43 - Home for the Holidays

Sheridan checked the time on her phone.  Again.  This time it was nine-thirty instead of nine-twenty-eight, but there was still no text message from Jon.  She’d hoped for at least a quick text of thanks for the tiramisu.  Something. 

Stifling a disappointed sigh, she reasoned that he hadn’t seen his children in days.  They deserved his full, undivided attention and she was a mature woman, not some vapid, clingy girl who needed reassurance every five minutes.  She just missed him.

That’s what had prompted the Italian dessert delivery.  When Suzy had been unavailable, Sheridan coerced her sister into going out to dinner with the vague hope of cracking Riley’s code of silence about her conversation with Jon.  Both women had been in the mood for pasta, and Mezzaluna had been the obvious choice in Sheridan’s book.  The tiramisu on the menu had immediately stirred memories of her date with Jon at Delmonico’s, and she couldn’t resist sending it, just to let him know she was thinking of him.

Riley had given her a smug smile.

“What?” Sheridan asked defensively, cradling a glass of Pinot Grigio in her palm.

“At least I understand the new wine choice now.”

She frowned unpleasantly at her sister’s teasing.  “Shut up and tell me what you two talked about.”

“What?” was Riley’s laughing reply.  “He wouldn’t tell you?”

“Other than saying you invited him for Christmas, no.”

“Then I shouldn’t tell you either.”  Merry green eyes danced with mirth, but just as Sheridan was about throw a hissy fit, Riley amended her statement. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to...”

It was all Sheridan could do to contain her delighted squeal.  Shoving her wineglass aside she propped her forearms against the edge of the small table for two and leaned beseechingly toward Riley’s side.  “Then tell me already!”

Her sister pretended nonchalance, picking up a breadstick and waving it casually.  “Oh, it was nothing really.  He just wanted to know what kind of jewelry you like, so he could pick out a Christmas gift.”  She bit the end of the breadstick off in one concise bite and beamed with satisfaction.  “Now you tell me…  Is he worthy of all the fantasies he inspires?”

A Christmas gift.  Oh, God, what am I going to get him for a Christmas gift?

“Definitely worthy.”

“I almost didn’t have to ask that,” Riley mused softly, extending an arm across the table and folding Sheridan’s hand into hers with a squeeze.  “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen you so happy that you practically glow?  Try never.  Any guy that can do that has got my vote, no matter who he is.” 

The entire rest of the meal, Sheridan searched anxiously in her mind for what to get a millionaire rock star boyfriend for Christmas.  Something personal, but not inappropriately so considering the short time they’d been together.

Sweater?  It would be fun to dress him, but as a gift it was boring.

Jewelry?  Was she edgy enough to choose jewelry for him?  Probably not, and a jewelry gift for a man carried more intimacy than a woman. 

Watch?  He was always wearing one, and it wasn’t too personal…  Maybe?

There was always something sex-related, but she didn’t want to go there.  Their love life was free and uninhibited all on its own.  There was no need for a special occasion to make it special.  Besides, she wanted him to have a ‘real’ gift. 

Arriving home with no more concrete an idea than she’d started with, Sheridan nonetheless had Christmas on the brain.  Her apartment didn’t reflect that though.  Other than her baking and candy last week, she hadn’t done a thing to commemorate the holiday in her home. 

To that end, she’d called maintenance to help her haul the miscellaneous boxes from her storage unit and put up her tree. 

Now white lights twinkled from the yet unadorned branches, their softly blurred reflection glowing in the glass panes of the terrace doors, and causing Sheridan to just stop and smile with appreciation.  Most people wouldn’t put their tree in the bedroom, but she liked to lie in bed and get lost in the sentimentality of it as she drifted off to sleep.  There weren’t that many visitors that came calling, anyway, so why shouldn’t it be where she could appreciate it? 

After bending to select a paper angel – handmade by Madison a couple of years ago – Sheridan couldn’t resist tapping the button on her phone again. 

Nine-forty.  No text. 

Stop moping and figure out what kind of gift to get him.

