Three Christmas Wishes
Three Christmas Wishes
Sheila Roberts
Three friends, three wishes—one Christmas!
When three friends visit a shopping-mall Santa on a lark, the jolly old elf is full of mysterious predictions about the thing they’re all wishing for: the perfect man. Or at least men who are perfect for them.
Riley Erickson’s fiancé turned out to be a dud, dumping her for her bridesmaid three weeks before the wedding. But Santa says that she’s soon going to meet her ideal man in a memorable way.
And he predicts that a new man is about to come into Jo’s life. What on earth does that mean? She’s pregnant and already has her hands full with the perfectly stubborn husband she’s got.
Noel has given up completely on ever finding her perfect match. But apparently Noel is going to get a good man to go with that house she’s trying desperately to buy.
These friends are about to discover that Christmas wishes can come true, because in spite of romantic setbacks and derailed dreams, this truly is the most wonderful time of the year!
Praise for the novels of Sheila Roberts (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
“A delightful celebration of the joys of small-town life and a richly rewarding romance sweetened with just the right dash of bright humor.”
—Booklist on Home on Apple Blossom Road
“Engaging, sweet and dusted with humor, this emotional romance tugs at the heartstrings as a headstrong pair who were always meant to be together find their way back to each other.”
—Library Journal on Home on Apple Blossom Road
“The Lodge on Holly Road is the ultimate in feel-good family drama and heart-melting romance. Plus there’s the added bonus of getting to celebrate the season with a community that couldn’t be more devoted to Christmas.”
—USA TODAY
“This amusing holiday tale about love lost and found again is heartwarming. Quirky characters, snappy dialogue and sexy chemistry all combine to keep you laughing, as well as shedding a few tears, as you turn the pages.”
—RT Book Reviews on Merry Ex-Mas
“Merry Ex-Mas is the absolute perfect holiday book to begin the Christmas season with! It has everything great women’s contemporary fiction should have—a great storyline filled with romance, humor and a bit of mystery tucked in here and there, fabulous personable characters filled with charm.”
—Sharon’s Garden of Book Reviews
“Witty characterization, slapstick mishaps and plenty of holiday cheer.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Nine Lives of Christmas
Three Christmas Wishes
Sheila Roberts
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
For Katie and Addie
Dear Reader (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22),
Merry Christmas! I assume you picked up this book because, like me, you love Christmas and enjoy reading stories about holiday high jinks and happiness. I hope I’ve given you plenty of that with my three friends and their various holiday challenges, not to mention my mysterious Santa. This is a busy time of year, so I appreciate you spending some of your precious time with me.
I wish you a season filled with joy and sweetness. I hope the only drama you experience is on the big screen and that Santa brings you everything you want and then some. As the song says, may your days be merry and bright.
I love hearing from my readers, at Christmas and at any time of the year! Find me on Facebook or visit my website, www.sheilasplace.com (http://www.sheilasplace.com).
Sheila
Contents
Cover (#uc56e34cc-9c4b-5282-b28c-1ac0f1eaf124)
Back Cover Text (#ua221427c-8b6a-56fd-a107-1d98ab5ca5ea)
Praise (#u2cb64c34-f283-5be2-a306-3a5e22a92e1f)
Title Page (#u01f2a5f0-1364-5f9c-a78e-4bb8331ae36f)
Dedication (#ud49327ce-4d15-59c0-8c92-fd88159dc43b)
Dear Reader (#u84d61cdf-95c7-5aca-82b8-26df64c9b071)
Chapter One (#uf9ec2fb6-cebb-5f11-b33e-06264126e3d3)
Chapter Two (#u90cdeef4-a373-5123-938e-de135b73f28e)
Chapter Three (#ufdac387d-18cd-5d26-b5b4-0f1068175e7f)
Chapter Four (#u19e10a04-40df-5f65-897e-bc54b29e8aa3)
Chapter Five (#u33c5f35d-f15b-57f1-aee1-684527d7bde5)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
Riley Erickson’s life was perfect. Happily, there was no other way to describe it. She was engaged to a perfect man—good-looking, easygoing, kind to little old ladies, liked her friends—and they were getting married during her favorite time of year. (Christmas weddings were the most beautiful.) She had an equally great family—generous, fun-loving and supportive (now that she and her bro and sis had outgrown the sibling-rivalry stuff)—and a job she loved, teaching fourth grade at Whispering Pines Elementary School. Kids still liked their teachers at that age, so it was fun to go to work. And you couldn’t beat the vacation time since teachers got summers off as well as spring and winter breaks...which made getting married in December, well, perfect.
Riley smiled as she took the small ceramic turkey off her desk and substituted a snowman. The wedding was only three weeks away. By Christmas, she and Sean Little would be hanging their Christmas stockings side by side. Humming Christmas carols as she worked, she took down the rest of the Thanksgiving decorations in her classroom and put up her Christmas-themed ones. The children would return from their Thanksgiving weekend to find the classroom all ready for the holidays.
Once her decorating was finished, she took a moment to admire her reindeer and Santas and candy canes. Yes, it looked very festive here in Ms. Erickson’s fourth-grade classroom. It was oh, so satisfying to be organized.
Speaking of being organized, she wondered how her friend Emily was doing. Riley knew Emily was getting ready to visit her family in Portland for the weekend. Maybe she could use some help putting her classroom in order. Riley wandered down the hall to Emily’s room.
Emily Dieb was new to the school, new to the town of Whispering Pines, Washington, in fact. But settling in well. The other teachers liked her and so did her students. Actually, all the boys in her fifth-grade class had a crush on her. This was hardly surprising, since Emily looked like a Victoria’s Secret model.
Having a pretty friend was no threat to Riley. Granted, she’d never be mistaken for a model. She certainly wasn’t as glam as her sister, Jo, the fashionista, whose hair was always styled and highlighted, but with her round face, freckles and long, light brown hair, she was cute enough. Cute enough for Sean Little to fall in love with, anyway, and that was all that mattered. Sean thought she was cute, adorable even, and had told her so on plenty of occasions.
Besides, it was hard to be jealous of Emily when she was so nice. Like Riley, she loved to read and watch old movies. Unlike Riley, she enjoyed working out and had the size-four body to prove it. She was going home to Oregon for the holiday, where she’d spend the weekend playing indoor volleyball and hitting the gym. Yuck, but to each her own.
“I don’t want to get too fat for my bridesmaid’s dress,” she’d said when Riley teased her once about being obsessed with the gym.
After Jo had gotten pregnant, she’d resigned from her position as matron of honor, so Riley had upgraded her best buddy, Noel Bijou, to maid of honor status and brought Emily on board to step into Noel’s bridesmaid shoes. “I’d love to be a bridesmaid,” Emily had gushed.
Emily didn’t seem as gushy about being in Riley’s wedding lately, but hey, Thanksgiving was coming, and Riley was sure that Emily was preoccupied with her looming family drama. Her parents were divorced and she was going to have to deal with parent rivalry and eat two Thanksgiving dinners—no easy feat for a size four.
She entered Emily’s room to find her friend perched on her desk, looking gorgeous in a red knit dress and high boots, talking on her cell phone. Her cardboard Pilgrims and turkey were still hanging on the wall, and there was no sign that Christmas was right around the corner. Good thing Riley had stopped in.
Emily gave a start at the sight of her and said to her phone, “I’ve got to go.”
“Sorry. Did I interrupt something?” Riley asked.
“Oh. No. I’m just, um, getting ready for the weekend.”
“I thought you might be in a hurry to get on the road so I came by to see if you needed any help setting your room up for Christmas,” Riley said.
“Oh. Well. Thanks.” Emily seemed distracted.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Um, everything’s fine.”
Poor Emily. She was obviously trying to make the best of her upcoming family visit. “Must be hard having to go home and try to keep everyone happy,” Riley said.
Emily nodded.
“I wish you were going to be around. I’d sucker you into going out and getting something to eat tonight. Sean has to work at the gym.” Sean owned a Fit and Fine franchise, and when you owned a business, it actually owned you. Of course, once they were married it would own both of them. Sean was giving Riley a membership as a wedding present. She could think of better ways to work up a sweat together but oh, well. She’d learn to love treadmills. Maybe someday she, too, would be a size four.
“Yeah, I’m afraid I’ll be busy tonight,” Emily said.
“I hope your mom doesn’t try to match you up with someone again.”
According to Emily, last Thanksgiving her mom had tried to set her up with her yoga instructor. Emily had just broken up with her boyfriend and had been in no frame of mind for a new man. The fact that the man had been fifteen years older could’ve had something to do with it. Emily’s mom wasn’t a very good matchmaker.
Neither was Riley. She kept trying, though. “Sean’s friend Guy is going to be in town this weekend,” she said casually. Maybe Emily would like to come back early. They could all go out on Saturday night.
Emily was already shaking her head. “I appreciate the thought, but...”
Riley sighed. “I know. You’re not interested. But, Em, you don’t want to wind up alone, do you?” Honestly, Emily wasn’t even trying to fix her love life.
Emily blushed and bit her lip.
Now Riley had made her uncomfortable. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess I just want to see everyone as happy as I am.” Maybe Noel and Guy would hit it off. Noel needed someone new in her life.
“You’re such a good friend,” Emily said, her pretty blue eyes filling with tears. “I don’t deserve you.”
That seemed a little over-the-top but it was Thanksgiving. Everyone got sentimental at Thanksgiving. “You’re right,” Riley joked. “Come on. I’ll help you get your Christmas stuff up. Then you can enjoy yourself this weekend without that hanging over you.”
Emily stood up. “Thanks, but I need to get going.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
Emily nodded. “I’m sure.”
They walked to the parking lot where a few of the teachers’ cars were still parked, and Emily got into her snazzy Honda Fit (even her car was fit!) and zoomed away. Riley got into her Toyota and went home by way of her sister’s house.
She found Jo busy putting together a cranberry salad for the family gathering.
“That’s enough to feed a multitude,” Riley said after they’d hugged (not easy to do around Jo’s current baby belly).
“We are a multitude,” Jo said.
Yes, it would be a big gathering. In addition to a couple of aunts and uncles, some cousins and a grandma, Riley’s brother, Harold, would be there with his wife and daughter. And, of course, so would Jo, a Wilton by marriage but forever an Erickson at heart. However, she’d be minus her husband. Mike was in the navy, stationed on a sub, which was out at sea.
Jo rubbed her back. “This kid needs to come soon.”
It was her constant lament lately. Understandable, though. The baby was due any day.
“First babies take their time,” Mom liked to say.
“Well, this one’s taking enough time for two babies,” Jo would respond. “At the rate I’m going, it’ll be Valentine’s Day before I have this kid.”
Then Mom would say, “Maybe she’s waiting until her daddy comes home.”
Jo never found that remark cute. “Mike won’t be here until the middle of December. Don’t say stuff like that, Mom! If I don’t have this baby pretty soon, I’m going to explode.” Jo was a little dramatic these days.
But Riley wasn’t going to point fingers. She’d spent some time on the drama-queen throne a few months ago when Jo backed out of being her matron of honor. “Thanks a lot,” she’d grumbled like a true loving sister. “You couldn’t have waited a few months to get pregnant?” She’d been all excited about the baby—until Annabelle Rose upset her wedding plans. Not one of her finer moments, she had to admit. It became easy to kill her inner Bridezilla, though, after Jo asked how she’d like it if her matron of honor went into labor in the middle of the wedding ceremony.
Everything had worked out just fine, anyway, and she had her two BFFs to stand up with her.
“Have you made your pies yet?” Jo asked her.
Riley shook her head. “I’m doing them tomorrow so they’ll be fresh.”
“Ms. Organized,” Jo teased.
“I want them to be good.”
“They will be. You’re the queen of the kitchen, for crying out loud.”
“We all have to be the queen of something,” Riley said. As a personal stylist, her sister had the clothes market cornered. She claimed that since this was her business she had to look good. But really, she’d look ready for an ad in Vogue no matter what she did. Jo had flair.
“So, are you and Sean doing anything tonight?” Jo asked.
“No.” Riley shrugged. “He has to work at the gym.”
Jo frowned. “He sure seems to work a lot of overtime lately.”
“He has his own business,” Riley reminded her. “You know what that’s like.”
“I do, but I still make time for the important people in my life.”
“Sean makes plenty of time for me,” Riley insisted.
Jo shrugged and changed the subject. “Want to stay for dinner?”
“What are you making?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Jo said with a grin.
“I should’ve known there was a catch,” Riley said, but she was grinning, too.
She dug a couple of frozen chicken breasts out of Jo’s freezer and baked them with an orange sauce, then put together a tossed salad to go with them. It was what she’d planned to make for Sean. Before he informed her he had to stay at the gym. Sigh.
After dinner the sisters watched a movie. Actually, Riley watched it and Jo napped through most of it.
In spite of her evening nap, Jo was looking pooped so Riley cleaned up the kitchen then said her goodbyes and went home to her apartment. It wasn’t all that late. Maybe Sean would like to come over for a while now. Surely he could leave the gym by nine.
She tried his cell but it went to voice mail. Double sigh.
“Hi. It’s me. Just thought you might like to come over when you’re done working. Call me,” she added.
He didn’t.
She tried again an hour later and got his voice mail. “Oh, well. I’ll see you tomorrow. Mom wants us there at three so we’ll need to leave by ten to. Love you.”
She ended the call with a frown and plugged her phone in to recharge. Leaving a voice mail was so unsatisfying when you were in love. She turned on her electric fireplace and plunked down on the couch. A fire in the fireplace was romantic, even if the fireplace was electric and mainly for show. Too bad Sean wasn’t here to cuddle with her and enjoy it. Well, tomorrow night he would be. The gym would be closed on Thanksgiving, and she’d have him all to herself. Tomorrow was going to be wonderful.
The day certainly started out that way. Her pumpkin pies—the first she’d ever made, thank you very much—came out beautifully. She decided to celebrate with a homemade eggnog latte. (If she kept doing that, she’d be a size ten forever, but so what? Sean loved her just as she was.)
She was taking a sip when her cell phone rang. “Let’s Hear it for the Boy,” Sean’s ringtone.
“Hello there, Mr. Little,” she answered.
And now he’d say, “Hello there, future Mrs. Little.”
Except he didn’t. He said, “Riley, I need to talk to you.” He sounded serious.
Oh, boy. She knew what that meant. He was going to weasel out of going to her parents’ for Thanksgiving. For some reason, lately he didn’t like hanging out with her family. He’d actually canceled on attending her brother’s birthday party the month before. When she’d asked him what that was about, he’d used work as an excuse. “Anyway, I don’t think your brother likes me,” he’d added.
Which was ridiculous. Harold liked him just fine. Okay, Harold thought he was a tool. But what did Harold know?
“You don’t want to go to Mom and Dad’s?” she guessed.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“I should come over.”
“You’re coming over in a few hours,” she pointed out. Not that she’d mind seeing him now, but it was only ten in the morning and she’d been busy baking and hadn’t gotten around to showering yet and she hated it when Sean didn’t see her at her best.
“I know, I know,” he said, but not to her.
Now she heard a voice in the background. Who was he talking to? “Sean, what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure how to say this.”
Riley felt the blood start rushing from her head. Something bad was about to happen. She could feel the impending doom buzzing in the air around her. She fell onto the nearest bar stool, bracing herself.
There was that voice again, decidedly female. Riley suddenly felt as if she’d swallowed a block of ice.
“I am,” Sean said, again not to Riley. “Riley...”
“Yes?” Her voice came out in a whisper.
“There’s no easy way to say this. We need to break up.”
“Break up?”
“I’m sorry.”
“But...we’re getting married in three weeks. And two days,” she amended. Three weeks and two days to go and Sean wanted to break up. Now the ice was melting and pouring out of her eyes.
“I’m really sorry. But if we get married it’ll be a big mistake.”
