Chapter Five

Day Four Hundred Seventy-Four

It was the first day of December and she could already smell the rapidly approaching holiday in the air. There was just something about the time of year that she had always loved. Ever since she was a little girl, she could remember feeling a sort of barely compressed exhilaration and anticipation for the coming yuletide. The childhood delight should have diminished as she grew and matured but time only served to make it grow stronger.

It was everything associated with the holiday that made her feel it, from the bright lights that decorated almost everything to chill in the air only obliterated by a roaring fire or a cup of hot chocolate. From the smells that drifted from the kitchen and lingered long after the meal was finished to the notes of the songs that only played that one special time of year. She even enjoyed braving the crowds at the local shops in search of the one special gift that would bring smiles to the faces of her family and friends.

But what she didn't enjoy was the knowledge that there were some people who didn't have anywhere to go on the holiday or anyone to spend the holiday with. Like KC, the first guy she had dated. Or Jonathan, the guy she was with her sophomore year of college. Neither had accepted her invitation when she found out both would be alone during the season, claiming that it was time for family and they would feel awkward honing in on her time with hers.

However, her last serious boyfriend—the one that she had been with from the end of her senior year to a month before moving across from Owen—had come home with her every year even though she knew for fact that his parents had sent numerous invitations for both of them to join. And she supposed that should have been her first clue that there was not just something wrong with her relationship but with the guy she had chosen to be with as well. It was the first of many, many more clues to follow.

Clare shook her head, shaking herself from her trip down memory lane, and focused on the current matter at hand. The man who she called her best friend, who she had shared the majority of the last year with, was spending the holiday alone. Just as he had the year before when their friendship was so new that she hardly knew how to label it.

And she found it to be unacceptable, a fact which she had no trouble expressing over pitchers of beer and plates of deep-fried appetizers.

"What do you mean your plan for Christmas is to have no plan?" Clare demanded. "Do you even know how foolish that sounds?"

Owen shrugged, using the beer from his glass to wash down a mouthful of breaded cheese sticks. "It's not a big deal, Clare. I'm just going to spend it like I do every year. Chinese food, beer, bad holiday-themed television and, just so I'm not a total Grinch, alcoholic eggnog to finish it all off."

"But…but…but what about your family?" she sputtered. "Don't they want to see you? Don't you want to see them?"

"We stopped doing the family-oriented activities when Tristan was a junior in high school and began making separate plans. My parents are going on a cruise this year and Tristan is spending the holidays with his boyfriend in Aspen like he's been doing for the last four years," Owen informed her. "We'll meet up sometime after New Year's to exchange gifts but other than that, we all tend to do the celebrating on our own."

Clare could hardly believe her ears. Sure, Christmas at the Edwards—or Martins, depending on the point of view—household was never the same after Darcy left for Kenya and conveniently forgot to come back. And yeah, she had to split up her time between it and her father's place on the other side of town which always caused some type of disagreement. But having everyone spend it separately from everybody else? She just couldn't imagine what that would be like at all.

"Owen, that's not even getting into the spirit the tiniest bit. I mean, don't you miss the home-cooked meal, the twinkling lights and the anticipation of opening gifts under the tree? Don't you miss just being with your family for the day?"

"Look, not everyone has a holiday that's inspired by Hallmark. It's fine. I'll be fine."

Clare chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated what he told her. A part of her knew that she should just let it ago. He was obviously okay being on his own on that day and had been long before she came along. But the other part of her, the part of her that always seemed to take over when she made rash decisions that were spur-of-the-minute, could not get over just how unacceptable she found it to be.

"Well, it's not fine with me."

"Really?" he said drily, quirking a brow at her.

"Really," she replied definitively. "You're coming home with me."

Owen rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "You think so, do you?"

Clare leaned in as well so their faces were only inches apart. "I don't just think so, Owen, I know so. You're spending the holiday with me, at my house, with my crazy family on Christmas Eve. Then, you're coming with me to spend Christmas morning with my dad and…well; she's not really my stepmother because they never got married."