The screen had just gone black when it flared back to life with a shimmy against the mattress and proudly displayed ‘Jon’ at the top of the screen.

The angel fluttered back into the box of decorations and she scooped up the iPhone.  Falling back the bed,  she swiped a finger across it, grinning up at the ceiling.  “Hey, handsome,” she all but purred. 

“Hey yourself, beautiful.”  The sexily rumbled greeting was enough to tease her pulse into dancing a little faster. 

“How was your evening?”

“It was good, but it got even better when a delivery boy knocked on my door.”

“Oh yeah?”  She couldn’t stop smiling, and pushed a hand into her hair, securing it away from her face for a moment before allowing it to pool around her shoulders on the duvet.  “Did he bring anything good?”

“I dunno.  The kids liked the gelato and cannoli, but I haven’t tasted anything myself.”

A tiny furrow formed between her eyebrows.  “Why not?”

“Well, I have it on good authority that this tiramisu is sex in food form,” he explained in a lazy drawl.  “And seeing as you’re the only one I wanna have sex with… I waited.”

Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame.

“You’re a pretty smooth talker there, Bongiovi,” she tried to tease, put a little off-balance by his frankness.  Or bullshit.  Whichever was applicable.

“No smooth.  Just talking, Baby.”

Struck dumb, Sheridan blinked at the ceiling, feeling a little like she could float up there to dust the fan.  He hadn’t run screaming back to his single life after almost four solid days together.  He’d gone romantic. 

Holy cow.

“Well, I’m here now,” she quietly prompted.  “You’re free to enjoy it.”

“I will.”  His voice was just as quiet.  “But first I wanna know if you had tiramisu tonight.”

“I did.”

“And did you think about me while you were eating it?”

She felt a warm flush start to steal over her body as his questions went from casual to something more sensual.  At least that’s the way she perceived them.

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

She pulled at neck of the old Bon Jovi shirt she’d unearthed from a box in the back of the closet, fanning herself. 

“There’s not much to tell.  I was in the middle of a restaurant.”

“Not believing you, Kitten.  I taught you the game face.”

He had.  And she’d used it to the best of her ability tonight when eating that creamy, decadent confection of mascarpone, espresso and lady fingers.

“I thought about the way it tastes.  The way you taste.  I want to lick it from your lips,” she whispered. 

His hoarse response came as a sweet surprise.  “I miss you in bed with me.”

“Me, too.  I’ve gotten used to you hogging the bed.”

“I’m not hogging the bed,” Jon chuckled gently.  “I’m hogging you, trying to get close.  I have to push you to the edge before you quit scooting away.”

She’d be damned if she ever scooted again, she thought, eyes misting at his unusual tenderness.  Sheridan was on the verge of blurting out those three little words before the opportunity escaped.

“So what’cha been up to since I left you?  Besides dinner,” he moved on as though nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired.

Her eyes fluttered shut.  She took several soundless breaths to clear her head and form a coherent reply that didn’t contain the words ‘I love you’.

“Christmas tree.  I’m putting up the tree.”

“Where at?  In the corner of the living room?”

It felt so silly to be talking about such mundane things. 

“No, in the bedroom.  I moved the chair that you use as a hamper and put it in front of the terrace doors.”

“Now where am I supposed to put my clothes when I take them off?”

“Who cares?  I know I won’t once you have them off.”

His laughter warmed her insides, and easily curled her mouth into a sedate smile.  This… intimacy was almost better than the sex.  Would it still feel this good when he was gone on tour for weeks at a time?  Would they even still be together then?  Sheridan fervently hoped so.

“What about you?  Good day with your kids?”

His gusty sigh had her forehead wrinkling with concern.  “Yeah, it was.  There were some spots that weren’t quite so bright, but overall it was fine.  It’s always good when I have my babies with me.”

Her heart pinched at the unmistakable love and affection in those two words – ‘my babies’.  

“What spots weren’t so bright?” she asked gently. 

“My youngest, Romeo, overheard his mother and me talking about Richie about how the divorce got him in this situation.  Romeo got it in his head that we’re both gonna become alcoholics and go to rehab, abandoning him and his brothers and sister.”

