Marry Me at Christmas

“You’re really nice,” she said impulsively. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

He laughed. “People describe me in a lot of ways, but nice isn’t one of them.”

“Ginger thinks you’re nice.”

“She’s my sister. She has to.”

“She doesn’t and maybe it’s because she knows you best.”

He started toward her, then stopped a foot away. For several heartbeats his dark green eyes gazed at her, then he turned and pointed at the shelves.

“You get to pick tonight. Anything you want.”

A movie they would be watching together? In the snowy quiet? She hoped for the six-hour A&E version of Pride and Prejudice, but settled on a movie from the 1950s called Summertime.

“Excellent choice,” Jonny said, taking the DVD case from her. “Smart and sexy, with a strong female lead. Considering the time it was made, a single woman alone in Italy who goes on to have an affair with a married man was considered pretty dangerous stuff.”

“How can you know the plot?”

“I’ve seen it. I’ve seen every movie here.” He motioned to the hundreds of DVDs. “For me, it’s research. Why did one story line work and not another? What technique are the actors using? What can I learn from them?”

“Do you ever just relax and watch the show?”

“Tonight I will.”

She sat down while he loaded the DVD. When he joined her, she hoped he would settle close, but he kept a respectable distance between them. Darn and double darn.

Soon she was caught up in the beauty of Venice and the growing flirtation between Jane and Renato, and although she really enjoyed the movie, she couldn’t seem to forget about the man sitting on the same couch. She was aware of his presence in the dim light, of how he sat so quietly. When they both laughed when Jane fell in the canal, she found herself wanting to shift a little closer. Just to be near him.

“Jane should have stayed,” she said when the movie was finished. “They could have worked it out.”

“He wasn’t going to leave his wife, and she had a life back in Ohio.”

“A sad, lonely life.” They walked down the hall toward the kitchen. “You’re right, though. I would never tell a friend to give up everything for a guy. Certainly not one who was married. But they were so good together. Maybe he’ll go to Ohio and they’ll live happily ever after.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “It’s no surprise that you’re a romantic.”

Was he dismissing her? Was that a dismissive comment? The kiss was sadly fraternal, she thought. Here she was, snowed in with a sexy guy she had a mad crush on, and he thought of her as his baby sister. Or worse. He should have been swept away, yet there he stood. Completely unswept. Life wasn’t the least bit fair.

“Thanks for the movie,” she said as she put the leftover cookies into the elephant cookie jar. “Good night.”

“Night.”

She told herself not to hesitate. That if Jonny wanted to make his move, he was fit and agile and could certainly chase after her down the hall. Even though she walked as slowly as she could, nearly lingering at every step, he stayed in the kitchen. There was no plea for her to rip off her clothes, or let him rip off her clothes. In fact, there wasn’t any conversation at all. Just the quiet of her footsteps on the carpet and the sad, lonely beating of her silly, girlish heart.

Madeline closed the guest room door behind her and crossed to the bed. She sat there for a second before drawing in a breath and vowing that when the wedding was over, she was going to have a long look at her romantic life—or lack thereof. She was going to figure out why she fell for guys who weren’t available and what she could do to change. Because she didn’t want to end up like Katherine Hepburn in Summertime—a middle-age spinster with no one to care about. She wanted what her parents had, what Robbie had had. She wanted love and marriage and kids. She wanted it all.

But until Ginger’s wedding, she was going to have to deal with her crush and the knowledge that wanting wasn’t the same as having. And wishing didn’t make a man see you as the girl of his dreams.

* * *

Madeline stared at the bound pages in front of her. She hadn’t known what to expect when Jonny had asked her to look over a script. She’d never seen one before.

“I thought it would be digital,” she admitted, fingering the paper.

“I’m old school. I read books made of paper and I want my scripts the same way. I can make notes in the margin.”