It would? This was news to her. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.” She had to be asleep. That was it. She was asleep and this was a nightmare. She pinched her arm. Yowch!
“I’ve met someone else.”
“Three weeks before the wedding?” Three weeks and two days, but who was counting?
“No, I met her before that. Things have been, uh, growing between us. Our feelings.”
Three weeks before the wedding? Only a year ago he’d gotten down on one knee in front of all the other diners at Bella Bella’s Italian restaurant, produced a diamond ring and declared he’d love her forever. What had happened to forever?
“How could you do this? We were in love.” At least one of them was. “You thought I was adorable.” Didn’t adorable count for anything these days?
“You are. Shit, Riley. I hate to hurt you like this. I feel awful.”
He felt awful? “Who is it?” Who had stolen her groom three weeks before the wedding?
“This is awkward.”
Awkward? This was a catastrophe. “Who is it?” she demanded.
“It’s, uh, Emily.”
“Emily? My bridesmaid? This is a joke, right?”
But Sean wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even there anymore. Now someone else was on the other end of the call. Emily herself. Emily, Riley’s fellow teacher, lover of small children, friend. Bitch.
“Riley, I’m so sorry. We’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you.”
“How long have you been trying?”
“All month.”
All month. This whole month Emily had listened to her prattle about how lovely the church was going to look decorated with red and white roses and candles, how her grandma was making her garter, how Sean had someplace special picked out for their honeymoon. It was going to be a surprise.
Well, he’d certainly succeeded in surprising her.
“You were supposed to be my bridesmaid,” she protested. You were supposed to be my friend.
“I know. I really am sorry. It just...happened.”
“Where did it just happen?” Oh, wait. She knew.
Sure enough. “At the gym.”
That explained those extra-long hours Sean had been putting in. When you owned a business...blah, blah. The only business going on had been Emily in the business of stealing Sean. “You thief! You rotten, man-stealing thief. I thought you were my friend.”
“I was. I am.”
Not anymore. “Have you been sleeping with him?” It was Silent Night on the other phone.
“You’ve been sleeping with my fiancé. Seriously?”
No wonder Emily didn’t want Riley to match her up with someone. She’d already matched herself. Was that who she’d been talking to when Riley walked into her classroom the day before? I need to get going. Yeah, she’d gotten going—right over to see Sean.
“Riley... Oh, here’s Sean.”
“I hate you,” Riley said as soon as he came back on the line.
“Come on, Riley. Don’t be like this.”
“And why isn’t she in Portland?” Or Timbuktu. Or Antarctica. The North Pole. No, scratch the North Pole. Santa would ban her.
“She was going but her plans changed.”
Just like Riley’s. No more wedding, no more wedding reception, no honeymoon with the perfect man who’d turned out to be anything but. No more life. And breaking up with her on Thanksgiving? Who did that?
Sean Little, that was who, the man she’d loved with all her stupid heart, the man who’d just broken that stupid heart. All that was left of her perfect life was her pumpkin pies. If Sean and Riley were here, she’d hit each of them in the face with one.
“Riley, I wish this hadn’t happened,” he said.
That made two of them. “I can’t talk anymore,” she said. “I have to get ready to go to my parents’ and be thankful.”
Chapter Two (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
Riley ended the call but made no move to go anywhere. Instead she stayed on the bar stool and hyperventilated. Get a bag. Breathe into a bag. All she had was plastic bags. Probably not the best plan.
So she switched to crying at the top of her lungs. Good thing most of her neighbors at the Pine Ridge Apartments were out of town for the long weekend, having fun with their families.
Or their boyfriends.
Her crying increased in volume. How could this have happened to her? It was like getting hit by a tidal wave. She grabbed a box of tissues from the bathroom and, hugging it like a long-lost friend, planted herself on her couch and cried some more.
The fold-out turkey centerpiece she’d found at Daily’s Drugstore sat on her dining room table, mocking her. She’d envisioned Sean and her starting their happy life together, sitting at that table every morning, having breakfast before they went off to work, then enjoying a cozy dinner for two when they returned home.
Sean would still be enjoying a cozy dinner for two. Just not with her. She grabbed another tissue.
It only took her half an hour to go through every tissue in the box. She needed something sturdier. Paper towels.
There on the kitchen counter, next to the paper towel dispenser, sat the pumpkin pies. She wished she hadn’t offered to bring them. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. She loved to bake, and Mom had her hands full with the rest of dinner. She’d been excited to show off her culinary artwork to the rest of the family, imagined the oohs and aahs as everyone savored each pumpkiny bite.
No way did she want to go to the family dinner now, not when life as she knew it had come to an end. She put the pies in the fridge and called her sister.
“Hey, there,” Jo answered. “Gobble, gobble.”
Gobble, gobble. Happy Thanksgiving. “I can’t go to Mom and Dad’s,” Riley wailed.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“You have to come get the pies.”
“What do you mean? Are you sick?”
“It’s Sean. He...he...”
“He’s sick.”
“No.”
“He’s dead!”
“Nooo.”
“Then what? Oh, no. He broke up with you,” Jo guessed, quickly arriving at the correct conclusion. There was only one thing as bad as Sean dying, and he had done it.
“Y-yes,” Riley sobbed.
“What’s his problem?”
“Emily.”
“Emily?”
“They’re...they’re...” Riley couldn’t finish the sentence.
“That be-atch,” Jo growled. “That sneaky little fake friend. I’ll be right over.”
The pie problem solved, Riley took the roll of paper towels and returned to the couch. Maybe she’d see if Jo could bring home some leftovers for her...in case she ever wanted to eat again. She hated to miss Thanksgiving dinner but the thought of facing everyone was more than she could bear. She’d be a real dinner buzzkill, sitting there like the world’s biggest loser, crying into her candied yams.
Ten minutes later Jo was at the door. And not only Jo but Mom and Grammy, too, neither of whom would leave the kitchen on Thanksgiving Day unless the world was coming to an end. Oh, no. This was so humiliating.
Until they rushed her and gave her a group hug, everyone standing in the entryway like a giant amoeba.
The amoeba slowly moved to the living room, Grammy and Mom flanking Riley on the couch, and Jo and her giant tummy settling in a nearby chair.
“That boy,” Grammy said in disgust. “I never liked him. He was selfish.” This was because at Thanksgiving the year before, Sean had eaten the last piece of huckleberry pie, which Grammy had planned on taking home and having for breakfast the next morning. It hadn’t mattered that he’d been unaware of her plans for that piece of pie. As far as she was concerned, he still shouldn’t have eaten it.
More evidence of how unworthy Sean was began to come out. “Remember how cheap he was on Valentine’s Day?” Jo reminded Riley. “A bag of M&Ms instead of a box of chocolates.”
“But I like M&Ms,” Riley said.
“It was still cheap. And he didn’t even take you to a nice restaurant. Bubba’s Bar-B-Q? Really?”
“You’re well rid of him,” Mom agreed. “Heaven knows who else he’s cheated with this past year.”
“Now, there’s something to be thankful for,” said Grammy.
“That he cheated on me?”
“That you discovered what a weaselly cheater he is before you got married.”
“He had to wait till three weeks before the wedding to do it?” The humiliation, the disappointment. Oh, the wrongness of it all.
“That is a little inconvenient,” Mom conceded. “But nothing we can’t handle. We’ll start calling the guests tonight.”
“I’ll text all the cousins,” Jo offered.
“See? It’s going to be fine,” Mom assured Riley.
“And look on the bright side,” Jo added. “Now you don’t have to work out at the gym.”
No. Emily would be doing that, right alongside Sean. Riley sniffed.
“One less Christmas present to buy,” Grammy said with a nod that made her glasses bob on her nose.
Christmas. Riley had been envisioning their first Christmas as a married couple—getting up in the morning and drinking hot chocolate, opening their presents. She’d already bought Sean’s, a tool set she’d found online with everything from wrenches to Phillips screwdrivers. Well, she needed a tool set. And she could still drink hot chocolate.
All by herself. She burst into fresh tears.
“We’re not going to let this ruin our Thanksgiving,” Mom said firmly.
Was she kidding? “I’m not coming,” Riley said.
“Not coming!” Mom and Grammy chorused.
“I can’t.” How could they expect her to face everyone after what had just happened?
“Now, baby,” Grammy said, putting an arm around Riley’s shoulders, “When you take a fall you have to climb back on the horse.”
“I didn’t fall,” Riley protested. “I was dumped.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mom said. “Your grandmother’s right. You don’t want to be alone at a time like this. You need your family. And besides, if you sit here and mope, think of the power you’re giving him.”
“I’m not giving him any power. I’m just... Guys, can’t you let me mourn?”
“Absolutely not,” Mom insisted. “Now, go shower and dress. We’ll wait.”
Once Mom and Grammy made up their minds, arguing did about as much good as trying to stick to a diet in a bakery. Riley trudged off to the shower.
As she went, Grammy started singing some old song about washing that man right out of her hair. Funny.
After Riley was cleaned up, Mom and Grammy loaded her and the pies in Mom’s car and hauled her back to the house while Jo went home to put the finishing touches on her cranberry salad.
“How’s my girl?” her father asked, folding her into his big arms.
“Miserable.”
“Don’t be. Forget about that clown. Anyone stupid enough not to want to be with you doesn’t deserve you. I never thought he was good enough for you, anyway.”
And that was the general consensus as the family gathered for their annual Thanksgiving feast.
“Men are beasts,” said Aunt Gertrude, making Uncle Earl frown.
“Good riddance,” said Riley’s brother, Harold. “He’s a tool.”
“That’s bad,” explained his seven-year-old daughter, Caitlyn.
Harold worked out at Sean’s gym a lot. “Did you know he and...” Riley couldn’t bear to mention her false friend’s name. “Did you know what he was doing?”
“Would you pass the stuffing, Aunt Gert?” Harold said, trying to dodge the question.
“Harold, did you?” She knew the answer before he even spoke. Guilt was painting a red flush on his face.
But he shook his head. “Not for sure. There was a lot of flirting going on and I thought that was tacky. You’re well rid of him, sis.”
Maybe she was, but the loss hurt all the same and it was hard to be thankful.
Still, by the end of the day she felt somewhat better. Everyone had complimented her on her pumpkin pies. Her aunt Ellen told her how nice she looked and asked her if she’d lost weight. She’d played Go Fish with Jo, her sister-in-law and her niece and had actually managed to forget her miseries for an hour or two.
Until she got back home to her empty apartment and realized it was going to stay empty for a long time to come. Maybe forever. Oh, there was a comforting thought.
Mom had sent home the last piece of pie with her, along with some stuffing and gravy and turkey. She’d planned to have them for lunch the next day. But, like the saying went, life was uncertain. She decided to eat dessert first. Maybe tomorrow she’d bake pumpkin squares. To heck with never eating again. She was going to eat away her sorrows, turn herself into a blimp. Who cared?
She took one bite of the pie and then tossed it in the garbage. Pumpkin pie was a poor substitute for a fiancé.
She was working up to another good cry when her sister called. “I know you’re feeling sorry for yourself again.”
Sometimes older sisters could be real stinkers. “I’d say I have a right to.”
“Yeah, you do, but I have a better idea than sitting around feeling miserable for the next six months.”
She wasn’t planning on feeling miserable for the next six months. More like the next six years. “What?” Riley asked suspiciously.
“Girlfriend party. Pack a bag. Noel’s on her way to pick you up.”
“You told Noel?”
“Yeah, since she’s your oldest friend and your maid of honor. Thought she’d need to know.”
Yes, of course, Noel had to be told. Still, this felt as if her sad news was spreading faster than gossip on Twitter. In fact, it would probably be on Twitter before the day was over. Maybe it already was. Maybe Sean had tweeted. Happy Thanksgiving. Dumped my girlfriend. Gobble, gobble.
“You wanted to give her the happy news yourself?” Jo retorted.
Good point. She supposed she should be thankful her sister was telling people so she wouldn’t have to.
“Come on, we’ll drink eggnog and play Farkle. Then tomorrow we can hit the Black Friday sales and get you some new clothes, give you a break-over.”
A breakup makeover; that did sound tempting.
“You don’t really want to be by yourself, do you?” Jo continued.
“No,” Riley admitted. She had enough of that being-by-herself stuff looming in the future.
“Older sister knows best,” Jo teased.
“Sometimes.” In this case she probably did. Who better to help Riley recover than her sister and her best friend?
Noel, who had gone through a breakup a few months earlier, understood exactly how she felt. “It sucks,” she said as Riley dropped her overnight bag in the trunk of Noel’s old clunker. “I swear there aren’t any decent men left out there,” she said once they were in her car and on their way. “Jo got the last one. No, I take that back. My sister did. Which is great, of course. I’m happy for Aimi.” Noel sighed heavily.
Great. She was almost as depressed as Riley. Before the night was over they’d probably both wind up stretched out on Pine Street in the middle of downtown, praying to get run over by a reindeer. Except it was too early for Santa and his reindeer to be out cruising.
“I think the male population in Whispering Pines is shrinking.” Noel heaved another sigh. Then she cast a guilty look in Riley’s direction. “But you know what? We’re not going to think about that tonight,” she said with a determined nod.
“Thirty-one, and there’s still no one, not even a glimpse of someone on the horizon,” Noel said a millisecond later.
Jilted brides and empty horizons—oh, yes, this was going to be a fun evening.
Another guilty glance shot Riley’s way. “I’m sorry. Listen to me, going on like Princess Pitiful when you’re the one who’s suffering. I’m sorry, Riley. I’m sorry Sean was such a jerk and Emily was such a rotten friend. But like I said, we’re not going to think about that. Tonight we’re going to have fun.”
Fun.
Noel pointed a finger at nothing in particular. “You know, I never really liked her. Remember when we were at her place and she had that box of chocolates on the counter? She never offered to share. And they were Godiva! What kind of friend doesn’t share her chocolates?”
That had been last month. Had those chocolates come from Sean?
They drove through downtown (which took all of five minutes). Santa’s elves had already been busy because twinkle lights now dangled over Pine Street, and the light posts were decorated with giant candy canes and red ribbons. Everything looked festive and happy. Happy holidays. Bah, humbug.
“But you know what?” Noel continued as they turned the corner onto Jo’s block. “Tonight is all about forgetting your troubles, and we’re not—”
“—going to think about it,” Riley finished with her. She was glad when they reached Jo’s house. Maybe now they really could stop thinking. And talking.
Jo was still looking picture-perfect in her maternity jeans and black sweater, an Italian charm bracelet dangling from her wrist. No matter how tired she got, she always managed to look perfect. The eggnog was ready, spiked for Riley, alcohol-free for Jo and Noel, who wasn’t much of a drinker.
“Eggnog!” Noel cried happily. “That’s enough to make us forget our troubles.”
“Until we step on the scale tomorrow,” Jo cracked and took a sip of hers. “Except I’m drinking for two. Probably for another nine months at the rate I’m going. This baby’s taking her own sweet time.”
“She’ll be here any day,” Riley said. Her sister was having a girl and had the ultrasound to prove it. She also had a dresser full of cute outfits so her little girl could be as stylin’ as she was.
“I’m ready. I’m more than ready. I have cleaned this house from top to bottom.”
“It looks great,” said Noel.
Jo’s house always looked great. It was like an ad for Crate & Barrel. Chocolate-brown leather sofa and matching chairs, an expensive, thick throw rug over hardwood floors, her cupboards stocked with artisan stoneware. Tonight an arrangement of fall flowers in a long vase sat on her antique dining table, and she had a balsam-scented candle burning.
“I even cleaned the grout in the shower,” she told them. “Mom says it’s that final burst of energy before the baby comes. I sure hope she knows what she’s talking about. I’d like to see my feet again.”
“I thought expectant mothers were supposed to, like, glow,” Noel said with a frown.
“I left glowing behind two months ago,” Jo informed her.
“But you’re going to have a baby!”
Jo did smile at that and rubbed her bulging belly.
