Chapter 2

December 21, 1987

Remington removed a tux and a pair of suits from the bedroom closet and placidly crossed the room to the bed, where he carefully arranged the clothing inside the garment bag he'd laid out. Standing next to the bed, Laura huffed in frustration.

"It's never all going to fit," she groused, staring at a pair of suitcases and a second garment bag spread out on the bed. His eyes flicked to the three still empty pieces of luggage.

"You'll never know unless you try," he suggested, logically, returning to the closet to gather a trio of dress shirts.

"I don't need to try to know," she snapped. "I'll need an entire suitcase for the presents alone."

"The hazards of Christmas shopping in August," he quipped, flashing his pearly whites at her as he added shirts to garment bag.

"As opposed to shopping on Christmas Eve?" she retorted, referring to the Christmas two years prior when he'd waited until the last minute to buy her present. Of course, said present had never materialized given they'd been held hostage by three Santas and one deranged flower child. He had the decency to wince at the reminder. Clearing his throat, he leaned back on the heels of his feet and patted his chest a pair of times.

"I'm a reformed man, Miss Holt," he riposted with a wide smile. "All my shopping is done at least a week in advance these days". A roll of her eyes rendered her opinion on his claim before she returned her attention to the problem at hand.

"I'm going to need another suitcase," she announced, resignedly. Pausing in his packing, he approached the stacks of presents positioned on the small table and two chairs that acted as a seating area in his bedroom.

"Surely you don't need to take all of these with you," he observed, sorting through a stack that seemed mostly for him. "We could always leave our presents for one another here and open them when we return." She frowned at the mere suggestion then turned to the closet and on her tiptoes grabbed the handle of an empty suitcase from the shelf, hauling it down.

"Not happening, Mr. Steele," she dismissed. "We've already had to give up our plans to spend New Years in Aspen for this little surprise of Mother's. She won't steal Christmas morning as well." She plopped the bag on the bed and began to unzip.

"Steal's a bit harsh, don't you think?" he rejoined, amused. "You're speaking as though she's the green fellow from that cartoon you forced me to watch in the name of 'holiday classics.'"

"I'll have you know, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, is one the most beloved holiday shows ever," she admonished. The image of her mother as the Grinch amused her, and she turned her head to give him a pert smile. "And if the small, cold Christmas heart fits—"

"Lau-ra," he admonished with a drawl of her name. She widened her eyes in feigned innocence.

"What?"

"I hardly think gifting the entire family with a trip to New York for the holidays is a malevolent act."

"That depends on whose shoes you're standing in, Mr. Steele," she replied with a crinkle of her nose. "Mother adores you." He smiled wide at the accusation. He rather enjoyed how Abigail fawned all over him. He did some throat clearing again and vanquished that smile in answer to the scowl she leveled on him.

"It's a bit obscene, don't you think?" he proposed. "Three suitcases and a pair each of garment and overnight bags for a ten day trip?" She pretended to consider what he'd said.

"Four suitcases," she corrected.

"Four?" he repeated, dumbfounded.

"Unless you intend on shoving your nightclothes, underwear and other clothing into a paper bag." The look on his face suggested she'd lost her mind. Remington Steele was nothing short of fastidious about the care of his clothing, and God forbid should a shirt be wrinkled because it wasn't properly packed.

"Don't be ridiculous, Laura," he chastised. "Imagine the damage to my reputation should Remington Steele be caught travelling such." She smiled triumphantly while plucking the keys to the Rabbit off the bedside table and tossing them to him.

"You better get shopping then." The directive stumped him, momentarily, until his eyes traveled to the closet which was now devoid of additional luggage.

"Don't you think it would be more sensible to leave our gifts to each other here?" he asked, appealing to her logical side.

"Not happening," she firmly repeated her earlier response to that suggestion.

"But, Laura," his appeal bordered on a whine. She looked pointedly at her watch.

"It's seven-fifty, and most stores close by nine." When he remained standing in place staring at her in disbelief, she lifted a pair of manicured brows at him. "Or…" she drew out the word "I believe we have a paper bag in the kitchen from your trip to the market."

Open mouthed, he shook his head at her a pair of times, then turned on his heel and left the bedroom. She listened as he muttered a string of complaints and epitaphs under his breath until the front door open and closed behind him.

With a wide smile on her face, she returned to packing.