which tugged at my heartstrings. “Are you two close?” I asked, assuming he’d say yes. After all, people didn’t generally keep pictures on the mantel if they weren’t of someone close to them.

  “Uncle Richard and I are as close as we can be, I guess.” He raked a hand through his hair and then popped off the couch. Even though he’d just set the fire up, he went to the fireplace, lifted the poker and jammed it into the logs, which burned merrily and showed no sign of abating any time soon. I stood, not sure why he looked so upset.

  “Dallas?” I went to him, placing my hand on his ar
m, which felt rigid and stiff beneath my fingers. My gaze flew to the photo of the happy boy, making me wonder what was going on. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

  “It’s not your fault.” He set the poker back in the rack, leaned against the wall, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I just don’t usually talk about him.”

  I felt more confused than ever. Did that mean he never had people over who asked about the photo? Addie Wilcox had mentioned he’d been holed up in this house. Maybe she’d been right.

  “You’re obviously upset.” I squeezed his arm and leaned against the wall so we were facing each other. “We can talk about it if you want . . .”

  The fire outlined his rugged body, but left his face in the shadows. Even so, I could see that his forehead creased and the corners of his mouth turned downward.

  “I’m still trying to live it all down,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  A chill vibrated through me. I moved closer to him. My pulse raced and something clicked in my memory. “Does this have to do with what happened in high school?”

  He leveled me with his gaze. “It has everything to do with it.”

  My fingers twisted together. “I heard rumors, but I never knew the real story. There was an accident, right?”

  His jaw tightened. “The accident was my fault. If that’s what you heard.”

  “I’d rather hear the truth, directly from you.” I lifted the frame from the mantel and stared down at the picture. “You two look happy together.”

  “You know my dad’s an alcoholic, right?” He waited and finally nodded when I didn’t answer. “He’s known as the town drunk, so you’ve heard. Bad rumors even get back to me. But that one’s true. My dad started drinking after my mom left us. He couldn’t handle raising me alone. Uncle Richard stepped in, took me under his wing.”

  My throat tightened. “Your uncle sounds like a nice man.”

  “The best,” he said, his jaw tightening. “One night during my senior year, my dad asked me to wake him in the morning for work at the sawmill. My uncle worked there, too. I’d even had part-time jobs there. But that weekend, I’d been out late partying and forgot to set the alarm.”