After shift change, she’d obviously slipped into the bathroom and had a good cry, was still fighting tears. She’d looked vulnerable, needy, way too distraught to be getting behind the wheel of a car.
Way too distraught for him to let her.
He’d insisted on driving her home.
Which was all fine and dandy.
Walking her to the door, going inside, staying, was where he’d messed up.
He didn’t date hospital employees, wouldn’t date hospital employees.
He hadn’t really dated Abby. He’d just not been able to stand the sadness in her eyes, to stand the thought of her driving upset and possibly something happening to her. They’d ended up naked, in her bed, making love until they’d both collapsed in each other’s arms and slept the day away.
He shouldn’t have done that.
Shouldn’t have agreed to be her Santa.
Shouldn’t be here now.
So why was he pulling up a chair, willingly staying somewhere Christmas tunes played, instead of beating a path to the door?
Was her imagination running wild or was Dirk looking at her like he’d rather take a bite out of her instead of the peanut-butter fudge?
Abby turned away from his intense blue eyes and took a deep breath. Needing to do something with her hands, she twisted on the faucet and filled the sink with sudsy water to wash the dishes she’d used to make the cookies and two batches of fudge—one chocolate, one peanut butter.
“This is really great.”
There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice. She’d swear she heard him moan a moment ago.
Without turning toward him, Abby began stacking the dishes into the hot water to let them soak a few minutes.
“My mother had tons of great recipes, but…” But most of them had been lost in the fire. Only her mother’s Christmas recipes packed away in the crates in the basement had survived. The items stored in the basement had been the only items that had survived, period. Almost every box had contained precious Christmas items. “I always bring several big platters full of goodies to the hospital every Christmas.”
“Like the fudge you brought the other day?”
“That, and more.” She grabbed a dish towel, turned toward him and leaned against the sink. “I like to bake. I like how the house smells when I have cookies in the oven and candies going on the stovetop and…”
Realizing she was probably boring him, heat flushed her face. She wiped her hands more with the dish towel, wondering if the moisture was from the dishwater or from nervous clamminess. Dirk made her edgy.
“Sorry.” She smiled wryly. “Christmas is my favorite holiday and I get carried away at times.”
“Obviously.”
Despite the amusement in his eyes, something about the way he said the word struck her as wrong. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His grin stayed in place but, still, there was something off kilter, something a bit too brittle about him. “Just that it looks like Bing Crosby should be showing up any moment to start singing about a white Christmas.”
“What would be so bad about that? He was a great singer. What’s wrong with you anyway? All day you’ve acted like you really don’t like Christmas.”
He shrugged. “I don’t.”
“Say it isn’t so!” Astounded, flabbergasted, shocked, her mouth dropped open and her palm flattened against her chest, dish towel and all.
“Why?” He shrugged, looking so serious it made Abby want to loosen her apron strings. “It’s the truth. I’m surprised you buy into such a commercialized holiday.”
“The business world commercializes every holiday but that doesn’t lessen what the day is about.”
“Which is?”
“Are you kidding me?” She eyed him, wondering if he was teasing her. When he’d first told her he didn’t like Christmas, she’d thought he was just trying to get out of playing Santa. Could anyone really not like Christmas? Why wouldn’t they? “Christmas is about everything good in life. It’s a time when families come together and give of themselves to each other. A time when the world slows down and gives a helping hand to someone in need. It’s—”
“It’s a time when people run up credit-card debt they can’t pay. It’s a time of the highest rate of depression cases treated, the highest rate of suicide, the highest rate of—”
“How can you be such a cynic about Christmas?” Abby tossed the dish towel onto the countertop and frowned. How could someone not love Christmas? Not love the bright colors in the stores, the sounds of Christmas over the radio, the decorations along the streets? Abby even loved walking past the Salvation Army bellringers. Dropping money into their collection pails always made her feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Giving of oneself was the greatest joy of the holidays. Sure, it would be nice to have someone give to her, to share the moments with, but she’d already decided once today that she’d had enough self-pity.
“I’m not a cynic,” he denied, but the more he talked, the more convinced she became that he was.
“I’m a realist,” he clarified. “For most, Christmas is a major stressor with trying to come up with the perfect gift, trying to figure out how they’re going to pay for that gift, and how they’re going to fight the crowds to make sure they get their hands on that perfect gift.”
“You’re so negative,” she pointed out, wondering what had given him such a slanted view of her favorite time of the year. “I see Christmas as at time when you get to search out that special gift to bring a smile to someone’s face. A gift meant just for them from you that signifies who they are and how much you appreciate having them in your life.”
“It’s about rushing from one place to the next,” he went on, as if she’d never interrupted his tirade. “Never quite satisfying family and friends with how much of your time you can allot for the festivities they planned without any consideration for your busy schedule. It’s about high emotions and family bickering and—”
“Bah, humbug,” she interrupted, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting down beside him, positive she was staring at a complete stranger. Who would have thought the wonderful emergency doctor was such a Scrooge? The caring man who’d been as devastated by the deaths of two patients as she had? “Say what you will, but that’s not what Christmas is about. Not to me, and you should be ashamed for being so…so…Grinchy!”
He eyed her for long, silent moments, studying her as if she were an oddity. Then, as if he’d not just dissed her favorite holiday, dissed her favorite childhood memories of perfect Christmas moments, his lips curved into a crooked smile. “If it’s any consolation, I really like Christmas fudge.”
Taking a deep breath, relaxing the tension that had tightened her neck muscles, Abby sighed. How could she stay annoyed at him when he gave her that boyish look that made her toes curl in her shoes?
“Good thing I didn’t know all this about you when I asked you to be Santa,” she said, smoothing out the edge of a plain red and green table placemat. “You, Dr. Kelley, are no Santa Claus.”
“You asked me to be Santa because you couldn’t get anyone else to agree.” Still showing wry amusement, his gaze pinned hers. “Admit it.”
An unexpected giggle rose up her throat. “Okay, you’re right. Everyone else I asked claimed to be busy.”
“Such classic examples of Christmas goodwill and cheer.”
“They were probably busy,” she said defensively, although