Wait a minute. What was wrong with her sister’s smile? The lips were in the right position but something was missing.
“Are you all right?” Riley asked her.
“Me? Of course I’m all right.”
“Are you sure?”
Jo’s chin went up a notch, a sign that she wasn’t all right at all.
Riley’s stomach started churning her eggnog. She set down her mug. “What’s going on?”
Jo shrugged and downed the last of her drink. “Nothing.”
“Okay, something is definitely wrong,” Riley said.
“Not really wrong, just...not right. I don’t know if I want to stay married to Mike.”
Riley could feel her eyes bugging. “What? You and Mike have a great marriage. What are you talking about?”
“There’s nothing great about him being gone all the time,” Jo snapped. “He wants to re-up.”
“Reenlist? You guys already talked about that,” Riley said.
“We did. And I thought we had it settled. Obviously, we don’t, not according to the email I just got.” Jo frowned. “All he can see is that big bonus he’ll get. He thinks we need it now that we’ve got the baby coming.”
“Well, his motives are good,” said Noel.
“No, they’re not. He’s just being greedy.”
“Maybe he’s worried about finding a job once he gets out,” Riley suggested. Mike was a nice guy. He would never cheat on his woman. Jo had no idea how lucky she was.
“He’d have no trouble getting a job. He’ll be in high demand. That’s why they’re offering him such a big signing bonus. I told him it’s either me or the navy. If he re-ups it’s anchors aweigh. We’re through.”
Jo had dashed all over the emotional landscape during the last few months. Riley was sure this was simply one more case of whacked-out hormones. “You shouldn’t make any big decision like that right now. And anyway, Mike loves you. And you’re about to have a baby, for crying out loud.”
Tears started leaking from Jo’s eyes. “I don’t want to raise this baby alone.”
“You won’t be,” Riley assured her. “Yeah, Mike goes out to sea but he always comes back to you.”
“He’s gone for months at a time,” Jo said, wiping her eyes.
“But we’re all here.”
“It’s not the same. In the end it’ll be me and Annabelle alone in this place. It’ll be me up all night when she’s sick, just me at the PTO meetings and the school plays. He’ll be off...somewhere, keeping the world safe. Super Squid in a sub,” Jo said bitterly.
“But think how noble—he’s serving his country,” Noel pointed out.
“I know, but he’s been doing it for eight years. Isn’t that enough? Can’t he let someone else take a turn?”
This was obviously a rhetorical question, so Riley didn’t respond. Instead she said, “You really need to think about this, sis. If you split with Mike you’ll be even more alone.”
“I’ll replace him.”
“You don’t mean that,” Riley said sternly.
Jo sighed. “I don’t know what I mean. I’m just so...mad.”
It was all Riley could do not to tell her to get over it. But that would be unkind and not very helpful. This was hormones talking. Had to be. So she decided to say, “Mike’s a good man, and it’s darn hard to find a good man.” This was something she was now an expert on.
“Yeah, he’s practically perfect,” Noel added.
“There’s no such thing as a perfect man,” Jo said in disgust.
“I’ll settle for almost perfect,” Noel said.
“I’ll settle for playing Farkle,” Riley said. Sheesh. This was supposed to be a girlfriend party to cheer her up. At the rate they were going, they’d all be lying down in the middle of Pine Street waiting to get run over by a reindeer. “Come on, let’s have fun. No more talk of men. Okay?”
Noel nodded. “I agree.”
“Me, too,” Jo said and fetched the game.
For the next two hours they played games. Then they turned on the Hallmark Channel and watched a Christmas movie. “The guys in these movies are all so great,” Noel said with a sigh as the ending credits rolled.
“That’s because they’re not real,” Jo said. “If you sit around waiting for the perfect man you’ll be on your buttsky for a long time.”
“Thanks,” Noel muttered. “You sure know how to inspire a girl.”
“Just sayin’.” Jo heaved a sigh. “Oh, never mind me. I’m cranky. And I’m pooped. You guys feel free to stay up as long as you want, but my daughter and I are going to bed so we’ll be ready to hit the mall tomorrow.” She waddled off to her bedroom, calling over her shoulder, “Leave the mess. We can clean it up in the morning.”
“I’m tired, too,” Riley said. It had been a long day and she suddenly felt the weight of all her misery. She stacked the empty popcorn bowls and grabbed a couple of glasses.
“Me, too,” Noel said, picking up the rest of the mess. “Do you think your sister’s right?” she asked as they loaded the dishwasher.
“About what?” Not about Mike, that was for sure.
“About there being no such thing as a perfect man.”
“Well, none of us is perfect, but I hope there’s such a thing as the perfect man for me,” said Riley.
Maybe someday, somewhere, she’d find him.
Chapter Three (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
The problem with writing children’s stories was that the only men you met were A) editors, who were either married or gay; B) happily married stay-at-home dads who brought their children to author appearances (where were the single dads these days?); and C) little boys who came to those author appearances (all those adorable little boys—where were the big ones?). Even Noel’s landlord was a woman. Mrs. Bing was fifty-something and you’d think she’d have had a son but no. Actually, considering what Mrs. Bing looked like, that was probably just as well.
So, naturally, Noel had been thrilled when Donny Lockhart walked into Java Josie’s one rainy fall morning. Noel had been seated at a table, working on her latest project with her gingersnap latte within easy reach. It was a Saturday, practically the only day of the week besides Sunday that she got out of her jammie bottoms and got out of the house. The coffee shop was packed with people. Tables were scarce. He’d asked if he could share hers. Donny was tall and cute with red hair and freckles and trendy glasses. Of course she’d said yes.
He’d taken out his tablet and gotten to work, typing away. There was no “Hey, we’re both redheads.” No “Crappy weather we’re having, huh?” No “What are you drinking? It looks good.” No “Wow, are you an artist?”
She could’ve asked him what he was working on, but she didn’t have the nerve. All kinds of clever words poured out of her when she was working on her Marvella Monster books but when it came to picking up guys, she was more of a Timid Tillie Titmouse.
It wasn’t that she was ugly. She was okay-looking. She just...well, all those years of wearing glasses before they became a fashion statement, coupled with braces and a few extra pounds (the kiss of death when you were in high school) had messed with her self-esteem. That, plus being a bit of a nerd. Who wanted a nerd when you could hook up with a cheerleader? That had become her belief and she’d kept it all through college, which left the shelves in the boyfriend department pretty bare. If a guy got things started, she was fine, but it was hard to put herself out there and make the first move, even though the glasses had been replaced with contacts and the extra pounds had long since disappeared.
So she’d sighed inwardly and gone back to sketching the illustrations for her latest Marvella book, Marvella and the Monster Under Mary’s Bed.
She’d just finished sketching Marvella pulling a protesting green gremlin out from under the hapless Mary’s bed when someone spoke. “Are you an artist?”
Mr. Cute Glasses was talking to her? “Yes.” Now, there was an area where she had complete confidence. “I’m a children’s book author but I illustrate all my own books.” That in itself was quite an accomplishment, if she did say so herself. Not many people could do both well.
“Yeah?” He’d leaned over and checked out Marvella, who was upside down. She’d turned her sketch tablet around so he could see her creation better.
“You’re really good.”
She’d smiled modestly and thanked him. Now that the conversational gate was open, she’d had no problem asking, “What about you? What do you do?”
His cheeks had turned a little pink. “I’m between jobs at the moment. What I want to do is be a writer.”
A kindred soul! “Really? What do you want to write?”
“Legal thrillers. You know, like John Grisham.”
“I love him.” Something else they had in common. “So is that what you’re working on right now?”
His cheeks had gone from pink to red. “Actually, no. I’m, uh, writing something different, along the lines of Fifty Shades.”
She’d felt her own cheeks sizzling. She’d tried to watch the movie, but her eyes had started to melt five minutes in. Her life was more like fifty shades of white.
“I heard there’s big money in romance novels,” he’d said, “so I thought I’d start there.”
“That sounds like a plan,” she’d said, at a loss for anything better. She knew quite a few writers, and none of them were in it for the money. They wrote because they loved to write. Still, she supposed it was good to be practical.
Donny had introduced himself and they’d wound up talking for twenty minutes until he’d checked his cell phone and announced that he had to go. Writers group meeting.
But before he left, he’d gotten her phone number and promised to call.
Lo and behold, he had. They’d dated hot and heavy for six glorious months. Six months of foreign films at The Orpheum. Lunch at Lettuce Love, since lunch was cheaper than dinner and Donny was on a budget...so of course she always offered to pay and he always let her. (Very secure in who he was as a man.) Six months of open mike on Monday nights at Java Josie’s, where aspiring writers read their work. (Donny always read. His stuff was...well, he was still a beginner. He had room to grow.)
Six months of Donny asking her if her agent represented romance novelists, if she could edit his latest chapter, what she thought of his new scene. Six months of Donny talking about Donny and his dreams and very little talking about Noel and hers. Six months of him looking for a job to support himself while he finished his novel and finding nothing and continuing to live in his parents’ basement. Of him asking if he could borrow ten bucks and then forgetting to pay her back. Six months before she finally realized that Donny was cute and creative—and self-centered and a user. After six months, Donny was history. The last time she saw him at the coffee shop he was hitting on a blonde in a business suit. So much for true love.
But she wasn’t going to think about that. There was more to life than men.
Like holiday sales. And the mall, which served both Whispering Pines and the nearby town of Salmon Run, definitely had that going now that Black Friday was here. Christmas decorations were up and oversize golden balls and swags hung everywhere. In the middle of the mall, right by the information booth, Santa’s shack, a red plywood chalet with white gingerbread trim, was being erected. A sign at the corner of the fake snow lawn announced: Santa Arrives December 1.
Good thing he wasn’t arriving this weekend, she thought. He’d never have found a place to park his sleigh. It looked as if everyone in Whispering Pines and their fishy neighbor seven miles to the east was here. They all seemed to be swarming the department stores, getting their cell phones upgraded or their ears pierced or buying cookies over at Carmen’s Cookie House. And they were all ready to do battle for bargains, especially at Macy’s. One woman beat her to the last black sweater in her size by all of two seconds.
Jo was currently using her belly as a lethal weapon, knocking competitors out of the way in the activewear department. “She’s fierce,” Noel observed to Riley.
“Yep. She always has been. Sometimes I feel sorry for poor Mike.”
“You don’t think they’re going to split up, do you?”
“I hope not,” Riley said. “His shipping out never bothered her when it was only the two of them, but now with the baby in the picture, she’s been complaining a lot about him being gone so much. Of course, she’s been complaining a lot about all kinds of stuff. It’s really not like her. I’m not sure being pregnant agrees with her.”
“It would with me,” Noel said. Darn, but she wanted a baby. Here she wrote children’s books and didn’t have a child. What was wrong with that picture? “Maybe I’ll adopt.” Why wait for a man to come along? At the rate she was going, she could be waiting until she was fifty.
“I don’t know,” Riley said. “I think I’d rather have a dad in the picture, someone to take over when you’ve got cramps and just want to go to bed.”
“Yeah, but what if I never find someone? What if...” Oh, dear. Don’t go there. “But we’re not going to think about that.”
Riley frowned. “No, we’re not. Instead we’re going to try on dresses.”
She hauled Noel over to a rack where evening outfits were thirty percent off. “I don’t need an evening dress,” Noel protested. Besides being on a tight budget, she wasn’t exactly the fancy-dress kind of girl. Her pink sweats and Uggs said it all—boring homebody who writes on her laptop in her jammies. Besides, if they went out and she needed something fancy, she had the red bridesmaid dress she’d bought for Riley’s wedding.
Except wearing that around her friend would be mean. And tacky. Anyway, where were they going to go with their love lives in the toilet?
“Well, I do,” Riley said. “Let’s buy some sexy dresses to wear on New Year’s Eve.”
“Uh, Riley, neither one of us has someone to go out with on New Year’s Eve.”
“This will be like thinking positive, putting it out there in the universe that we want someone to celebrate with. And if no one comes, we’ll still go out. I’m not going to start the New Year feeling like an abysmal love failure.”
“No one would ever call you that,” Noel insisted.
Riley began furiously sorting through the dresses. She pulled out a black one with a sweetheart neckline, trimmed with fake pearls and gold beads and held it against her. “What do you think?”
“That Sean blew it.”
Riley’s lower lip wobbled and a tear slipped out of the corner of one eye. She dashed it away. “I can’t become pitiful,” she said in a low voice.
“You won’t. You aren’t,” Noel assured her, and gave her a hug.
“Excuse me,” said another woman, nudging them aside. “If you aren’t going to look, could you please get out of the way?”
“Sorry,” they said in unison and stepped aside.
Riley frowned. “You know what’s wrong with us?” Noel wasn’t sure she wanted to hear but Riley rushed on before she could say so. “We’re too nice, that’s what. We let people walk all over us.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do. I let Sean get away with sneaking out on me. I never made demands, never said, ‘I’m sorry, you can’t work late tonight because we have plans.’ And you, you always let your publisher walk all over you.”
“I do not!”
“Yeah, you do. You hated that last title they picked for your Marvella Monster book and you never said anything.”
“That’s because no one cares whether I like the title or not. Publishers want something that will sell, and they figure they know what works. Authors hardly ever get to keep their original title idea.” Honestly, she should never have complained to Riley.
“Okay, what about Donny? How many times did he hit you up for loans before you finally got rid of him?”
She’d lost count. “I did get rid of him, though.”
“Only after Jo threatened to call, pretending to be you, and break up with him.”
Noel sighed. “Okay, maybe we are too nice.”
“We are. I mean, how about what we did just now? Don’t we have a right to stand at a rack and look at clothes?”
“We weren’t really looking and we were kind of in the way.”
“I was looking. Anyway, it’s the principle of the thing,” Riley said and stepped back over to the rack, giving the hangers a violent shove.
“Hey, watch it,” the other woman snapped.
“Sorry,” Riley mumbled. She grabbed a red dress and slinked away. “I guess it takes time to change your life. But I’m going to,” she said with determination. “I’m going to be like Jo and take life by the horns. I’m going to buy a new dress and I’ll go out on New Year’s Eve. By myself if I have to. I’m not going to let Sean turn me into some pitiful reject who sits home all the time and feels sorry for herself.”
Pitiful reject who sits home all the time—why did that have a familiar ring to it?
Jo was back with them now, carrying another bulging bag. She’d obviously succeeded in her quest for new workout pants.
She approved her sister’s speech by saying, “All right, sis,” and bumped knuckles with Riley. “I like this new you.” She looked at the cocktail dresses in Riley’s hands. “Oooh, pretty. Have you tried those on yet?”
“Not yet, but I will. Noel, how about you?” Riley challenged.
“Well...” A fancy dress so wasn’t in the budget. She was trying desperately to save money for a down payment on the little house she was renting. She loved that place and when Noel had called to tell Mrs. Bing she wanted to rent for another year, Mrs. Bing had mentioned that she was thinking of selling it. Noel was determined to be the one she sold it to. In addition to saving for that worthy goal, Christmas was looming and she had more presents to buy.
Still, it would be fun to go out on New Year’s Eve even if she didn’t have a man. And since she could hardly go out with her friend and wear the bridesmaid’s dress from the wedding that didn’t happen...
“Thirty percent off,” Jo reminded her.
Riley snagged a black dress in Noel’s size. “Come on,” she said. “Try it on.”
“Okay.”
Riley beamed. “Let’s go.”
Jo plopped onto a nearby chair. “There’s no way we can all fit in a changing room. Come out and show me.”
“If we ever get a changing room,” Riley muttered. “This is like standing in line for the bathroom.”
“I’ll bet the bathroom line’s shorter,” said Noel.
But ten minutes later they were in a changing room, side by side and admiring themselves in the mirror, Riley in the red dress and Noel in the black one, accessorized with her Uggs. “Oh, we look hotter than cinnamon,” Riley said with a smile. It was a big, wide smile, not one of the small, dull ones she’d been showing recently.
