Maybe This Kiss Read online

“I’ll see you there, and we can figure something out.”

  She smiled as she nodded. “Okay.” She headed for the door. “But remember, I’m not saying yes.”

  “But you’re not saying no.” He pulled her in and kissed her hard, quick. “But just so you know—that kiss of yours is saying yes.”

  * * *

  The children’s Christmas party had a record turnout, and Becky breathed a sigh of relief—one more thing she could check off the December to-do list.

  “Your brothers are really great for doing this,” Neil said, coming up behind her.

  Becky looked across the community hall where Jackson, dressed as Santa, gave out presents to the military kids, while Ben and Asher signed autographs on hockey sticks and jerseys. “Yeah. They can be okay sometimes,” she said, knowing she’d never admit how great she thought her brothers were. For years she’d given the annoying-younger-brothers-eye-roll response, and that wasn’t about to change.

  “The kids are enjoying themselves.”

  “The adults, too.” She nodded toward several dads in line for autographs.

  “You help organize this every year?”

  “This will be my last one. It’s time to step away and move on.” She glanced at the man next to her and knew he was the reason that idea held less remorse and anxiety than it used to.

  “So, after this…”

  She avoided his gaze and the question as she grabbed several goodie bags to hand to a few children who were leaving. “Merry Christmas,” she said to them.

  He took a step closer. “Can I take you to dinner?”

  She shook her head. “Tonight is the Westmores’ annual tree-raising and decorating.” Though for the first time ever, she was tempted to abandon the long-time tradition. Unfortunately, neither her mother nor Taylor would let her hear the end of it if she missed it.

  “Ah, that’s right. It’s nice that your family still puts up a tree together every year.”

  “Yup. Once my brothers trek out to the forest to bring one back.”

  Checking her watch, she started cleaning up discarded paper cups and plates. Neil grabbed a garbage bin and followed. Jackson approached as the last kid scurried off with their present.

  “Hey, Santa—heading out?” she asked.

  “My reindeer and sleigh should be arriving any minute,” he said. “Ho-ho-ho!”

  Asher slid into his New Jersey Devils jacket as he joined them. “Once Ben’s done flirting with all the single moms, we better get going. It’s going to be dark soon, and I’m not freezing my a—”

  “Language,” Becky warned.

  “Okay. I’m not freezing my nu—”

  She covered his mouth as several families walked past. “I’ll be done in ten minutes, and I’ll drag Ben away,” she said, glancing toward the autograph table where her brother posed for selfies with several women she was sure had not brought a child to the event. She shook her head. One day, Ben…

  “So, I really won’t see you tonight?” Neil asked.

  Cheeks as red as Rudolph’s nose, she ignored the looks on her brothers’ faces. “No.”

  “I could help decorate the tree.”

  Her mouth gaped. He wanted in on their family traditions? Even when they’d dated before, he’d never participated. But this year he didn’t have family of his own, except Cliff, and she knew he’d never impose on his cousin’s holiday festivities with Holly. She was tempted to say yes, but it was her brothers’ tradition, too…

  “How are you with an axe?” Asher asked, surprising her.

  Was her brother serious? Neil alone in the woods with the three of them and something sharp—not a great idea. “He just offered to help decorate, not cut it down…”

  “I don’t mind going with the guys.” In fact, he actually looked excited to be invited and included.

  Still, she hesitated. Though what she was nervous about, she wasn’t sure.

  Ben came up behind them and turned to wink at Holly as she waved goodbye to the group.

  Becky punched his shoulder. “She’s as good as married.”

  Ben shrugged. “But not quite. So, you coming?” he asked Neil.

  They all stared at her. “Fine. I don’t care. It’s your tradition—do what you want.”

  Neil smiled.

  Becky moved away from her brothers and turned to face Neil. “I don’t know what you’re happy about. You’ve just agreed to go in front of a firing squad—except with axes.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her into him. “If it means I get to see you later, it’s worth it.”

