Read Jenny Lopez Saves Christmas for Free Online

miso black cod onto my plate. Swoon. ‘My grandparents live down there. They’re in their nineties so we all head down. The last thing they want to do is trek all the way up here − I think the weather would actually kill them.’
    Close to his family, great sign.
    â€˜Hasn’t it been awful? At least it didn’t snow today.’ Snow was no friend to my choice of footwear, and tonight I was dressed for battle. Thank god I had half my wardrobe in my office. ‘Must be great to still have them around.’
    â€˜Oh, sure it is.’ Joe rested his chopsticks for a moment, smiling to himself. ‘My brother will be there with his kids and my sister is bringing hers, so I get to play uncle Joe. It’s pretty great until my mom and my grandmother team up on me.’
    With every ounce of strength I could muster, I raised a numbed eyebrow.
    â€˜They think uncle Joe ought to have kids of his own by now,’ he said with a half-smile. ‘I got away with a lot while I was working my way up, but they’re ready for more grandbabies.’
    It was pretty much all I could do not to grab his iPhone and conference call every member of his family and invite myself down to Florida, bringing with me the gift of a fertile womb and willing spirit.
    The restaurant was as dimly lit as ever. Usually I was annoyed they were determined to make it so tough for me to spot any celebrities, but tonight I was glad for the intimacy of the low lights. It also seemed that we had found New York’s only Christmas-free zone. There wasn’t a fir tree or a sprig of holly to be seen. I was fine with it; it made it feel more like a date to me.
    â€˜Making partner was tough.’ Joe rested a hand on my forearm, absently stroking my wrist. My underwear melted onto the floor. ‘I haven’t had a lot of time for anything else.’
    â€˜That explains why you haven’t had a lot of time to hone your present purchasing skills,’ I shrugged, utterly heartbroken when he took away his hand to pick up his chopsticks and dig into the seaweed salad.
    He laughed, that lock of blond hair making a break for it again. ‘Yeah, maybe I’m not as naturally stylish as some people. Your friend said you used to be a stylist?’
    â€˜Used to be,’ I nodded, my freshly blown-out hair bouncing around my shoulders. Thank god for Manhattan’s plentiful blow-dry bars − I could never have pulled this look together by myself at such short notice. ‘But it’s kind of a weird life. I like PR better.’
    I really didn’t feel like expanding on why it was weird. Men, especially men with corporate jobs, tended not to understand the function of a stylist. They just saw you as a professional shopper as opposed to someone who taped complete stranger’s private parts into dresses that cost more than the average American home at eleven p.m. so they could go to a party you would never be invited to, for very little money. Not that many understood PR either, but I stood a slightly better chance of not being written off as an asshole.
    â€˜My sister used to work in PR,’ he said, signalling to the waiter for more sake. ‘It’s hard work. It almost felt like she was putting more hours in than I was. Working all weekend, totally at the whim of the client, no guarantees. You must be a tough cookie.’
    My eyes shone and I had no words. He really was the perfect man.
    â€˜You have exciting plans over the holidays?’ he asked, allowing the waiter to pour our drinks while the waitress cleared away the empty plates.
    â€˜Headed upstate to a friend’s house,’ I said, as though that was something I did all the time. ‘Should be fun.’
    My family wasn’t poor, but we didn’t have a summer house in the Hamptons either and I didn’t want to give him any reason not to fall hopelessly in love with me. I looked great. I’d pulled out my sexiest