Chapter 8

Andrea hummed along with "Jingle Bell Rock" as she put the finishing touches on the wrapping for Michonne's present. She was pleased with the gift she'd picked up for her friend, and knew that the beautiful set of iridescent wine glasses would please Michonne enormously. They would replace the set that Glenn had accidentally dropped and broken when they'd helped Michonne move in with Rick.

She was almost done wrapping all her presents. After consulting with Phillip, she'd even managed to get something for Penny, a gorgeously-illustrated storybook that Phillip advised was on her wishlist. That took care of everyone. Everyone except…

"Jingle Bell Rock" ended, giving way to "All I Want For Christmas Is You." Frowning, she fast-forwarded past it to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," breathing an audible sigh of relief that it wasn't another romantic song. She took a sip of her shiraz and placed Michonne's gift under her tree, admiring the pretty picture it presented.

Phillip had helped her decorate the tree. He had helped her string popcorn, hang the ornaments, and put up the lights and they'd listened to Josh Groban while he told her about his childhood Christmases in Macon, spent with his grandparents. She didn't like Josh Groban at all...but she knew Phillip didn't care for the funkier contemporary entries in the Christmas song catalogue that she preferred. Imagining his reaction to "Christmas In Hollis" or "Oi To The World" made her chuckle.

Merle would've been fine listening to your music, the little voice she'd been trying to silence since he'd gone away piped up.

"You shut up," she told the voice fiercely, thanking God there wasn't anyone else there to hear or they'd think she'd gone crazy. "He left you...and your music."

It still hurt to think about. She hadn't planned on getting in as deep as she did.

At first, it really had only been about learning to use a firearm. She had been finding herself in rougher neighborhoods with the work she'd been doing at the time, and though she hoped fervently she'd never have to use it, she'd purchased a gun for protection. Getting mugged once was enough. To paraphrase Theodore Roosevelt, she would walk softly...but carry a big stick.

There were plenty of teachers to choose from, but she'd never gotten along that well with Daryl. (Especially after accidentally hitting him in the head with that pipe) And though she knew Michonne wouldn't have minded, the thought of asking Rick felt a little strange. Maggie just hadn't had the time...not between work and the kids. Merle seemed like the best bet. Since coming back from his last mariner jaunt, he'd had plenty of time on his hands. While they'd never been particularly close, they'd always gotten along well enough.

Merle had agreed quickly, much to her relief. Since he did have so much free time, they'd spent a few days a week at the shooting range. And since it was a ways out, it just made sense to conserve gas by riding together. If they'd spent a little longer than planned and were both ravenous on the way back, it seemed best to stop somewhere and grab something to eat, maybe have a drink or two.

It had all happened naturally enough. She'd taken him to Flynn's, one of her favorite watering holes, after a particularly fun day at the range. Flynn's had a surprisingly decent wine selection for a dive bar and three pool tables. The jukebox offered up a baffling mishmash of vintage country, eighties hair metal and dance diva favorites, which never failed to amuse her.

He was beating her soundly, which was partially due to the fact that she'd drunk two glasses of cab prior to chowing down on her burger and sweet potato fries and was feeling pretty buzzed, and partially because she found herself distracted by his appealing, devilish grin and the way he was effortlessly sinking every shot.

Even at the shooting range...the self-assurance that he displayed and the ease with which he handled the gun held a blatant, visceral appeal. The lawyer in her could observe with cool detachment that an air of confidence in any human being, be they man or woman, had the power to stir the endocrine system of the person making note of it...but the woman in her, gripped by raw attraction, couldn't stop wondering what other areas he excelled in to engender such an air of confidence.

Somehow, her intuition was convinced that he definitely wasn't all show.

After he'd finished trouncing her at pool, he'd driven her home. She felt absurdly touched when he insisted on seeing her to her door, finding it sweet and chivalrous. (Little did she know he was concerned she was not sober enough to make it the twenty-five feet to her front door in one piece)

On the porch she fumbled with extracting her keys from her purse. The process was made slower by the loose hair from her ponytail that kept falling in her eyes that she tried in vain to move away. Merle snickered a bit, watching her futile attempts to blow it out of her eyes, before reaching out and tucking the errant strands behind her ears himself.

The light brush of his fingertips on her ear lobe as he settled her hair behind her ears was something she felt down to the core of her being. It was a shock, having such a strong, instantaneous response to such a light touch. That might've been what prompted her to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him soundly.

The rest was a fait accompli. And she was intensely gratified (in more ways than one) to discover that her intuition had been right. The man was confident with excellent reason.

They began to spend more and more time together. Though they never referred to themselves as a couple...they started to look like one.

And feel like one. Andrea wasn't sure of the exact moment when what she began to feel for Merle changed from simple like and attraction to something deeper...but it was before he'd hit her with the news that he was going back out to sea.

He was leaving her.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing how his news affected her. You couldn't be any kind of a lawyer without cultivating a good poker face. She gave him a flippant reply in a nonchalant tone of voice...and then found an excuse to leave so she could go home and have a big cry.

The next couple months were horribly depressing. She was sad...but there was no one she could tell about it. Michonne was an open-minded, wonderful best friend...but Andrea wasn't ready to share this folly with anyone, even her best friend. After all, nothing had come of it, and she was loathe to admit to anyone what a fool she'd been.

She was finally at a place where she was ready to move on when Phillip came into her life. Despite initial misgivings that he was too uptight and, well, square, (not that she'd ever tell Michonne in a million years that she'd thought that) she found herself liking him...A lot. He was sweet and attentive, and now that she was at a point on her life where she'd begun to think about settling down, his calm and steady nature was just what the doctor ordered.

If the little voice in her head that was still fretting over Merle piped up from time to time...she was prepared to quash it ruthlessly. There was no future there. His desertion, and then subsequent lack of communication, made that abundantly clear.

If her heart was having trouble letting go...then her head would just have to help it along.

The strains of "Blue Christmas" came into the living room. Uttering a soft curse, she stalked over to her computer and closed the playlist.

"You shut up, too," she growled at the computer, before heading to the kitchen to pour another glass of wine.

To Be Continued