Rusty Nailed (Cocktail, #2)(12)

Simon relaxed on the couch, watching me sweep and commenting when my backside looked particularly fetching. Looking over the rim of his coffee cup, he asked, “Hey, what were you doing sketching on a Saturday? You gotta work today?”

“Kinda sorta.”

“Kinda sorta?”

“Yeah, a big job that Jillian put me on. We’re bidding on it next week, and if I get this job it’ll mean . . . Well, it’d be a big deal.” I hesitated, not even wanting to say it out loud. This would be big giant balls big.

“That’s great! What kind of job?”

“A hotel in Sausalito. Jillian’s given me the lead on it, due to the wedding and her honeymoon. So yeah, big week at work.” I finished the sweeping and threw the raisins into the trash. Grabbing my sketchbook, I headed into the living room and sat next to him, propping my feet in his lap.

“Sounds big. That’s good, babe.”

“Plus, I’m kind of taking over while they’re on their honeymoon. I’m gonna be swamped.”

“You can handle it. I’m proud of you.”

“Well, be proud of me if I get the job. Till then it’s just a bid. But fingers crossed, right?” I laughed, lying back against the cushions as he rubbed my heel.

“I have a good feeling about this. Maybe we’ll have something to celebrate next week,” he said, wiggling my big toe. “Speaking of celebrations, how’d you like to come to Rio with me this December?”

Whuh?

I say again, whuh?

“I love when you drop your consonants,” he murmured, scooting closer and leaning over me.

“I said that out loud?”

“You sure did.”

“Okay. Well, then, answer my whuh.”

“No one on the planet has ever said that exact sentence before.” He chuckled, drawing a line with his fingertip down my nose and pressing it against my mouth.

“Rio? In December?” I mumbled.

“For Christmas.”

“Whuh?”

As he laughed, I scrambled up from beneath him. “Explain, please.”

“Nothing to explain. I booked a job in Brazil—I’ll be working in Rio on Christmas. I want my best girl with me.”

Christmas in Brazil. Sultry warm ocean breeze. Sipping caipirinhas under festival lanterns. Coconut oil. Bikini. Simon.

Second Christmas away from home in a row?

I flashed back to Christmases past, growing up. I had a favorite aunt and uncle— doesn’t everyone? Technically my great-aunt and -uncle, Liz and Lou were legends in our family. They never had kids, and whether that was by design or nature, I never knew; no one ever talked about that. But they led a life that I had always dreamed of.

They traveled every year, and I mean they traveled. Uncle Lou made good money, invested wisely, and when he retired at sixty-five they hit the road. They owned a home in San Diego, but they just used it as a base. They had friends all over the world and spent time in places like Madrid, Athens, Rome, Lisbon, Amsterdam, Caracas, and S?o Paulo. Rio de Janeiro. They took off whenever they wanted, and went wherever the wind told them to go. They were only occasionally around for Christmas, and I was always excited to see where my present would come from each year, what faraway place the postage would be from.

Did they love their family less because they chose to travel across the globe for Christmas? I never thought so, although some of the more traditional members of the family felt it was strange and a little selfish that they didn’t want to be singing carols at my grandmother’s and eating turkey with everyone else.

I thought it was romantic, exciting, and a little wonderful.

They passed away a few years ago, within three months of each other. After they died I was helping to go through some of their things and I came across their passports. They were battered, worn, and stamped with cities all across the globe, some of which I had never heard of.

And when I went to Salzburg last year to keep Simon company on Christmas, I didn’t feel selfish or strange. I thought it was romantic, exciting, and more than a little wonderful. Furthest thing from traditional, but maybe a Simon and Caroline tradition?

I mentally calculated whether my additional work responsibilities would allow me to take time off. The holidays were a busy period for us, but the week between Christmas and New Year’s was pretty manageable. This invite was out of the blue, but not out of the world of the possible.

I began to hum “The Girl from Ipanema,” a grin slowly spreading across my face.

“Is that a yes to Rio?” he asked.

“It’s a hell yes, Wallbanger—hell yes to Rio!” I squealed, wrapping my legs around his waist and seeing the look of excitement on his face before I brought him down for a big, wet kiss. Last year, I invited myself along. This year, he wanted me with him. Fuck, I loved this man.

We kissed for a moment, then he went back to his side of the couch and resumed my foot rub and I went back to my sketching.

A few minutes later, I got a text. I snorted, then told Simon, “Hey, this just in from Wedding Central. You need to get measured for your tux, pronto. Jillian said you and Benjamin are supposed to go together; she’s freaking out.”

“I know—best man and all; I need to look good.” He rolled his eyes.

When Benjamin asked Simon to stand up for him at the wedding, it was kind of perfect. Since I was one of Jillian’s bridesmaids.