Noel smiled, too. “You look great.”
“So do you,” Riley said. “Except for the shoes,” she added. “Come on, let’s show Jo.”
Jo approved. “Oh, yeah. You guys are crazy if you don’t buy those.” Then she grimaced at Noel’s feet. “Shoe-shopping next.”
Noel didn’t want to be crazy, so she joined Riley at the cash register and bought the dress. Anyway, Riley had a point, and Noel decided she, too, needed to get a life, one that took place in the real world, not just inside her head with Marvella. She was going out and she’d be wearing this dress. And some sexy shoes, too!
“I’m starving,” Jo said after they’d bought Noel a pair of red stiletto heels guaranteed to break her neck, as well as some rock-me-baby black boots. “Let’s go to the food court and see if they have any chocolate chip cookies left at Carmen’s Cookie House.”
Chocolate chip cookies weren’t as good as sex but they ran a close second. Noel followed the sisters out of the department store.
They all stopped for a moment to watch as Santa’s Play Land came to life with mall employees setting out plastic elves and mechanical reindeer with heads that bobbed up and down. “Just think,” Riley said to Jo, “this time next year you’ll be taking your baby to see Santa.”
“That was always so fun when we were kids,” Jo said. “I can hardly wait to do it with mine.” Then she grinned. “In fact, I’ll start this year.” She turned to Riley and Noel. “You guys want to come with me to see Santa?”
Now Riley was grinning, too. “Like we all did when we were in high school.”
Noel remembered that. Jo had been in her junior year, and she and Riley had been sophomores. Riley had asked for a car, which she didn’t get. Noel had asked for straight As, and almost got there except for a B in algebra. And Jo had asked for a new boyfriend, which she did get. Jo had always been good at finding ways to get what she wanted. Sometimes Noel wished she was more like Jo. Considering all the time she and Riley had spent trailing her like puppies, you’d have thought more of her warrior princess attitude would’ve worn off on them.
“Let’s do it,” Riley was saying. “Let’s come here on December first after I get done with school. We can see Santa and then go out for dinner.”
“Twelfth Man Sports Bar,” said Jo. “Who knows? There might be some cute guys there.”
“I think we’ve met about every single man in Whispering Pines,” Riley said, backing up Noel’s theory about the shrinking male population. “But hey, you never know.”
True. Maybe if Noel asked for a man, someone who was a step up from Donny (which would be just about anyone), Santa would come through.
They were buying their cookies when her cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw it was her landlady. What could Mrs. Bing want?
“Noel, I wanted to give you a heads-up. I’m bringing someone to look at the house this afternoon. It’s short notice, but I hope that’s okay.”
“The house?” Her house? “I don’t understand.”
“You remember I’ve been talking about selling it.”
Yes, to her! She’d told Mrs. Bing she’d love to buy it. She’d hoped Mrs. Bing would be open to carrying a contract with her. Mrs. Bing hadn’t been too excited about that, so Noel had made her an offer. It turned out to be an offer she could refuse. Still, Noel had insisted she could come up with the money Mrs. Bing wanted. Somehow. She’d been saving like crazy for a down payment that would impress both Mrs. Bing and the bank. All she needed was a few more months. Okay, more like a year, but still.
“I have someone who’s interested,” Mrs. Bing said.
“But I’m interested!”
“Yes, I know you are, dear, but this person actually has money and wants to make a cash offer, and I’m a little strapped for cash right now.”
“Oh, Mrs. Bing,” Noel began miserably.
“I’m sorry, dear. I really am. Anyway, we’ll be coming by around four. Like I said, I should’ve given you more notice, so I hope you don’t mind.”
Yes, she minded.
“You don’t need to be home,” Mrs. Bing continued. “In fact, I’m sure you’re out enjoying the Black Friday sales.”
She had been until this.
“Now, don’t worry. I’ll see that you have plenty of time to move out. A month’s notice should do, shouldn’t it? I heard they have vacancies in those new apartments over on East View.”
Noel didn’t want to live in the new apartments on East View, even if some of them did look out on Case Inlet. But before she could say that—or anything—Mrs. Bing said a cheery goodbye and ended the call.
“What’s wrong?” asked Jo.
“Mrs. Bing’s selling my house. Can she do that?”
“When’s your rental contract up?”
Oh, boy. “End of this month. But I already told her I’d stay another year.”
“Why’s she bringing in someone else? I thought you told her you wanted to rent with an option to buy.”
“Because she didn’t want to do that,” Noel said. “She wasn’t exactly open to any of my ideas.” She handed over her money and got a big cookie in exchange. Suddenly she wasn’t in the mood for a cookie. She wasn’t in the mood for anything except a good cry.
“She could have given you first dibs,” Riley said, incensed on her behalf.
“She knows I don’t have enough for a down payment yet.” Now she wished she hadn’t bought that fancy dress and boots. Or the stupid shoes. Even though the money she’d spent on them was only a drop in a very big bucket that seemed to have a hole in it.
“What if you went and talked to her, asked her for a few days to see if you qualify for a loan?” Jo suggested.
Noel already knew the answer to that. She’d been to the bank. With her fluctuating earnings as a children’s book author, Mr. Ridley, the loan officer at First Mutual, was nervous about giving her a loan, especially in light of how far short she was of what she’d need for a healthy down payment.
Her parents weren’t currently in any financial shape to help her. Dad had been laid off, and he and Mom were trying to make ends meet on his unemployment and what Mom earned working part-time at the library. Plus, they now had a wedding to pay for.
If only Marvella was real. Noel would sic her on this would-be buyer and get him out of the way so she’d have time to pull together her finances.
But she didn’t have a Marvella. All she had was herself.
“You should go over there and talk this potential buyer out of it. Don’t let him or her swoop in and take your place away from you,” Jo said.
Noel looked despondently at her cookie. “I have no idea how to talk somebody out of buying a house.”
“Too bad it isn’t falling down around your ears,” said Riley.
“Too bad it doesn’t have termites,” Jo added. “Or rats.” Then she grinned. “Rats, that’s it!”
Riley stared at her as if she were nuts. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about a strong deterrent,” Jo said. “Come on, Purrfect Pets has got to be open today.” She started waddling down the mall.
“What’s she talking about?” Noel asked as they followed her.
“I think she’s found a way to discourage your buyer,” Riley said. “Would you fall in love with a house that was infested with rats?”
“You mean turn rats loose in the house?” Eeew.
“It’s worth a try,” Riley said as they caught up with Jo.
“But...rats?”
“You got a better idea?” Jo asked.
“No,” Noel said with a sigh. “But I hate rats.”
“They’re kind of cute,” Riley said. “Anyway, you’ll probably only need a couple.”
“What am I supposed to do with them after this potential buyer leaves?”
“Call me and I’ll help you catch them. I could use some rats in my classroom.”
“I guess,” Noel said. Oh, but rats were so creepy with their little ratty paws and that long, ratty tail. Eeew. Just. Eeew.
Purrfect Pets was indeed open and filled with people hoping to buy puppies for Christmas. They passed a tank with snakes in it and Noel shuddered.
“Maybe we should get a snake, too,” Riley suggested and Noel quickly vetoed it. The rats were bad enough.
Ten minutes later she was the proud owner of two gray rats. (Riley had fallen for a gray-and-white one, but Jo had vetoed him. Too domestic-looking. Noel wanted to veto the whole plan, but she’d been outnumbered.) She’d also shelled out for a cage, bedding for the cage and rat food.
“I can’t believe I just spent all that on vermin,” she muttered as they left the mall.
“Don’t worry. I’ll reimburse you,” Riley told her.
Back in Jo’s Honda Pilot, the two sisters took the front seats and left Noel in back with the rats, who kept making little scritchy-scratchy noises as they paced around their cage. “These things creep me out,” she said, hugging the door.
“My kids will love them,” Riley said.
“Let’s hope the potential buyer hates ’em,” Jo said then groaned. “Oh, my gosh, I swear this girl is going to be a boxer the way she keeps pushing me.”
“A sure sign she’s about ready to come out,” Riley told her.
“The sooner, the better,” Jo said as they turned into Noel’s driveway.
“Want me to come in with you and set them free?” Riley offered as she took out the cage for Noel.
“No, I can do this,” she said as much to herself as her friend. “But I will definitely call you to come back and help me catch them.”
“Okay. Good luck in your mission,” Riley said and hugged her. Then the sisters roared off down the road, leaving her alone with the rats.
She carried her new houseguests into the house, holding the cage as far away from her as possible. This was too, too creepy. But she’d have brought home a boa constrictor if it would keep away the competition.
The house wasn’t a mansion. In fact, it was small, with only two bedrooms. But it had a bay window in the living room and a brick fireplace that she loved using in the winter, with a mantel just right for hanging Christmas stockings, and a built-in china cabinet in the dining room. The lawn at the back of the house wasn’t much, but it was the right size for a puppy...which she fully intended to get once she owned the place and was free of the no-pets rule. She loved sitting out on the patio in the summer, smelling the honeysuckle that grew on the side of the house and working on her books. The kitchen cabinets and floor vinyl were both as old as time. The windows tended to sweat in the winter and the hardwood floor was scratched up, but none of that bothered her. Someday, when she had money, she’d replace the windows and refinish the floor, refinish the kitchen cabinets, and this old place would sparkle like the gem it was. Meanwhile, though, she loved it, and she wasn’t going to give it up.
She glanced around at her tidy living room with the apartment-size, cream-colored sofa and matching chair, the rocking chair that had been her grandma’s, the fall candle arrangement on the coffee table. Ugh. It all looked way too inviting. She couldn’t do anything to the house itself, but she could at least cut down on the cozy factor. She set down the cage and got to work messing up the room, putting away the candles and throwing some sofa pillows on the floor. In the kitchen she pulled dirty dishes out of the dishwasher and scattered them on the kitchen counter. There. That was better. Now, all she had to do was set loose the vermin.
Oh, wait. Did she want rats climbing on her sofa pillows? She put them back on the sofa. Okay, it was showtime.
She approached the cage as if it bore two ravenous tigers, reaching out a tentative hand to the latches on the little door. “You can do this,” she told herself. Honestly, she was a huge, powerful human. They were only the size of her feet.
Rats the size of her feet running around the house!
She held her breath and opened the door, granting them freedom to pillage her place, then dashed for the sofa. Rats couldn’t climb furniture, could they?
She huddled there and watched as the stupid things stood at the door of their cage and sniffed. “Come on, already, get out and do your duty.” What was the problem here? Were they agoraphobic? She left the sofa and crept to the cage, giving it a wiggle. The rats planted their feet. Great. Just great. She’d brought home defective rats.
But no, now one was poking its nose out of the cage. Then, next thing she knew, he was out. With a screech she ran back to the sofa.
Brother rat came out, too, and she sat helplessly watching as they scuttled around her living room, sniffing and exploring. She was never going to be able to leave her sofa. And, oh, how dumb! Her cell phone was in her purse on the hall table. How would she ever be able to call Riley to come over and help her put them back in their cage? Doomed. She was doomed to stay on her sofa for the rest of her life like some poor flood victim camped on her roof, hoping for a helicopter.
The mantel clock told her she only had half an hour before the invaders arrived. Of course, now she had to go to the bathroom. Maybe she could wait until Mrs. Bing came. Maybe Mrs. Bing and the potential house thief would distract the rats long enough for her to dash to the bathroom. This had been such a stupid idea.
She nibbled her lip. She really had to go.
She was going to have to be brave. Time to make a break for the bathroom. The rats were over there, on their way to the kitchen. She was clear over here. She could do this. She put one tentative foot down and then the other. One of the little beasties lifted its gray head and looked at her. Looked right at her!
Eeeee! She dashed for the bathroom and shut herself in. She was never coming out.
She kept her vow until she heard her front door open, followed by the sound of voices, one feminine, the other masculine. Mrs. Bing and the interloper. Suddenly Noel had no idea what to do. Should she stay in the bathroom with the door locked? Ha! Not a bad plan. They’d both try the door and not be able to open it, yet another sign of a flawed house.
“This was my mother’s home,” Mrs. Bing said. “She lived in it for fifty years. As you can see, it has a lot of charm.”
Dear God, please let him be blind.
Footsteps moved from the hall into the living room and Noel opened the door and stuck her head out, trying to hear.
“Windows will have to be replaced,” said the voice.
Yes, too expensive. You don’t want a house where you have to replace the windows.
“What the hell?”
He must’ve seen the rats. Hee, hee.
“Oh, my!” cried Mrs. Bing. “We’ve never had rats in this house.”
Noel crept down the hall and peered around the door frame into the living room. There was Mrs. Bing in all her glory, wearing a faux fur coat over a tentlike green dress that made her look like a Christmas tree. Atop that Christmas tree sat a face like a pumpkin with Chia Pet hair.
Next to her stood a tall, dark-haired man with a body to match his manly voice. He wore jeans and a black sweater and an old, leather jacket and had black stubble on his chin. His eyes were brown. And his mouth...it was lifted in a half smile.
“Those are domestic,” he said, and pointed to the cage.
Darn. Why hadn’t she hidden the stupid cage? Oh, yeah. Terror.
“That’s impossible,” Mrs. Bing said in shock. “Noel knows I have a no-pet policy.”
Noel decided it was time to show herself. “I’m keeping them for a friend. She’s a teacher. She’s coming to get them tonight.”
“Why are they out of the cage?” Mrs. Bing demanded.
Jailbreak? Noel had a very creative mind; why couldn’t she think of something? “Um, the latch on their door must have jiggled loose.” Did that sound lame to anyone besides her?
“Well, put them back,” Mrs. Bing ordered.
“Now?” She’d have a heart attack right here.
“Don’t worry,” said the interloper. “I’ll get ’em.”
She watched as he chased down the first rat and bent to pick up the disgusting little squeaker. Nice butt. Oh, who cared?
“You didn’t need to be home,” Mrs. Bing told Noel as the unwanted visitor scooped up Useless Rat Number Two and stuck him back in the cage with Useless Rat Number One.
“I was done shopping,” Noel said. “I wanted to come home and...check for leaks.” Ha! Brilliant. No one would want to buy a house with leaks.
Mrs. Bing’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “When did you notice a leak, Noel?”
Noel’s guilty conscience started a fire on her cheeks. “I thought I saw water the day before yesterday. In the kitchen.”
“Really.” Mrs. Bing was not fooled.
The rats were safely in the cage now. “Let’s go look,” said the interloper.
So they all trooped out to the kitchen to look.
The kitchen was as cheerful and warm as ever with its yellow walls. Noel and Riley had painted those walls last summer. She’d even sprung for the paint herself. All the love she’d been pouring into this house and Mrs. Bing was going to sell it out from under her just like that. Mrs. Bing was an ingrate.
“Where exactly was the leak?” asked Mrs. Bing.
“Uh, over by the window. I think.”
The interloper gave the window and surrounding wall a checkup. “No signs of water damage. But the counters need replacing.”
“The counters are fine,” Noel informed him and he raised an eyebrow.
“Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house,” Mrs. Bing said. “Noel, you can wait down here.”
“That’s okay. I’ll come with you,” Noel said. Her rent was paid up. She had every right to join the home tour.
They walked from room to room, the interloper seeing ways he could change every one.
“You know, this house is very nice just as it is,” Noel informed him.
The interloper cocked his head. “Yeah? Then why don’t you buy it?”
“I want to. Mrs. Bing knows that,” Noel said and looked accusingly at her landlady.
Mrs. Bing’s cheeks turned rosy. “Noel, if you had the money I’d sell it to you.”
“Noel, pretty name,” said the interloper. He thrust out a hand for her to shake. “Mine’s Ben, Ben Fordham.”
Noel put her own hands behind her back. “What do you intend to do with this house, Ben Fordham?”
“I intend to fix it up.”
“And then what? It needs a family, people to live in it and love it.” Okay, she was lecturing now.
