Holiday Sparks

Her eyes hurt, they were so dry. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you, Ben.”

“Sure you would have. You’re the most efficient and capable woman I’ve ever known, Darcy Tucker.”

God, why did that sound so insulting?

She’d worked hard to be every single one of those things.

“I guess I should go.”

Ben’s usually warm and flirty voice was flat. Not cold, just absolutely flat. “Thanks for stopping by.”

Thanks for the orgasm? She hurried to the front door and escaped to the porch. Resting her forehead on her own door, she turned the knob. Locked. “Just perfect,” she whispered and trudged to the back of her house. The bitter wind made her eyes water. Of course it was the wind.

Chapter Eleven

Ben climbed down from the ladder, tucking the last of the clips in his pocket. He couldn’t look at the house without wanting to hit his heavy bag every night. The only option was to take down the fucking lights.

She didn’t want them up anyway.

And he was tired of thinking about her all goddamn night. His brand new king-sized bed was forever ruined by one night with Darcy. He could still smell her on his pillow. He’d changed the sheets almost a week ago and still, she was there.

He unplugged and tore at the painstaking swirls he’d made around each of the small hedges that lined the front of the house. He wound them around his arm. He’d take the materials over to his brother’s house and set up a kickass display for Brittany.

That, at least, he could do. A few hours with his favorite kiddo would put him back to rights. He moved to the baby Japanese maple that sat in the center of her lawn. That one he’d leave. She’d have the little bit of decorations she needed to keep the Association off her back and still leave her to her Christmas-free world.

Perfect.

He threw the last bundle of lights and his ladder into the bed of his truck and headed out to his brother’s place. John lived in a modest little house on the other side of town. The neighborhood was a bit more rundown, the yards a little spottier with crabgrass and dying winter landscapes. But the houses were still well-tended for the most part and it was safe for Brittany to play outside with her friends.

Ben pulled up and spotted Brittany sitting on the front stoop, the dull thwack of a tennis ball against brick never stopping. That wasn’t good. Brit usually ran right over to him when he came to visit.

Her posture was stiff against the half wall of the brick surround porch. The right arm of her coat was pinned crookedly to her zipper to keep it out of the way. The white strap of an immobilizer showed against her neck.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey, Uncle Ben.”

He squatted in front of her and tugged on the empty sleeve. “How’s the mend going?”

She sighed. “I wish it would go faster. I still have to wait three whole weeks! I told Dad it doesn’t even hurt anymore, but he won’t let me take this stupid thing off.” She shrugged and winced.

Sure it didn’t hurt. He tugged on her messy pigtail. Brit had been doing her own hair since well before school, but it was obvious John was helping out. “Where’s your dad?”

“Work.”

He glanced at his watch. John usually came home before his daughter got out of school on the days she wasn’t at the shop with him. “Is he running late?”

“He texted me. I told him it was okay.”

“You have your key, right?”

She resumed bouncing. “Yeah, I was just bored. He gets mad when I bounce the ball in the house.”

“Well, I thought I’d come over and decorate the outside. Want to help?”

Her huge brown eyes brightened, then dimmed. “How am I supposed to help with this stupid thing on?”

“You can feed the lights to me and tell me if they’re crooked or not.”