The Man Under The Mistletoe. Muriel Jensen

mirror. “I have a mortgage and pediatrician bills.” His many reflections grinned at his brother. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted to get married without me.”

      “True. Ah, that’s better.” Derek breathed a little easier as Rosie loosened his tie. “I’m sure this is best, all in all. I just hate the fuss, you know?”

      “Women are about fuss,” Corin said as Rosie drew him forward to stand beside Derek. “You’d better just resign yourself to that now. And once you have children, there’s no going back, fusswise.”

      Rosie tuned out the children remark, refusing to let her brain hold on to it, and did one last walk around the men to make sure everything was perfect. But she was aware of Matt shifting his weight, and when she walked around them to stand back and take in their appearance one last time, she noted the grim line of his jaw, his unfocused gaze.

      When she stood in front of him, he refocused on her, and for one split second they looked into each other’s eyes. She saw his pain and knew that he saw hers, though she tried not to feel it. But, however unwittingly, they shared the moment.

      Then Corin went on about teething and sleeplessness and the moment was gone.

      “You all look very handsome,” Rosie said finally. “And contrary to what usually happens, your tuxes seem to be perfect fits. Take them with you, but please don’t let them get rumpled.”

      “What time’s the rehearsal dinner tonight?” Corin asked. “Katie’s excited about a night out without the kids.”

      “Seven o’clock,” Derek replied. “Yankee Inn. Same place we’re having the reception, just in a smaller room.”

      “Right. Okay.”

      Corin and Derek went back into two of the three dressing rooms. As Matt headed toward the third, Rosie noticed what appeared to be a small split in the seam of one of the sleeves. She stopped him with a hand on his arm. She was so into her wedding-planner mode that she forgot for a moment what touching him might do to her.

      As she explored the split seam to see if it went through to the lining, she felt the hard ridge of his shoulder, the warmth through the fabric of the flesh and blood that covered it. She saw the broad expanse of his back, the wiry dark hair at his nape, the shirt’s starched, white collar pressing into his neck.

      Though he didn’t move a muscle, she was suddenly aware of the tension in him. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Finally, impatient with herself, she dropped her hand from his arm and said a little sharply, “The collar looks tight. It’s cutting into your neck.”

      “Formal clothes are always uncomfortable,” he replied quietly, turning to her, her change of mood noted in his eyes. “It’s not as though I’ll be in the tux that long.”

      “Still, it doesn’t have to be uncomfortable. I’ll have a larger one overnighted to the house from Boston. You told me your measurements hadn’t changed.”

      He shrugged. “I’ve been working out a little, but all my regular clothes fit.”

      “Yes, well, so many fabrics have stretch and give today that you probably wouldn’t have noticed. Just leave the tux in the dressing room so I can fix that small tear.” She paused. “Uh, do you remember where the Yankee Inn is?”

      “Of course.”

      “Francie will expect to see you there.”

      “I’ll be there. Want me to drive?”

      “I’ll be working late, so I’ll leave from here. But you can drive Mom, Aunt Ginger and Chase.”

      He accepted that for the dubious honor it was. “I don’t suppose you’re going to want to dance with me once we get there.”

      “No, I won’t.” She thought she sounded firm, though she was still a little unsettled by his nearness, and surprised that he’d even suggest they dance. “Please save us both the embarrassment of doing anything to make it look as though we’ve remained friends.”

      “Then please don’t touch me anymore,” he said with the same firmness. “And how is it going to look to the wedding guests if we’re at war throughout the day tomorrow?”

      “We won’t be at war,” she argued. “We just won’t be…in contact.”

      It wasn’t until Derek cleared his throat that she realized he and his brother were standing nearby and had probably heard most of what she and Matt had said.

      “Just wanted to say thanks,” Derek said quickly, doing his best to pretend they hadn’t heard anything. “Anything I can do to take some of the burden off you?”

      Rosie was momentarily distracted from Matt by Derek’s sweetness. Francie was a lucky girl. “I think everything’s under control. Just hang up the tux, and be ready on time tomorrow.”

      “You got it. See you tonight.” Derek and Corin left, and silence fell over the shop.

      Matt eased out of the jacket and handed it to her. “I know this isn’t the time for it, but I want to sort through what happened between us and try to figure out where we lost each other.”

      “There’s no going back,” she said. But she took the jacket from him and clutched it to her. He wondered if the small gesture spoke of what she truly felt but wouldn’t allow herself to say.

      “I don’t want to go back,” he assured her. “Believe it or not, there’s as much pain there for me as there is for you. But if we put effort into it, maybe there’s a way ahead.”

      He saw the smallest flare of hope in her eyes. Or maybe he wanted to see hope so much that what he saw was merely the reflection of his own hope.

      “You left me,” she said. Her free arm closed over the one holding the jacket. She was creating the creases she’d warned against.

      “You no longer wanted me,” he said, feeling a little crazy that she didn’t remember it that way. He strained for patience. “You have to stop blaming me for what was ultimately your fault. You hated me, but for what? I didn’t do anything. Unless it was just that I was still alive and our daughter and all the other men you loved were dead.”

      She looked stricken but didn’t seem to know how to respond.

      “It doesn’t get us anywhere to go over that old ground,” he finally added. “Let’s just agree to talk about it after the wedding.”

      She met his gaze, then seemed to realize what she was doing to the jacket. She held it in front of her and shook it out in disgust. “I don’t want to,” she said finally. “Thanks for driving the family to the dinner. I have to go fix this. Excuse me.”

      He’d been with her long enough to know that when argument turned to polite dismissal, there was little point in continuing. She’d frozen up, turned off. He went into the claustrophobic little room, changed into his own clothes, hung up the slacks, placed all the other accessories on the bench and left the shop.

      THE REHEARSAL DINNER was an exercise in charm and good manners. The Yankee Inn had been decorated for the holidays with chunky garlands wound with lights, huge Christmas trees in the lobby and the banquet room, and festive table linens.

      All the guests did their best to be amenable. Even the outspoken Aunt Ginger engaged Corin’s wife, Kate, in pleasant conversation. Sonny captivated Derek’s parents with stories about Francie and the amusing things she and her siblings had done as children.

      Francie tried to listen, but Rosie seemed determined to distract her with a brochure featuring all the highlights she could expect to see on her honeymoon in Bermuda. Rosie wore a simple purple suit, her hair loose and full, the sight of it almost more than Matt could bear. She tossed it a lot, and he knew that to mean she was acting. This good cheer was all for Francie’s benefit.

      The only tense moment of the evening came when Derek’s mother asked