  She swallowed hard. Somehow she felt as though her brothers were putting her to a test as well. “We’ll see.”

  * * *

  He couldn’t feel his toes.

  As dusk settled over the mountains, Neil wasn’t sure how much more of the dipping temperatures he could tolerate. He hadn’t expected to be going on a tree-hunting expedition that evening and was nowhere near prepared for it. His fingers had long ago gone numb, and his entire body ached with a bone-chilling longing for heat. He’d learned to keep his mouth firmly closed, as the cool wind made his teeth hurt, and his exposed head was giving him brain-freeze. The daytime sun at least gave the pretense of a milder climate, providing a worthy adversary to the cold. At night, the thick covering of frost settling on the bare tree branches had nothing to fear. He watched Becky’s brothers walking ahead of him, unfazed. These men spent their lives on ice. To them, this was probably even fun.

  “How are you holding up back there?” Jackson called over his shoulder.

  “Nothing to it,” he said through chattering teeth.

  “Enjoying your first real winter back?” Ben said, pulling an even thicker pair of gloves from his pockets.

  Neil looked at them longingly. “Absolutely.”

  Ben extended the gloves toward him.

  “No thanks. I’m toasty,” he said, ignoring his protesting fingers that were about to fall off. Ben nodded his approval, and Neil felt a tiny victory. He’d always wondered if the Westmore family had thought him good enough for Becky, and now was his chance to prove that he was. The boys had been kids themselves when they’d been together the first time, so their acceptance hadn’t seemed to matter as much as it did now.

  “So, what did you decorate in Miami? A palm tree?” Asher asked, stopping next to them. He tucked his light brown hair beneath a New Jersey Devils logo hat. While the guy was a fantastic hockey player, Neil would never have guessed hockey would be his sport of choice. He was shaped more like a rugby player but with a laid-back surfer kind of attitude. Growing up, he hadn’t seemed as intense about the game as Ben and Jackson were, but he was arguably the better player.

  “Nah. We had real fir trees on base. They ship them in from North Carolina.” Going to Jake’s Christmas tree farm to select a perfect, precut tree in sixty-five-degree weather was a hell of a lot different than this, though.

  “Minus the snow-covered branches?”

  “You can get anything for a price. It’s called flocking. They’d dust the tree from a light covering of fake snow to a full on snowstorm-covered one.”

  “’Cause that’s the same thing,” Jackson said, whipping a snowball at him from behind.

  “I’d retaliate but I can’t feel my fingers,” he muttered.

  He stopped again when they did, noticing that finally they were surrounded by options. How long had they been walking without a viable tree in sight? An hour? Maybe two? For guys who did this every year, he’d have thought they’d be better at this.

  He couldn’t take much more. The deep, wet snow was now seeping in through the top of his boots, and his jeans were soaked and freezing up to his calves. For a military mission, he’d suck it up; to kill a Christmas tree—no. He’d been hoping to be with Becky that evening, not out there in the middle of nowhere with her annoying brothers. He smiled wryly, thinking how they’d always been cock-blockers. As teenagers, whenever things started to get hot and heavy between him and
Becky, one of these guys would appear, needing her help with homework or finishing their chores to get to hockey practice on time.

  He shook his head. Some things never changed. And while their protectiveness was understandable, they had nothing to worry about with him.

  A gust of wind nearly took his breath away. “All right, I’m calling it.” He was older than these jerks. Hell, at one time he’d even helped Becky babysit the younger two. Glancing around, he pointed to a tree that looked about six feet tall, full, and well proportioned. “That one right there. That’s the one,” he said, hunching his shoulders to lift his jacket higher around his exposed neck. Next year, he’d dress a whole lot better for this.

  Next year? The thought made him momentarily forget about the fact he was freezing to death.

  “Looks like the one. Did you bring an axe—cause we didn’t,” Ben said.

  The other two stared at him expectantly for a long moment as he tried to figure out if he was being punked.

  Then Ben and Jackson laughed and Asher looked at his watch. “That’s about two and a half hours,” he said.