No, no. She wasn’t lecturing. She was getting in touch with her inner Marvella Monster, chasing away a predator.
He held up his left hand. “Not married.”
“Well, then...” Suddenly it dawned. “You don’t want this house for yourself. You’re going to flip it.”
“I’m going to fix it up and sell it to a family who will love it.”
Fix it up? Ha! He was going to destroy its character. Noel turned to Mrs. Bing. “Mrs. Bing, please don’t sell the house to this...this...Scrooge. He only wants it so he can make a profit. Please let me rent to own or give me time to come up with a down payment. I love this place. I’ll take care of it.”
“I saw how you’re taking care of it with the dirty dishes on the counter,” Mrs. Bing said, pursing her lips.
“I never have dirty dishes on the counter, really. That was...” Noel was aware of Ben the Bad Man looking at her.
“Camouflage?” he guessed. “Like the rats and the so-called leak.”
She wasn’t too proud to beg. “I’m sure you can find other houses to buy.”
“Of course I can,” he said, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Until he added, “But not at this price point.” He turned to Mrs. Bing. “Why don’t we go back to your house and talk?”
Nodding, Mrs. Bing started down the hall.
Ben the Bad Man turned to follow her and Noel caught him by the arm. “Please don’t buy this house.”
He looked down at her pityingly. “This is nothing personal. It’s just business.” Then he gently disengaged his arm and trailed Mrs. Bing down the hall. “Nice meeting you, Noel.”
“I wish I could say the same,” she called after him then leaned against the wall and wished all manner of Christmas disasters on him. She hoped he fell off a ladder while hanging Christmas lights and broke his leg. No, make that both legs. She hoped his dog bit him. And if he didn’t have a dog she hoped all the dogs in the neighborhood would poop on his lawn. She hoped Santa would drive right by his house or, better yet, drive over it and dump an entire load of coal down his chimney. She hoped...he’d have a change of heart. Maybe he’d have a dream and get visited by a bunch of ghosts showing him what a bad boy he was.
Or maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to win him over.
Chapter Four (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
Riley called Noel shortly after the invaders had left. “How’d it go?”
“He wasn’t fooled. And he wants to buy the house and flip it. He’s talking about taking down walls and ripping out counters and all kinds of things. He’ll ruin its character.”
“Too bad the rats didn’t work.”
“Please don’t say that word,” Noel begged, looking over at the useless rodents in their cage.
“Sorry. I’ll come over and collect them for you.”
“No need. The house thief already did that.”
“He saw the cage?”
“What can I say? I screwed up. It’s just that they had me so icked out I couldn’t concentrate.”
“We’ll think of something,” Riley said. “And I’ll come and get them tomorrow, okay?”
“In the morning?” If she had to look at them all day...
“Yes, and don’t worry. I’m sure this will all work out.”
Perhaps, but meanwhile, she had to be proactive. She said goodbye to Riley then pulled out her laptop and did an internet search for Ben Fordham. She found him under Fordham Enterprises. We Turn Nightmares into Dream Homes, he promised on his website. And there was a picture of the dream-maker himself. He looked like an HGTV star in his jeans and T-shirt and tool belt, with his muscles and dark hair and trust-me smile. He was on the front porch of a pretty Victorian, sitting on the railing, one leg dangling casually. Underneath that was a before-and-after example of his work, two shots of the same house. In one it resembled something out of a Halloween movie, with peeling paint and a front lawn overrun by unruly shrubs; in the other, it had turned into a sweet, two-story charmer with a freshly mowed lawn and flowers blooming along its front walk. Very impressive.
But her house wasn’t a nightmare. And she had her own plans for turning it into a dream home.
She poked around the site, checking out more examples of what he did. Various pages offered visitors a chance to sell a property (You need out, we’ll step in) or buy property (We did the work, you reap the benefits), and his contact information gave not only his email address but the physical address and phone number of his business, as well. She knew that building. It was downtown, around the corner from the Wiltons’ hardware store. It had once been a little on the derelict side, but now housed both his business and a real estate office, plus an escrow company and an interior decorator. Very handy. No doubt he worked hand in glove with the Realtor, and she supposed the home-decorating woman helped him stage his stolen homes.
Stolen was about what they were, she was sure. He probably never paid full market value, probably preyed on poor widows who were desperate for money. Like Mrs. Bing.
Except Mrs. Bing drove a new car and lived in a rambler in a nice neighborhood. Noel didn’t believe she needed the money as badly as she claimed. Of course, in all fairness to Mrs. Bing, you never really knew about a person’s personal finances.
Still, darn it all, she’d been providing the woman with a monthly income in the form of rent for two years now. Why couldn’t Mrs. Bing have given her a chance? Greed. It came down to that.
Well, she wasn’t going to let her house go without a fight.
That’s the spirit, whispered Marvella, who sometimes hung around even when Noel wasn’t working on a story.
She returned to the Fordham Enterprises home page and studied her nemesis. What a phony, insincere smile! She studied that naked ring finger on his left hand. The man was single, which might make him susceptible to female persuasion. A hot outfit, a plate of cookies...
Except, unlike Riley, she was a lousy baker. Okay, then, wine. Most people liked wine and that was more sophisticated, anyway. She knew nothing about it, but there was a new shop in town that sold wine. They could help her choose something classy.
That took care of the bribe. The hot outfit was another matter. The clothes in her closet fell into the lukewarm category.
But Jo the stylist had a whole closet full of clothes that didn’t happen to fit at the moment. And she and Noel were the same size. Noel collected her cell phone and made the fashion equivalent of a 911 call.
“I need wardrobe assistance,” she said, hardly giving Jo time to answer.
“The rats didn’t work?”
“No. And he’s over at Mrs. Bing’s right now, making her an offer she probably can’t refuse.”
“That sucks. Hey, if you need a place to stay while you’re looking for a new house, you can stay with me.”
“That’s really nice of you,” Noel said, “but I intend to stay here. I’m going to talk him out of buying my house.”
“Sounds like it’s too late for that.”
Deep down, Noel had the awful suspicion that her friend was right. “I’ve got to try. Maybe I can convince him to take back his offer.”
“Ah, so when you say wardrobe assistance, you’re thinking wardrobe malfunction.”
“Nothing that extreme,” Noel said. A vision of sexy Ben Fordham tugging at her top and setting a boob free à la Janet Jackson set her face (and other body parts) on fire. Oh, no. We’re on a mission. We’re not going to think about costume malfunctions and sexy men with brown eyes and a black heart. And she certainly wasn’t going to think about those big, strong-looking hands. He probably had big...everything.
Whew! Had Mrs. Bing turned up the thermostat? She walked over to check it. Nope, still set on sixty-eight. So the only thermostat getting turned up was hers. “I just want something sexy. I know you’ve got a lot of great stuff in your closet and we’re the same size.”
“We were, once upon a time, before I morphed into a whale,” Jo said. “Yeah, come on over tomorrow morning. I can fix you up.”
Fix you up, fixer-upper. Yes, she was the human equivalent of a fixer-upper. Her work wardrobe consisted of pajama bottoms and old sweaters, and even when she dressed up no one ever stopped her and asked where she got that cute...anything. No wonder Jo had suggested going to the mall.
“You just need some polishing,” she told herself. Hopefully, Jo could get her good and polished. A hot look combined with a bribe...that might be enough to melt Ben Fordham’s cold, cold heart.
Riley came over to pick up the rats the next morning, and when she learned about Noel’s scheduled makeover, invited herself along. “I don’t have anything else going on,” she said, and her lower lip wobbled.
“It’s okay. You will,” Noel assured her. “We’re going to have a great Christmas and a fabulous New Year’s no matter what.” Even if they were manless and homeless. Don’t think about that!
So, not thinking, Noel drove to Jo’s place, Riley and the rats following behind.
Jo took in Noel’s ancient coat, sweatpants and Uggs when she and Riley walked through the door and frowned. “Does your mommy know you’re out looking like this?” she said, and hauled Noel inside and upstairs to her bedroom, where her bed was covered with all manner of sartorial delights—camisoles, Victoria’s Secret bras and panties, jeans, leggings, blouses, jewelry, tops, sweaters, dresses.
“Better than Nordstrom, huh?” Riley cracked.
“I only need one outfit,” Noel said.
“No, you need a wardrobe. Take off those disgusting clothes.”
Noel obliged, and Jo began grabbing sweaters and blouses and holding them up to her. “No, no, not that... No, not sexy enough... Hmm, might be too small. Oh, yes!” she finally said after holding up a black, bell-sleeved winter top with a sweetheart neckline accented with crocheting around the neck. The crocheting also served as straps. Noel put it on and saw that it left her shoulders exposed and also allowed a peek at her cleavage. “That should do for starters.” Jo handed Noel some tight jeans. “Now, try these on.”
“Maybe we’re not the same size, after all,” Noel said, struggling into them.
“We are. You’re just used to pajamas,” she said, eyeing Noel’s discarded sweatpants with revulsion. “Honestly, I didn’t know they even made those anymore.”
They probably didn’t. Noel had found hers at a thrift store a couple of years ago. “I don’t wear them when we’re out doing things,” she protested.
“You shouldn’t wear them at all. And the way you dress when we’re all out doing things is barely a step above.”
She’d heard that from Jo on more than one occasion.
“It’s okay,” Riley consoled her. “She says stuff like that to me, too.”
“I only speak the truth,” Jo said, frowning at her sister’s jeans and tennis shoes.
As the oldest, Jo had tried to guide them. Maybe they were unguidable.
Noel zipped up the pants and Jo studied her carefully. “Oh, yes,” she said, nodding. “Now you’re starting to look like something this goon might want for Christmas.” She snatched up a pair of gold, chandelier earrings. “Put these on.”
Noel hesitated. “Isn’t that a little, um...”
“No, it’s not. Put them on,” Jo commanded. Noel obliged and she smiled approvingly. “Oh, yeah. Sizzle, sizzle.”
“Sizzle, sizzle is right,” Riley agreed. Jo turned Noel around so she could check herself out in the full-length mirror.
“Oh, my,” Noel said with a smile.
“Just what every man wants on his tool belt,” Jo murmured. “Now, your feet.”
“I can wear those black boots we bought.”
Jo nodded. “That’ll do.” She pointed at the Uggs. “No, wait. Put those back on. They might work. Anyway, you don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”
Noel obliged, and Jo nodded again. “Actually, that’s kind of buff and sexy. I think they’ll be fine, for the first encounter, anyway. You can wear the boots another time. Now,” she said, turning back to the pile of clothes on the bed, “what about the outfit for your second encounter?”
Noel wasn’t sure there’d be a second encounter. She wasn’t even sure she could pull off a first encounter. Jo handed her a simple white shirt.
“This,” she said. “And leggings.” She picked up a pair of patterned black leggings. “And the boots.”
“How about this necklace?” Riley suggested, holding up a chunky stone number.
“Definitely. Third encounter wear the heels and this dress.” She handed Noel a black dress with a scoop neck. “Redheads look great in black.”
More jewelry, a Victoria’s Secret bra, a black cashmere sweater, a white blouse—a wardrobe basic according to Jo—a little faux fur-trimmed jacket and Noel was in business. “Thanks,” she said as they loaded her new wardrobe into the back of her car. “I really appreciate this.”
“They’re just hanging in my closet all sad and lonely,” Jo said. “They may as well be out there doing some good. And I hope they do,” she added and hugged Noel. “Wear the coat when you go see him, but make sure you shed it the second you’re in his office. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“And don’t forget to wear makeup. And perfume.”
Perfume. Oh, yeah. That. She had a bit of Viva La Juicy left.
So, she was going to look good, smell good, and bring something good as a bribe. Hopefully, by putting her best foot forward, she could impress him enough to convince him to reconsider buying her house.
She frowned, remembering his comment about price points. Bah, humbug!
Sunday afternoon she made her way to beautiful downtown Whispering Pines in search of the perfect wine for a house thief. Thanksgiving weekend kicked off the holiday shopping season, and it appeared that every business in town (including ones that often closed on Sundays) was open. She passed her favorite bakery, Hey, Cupcake, as quickly as possible, averting her gaze from the display of holiday treats. She’d indulged in eggnog at Jo’s, and Riley, who was in a manic baking phase, had brought her M&M cookies when she came to collect the rats. If she didn’t turn off the eating machine, she’d eat herself right out of Jo’s wardrobe before she even had a chance to use it.
She did stop by Wilton’s Hardware Store to pick up a few replacement bulbs for her Christmas lights. Mr. Wilton, Jo’s father-in-law, was behind the counter and gave her a friendly hello as she approached. He had circles under his eyes and she noticed he took in a deep breath while ringing up her sale, as if he was trying to draw in extra energy. She knew the signs of overwork. She’d done that to herself a few times, staying up late at night working on illustrations for her Marvella books, trying to meet her deadline. She wondered how old he was. Her dad’s age? Older? He had some gray hairs and wrinkles. Did he want to retire?
“Men never want to retire,” Dad often said. Poor Dad.
“Hey, Darrel, what are you doing still hanging around?” called an older man as he entered the store. “Thought you’d be in Hawaii.”
“With a grandkid about to arrive? Are you kidding?” Mr. Wilton called back. “Anyway, who’s got time?” he added with a shrug and a wink for Noel.
“Looks like you’re busy,” she said. The place was full of people, buying everything from chain saws to mechanical reindeer.
“Always,” he said. “And it looks like you’re going to be busy hanging Christmas lights, young lady.” He gave back her credit card.
Young lady, code for I don’t remember your name. Hardly surprising, considering how many people came into the store. She’d been there with Jo a couple of times, but other than that she only came to buy seeds and fertilizer for her flowers from the nursery section. And Christmas lights, of course.
“I like dressing my home for the holidays,” she said, and hoped this wouldn’t be her last Christmas there.
“Be careful hanging them,” he cautioned as he handed over her purchase. “Better yet, send your boyfriend up on that ladder.”
She smiled and nodded as if she did, indeed, have a boyfriend to send up a ladder.
“Us guys are expendable.”
Not as far as Noel was concerned. She thanked him and left with her purchases. Next stop, Cheese and Wine.
She entered the shop and was almost overwhelmed by the huge selection of wines for sale. One corner had a refrigerated case displaying a variety of cheeses, and boxes of crackers surrounded artfully displayed gift baskets on a table in the center of the shop.
Several customers were browsing. One woman was gobbling little cheese bits from a tray of samples. A large man in an overcoat, carrying his purchase in a tall bag, brushed past Noel. She walked over to a shelf and tried to pretend she knew what she was doing.
“May I help you?”
Noel gave a start and turned to see a pencil-thin middle-aged woman, all dressed in black, her dark hair pulled into an elegant upswept style. She looked like a transplant from Paris. Noel took in the cashmere sweater and wool slacks, the simple gold jewelry and black heels. Another Jo Wilton. And here she was in yoga pants, her favorite ratty sweater and an old coat. She hadn’t wanted to waste any of her borrowed finery on a quick run downtown. Now she wished she had.
“I need a bottle of wine,” she said, stating the obvious.
“Did you want a red or a white?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t really drink it.”
This brought a look of disdain from the woman, but she quickly covered it with a smile. “We have some very affordable ones over here,” she said, moving Noel to the wine equivalent of a low-rent district. The way Noel was dressed, the woman probably thought she couldn’t afford much of anything. The woman probably thought right.
“Can I get something decent for twenty dollars?” Noel asked. She preferred to spend ten, but that might look cheap. A cheap bribe wouldn’t be good.
“I think so,” said the woman.
“Never be afraid to seek advice when you need it,” Mom always said.
“This is a gift. For a man. Would you recommend red or white?”
“You can’t go wrong with a nice red. We have some lovely ones from Walla Walla as well as the Yakima Valley.”
“Would you pick one for me?” Noel asked.