“Ohhhh, the poor little guy.  Did you set him straight, I hope?”

“The doctor – that’s how I found out, he had an appointment today – said not to push it down his throat, but that it might be good to stay away from the booze for a while and reassure him that we’re not going anyplace.  Dorothea, of course, is pissed.”

“Why is she pissed?  It’s not like you did anything wrong.”

“Some days I’m responsible for the national debt and global warming in Dorothea’s eyes,” he grumbled.  “She was already pissed at me to begin with.  Now she’s worried about Romeo and taking it out on me.”

Never having met the woman, Sheridan didn’t want to take an instant dislike to her, but it was hard not to.  She certainly wasn’t coming across as all that likable in the way she was attacking Jon, and Sheridan got her hackles up on his behalf.

“Where does that leave you?  You’re worried about him too.”

“I’m gonna address it head-on.  I decided that, while I respect Romeo’s doctor, he’s my son and I’m not gonna let him think his daddy might vanish one day.”  Determination steeled his voice, making it all the more apparent when his gentler tone returned.  “So in the meantime, my sweet Kitten, that leaves me with tiramisu and you to distract me.”

“If that’s what you want, then it’s yours.”  With a final scowl, she let subject of Jon’s ex-wife fall into the recesses of her mind.  Sheridan wasn’t in a place to judge, and even if she were, it wasn’t doing Jon any favors.  “I’m here.  Now pop that tiramisu in your mouth and savor the decadence.”

“I will, Miss Impatient, but in my own time.  Don’t rush.  I realized this evening that we don’t have any plans to see each other.  That should be remedied immediately, don’t you think?”

She reluctantly smiled, rolling from her back to her left side and pulling a pillow against her chest.  “Of course,” she mock-gasped.  “What was I thinking?”

“Smartass.”

A soft giggle eked out.  “Just a little.  How long do you have your kids?”

“Until Christmas Eve.  I’ll take them back to Dorothea’s that afternoon and go back Christmas morning to open gifts with them.”

“And what are your plans for tomorrow?”

“Christmas shopping.  They’re delivering my tree, so I guess we’ll decorate it.  You wanna come help us decorate the tree?”

That sent a frisson of trepidation trickling along her spine.  They’d had one abstract conversation about meeting his children, and she didn’t know that now was the right time. 

You were ready to tell him you love him.  Are you waiting for that to change?

“I don’t know, Jon.”

“I told Stephanie a little bit about us when she figured out the desserts came from a woman.  She’d like to meet you.”

His daughter was about eighteen, if Sheridan recalled correctly.  Home on semester break from college.  She might not be happy about her father moving on, particularly if her mother was still bitter.  It could be awkward. 

It wasn’t that Sheridan didn’t want to meet them.  She did.  They were a big part of his life and made him happy in ways that no one but a child could.  Just… not now and not that way.

“I’d like to meet her too, but trimming the tree is very much a family activity.  I don’t want to intrude on that.  Don’t you think it would be uncomfortable for them having a stranger hanging their ornaments on their tree?”

“Dorothea kept all the Christmas stuff for them, so this tree will have all new ornaments.  We’re going to pick them out tomorrow while we’re shopping.  Technically, they aren’t their ornaments yet.”

“Jon…”  She couldn’t believe he didn’t get it.  When he spoke again, she realized he did get it, but wanted it to be different, anyway.

“Yeah, I know,” came the disappointed admission.  “You’re probably right.  But soon.  You’ll meet them soon?”

“Yes, soon,” she pledged, hugging the pillow tighter. 

“And I’ll meet your family.”

That, she noticed, wasn’t a question. 

“Yes, if you want to.”

“Doesn’t matter if I want to or not, Baby,” he chuckled.  “I promised your sister.”

She groaned quietly.  “Riley will survive a broken promise, I assure you.”

“Nope.  I’m a man of my word.  Now…”  There was a shifting and rustling at the other end of the line, followed by a squeak of Styrofoam.  “Let’s see about that tiramisu...”