My Kind of Christmas

time they’d finished cleaning up and Angie was finally leaving the clinic with Mel. Megan had long since gone home with her parents and Cameron broke free to find his wife and twins. When Angie stepped outside the first thing she noticed was Patrick, sitting on the porch steps at the clinic. “Hey!” she said in surprise.
    He stood up while Mel turned to lock the door. “I wanted to see how you were. I already know the little girl went home with some stitches.”
    “You must be freezing,” she said, noting the collar on his jacket turned up and his hands in his pockets. “Did you want to go to the bar for a while? Warm up?”
    He shook his head. “I’ll just walk you to where you’re going and be on my way. Hi, Mel.”
    She smiled warmly. “Nice to see you, Paddy. And how nice of you to check on Angie. She was a wonderful help, by the way.”
    “I have no doubt. Angie, are you headed for the bar?”
    “Ordinarily I might, but—” she spread her jacket open to reveal the bloody stain on her sweater “—I think I’d better go home and get out of these clothes. I’m parked right down the street.”
    Once Mel had walked in the direction of the bar, Patrick looped his arm through Angie’s and walked her in the direction of her car. “You okay?”
    “Sure. Of course. A little distressed about the situation that poor little girl is in, but I’m fine.”
    “Tired? Hungry?”
    “I think my cookies wore off, but I’m not fit to go anywhere with blood on me.”
    “Home,” he said. “I could follow you and, while you change clothes, I can fix you something to eat. I’m not much in the kitchen, but I heat a mean can of soup, scramble some very fancy eggs, that sort of thing.”
    She laughed. “Between the two of us, we could starve to death. Come on, follow me. I think I could use the company.”
    “And I’d like to hear more about Meg’s situation.”
    At the side of her SUV she stood on her toes and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. “Prepare to feel sad about that,” she said. “I’ll wait for you to find your Jeep.”
    As she was driving to the cabin with his headlights in her rearview mirror, she wondered if he had planned something like this all along—another evening together. She wasn’t likely to be demure or shy away. She’d never known anyone like Patrick before. She’d known guys like Alex—the self-absorbed and spoiled science freak who was used to having his way with little effort. Alex was so strong academically that it never occurred to him he wasn’t perfect. When they studied together, Alex treated her like an equal; when they made out or made love, he definitely acted as though it were all about him. He was greedy. Impatient. Since she wasn’t experienced, the whole thing was usually a little clumsy. Completely dull for her.
    But Patrick was bold. He was sure of himself; he acted like he knew what he wanted, what he was doing. She had no trouble picturing him on the deck of an aircraft carrier, coolly preflighting his F-18. Strong and confident, that’s how he seemed. Yet there was nothing Neanderthal about him—no club in sight. He was considerate and thoughtful—his waiting for her tonight was touching. He seemed so powerful, yet at the same time was gentle and enticing. She wondered if she was giving him more credit than he was due and didn’t expect the answer to that anytime soon. But she sure wouldn’t mind learning a few things from the hands of a master.
    And then, Angie knew, she would undoubtedly sob with longing all the way to her first peace corps assignment. Because even though she’d been in another relationship—even a sexual relationship—she’d never before met anyone who instantly set in motion all the fantasies of living with true love forever.
    She pulled into the clearing and he was right behind her. This afternoon she had left a light on so she wouldn’t be coming home to a pitch-black house again. It looked welcoming. Sweet.
    Patrick got out of the Jeep. “So this is your hideaway.”
    “Isn’t it cute?”
    “Small.”
    “I know. But I’m only one person. Come on, it won’t take me long to show you around.”
    They stood right inside the door while Patrick looked around—kitchen and living room right inside the entrance, with her quilt and pillows still on the couch. “I guess I didn’t really tidy up,” she said, only half-apologetically. “Three nights and I haven’t made it to the bed yet.”
    “I’ll build a