  “Good enough,” Ben said, heading through a small section of trees to the left. “Shortcut is this way back to the Beast.”

  The Beast was Ben’s name for his Hummer, and Neil thought it was hilarious that the guy was still naming his rides. He’d called the first dirt bike Neil had fixed up for him Silent Thunder after his favorite WWE fighter.

  “Are we not getting a tree?” he asked. For two and a half hours they’d hiked through snow and ice and cold to get to this spot with dozens of fir and spruce trees, and now they were leaving?

  “Sure we are. From the Walmart parking lot,” Jackson said, tapping him on the shoulder as he passed. “Like every year.”

  “What?”

  “This is a national park. You can’t cut a tree down here,” Asher said, jogging past him on the trail.

  Neil frowned as the Hummer came into sight. He scanned the area. They’d been basically walking in various loops, never more than ten minutes from the vehicle, and his mind had been too numb to notice. Maybe it was time to take a refresher field training course. He’d spent too long behind a desk and in the air, because apparently his internal compass was screwed. “So you guys just come out here, kill a few hours, get tired, cold, and wet to make the ladies believe you cut the tree down yourselves?”

  Ben shook his head. “Usually we hit a movie or the pool hall for a while and then jump in a snowbank a block from the house. This was all for you, buddy.” The oldest Westmore brother smirked as he unlocked the Hummer.

  This was all for him. To see if he finally had what it took. If he’d suffer through it and man up to be worthy enough to date their sister again. Jeez, he’d hate to see the test if he ever wanted to marry her.

  He stopped, waiting for the verdict, but the brothers continued on. “So? Did I pass the test?” he asked, hurrying after them.

  Jackson slowed his pace to his. “If you decide to get involved with our sister again, your entire life will be a test,” he said.

  Right.

  * * *

  “Are you planning on hiding in here all evening?” her mother asked, opening the fridge behind her.

  “I’m not hiding. I’m decorating cookies,” Becky said, adding even more frosting to the gingerbread men on the tray. She reached for a handful of colorful sprinkles and, selecting only the white ones, strategically placed them along the edges to look like stitching. She glanced at the trays of cookies—three dozen…this should keep her busy for a while.

  “You’re hiding, and pretty soon, if you don’t go out there and flirt shamelessly with that gorgeous man decorating my tree, I’m going to. He was always a handsome boy, but wow, he certainly grew up to be a looker.”

  Becky sighed and wiped her hands on her snowman-covered apron. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

  “I may be sixty-two years old, but I’m not dead.” Her mother winked.

  She cocked her head to the side. “You know what I mean.”

  Her mother set the bowl of spiked eggnog on the counter and took her hands. “You’re not dead, either, sweet girl. It’s okay to start dating again. It’s more than okay, and it’s overdue, actually. I’m fairly certain I’m getting more action than you are.”

  Becky held up a hand, but it was too late to stop the disturbing image from forming. Unfortunately, though, her mother was right. She wasn’t dead. In fact she felt very much alive around Neil. She also felt terrified and unsure. “Why does he have to be military?”

  “That’s what’s holding you back? Still? The fact that he’s brave and selfless and proud to defend his country? I thought you’d gotten over that.”

  “You’re forgetting the part about putting his life on the line, tours overseas…” She bit her lip.

  “Sweetheart, your father died at fifty-eight years old from a heart attack, pulling weeds in the garden. Cheryl Myers’s husband was killed by a drunk driver, walking in a crosswalk. Jim Thomas’s wife…”

  Becky held up a hand. “I get it. We never know when our time’s up.” But the odds of growing old with someone greatly decreased when that person’s career put them in the line of fire. After experiencing such heartache, it was tough walking into a similar situation without a sense of anxiety.

  Her mother touched her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have traded the thirty years I had with your dad for sixty years with anyone else.”

  Becky swallowed hard. Her short time with Rob had been full of love and passion and commitment—things that were hard to find and even harder to hold on to. Had she been lucky enough to have the opportunity walk back into her life in Neil? Was she brave enough to find out?