“Of course.” The woman plucked a bottle from the shelf. “Here’s a cab from Chateau Ste. Michelle, one of the oldest wineries in Washington. It has plenty of complexity and structure.”
And it was in her price range. “I’ll take it.”
The woman rang up the wine and put it in a cheery red bag with the shop’s gold logo. Perfect. Armed with wine and Jo’s new clothes, Noel would be a force to reckon with.
She hoped.
Monday morning she showered, washed and straightened her hair, put on makeup, and donned her man-killer clothes. Then, with the wine in tow and sprayed with enough perfume that he’d be able to smell her coming for miles, she drove downtown to the office of Fordham Enterprises. A big red truck sat in front of the building, just the kind of vehicle a construction guy would drive. So Ben Fordham was in the building.
She took a deep breath, grabbed her red bag and went into the enemy camp. The first-floor offices were occupied by the Realtor and the escrow company. The second floor held two offices. The name on one door read Elegant Interiors. The other was Fordham Enterprises.
She entered Ben Fordham’s domain and found that he had a guard on duty, a secretary. When Noel envisioned calling on Mr. House Thief, she hadn’t taken into consideration that she’d have to go through a secretary to get to him. She should’ve, though. Now, what to do? The woman was smiling politely but her eyes said, You look like competition, so I already don’t like you.
The secretary was only visible from the waist up, but Noel could tell that she’d also been to the Jo Wilton School of Fashion. She was wearing a very professional white blouse similar to the one Jo had lent Noel, and she’d gotten the memo about leaving it unbuttoned low enough to advertise. She wore a fancy gold necklace to fill in the gap and keep the professional vibe going. Her hair was an expensive shade of blond, complete with highlights and she, too, was wearing perfume. It wafted over to where Noel stood hesitating and smacked her in the face.
Was she a girlfriend or simply a girlfriend wannabe? More to the point, how was Noel going to get this wine to Ben the Bad Boy? If only Marvella would materialize and haul this fake blonde off her chair and out of the office.
“May I help you?” the secretary asked, her tone of voice adding, Not.
“I’m here to see Mr. Fordham.”
A delicately penciled eyebrow shot up. “Do you have an appointment?”
Crud. She was sunk. Now what? Get in touch with your inner Jo. What would Jo do? Noel raised her chin. “No, I don’t, but when I saw him last night he said to stop by.”
She was lying! Mom always said nothing good ever came of lying. But this was just a half lie. She had seen him a couple of nights before, so why quibble over details? And what man, if he knew he was going to get a bottle of wine, wouldn’t tell a woman to stop by?
The guard-secretary frowned. “Have a seat,” she said. “May I tell him who’s here?”
The woman whose house he’s trying to take.
Marvella arrived on the scene. Don’t frown. She’ll think you’re competition and that’ll set off her bitch alarm.
The red bag was most likely already doing that, but Noel pasted a smile on her face. “Noel,” she said and perched on the edge of a fake leather seat, part of a grouping of fake leather seats around a large coffee table strewn with magazines about home improvement. Would he remember her name? If he did, would he refuse to see her? “With his wine,” she added. That might intrigue him enough to lure him out.
The guard called the inner sanctum. “There’s a Noel here to see you.”
“With wine,” Noel prompted her.
“With wine,” the blonde said and scowled.
A moment later the door to the inner sanctum opened and out stepped Ben Fordham himself. He wore jeans and boots and a casual plaid shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. He raised both eyebrows inquisitively at the sight of Noel. She probably had about one minute before he informed her that he had an important meeting or an appointment with the devil about interest payments on the soul he was selling.
Noel jumped up from her seat and quickly moved in Ben’s direction. “I thought I might find you here,” she said, keeping her voice light and friendly. Just one house-lover visiting another.
“Uh, yes,” he said slowly. “But what are you doing here?”
She was very aware of the guard looking her up and down through narrowed eyes. Yes, what are you doing here, you and your borrowed clothes and your dangly earrings?
“Maybe we could talk about that in your office,” Noel said and swept past him on shaky legs.
“Hold my calls, Janelle,” he said and followed her in.
Okay, she’d reached the inner sanctum and she had his full attention. Yay for her.
She glanced around. So this was where Ben Fordham plotted and schemed. A desk sat on the far wall, relatively uncluttered with only a laptop and a cell phone, a pad of paper and pencil. No pictures of a girlfriend. A couple of leather chairs sat in front of a wall lined with bookshelves, which were mostly empty except for a few books on finance, and some baseball trophies. Oh, and here were two framed photographs. One showed a house with a smiling family posed on the front porch, with writing over it. Thanks for your help, Ben. Love our new digs! Another was a picture of a Santa holding a hammer. Probably him, trying to disguise himself as a nice guy.
“Noel,” he said as if trying her name on for size. “Didn’t we meet Friday night?”
Yes, we did, you skunk. You know we did! “I think we might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” Noel proffered the wine.
He took it. “That’s, uh, nice of you. And about the other night, like I said, it’s just business.”
“Not to me. I love that house.”
“It’ll be even more lovable after I’ve fixed it up.”
“Please don’t buy it,” she begged.
Now his expression was regretful. He shrugged. What can I do? “I’m sorry, but I already made your landlady an offer.”
Noel sat down hard on the nearest chair. “Oh, no.” Then she burst into tears. Her house, her sweet little house, had been snatched away from her. All her plans for it, all her dreams...
“Shit,” he muttered. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
“There are all kinds of houses in Whispering Pines. Why did you have to want mine?” she sobbed.
“Yours? Funny, I thought it belonged to Mrs. Bing.”
Was that supposed to be funny? She glared at him.
“Lady, look—”
“Noel,” she corrected him and took an angry swipe at her eyes. Good thing she was wearing waterproof mascara. She’d spent a lot of time on her makeup that morning. Big difference that had made.
“Noel. I’m not out to ruin your life.”
“I’d say turning people out of their homes at Christmas is a good way to ruin their lives.” What a heartless Scrooge.
He knelt in front of her. “I’m really sorry. I am. And nobody’s turning you out of your house at Christmas. I’m not going to close on this until the end of January, so you’ll have plenty of time to find a new house.”
“Not a house, a home. That’s my home and I love it.”
He frowned. “Then you should’ve bought it.”
“I was working on that!”
He sighed and sat back on his heels. “I don’t understand what you want me to do.”
“I want you to go away!”
He half smiled at that. “This is my office. I belong here.”
“You know what I mean. You don’t belong in my house.”
“I’m not going to be in your house other than to fix it up. Listen, if you can come up with the money you can buy it after I’ve remodeled.”
“As if I could afford it then. Anyway, it won’t be the same. You’ll come in and destroy the character.”
The frown was back. “I assume you found me on the internet. So you’ve seen my website. Do the houses I’ve flipped look like I destroyed their character?”
Well, no.
“I promise I’m not going to wreck the place,” he continued.
“You’re going to pull up floors, take out counters and change the living room floor plan and...and who knows what else.”
He studied her. “Okay, what would you do to improve the house?”
“I’d leave the built-in china closet, that’s for sure. I bet you were going to take that out.”
“I hadn’t decided.”
“It gives the house character. And you’re probably going to modernize the fireplace. All those house people do it. I’ve watched Flip or Flop.”
The frown was growing.
“Oh, never mind.” She was doing this all wrong. She hadn’t even taken off her jacket.
He laid a hand over hers and sent a jolt zipping along her nerve endings clear to her chest. “I promise I’ll retain the character of the house.”
Was it suddenly hot in here? She freed her hand and opened the jacket. His eyes slid to her cleavage. Oh, Jo, you’re so smart.
“I’m in this business because I love houses and I love fixing them up,” he said, returning his gaze to her face. He looked so sincere.
And maybe he was, but darn it all, why did he have to be sincere about her house?
“I’ve got an idea.”
“What?” she asked.
“Why don’t I stop by one night this week? You can share your vision for the place.”
And show off Close Encounter Outfit Number Two. Perhaps she could convince him to sell to her on some kind of payment plan. Maybe he’d let her rent with an option to buy. Unlike Mrs. Bing, he could probably afford to carry her.
Financially. Not off to bed. Get your mind out of the sheets! “Okay,” she said.
Don’t leave it at that, scolded Marvella. What are you thinking?
That Ben Fordham has great eyes. Those brown eyes reminded her of chocolate. She loved chocolate.
Never mind his eyes! Promise him food. You can poison him.
Poisoning was not acceptable. But food... “I can make dinner,” she suggested. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Maybe he’d think Noel was desperate for a man. Her cheeks began to heat up. “Unless you have, um, unless...”
“Dinner sounds good. How about Friday night?”
Friday night was a date night. He obviously didn’t have a girlfriend.
Excellent, said Marvella. Then you can sleep with him. That’ll sweeten him up.
I’m not pimping myself out for a house, she told both herself and Marvella.
A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Marvella said that a lot in her books, but never in this context.
Noel told her to butt out and stick to helping children in trouble. Then she smiled at Ben. “Thank you. You’re being very considerate.” Even though you did buy my house out from under me.
“I’m not out to make enemies,” he said. “In fact, I’ve never found myself in a situation like this before.”
He was looking at her so earnestly. He sure was...masculine. The sizzle on her face slipped way south. It was time to get out of this very hot office.
Noel stood. “Well, thanks. I guess you know where I live,” she added.
He stood, too. Oh, he was...big. He smiled and all the hot spots got hotter. “I think I can find you.”
She swallowed and nodded. “I’d better go,” she said, backing up. She backed into the door and her face got even hotter. “Um, I’ll see you Friday, then.”
“What time?”
Anytime you want. “Six?”
“I’ll be there.”
She nodded again and then opened the door and hurried out.
Janelle, the secretary/guard, glared at her as she did her jacket back up. “Have a nice day.” Translation: I’d like to poke out your eye with a candy cane.
“Thank you,” Noel said with dignity and left.
Okay, mission accomplished. Sort of.
Sleep with him, urged Marvella. It will help the cause.
She was certainly not going to lower herself to that. But if she could convince him to sell the house to her, if he was willing to be creative and make a deal, maybe they could both end up with a happy New Year.
If not, poison him, Marvella advised.
Right.
Chapter Five (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
Monday meant a school day. Normally Riley was happy to get back to work after a holiday weekend. Not today. A woman shouldn’t have to go to work and see the man-stealer who took her man. A woman shouldn’t have to come into the teacher’s lounge at lunch and find the man-stealer in there feeding her skinny, undernourished body with yogurt, passing up the pumpkin bread Marge Connor had brought in while mere mortals who had no power to resist snagged a piece and ate it to console themselves for their romantic loss.
Riley took her pumpkin bread and her sack lunch and seated herself at the far end of the table, determined to ignore the man-stealer. For her, Emily Dieb no longer existed.
“Hi, Riley,” Marge said from where she stood at the counter, helping herself to a cup of coffee. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
Rotten, thanks to that woman who pretended to be my friend and then stole my fiancé. Riley shot a quick glance in Emily’s direction. Look at her over there, all remorseful and pleading, that sad expression in her eyes, like she really feels bad about what she did.
“It was great,” Riley lied, and then, before Marge could ask for any details on her wonderful weekend with Sean, she changed the subject. “I’m so glad you brought in some of your pumpkin bread.”
“I had some left from the weekend with the kids and I had to get it out of the house.” Marge patted one hefty hip. “There’s been too much on the lips and now it’s forever on the hips.”
“You look fine,” Riley told her. “There’s nothing wrong with looking like a woman.” Instead of a skinny, man-thieving stick.
“Well, that’s kind of you to say,” Marge said. “I really should go on a diet, but I’m not even going to attempt that until after the holidays. Speaking of, how are the wedding plans coming along?”
Riley’s face suddenly burned. “Um, you’ll be getting an email about that soon.”
Marge’s brows knit. “Trouble?”
“No trouble.” Just no wedding. “You know, I’ve got some things I need to do in my room.” With that, she gathered up her turkey sandwich and skedaddled. She was out the door and halfway down the hall when she heard Emily calling her.
“Riley, wait. Please wait.”
She kept walking and now Emily was running. No running in the halls. Riley frowned and kept going.
A couple of little girls passed her. “Ms. Dieb’s running in the hall,” one of them reported.
I’ll send her to the principal’s office. Maybe she’d like to hit on him, add him to her man collection.
“Riley, wait,” Emily said, catching up with her.
Did she really think Riley was going to stand there right in the middle of the hall and chat with her about their reality TV lives? Riley didn’t wait.
Emily fell in step. “Are you ever going to be able to forgive me?”
“At some point, yes. But I’ll never be able to stand being around you. Good luck and happy New Year,” she finished and marched into her classroom and shut the door. Then she sat down at her desk and indulged in yet another good cry. Not that she had more than a few minutes to cry. Recess would soon be over and then she’d have to be on top of her game. The kids would be back in the room, and it would be time to go over math skills.
She looked around at her little kingdom of learning. It held eight tables, each with four chairs grouped around them so students could work together on projects. One side of the room was lined with a shelf of cubbyholes for students to store their coats and backpacks. Then there was the reading corner, with tubs of books and carpet squares for comfy kid seating. The table by the window housed science displays—a small aquarium, a terrarium and now Noel’s rats. Computers sat at the back of the room, and the walls held everything from a whiteboard to a TV, along with posters promoting reading and math skills, plus her holiday decorations. Here in this room, thirty-two children adored her. Here her life was under control. Here was where Emily used to stop by after class and suggest they get a latte at Java Josie’s.
Oh, no. No more thinking about Emily.
Here was where Sean had sent flowers for her birthday.
Especially no more thinking about Sean!
Thankfully, the bell rang, and within minutes rosy-cheeked children were pouring into the room, laughing and talking and still hyped up from chasing each other around the playground. The room smelled of sweaty little bodies and fresh air. She quickly took care of crowd control and got them settled down. It didn’t take much because Monday after recess they always played Wise Old Owl, the trivia game she’d created from past assignments. Her students competed for such treasures as lip balm, glow bracelets, tentacle balls and stickers. She loved this game as much as the kids did, and soon they were deep into it, and thoughts of Sean the disloyal and Emily the Man-Stealer fell away. Thank God for work.
But then work ended and the orange school buses chugged off with her thirty-two distractions and Riley was left alone with her sad self. What would she ask Santa for when she and Jo and Noel went to the mall? How about a stocking full of happiness? She could use some.
You need to refocus, she told herself. You still have lots of good things in your life.
It was true. She did. She loved her job. She had a great family. She was about to become an aunt, for heaven’s sake. And she had close friends. Faithful friends. Well, most of them were. The thought of Emily’s betrayal left her needing a cookie. Maybe she’d bake some brownies. Yes, chocolate cured all ills. She’d barely gotten home when her mother called. “How are you doing?” Mom asked.
“Fine,” Riley lied. Tears began to spill and she sniffed.
“It’ll get better once you have a little distance from this. Would you like me to call the golf club?”
She was tempted to hand off the ugly chore of canceling her venue to her mom, but she resisted. “No. I reserved it. I’ll cancel it.”
“All right, if you’re sure. I think we’ve gotten hold of all the family now.”
Goody. All her relatives knew about the great Thanksgiving dumping. “Thanks, Mom,” she managed.
“And your sister’s got most of your friends covered. But you’ll probably have to let your fellow teachers know.”
Ugh. Telling the people she worked with every day was going to be the hardest.
“I’m really sorry this happened,” Mom said.
That made two of them.
“But remember, all things work together for good.”
Riley was sure this dilemma was the exception to the rule, but she said, “I know.”
“Meanwhile, pamper yourself.”
“I am. I’m going to make some brownies.”
“Good idea,” Mom said. “That can be your reward after you call The Pines.”
Subtle. She’d call and cancel the venue, but first things first.
She ended the call with her mother and got out her ingredients and got busy. Soon her apartment was filled with the aroma of chocolate. She baked up half a batch of brownies (a girl had to have some self-control, after all) and then ate half the pan. So, if Riley baked half a batch of brownies and only ate half, how many brownies did Riley eat? Too many!