He laughed at the ludicrousness of the idea. Her family and friends barely accepted the idea that they were neighbors and had become friends who spent time together. He seriously doubted he was going to be welcomed into their household with open arms. But explaining that to a determined Clare was a whole different matter altogether, especially with that glint in her eye that told him that it was going to be next to impossible for her to take no for an answer.

"Clare, I—"

"Look," she cut him off, "I already know you have a million and one excuses lined up to not come. And I don't want to hear them. Just…is it so wrong that I don't want my best friend alone when there's no reason he should be?"

"But your family—"

"They'll deal with it. I want you there, which is all that matters. However, there's three weeks until Christmas so you have three weeks to think it over," Clare told him.

She nicked a fry off the plate and popped it into her mouth, grinning with the satisfaction that she had delivered a completely persuasive argument in her favor. As he gulped down the rest of his beer, a voice in the back of his mind whispered that she had. And he would spend the next three weeks preparing to see her family instead of preparing reasons why being alone was really the better option.

Day Four Hundred Ninety-Five

He was always going to wonder how a woman who was an entire foot shorter than him managed to wrangle him into situations he least wanted to do. Like watching the latest chick flick at the theater when all he wanted was to see blood and gore, car crashes and explosion flash across the silver screen. Or, following like a lost puppy dog as she traipsed through every shopping center in the greater Toronto to find the perfect birthday gift for a sister who lived…wherever she lived. He had to make a mental note to ask her where exactly it was that Darcy Edwards currently resided.

However, nothing beat the latest thing she had gotten him to agree doing.

When she had brought up the matter of holiday plans and come up with the foolhardy idea of dragging him home with her, he had no problem firmly turning her down flat. Because if you really thought about it, what family wants to see their baby girl bring home a guy like Owen Milligan? So he had been just as adamant in his refusal as she was persuasive in her argument.

But as time went on, he found himself losing the fight. His responses to her steady inquiries started off with no way in hell to simple and plain no way; from the indecisive maybe, we'll see and I'll try all the way to a begrudging what time do I have to be ready? He still swore she busted his eardrum with the shriek she let out with his acquiescence.

Now, it was Christmas morning and he was standing on the doorstep of Randall Edwards with the man's darling daughter at his side. And no matter how much ego-boosting self-talk he gave himself, he still felt like there were little people doing the Irish jig in his gut. Because in all his years of dating—and there were quite a few he was happy to confess—he had never done the meet-the-parents routine. Because he had never been the type of guy that made women stop in their tracks and say, "That's the man who is going to be my future husband. Mommy and Daddy are going to be so proud." This suited him fine because he had also never been the type of guy who searched for those types of women.

And he supposed this was his punishment for that. It had to be fate messing with him just a little bit because why else would he be in this exact situation with Clare Edwards of all people? He refused to admit that it could possibly be the fact that he had simply become a sucker for baby blue eyes.

He felt the wind being knocked out of him as well as a sharp pain his ribs, knowing that the combination could only have been delivered by a certain cinnamon-haired woman. "Damn it, Clare, watch the bony elbows," he hissed, rubbing the spot she had hit.

"Oh, good, you're back from lala land. Did you have a nice trip?" she replied, the sarcasm dripping from every word.

He belatedly noticed that the vehicle they were in had stopped moving and looked around at their surroundings, noticing that they were parked in front of a townhouse he'd never be able to afford even if he saved every paycheck for a year. "Clare—"

"Owen, I really don't get what's wrong with you. You've been acting like you clocked out since we got in the car to drive over here. I mean, you were fine last night with everybody. You even charmed my mother. What changed?" Clare demanded.