  “What about Taylor? Do you think it’s fair of me to put her through this life again?”

  “Taylor adored her father. She was proud of him. She may have been young, but she understood what he did was important, that he was brave and strong. Someone she could respect and look up to…like Neil. A good man, a good father, is hard to find, sweetheart.”

  Releasing a deep breath, Becky untied the apron and straightened her sweater. “How do I look?”

  “Like my only chance of having more grandkids.” Her mother picked up a plate of cookies and handed it to her.

  “Oh, come on. I’m sure Ben has a bunch of children we don’t know about,” she teased, taking the tray.

  Her mother shook her head. “Oh, we’d know. No woman would let an opportunity to settle that boy down slip through her fingers.”

  When Becky got to the living room, she paused. Her brothers sat watching the hockey game while Neil and Taylor decorated the tree in front of the window. The lights were on and they were laughing over several handmade ornaments that had been part of the decorations for as long as Becky could remember. Seeing her daughter giggle with Neil made her ovaries do an involuntary springboard leap.

  More grandkids, her mother had said. Neil would certainly make adorable babies.

  “Hey, can we have some of those?” Asher asked.

  She jumped, nearly dropping the tray. The game had gone to commercial break and her brothers’ attention was momentarily not preoccupied.

  “I thought you didn’t eat sugar midseason?” They could preach about being healthy and staying fit all day long, but she knew at Christmas all bets were off. Besides, Ben and Asher were both playing the next day, and they’d burn off three dozen gingerbread and sugar cookies in the first period.

  Instead of taking a couple, Asher took the entire tray and set it on his lap. “Christmas cookies don’t count,” he said, popping one into his mouth.

  Ben and Jackson reached for the cookies, and she grabbed two before they disappeared completely, then joined Neil and Taylor at the tree. “Having fun?” she asked, handing each of them an over-frosted cookie.

  He smiled at her as he nodded, and she prayed the glow of the tree’s lights could be blamed for the rush of heat in her cheeks. “I have to say, these
are the most unique ornaments I’ve ever seen,” he said, holding up a piece of Ben’s junior hockey stick.

  She laughed as she took it. A tiny hole had been drilled through the edge of the splintered piece of wood, and a tattered piece of hockey tape dangled from the edge. “Now that we’re older and all moved out of the house, Mom likes to decorate the tree with memories instead of ornaments. This was Ben’s first broken stick…”

  “From a winning goal in the Gray Cup hockey finals,” he added from the couch, his gaze not leaving the television, where the third period had started.

  She hung it on the tree. Her brothers could probably tell a fantastic story about each of their ornaments. Her mother’s tree might be the worst decorated in town, but it certainly held memories.

  “What’s this one?” Neil asked, holding up a small plastic container on a string and struggling to peer inside.

  “Asher’s front teeth.”

  “Gross. Why?” He grabbed Taylor’s hand and put the box in it, wiping his own hand on his jeans.

  Taylor laughed as she put them on the tree. “These were knocked out in his first NHL game. A flying puck hit him square in the mouth.”

  “He didn’t even know he’d lost his teeth until he came to,” Becky added.

  Neil glanced toward her brothers, and Asher happily obliged with a wide smile, tapping the crowns in place of his front teeth.

  “Wow,” Neil said. “I never realized how odd your family is.”

  Becky punched his shoulder. “Not all the decorations are weird hockey stuff.” She scanned the boxes. Signed hockey pucks from the boys’ idols, pieces of jerseys they’d outgrown…was that a mouth guard? “I guess most are.” She opened the box that she knew held the tree skirt. “Here. You must remember this.” She unfolded the red flannel. Handprints in white paint and of various sizes covered the oversized skirt.

  Neil moved closer and his shoulder brushed hers, creating a tiny shock between them. “Becky, age four…Jackson age six…” he read over her shoulder, his breath warm on her cheek. “I do remember this.”

  She turned to smile at him, and their eyes met and held.