After she’d fortified herself, she sent out a group email to the Whispering Pines Elementary School faculty. Due to circumstances beyond my control... Scratch that. I hope you haven’t bought a wedding gift yet. LOL. Ugh. Someone among us is a traitor, therefore... She hit delete again. She finally settled on:
Just a quick note to let you know Sean and I have called off our wedding. It would appear we’re not a match, after all. Thank you for your understanding.
By the time she hit Send she was emotionally drained. She’d cancel the venue tomorrow. Or the day after. She’d get to it soon.
Riley didn’t get around to canceling the venue, but over the next few days she did create more story problems with new batches of cookies. If Riley eats half the package of gumdrops before putting them in her gumdrop cookies how many pounds did she add to her thighs? And... If Riley makes a dozen sugar cookies and takes them to school tomorrow, how many would she have to force-feed Emily to put even an ounce on her thighs?
When December 1 rolled around, she was sick of story problems, sick of cookies and sick of having to see Emily. And more than ready to pick up Jo and Noel, go to the mall and see Santa.
They’d all agreed to dress Christmassy for their holiday photo op, and Jo was looking chic in a cream-colored sweater accented with a red scarf and her maternity jeans. Her hair fell in a shimmering cascade to her shoulders, and she wore gold ballet slippers and a gold bracelet and earrings. Noel had donned a green sweater, a pair of Jo’s pre-pregnancy black leggings and her new black boots.
Riley was in a red sweater, jeans and her favorite ankle boots. No shimmering highlights. Maybe if she’d highlighted her hair, gone more blond like Jo...
Okay, now you’re just being stupid, she told herself. You look fine. Well, except for the extra cookie pounds she’d put on.
“We look good,” Jo said, confirming it, and Riley smiled.
It was pushing six as they made their way to Santa’s Play Land, and most people were home having dinner. The few left in the mall were down at the food court stuffing themselves with cheap Chinese food, hot wings, blended drinks and cookies, so there was no line of parents and offspring waiting to see Santa, who was sitting all by himself on his holiday throne in front of his red shack.
This year’s version was sure authentic-looking, down to the nose like a cherry. Or berry. Or tomato. Whatever. His beard was full, but well-trimmed, and both that and the hair under his hat were white as new-fallen snow. The photographer wasn’t your typical photo-snapping twenty-something. This year Mrs. Santa had come along for the ride. She appeared to be somewhere in her seventies and was as round as her famous spouse. Her hair was equally white and done up in tight little curls, like grandmas in the fifties used to sport. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose and she wore a ruffled white blouse and a red skirt over which she’d tied a ruffled and beribboned candy-striped apron. The pair looked like they’d stepped right out of the poem that had made the modern Santa so popular.
Santa watched the three women approach with a cocked head and a grin. “I’ve been expecting you ladies,” he greeted them.
“I think the only one expecting here is me,” Jo cracked and patted her gigantic baby bulge.
“Ah, yes. You are about to experience a lot of Christmas joy, young lady,” he told her.
They gathered around him. What kind of aftershave was the man wearing? It was great. He smelled like peppermint and balsam.
“So, Santa, can you guess what we want?” Jo asked.
“I have a pretty good idea. I keep a list of who’s naughty and who’s nice.”
Jo snickered.
“You’re the easiest of all,” he told her. “I suspect you’d like that baby to come soon.”
“You got that right.”
“And you two ladies,” he said, turning his benevolent gaze on Riley and Noel. “How about you? Old Santa knows what you want but you go ahead and tell him.”
I’d like a man, Riley thought. A perfect man. “I’ll just settle for having my picture taken.”
Santa lifted a bushy, white eyebrow. “You’re not going to come right out and ask for that perfect man?”
“What?” Riley stammered. Had she spoken out loud and not realized it?
“Ladies, it’s time Santa brought you all what you deserve.” He held out a hand, beckoning them to come closer. Then he settled Noel on his leg. “Tell me what you’d like, my dear.”
“A house,” she said. “I want to buy the house I’m living in.”
“I think that can be arranged,” he said. “And I bet you’ll want to start a family in that house. How about a good man to go with it? There’s nothing like going through life with someone who loves you,” he added, smiling at Mrs. Claus, who was holding her camera and beaming back at him.
“That would be nice,” Noel admitted. “But I’ll settle for a house.”
“You don’t believe in love?” Santa asked. “Or maybe you don’t believe in Santa.”
Noel’s face turned as red as the old guy’s suit.
“That’s fine,” he said. “We’ll make a believer out of you. I have the perfect man in mind.”
“There’s no such thing,” Riley muttered.
“The one I have in mind for you will be,” Santa said, drawing her onto his other leg. “You be on the lookout. You’re going to find yours in quite a memorable way.” He smiled at Noel. “You’ve already met yours.”
Noel gaped and he chuckled.
“Oh, you’re really good,” said Jo.
“I try to be. Now, as for you, young lady.”
She cut him off. “I already have a man.”
“Yes, you do, and he’s the perfect man for you. But you have another one who’s going to arrive any minute.”
Okay, this guy was creepy.
“Oooh,” Jo wailed and Riley turned to see her looking down at her wet pants in disgust. “My water broke,” she announced.
“What!” Riley jumped up.
“Get me out of here!” Jo demanded.
“Don’t panic,” Riley said. Where had she parked her car?
“We can be at the hospital in ten minutes.” Noel took Jo’s arm as if she was an invalid. Riley took her other arm and they rushed her off the platform.
“Ho, ho, ho,” chuckled Santa. “Hope he waits that long.”
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Sheila Roberts
Three friends, three wishes—one Christmas!
When three friends visit a shopping-mall Santa on a lark, the jolly old elf is full of mysterious predictions about the thing they’re all wishing for: the perfect man. Or at least men who are perfect for them.
Riley Erickson’s fiancé turned out to be a dud, dumping her for her bridesmaid three weeks before the wedding. But Santa says that she’s soon going to meet her ideal man in a memorable way.
And he predicts that a new man is about to come into Jo’s life. What on earth does that mean? She’s pregnant and already has her hands full with the perfectly stubborn husband she’s got.
Noel has given up completely on ever finding her perfect match. But apparently Noel is going to get a good man to go with that house she’s trying desperately to buy.
These friends are about to discover that Christmas wishes can come true, because in spite of romantic setbacks and derailed dreams, this truly is the most wonderful time of the year!
Praise for the novels of Sheila Roberts (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
“A delightful celebration of the joys of small-town life and a richly rewarding romance sweetened with just the right dash of bright humor.”
—Booklist on Home on Apple Blossom Road
“Engaging, sweet and dusted with humor, this emotional romance tugs at the heartstrings as a headstrong pair who were always meant to be together find their way back to each other.”
—Library Journal on Home on Apple Blossom Road
“The Lodge on Holly Road is the ultimate in feel-good family drama and heart-melting romance. Plus there’s the added bonus of getting to celebrate the season with a community that couldn’t be more devoted to Christmas.”
—USA TODAY
“This amusing holiday tale about love lost and found again is heartwarming. Quirky characters, snappy dialogue and sexy chemistry all combine to keep you laughing, as well as shedding a few tears, as you turn the pages.”
—RT Book Reviews on Merry Ex-Mas
“Merry Ex-Mas is the absolute perfect holiday book to begin the Christmas season with! It has everything great women’s contemporary fiction should have—a great storyline filled with romance, humor and a bit of mystery tucked in here and there, fabulous personable characters filled with charm.”
—Sharon’s Garden of Book Reviews
“Witty characterization, slapstick mishaps and plenty of holiday cheer.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Nine Lives of Christmas
Three Christmas Wishes
Sheila Roberts
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
For Katie and Addie
Dear Reader (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22),
Merry Christmas! I assume you picked up this book because, like me, you love Christmas and enjoy reading stories about holiday high jinks and happiness. I hope I’ve given you plenty of that with my three friends and their various holiday challenges, not to mention my mysterious Santa. This is a busy time of year, so I appreciate you spending some of your precious time with me.
I wish you a season filled with joy and sweetness. I hope the only drama you experience is on the big screen and that Santa brings you everything you want and then some. As the song says, may your days be merry and bright.
I love hearing from my readers, at Christmas and at any time of the year! Find me on Facebook or visit my website, www.sheilasplace.com (http://www.sheilasplace.com).
Sheila
Contents
Cover (#uc56e34cc-9c4b-5282-b28c-1ac0f1eaf124)
Back Cover Text (#ua221427c-8b6a-56fd-a107-1d98ab5ca5ea)
Praise (#u2cb64c34-f283-5be2-a306-3a5e22a92e1f)
Title Page (#u01f2a5f0-1364-5f9c-a78e-4bb8331ae36f)
Dedication (#ud49327ce-4d15-59c0-8c92-fd88159dc43b)
Dear Reader (#u84d61cdf-95c7-5aca-82b8-26df64c9b071)
Chapter One (#uf9ec2fb6-cebb-5f11-b33e-06264126e3d3)
Chapter Two (#u90cdeef4-a373-5123-938e-de135b73f28e)
Chapter Three (#ufdac387d-18cd-5d26-b5b4-0f1068175e7f)
Chapter Four (#u19e10a04-40df-5f65-897e-bc54b29e8aa3)
Chapter Five (#u33c5f35d-f15b-57f1-aee1-684527d7bde5)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
Riley Erickson’s life was perfect. Happily, there was no other way to describe it. She was engaged to a perfect man—good-looking, easygoing, kind to little old ladies, liked her friends—and they were getting married during her favorite time of year. (Christmas weddings were the most beautiful.) She had an equally great family—generous, fun-loving and supportive (now that she and her bro and sis had outgrown the sibling-rivalry stuff)—and a job she loved, teaching fourth grade at Whispering Pines Elementary School. Kids still liked their teachers at that age, so it was fun to go to work. And you couldn’t beat the vacation time since teachers got summers off as well as spring and winter breaks...which made getting married in December, well, perfect.
Riley smiled as she took the small ceramic turkey off her desk and substituted a snowman. The wedding was only three weeks away. By Christmas, she and Sean Little would be hanging their Christmas stockings side by side. Humming Christmas carols as she worked, she took down the rest of the Thanksgiving decorations in her classroom and put up her Christmas-themed ones. The children would return from their Thanksgiving weekend to find the classroom all ready for the holidays.
Once her decorating was finished, she took a moment to admire her reindeer and Santas and candy canes. Yes, it looked very festive here in Ms. Erickson’s fourth-grade classroom. It was oh, so satisfying to be organized.
Speaking of being organized, she wondered how her friend Emily was doing. Riley knew Emily was getting ready to visit her family in Portland for the weekend. Maybe she could use some help putting her classroom in order. Riley wandered down the hall to Emily’s room.
Emily Dieb was new to the school, new to the town of Whispering Pines, Washington, in fact. But settling in well. The other teachers liked her and so did her students. Actually, all the boys in her fifth-grade class had a crush on her. This was hardly surprising, since Emily looked like a Victoria’s Secret model.
Having a pretty friend was no threat to Riley. Granted, she’d never be mistaken for a model. She certainly wasn’t as glam as her sister, Jo, the fashionista, whose hair was always styled and highlighted, but with her round face, freckles and long, light brown hair, she was cute enough. Cute enough for Sean Little to fall in love with, anyway, and that was all that mattered. Sean thought she was cute, adorable even, and had told her so on plenty of occasions.
Besides, it was hard to be jealous of Emily when she was so nice. Like Riley, she loved to read and watch old movies. Unlike Riley, she enjoyed working out and had the size-four body to prove it. She was going home to Oregon for the holiday, where she’d spend the weekend playing indoor volleyball and hitting the gym. Yuck, but to each her own.
“I don’t want to get too fat for my bridesmaid’s dress,” she’d said when Riley teased her once about being obsessed with the gym.
After Jo had gotten pregnant, she’d resigned from her position as matron of honor, so Riley had upgraded her best buddy, Noel Bijou, to maid of honor status and brought Emily on board to step into Noel’s bridesmaid shoes. “I’d love to be a bridesmaid,” Emily had gushed.
Emily didn’t seem as gushy about being in Riley’s wedding lately, but hey, Thanksgiving was coming, and Riley was sure that Emily was preoccupied with her looming family drama. Her parents were divorced and she was going to have to deal with parent rivalry and eat two Thanksgiving dinners—no easy feat for a size four.
She entered Emily’s room to find her friend perched on her desk, looking gorgeous in a red knit dress and high boots, talking on her cell phone. Her cardboard Pilgrims and turkey were still hanging on the wall, and there was no sign that Christmas was right around the corner. Good thing Riley had stopped in.
Emily gave a start at the sight of her and said to her phone, “I’ve got to go.”
“Sorry. Did I interrupt something?” Riley asked.
“Oh. No. I’m just, um, getting ready for the weekend.”
“I thought you might be in a hurry to get on the road so I came by to see if you needed any help setting your room up for Christmas,” Riley said.
“Oh. Well. Thanks.” Emily seemed distracted.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Um, everything’s fine.”
Poor Emily. She was obviously trying to make the best of her upcoming family visit. “Must be hard having to go home and try to keep everyone happy,” Riley said.
Emily nodded.
“I wish you were going to be around. I’d sucker you into going out and getting something to eat tonight. Sean has to work at the gym.” Sean owned a Fit and Fine franchise, and when you owned a business, it actually owned you. Of course, once they were married it would own both of them. Sean was giving Riley a membership as a wedding present. She could think of better ways to work up a sweat together but oh, well. She’d learn to love treadmills. Maybe someday she, too, would be a size four.
“Yeah, I’m afraid I’ll be busy tonight,” Emily said.
“I hope your mom doesn’t try to match you up with someone again.”
According to Emily, last Thanksgiving her mom had tried to set her up with her yoga instructor. Emily had just broken up with her boyfriend and had been in no frame of mind for a new man. The fact that the man had been fifteen years older could’ve had something to do with it. Emily’s mom wasn’t a very good matchmaker.
Neither was Riley. She kept trying, though. “Sean’s friend Guy is going to be in town this weekend,” she said casually. Maybe Emily would like to come back early. They could all go out on Saturday night.
Emily was already shaking her head. “I appreciate the thought, but...”
Riley sighed. “I know. You’re not interested. But, Em, you don’t want to wind up alone, do you?” Honestly, Emily wasn’t even trying to fix her love life.
Emily blushed and bit her lip.
Now Riley had made her uncomfortable. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess I just want to see everyone as happy as I am.” Maybe Noel and Guy would hit it off. Noel needed someone new in her life.
“You’re such a good friend,” Emily said, her pretty blue eyes filling with tears. “I don’t deserve you.”
That seemed a little over-the-top but it was Thanksgiving. Everyone got sentimental at Thanksgiving. “You’re right,” Riley joked. “Come on. I’ll help you get your Christmas stuff up. Then you can enjoy yourself this weekend without that hanging over you.”
Emily stood up. “Thanks, but I need to get going.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
Emily nodded. “I’m sure.”
They walked to the parking lot where a few of the teachers’ cars were still parked, and Emily got into her snazzy Honda Fit (even her car was fit!) and zoomed away. Riley got into her Toyota and went home by way of her sister’s house.
She found Jo busy putting together a cranberry salad for the family gathering.
“That’s enough to feed a multitude,” Riley said after they’d hugged (not easy to do around Jo’s current baby belly).
“We are a multitude,” Jo said.
Yes, it would be a big gathering. In addition to a couple of aunts and uncles, some cousins and a grandma, Riley’s brother, Harold, would be there with his wife and daughter. And, of course, so would Jo, a Wilton by marriage but forever an Erickson at heart. However, she’d be minus her husband. Mike was in the navy, stationed on a sub, which was out at sea.
Jo rubbed her back. “This kid needs to come soon.”
It was her constant lament lately. Understandable, though. The baby was due any day.
“First babies take their time,” Mom liked to say.
