prologue

It was the best of times, it was the nakedest of times . . .

December

I’d never spent a Christmas away from my family. Christmas to me is family: immediate, extended, and later, created. My family and friends gather, trees are trimmed, presents are wrapped, nog is made and most certainly consumed. It’s Norman Rockwell, with a drunk uncle. I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Except this year. This Christmas was entirely different. This was Rockwellian with a Wallbanger twist.

As a freelance photographer, Simon had a seriously cool job. He traveled the world on assignment for National Geographic and Discovery Channel, or whoever needed a photographer to go to the farthest-flung places on earth. This Christmas he was photographing European cities in their holiday best, and he’d be gone nearly the entire month of December.

Since officially becoming a we, we’d settled into our own normal. He’d continued to travel for work, booking trips all over the world: Peru, Chile, England, even a long weekend in LA to do a study at the Playboy Mansion . . . Hardship.

But when my globe-trotting Wallbanger’s home, he’s home. Home with me, either in my apartment or in his. Home with me for the dinners out with Jillian and Benjamin, or playing poker with the other two couples that make up our best friends. Home with me, in my bed or his, my kitchen or his, on my counter or his—home.

Yet apparently Simon was always away on Christmas. He’d taken jobs in Rome, covering the mass in St. Peter’s Square. The Vanuatu Islands in the South Pacific, the first time zone to celebrate the holiday. He’d even traveled to the North Pole one year and made a snow angel at midnight.

Strange, you say? Not really. His parents were killed in a car accident when he was a senior in high school. Eighteen years old, and his entire world was turned upside down. With no other family, he left Philadelphia a few months later when he enrolled at Stanford, and never looked back.

So yeah, Christmas was hard on him. I was beginning to understand my Wallbanger, beyond the man, the myth, the legend. Holidays were sticky in general. And as such a new couple, Christmas with my parents would be a Very Big Deal. He hadn’t even met them yet, and a Reynolds Family Christmas was perhaps not the best time to take that major we step.

So I wasn’t surprised when he started planning to be away for the entire month. The surprise was all on him when I brazenly invited myself along.

“From Prague I’m heading to Vienna, then Salzburg, and I’ll probably be there on Christmas. They have this festival where they—”

“I’m coming.”

“Still? Damn, I’m good. We finished an hour ago . . .” He covered the area between my legs with one of his beautiful hands. We were lying in bed, well into the late-November night. He was home for a few days between trips, and we were nooking after nookie.

“No, sir, I mean I’m coming with you to Europe. I’d like to spend our first Christmas together actually together. It’ll be fun!”

“But what about your parents? Won’t they be disappointed?”

“Sure, but they’ll get over it. Will there be snow?”

“Snow? Yes, of course there’ll be snow! Are you sure about this? I’ve been alone most Christmases the last few years. It’s not a big deal. I don’t mind being alone,” he said, not meeting my eyes.

I smiled and lifted his chin. “I mind it, okay? Besides, I have the week off between Christmas and New Year’s, so I’m coming. It’s settled.”

“You’re bossy, Ms. Reynolds,” he noted, moving his hand decidedly south of my hip.

“Yes, I am, Mr. Parker. Don’t stop doing what you’re doing there . . . mmm . . .”

And that’s how I found myself in a holiday fairy tale. I flew into Salzburg, Austria, where we stayed in a wonderful little inn in the old city center—snow falling, trees lit with thousands of little white lights, and Simon looking ridiculously adorable in a ski cap with a pouf at the end. Being supremely touristy, he’d arranged for a horse-drawn sleigh with actual jingle bells. On Christmas Eve, underneath a warm blanket and wrapped entirely in Simon, I gazed out at the city and the moonlight on the river.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered, followed by a light nip to my ear.

“I knew you would be.” I chuckled as he snuck a hand underneath my sweater.

“Love you,” he murmured, his voice laced with honey.

“Love you more,” I answered, my eyes sparkling with tears.

New tradition? We’ll see . . .

• • •

February 14

Text from Simon to Caroline:

Just pulled up, you ready to go?

Almost. Still need to get dressed. Just come on in.

I’m on my way up the stairs. We’re going to be late.

No, we won’t. Just keep your pants on.

Never heard that before.

Quit kicking my door and get in here!

I pressed send, then settled back against the kitchen counter. I could hear his key in the lock, and I muffled a grin. We were due to meet the gang for a romantic dinner in twenty minutes. With traffic, we’d be very lucky to make it in forty. If I was even luckier, we wouldn’t make it at all.

“Babe! What’re you doing? We gotta go!” he called. I could hear him dump his bag in the entryway.

As he came down the hall, I sighed dramatically and called back, “I decided against going out tonight. I’m not feeling so good.” I heard him stop dead in his tracks, and I would’ve bet my Le Creuset double boiler he was running his hands through his hair and swallowing a sigh.

I’d been pestering him for weeks to take me out for Valentine’s Day, and I’d insisted we make it a night out with our friends. But he was only home for a week, and I knew that he wanted nothing more than to stay in, veg out on the couch, and sleep with his girlfriend.

Girlfriend.

I still get goose bumps when I ponder this. I’m Simon’s girlfriend. He was once the Harem Master, and now I’m his girlfriend.

So, after dropping hints to him since mid-January about making sure he’d be home for Valentine’s Day, and then spending hours on the phone with Sophia and Mimi planning the perfect romantic evening out, my deciding at the last minute to stay in had to be making him question exactly why he’d decided a girlfriend was something he wanted.

“You sure about that? I thought you had your heart set on—”

He stopped as he rounded the corner to the kitchen. Perched on the counter, wearing an apron, a grin, and six-inch heels, was moi. Holding an apple pie on my lap.