She had to be kidding, right? Last night they had been surrounded by so many people that it was hard to take a step without bumping into somebody. His family had only ever had a maximum attendance of eight, even at the finest of the Milligan celebrations. But from stepfamily to Jake's girlfriend and her family, from neighbors and friends who came and went at all hours to the church group who stayed the entire time, Owen had counted at least fifteen people in the house at any given moment.

And it had been easy charming Helen Martin. All he had had to do was offer to help clean up and she was beginning to see just what had drawn Clare to him in the first place. Didn't she get that meeting her father, actually having to sit down with him with an audience of only two other people, was going to be drastically different than meeting her mother in a party-type setting?

"Clare, this is your dad."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "So?"

Owen sighed, wanting to kick himself for getting lost in his own headspace and bringing on this conversation. "Clare, this is the man who is always going to think of you as his little girl. The man who is never going to think any guy is worthy of you. The man who probably has a shotgun locked away for instances like these."

A bark of laughter escaped her lips and her eyes twinkled with mirth. "Instances like these?"

"Yeah, you know…the ones where the darling daughter brings the bad boy home for the very first time. And all your dad can think of as you introduce us is how many bullets are already loaded and where he can hide the body," Owen explained, his tone intimating that it should have been obvious.

He shifted on his feet as laughter took over Clare's entire body, causing her torso to curl as she clutched her sides. It took a few moments for the giggles to subside, but she quickly straightened and inhaled deeply when they did. Although there was a smile still in place, he found it slightly more comforting than the over-the-top reaction he had initially received when he had voiced his concerns.

Owen found it even more comforting when she placed one hand on his shoulder and the other loosely grasped his own hand. "Owen, as for my dad dealing with me bringing home the bad boy, I think that that ship sailed the moment I introduced him to Eli Goldsworthy when I was fifteen. Second of all, if anyone in my family was going to shoot you on sight, it would've been my mother. Well, maybe my stepfather but that's because he never had a daughter until he married my mom so he tends to go a little far when stretching his protective muscles."

Clare let both of her hands fall from his body and turned to ring the doorbell. "And last of all, my dad couldn't shoot you if he wanted to because he doesn't actually own a gun. But keep an eye out for any knives coming your way."

The door opened just as she finished speaking the last word, revealing a middle-aged man wearing chinos and a Christmas-themed sweater. It only took one glance to know that he was Randall Edwards, the father of Clare Edwards, even with the receding hairline and slight belly that came with the progression of age. While pictures of Darcy had shown him just how greatly the older of the two sisters inherited their mother's more exotic genes, it was obvious that the standard girl-next-door appearance that Clare owned had come from their father. It also appeared that ice blue eyes were a family trait, not just a genetic fluke.

"Dad," Clare exclaimed brightly, dropping the shopping bags she carried and throwing her arms around the man's neck. Owen could see from his vantage point that Randall returned the embrace just as tightly as his daughter. "I've missed you, Dad."

"Oh, Clare-Bear, you have no idea how good it is to see you," Randall said, disengaging from her arms. "How is it that you grow more beautiful every time I see you?"

Clare's cheeks darkened to a shade of pale rose. "Dad, seriously—"

Owen shifted uncomfortably as her father turned his attention onto him, holding out his hand in welcome. "And I see you brought a friend with you this time. Randall Edwards, it's nice to meet you."

He took the proffered hand and gave it a solid shake. "Owen Milligan."

Recognition dawned in his eyes. "Ah, yes, you're the gentleman who lives next door to Clare. It's good to finally meet you."

"You too, sir."

"Well, come on in you two. Lauren has been over the moon since she found out you planned to spend the day with us. She even spent the morning preparing brunch for us and you know how she is when it comes to cooking," Randall told them with a wink, disappearing inside the townhouse.

Clare picked up her bags, pausing before following her father. "See, Owen, what'd I tell you? Meeting my dad was nowhere near as dramatic as you made it in your head. Today is going to be a piece of cake."

He grimaced slightly as she brushed past him. A piece of cake? Yeah, right.

To Be Continued…