“Well, this one’s taking enough time for two babies,” Jo would respond. “At the rate I’m going, it’ll be Valentine’s Day before I have this kid.”
Then Mom would say, “Maybe she’s waiting until her daddy comes home.”
Jo never found that remark cute. “Mike won’t be here until the middle of December. Don’t say stuff like that, Mom! If I don’t have this baby pretty soon, I’m going to explode.” Jo was a little dramatic these days.
But Riley wasn’t going to point fingers. She’d spent some time on the drama-queen throne a few months ago when Jo backed out of being her matron of honor. “Thanks a lot,” she’d grumbled like a true loving sister. “You couldn’t have waited a few months to get pregnant?” She’d been all excited about the baby—until Annabelle Rose upset her wedding plans. Not one of her finer moments, she had to admit. It became easy to kill her inner Bridezilla, though, after Jo asked how she’d like it if her matron of honor went into labor in the middle of the wedding ceremony.
Everything had worked out just fine, anyway, and she had her two BFFs to stand up with her.
“Have you made your pies yet?” Jo asked her.
Riley shook her head. “I’m doing them tomorrow so they’ll be fresh.”
“Ms. Organized,” Jo teased.
“I want them to be good.”
“They will be. You’re the queen of the kitchen, for crying out loud.”
“We all have to be the queen of something,” Riley said. As a personal stylist, her sister had the clothes market cornered. She claimed that since this was her business she had to look good. But really, she’d look ready for an ad in Vogue no matter what she did. Jo had flair.
“So, are you and Sean doing anything tonight?” Jo asked.
“No.” Riley shrugged. “He has to work at the gym.”
Jo frowned. “He sure seems to work a lot of overtime lately.”
“He has his own business,” Riley reminded her. “You know what that’s like.”
“I do, but I still make time for the important people in my life.”
“Sean makes plenty of time for me,” Riley insisted.
Jo shrugged and changed the subject. “Want to stay for dinner?”
“What are you making?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Jo said with a grin.
“I should’ve known there was a catch,” Riley said, but she was grinning, too.
She dug a couple of frozen chicken breasts out of Jo’s freezer and baked them with an orange sauce, then put together a tossed salad to go with them. It was what she’d planned to make for Sean. Before he informed her he had to stay at the gym. Sigh.
After dinner the sisters watched a movie. Actually, Riley watched it and Jo napped through most of it.
In spite of her evening nap, Jo was looking pooped so Riley cleaned up the kitchen then said her goodbyes and went home to her apartment. It wasn’t all that late. Maybe Sean would like to come over for a while now. Surely he could leave the gym by nine.
She tried his cell but it went to voice mail. Double sigh.
“Hi. It’s me. Just thought you might like to come over when you’re done working. Call me,” she added.
He didn’t.
She tried again an hour later and got his voice mail. “Oh, well. I’ll see you tomorrow. Mom wants us there at three so we’ll need to leave by ten to. Love you.”
She ended the call with a frown and plugged her phone in to recharge. Leaving a voice mail was so unsatisfying when you were in love. She turned on her electric fireplace and plunked down on the couch. A fire in the fireplace was romantic, even if the fireplace was electric and mainly for show. Too bad Sean wasn’t here to cuddle with her and enjoy it. Well, tomorrow night he would be. The gym would be closed on Thanksgiving, and she’d have him all to herself. Tomorrow was going to be wonderful.
The day certainly started out that way. Her pumpkin pies—the first she’d ever made, thank you very much—came out beautifully. She decided to celebrate with a homemade eggnog latte. (If she kept doing that, she’d be a size ten forever, but so what? Sean loved her just as she was.)
She was taking a sip when her cell phone rang. “Let’s Hear it for the Boy,” Sean’s ringtone.
“Hello there, Mr. Little,” she answered.
And now he’d say, “Hello there, future Mrs. Little.”
Except he didn’t. He said, “Riley, I need to talk to you.” He sounded serious.
Oh, boy. She knew what that meant. He was going to weasel out of going to her parents’ for Thanksgiving. For some reason, lately he didn’t like hanging out with her family. He’d actually canceled on attending her brother’s birthday party the month before. When she’d asked him what that was about, he’d used work as an excuse. “Anyway, I don’t think your brother likes me,” he’d added.
Which was ridiculous. Harold liked him just fine. Okay, Harold thought he was a tool. But what did Harold know?
“You don’t want to go to Mom and Dad’s?” she guessed.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“I should come over.”
“You’re coming over in a few hours,” she pointed out. Not that she’d mind seeing him now, but it was only ten in the morning and she’d been busy baking and hadn’t gotten around to showering yet and she hated it when Sean didn’t see her at her best.
“I know, I know,” he said, but not to her.
Now she heard a voice in the background. Who was he talking to? “Sean, what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure how to say this.”
Riley felt the blood start rushing from her head. Something bad was about to happen. She could feel the impending doom buzzing in the air around her. She fell onto the nearest bar stool, bracing herself.
There was that voice again, decidedly female. Riley suddenly felt as if she’d swallowed a block of ice.
“I am,” Sean said, again not to Riley. “Riley...”
“Yes?” Her voice came out in a whisper.
“There’s no easy way to say this. We need to break up.”
“Break up?”
“I’m sorry.”
“But...we’re getting married in three weeks. And two days,” she amended. Three weeks and two days to go and Sean wanted to break up. Now the ice was melting and pouring out of her eyes.
“I’m really sorry. But if we get married it’ll be a big mistake.”
It would? This was news to her. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.” She had to be asleep. That was it. She was asleep and this was a nightmare. She pinched her arm. Yowch!
“I’ve met someone else.”
“Three weeks before the wedding?” Three weeks and two days, but who was counting?
“No, I met her before that. Things have been, uh, growing between us. Our feelings.”
Three weeks before the wedding? Only a year ago he’d gotten down on one knee in front of all the other diners at Bella Bella’s Italian restaurant, produced a diamond ring and declared he’d love her forever. What had happened to forever?
“How could you do this? We were in love.” At least one of them was. “You thought I was adorable.” Didn’t adorable count for anything these days?
“You are. Shit, Riley. I hate to hurt you like this. I feel awful.”
He felt awful? “Who is it?” Who had stolen her groom three weeks before the wedding?
“This is awkward.”
Awkward? This was a catastrophe. “Who is it?” she demanded.
“It’s, uh, Emily.”
“Emily? My bridesmaid? This is a joke, right?”
But Sean wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even there anymore. Now someone else was on the other end of the call. Emily herself. Emily, Riley’s fellow teacher, lover of small children, friend. Bitch.
“Riley, I’m so sorry. We’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you.”
“How long have you been trying?”
“All month.”
All month. This whole month Emily had listened to her prattle about how lovely the church was going to look decorated with red and white roses and candles, how her grandma was making her garter, how Sean had someplace special picked out for their honeymoon. It was going to be a surprise.
Well, he’d certainly succeeded in surprising her.
“You were supposed to be my bridesmaid,” she protested. You were supposed to be my friend.
“I know. I really am sorry. It just...happened.”
“Where did it just happen?” Oh, wait. She knew.
Sure enough. “At the gym.”
That explained those extra-long hours Sean had been putting in. When you owned a business...blah, blah. The only business going on had been Emily in the business of stealing Sean. “You thief! You rotten, man-stealing thief. I thought you were my friend.”
“I was. I am.”
Not anymore. “Have you been sleeping with him?” It was Silent Night on the other phone.
“You’ve been sleeping with my fiancé. Seriously?”
No wonder Emily didn’t want Riley to match her up with someone. She’d already matched herself. Was that who she’d been talking to when Riley walked into her classroom the day before? I need to get going. Yeah, she’d gotten going—right over to see Sean.
“Riley... Oh, here’s Sean.”
“I hate you,” Riley said as soon as he came back on the line.
“Come on, Riley. Don’t be like this.”
“And why isn’t she in Portland?” Or Timbuktu. Or Antarctica. The North Pole. No, scratch the North Pole. Santa would ban her.
“She was going but her plans changed.”
Just like Riley’s. No more wedding, no more wedding reception, no honeymoon with the perfect man who’d turned out to be anything but. No more life. And breaking up with her on Thanksgiving? Who did that?
Sean Little, that was who, the man she’d loved with all her stupid heart, the man who’d just broken that stupid heart. All that was left of her perfect life was her pumpkin pies. If Sean and Riley were here, she’d hit each of them in the face with one.
“Riley, I wish this hadn’t happened,” he said.
That made two of them. “I can’t talk anymore,” she said. “I have to get ready to go to my parents’ and be thankful.”
Chapter Two (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
Riley ended the call but made no move to go anywhere. Instead she stayed on the bar stool and hyperventilated. Get a bag. Breathe into a bag. All she had was plastic bags. Probably not the best plan.
So she switched to crying at the top of her lungs. Good thing most of her neighbors at the Pine Ridge Apartments were out of town for the long weekend, having fun with their families.
Or their boyfriends.
Her crying increased in volume. How could this have happened to her? It was like getting hit by a tidal wave. She grabbed a box of tissues from the bathroom and, hugging it like a long-lost friend, planted herself on her couch and cried some more.
The fold-out turkey centerpiece she’d found at Daily’s Drugstore sat on her dining room table, mocking her. She’d envisioned Sean and her starting their happy life together, sitting at that table every morning, having breakfast before they went off to work, then enjoying a cozy dinner for two when they returned home.
Sean would still be enjoying a cozy dinner for two. Just not with her. She grabbed another tissue.
It only took her half an hour to go through every tissue in the box. She needed something sturdier. Paper towels.
There on the kitchen counter, next to the paper towel dispenser, sat the pumpkin pies. She wished she hadn’t offered to bring them. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. She loved to bake, and Mom had her hands full with the rest of dinner. She’d been excited to show off her culinary artwork to the rest of the family, imagined the oohs and aahs as everyone savored each pumpkiny bite.
No way did she want to go to the family dinner now, not when life as she knew it had come to an end. She put the pies in the fridge and called her sister.
“Hey, there,” Jo answered. “Gobble, gobble.”
Gobble, gobble. Happy Thanksgiving. “I can’t go to Mom and Dad’s,” Riley wailed.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“You have to come get the pies.”
“What do you mean? Are you sick?”
“It’s Sean. He...he...”
“He’s sick.”
“No.”
“He’s dead!”
“Nooo.”
“Then what? Oh, no. He broke up with you,” Jo guessed, quickly arriving at the correct conclusion. There was only one thing as bad as Sean dying, and he had done it.
“Y-yes,” Riley sobbed.
“What’s his problem?”
“Emily.”
“Emily?”
“They’re...they’re...” Riley couldn’t finish the sentence.
“That be-atch,” Jo growled. “That sneaky little fake friend. I’ll be right over.”
The pie problem solved, Riley took the roll of paper towels and returned to the couch. Maybe she’d see if Jo could bring home some leftovers for her...in case she ever wanted to eat again. She hated to miss Thanksgiving dinner but the thought of facing everyone was more than she could bear. She’d be a real dinner buzzkill, sitting there like the world’s biggest loser, crying into her candied yams.
Ten minutes later Jo was at the door. And not only Jo but Mom and Grammy, too, neither of whom would leave the kitchen on Thanksgiving Day unless the world was coming to an end. Oh, no. This was so humiliating.
Until they rushed her and gave her a group hug, everyone standing in the entryway like a giant amoeba.
The amoeba slowly moved to the living room, Grammy and Mom flanking Riley on the couch, and Jo and her giant tummy settling in a nearby chair.
“That boy,” Grammy said in disgust. “I never liked him. He was selfish.” This was because at Thanksgiving the year before, Sean had eaten the last piece of huckleberry pie, which Grammy had planned on taking home and having for breakfast the next morning. It hadn’t mattered that he’d been unaware of her plans for that piece of pie. As far as she was concerned, he still shouldn’t have eaten it.
More evidence of how unworthy Sean was began to come out. “Remember how cheap he was on Valentine’s Day?” Jo reminded Riley. “A bag of M&Ms instead of a box of chocolates.”
“But I like M&Ms,” Riley said.
“It was still cheap. And he didn’t even take you to a nice restaurant. Bubba’s Bar-B-Q? Really?”
“You’re well rid of him,” Mom agreed. “Heaven knows who else he’s cheated with this past year.”
“Now, there’s something to be thankful for,” said Grammy.
“That he cheated on me?”
“That you discovered what a weaselly cheater he is before you got married.”
“He had to wait till three weeks before the wedding to do it?” The humiliation, the disappointment. Oh, the wrongness of it all.
“That is a little inconvenient,” Mom conceded. “But nothing we can’t handle. We’ll start calling the guests tonight.”
“I’ll text all the cousins,” Jo offered.
“See? It’s going to be fine,” Mom assured Riley.
“And look on the bright side,” Jo added. “Now you don’t have to work out at the gym.”
No. Emily would be doing that, right alongside Sean. Riley sniffed.
“One less Christmas present to buy,” Grammy said with a nod that made her glasses bob on her nose.
Christmas. Riley had been envisioning their first Christmas as a married couple—getting up in the morning and drinking hot chocolate, opening their presents. She’d already bought Sean’s, a tool set she’d found online with everything from wrenches to Phillips screwdrivers. Well, she needed a tool set. And she could still drink hot chocolate.
All by herself. She burst into fresh tears.
“We’re not going to let this ruin our Thanksgiving,” Mom said firmly.
Was she kidding? “I’m not coming,” Riley said.
“Not coming!” Mom and Grammy chorused.
“I can’t.” How could they expect her to face everyone after what had just happened?
“Now, baby,” Grammy said, putting an arm around Riley’s shoulders, “When you take a fall you have to climb back on the horse.”
“I didn’t fall,” Riley protested. “I was dumped.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mom said. “Your grandmother’s right. You don’t want to be alone at a time like this. You need your family. And besides, if you sit here and mope, think of the power you’re giving him.”
“I’m not giving him any power. I’m just... Guys, can’t you let me mourn?”
“Absolutely not,” Mom insisted. “Now, go shower and dress. We’ll wait.”
Once Mom and Grammy made up their minds, arguing did about as much good as trying to stick to a diet in a bakery. Riley trudged off to the shower.
As she went, Grammy started singing some old song about washing that man right out of her hair. Funny.
After Riley was cleaned up, Mom and Grammy loaded her and the pies in Mom’s car and hauled her back to the house while Jo went home to put the finishing touches on her cranberry salad.
“How’s my girl?” her father asked, folding her into his big arms.
“Miserable.”
“Don’t be. Forget about that clown. Anyone stupid enough not to want to be with you doesn’t deserve you. I never thought he was good enough for you, anyway.”
And that was the general consensus as the family gathered for their annual Thanksgiving feast.
“Men are beasts,” said Aunt Gertrude, making Uncle Earl frown.
“Good riddance,” said Riley’s brother, Harold. “He’s a tool.”
“That’s bad,” explained his seven-year-old daughter, Caitlyn.
Harold worked out at Sean’s gym a lot. “Did you know he and...” Riley couldn’t bear to mention her false friend’s name. “Did you know what he was doing?”
“Would you pass the stuffing, Aunt Gert?” Harold said, trying to dodge the question.
“Harold, did you?” She knew the answer before he even spoke. Guilt was painting a red flush on his face.
But he shook his head. “Not for sure. There was a lot of flirting going on and I thought that was tacky. You’re well rid of him, sis.”
Maybe she was, but the loss hurt all the same and it was hard to be thankful.
Still, by the end of the day she felt somewhat better. Everyone had complimented her on her pumpkin pies. Her aunt Ellen told her how nice she looked and asked her if she’d lost weight. She’d played Go Fish with Jo, her sister-in-law and her niece and had actually managed to forget her miseries for an hour or two.
Until she got back home to her empty apartment and realized it was going to stay empty for a long time to come. Maybe forever. Oh, there was a comforting thought.
Mom had sent home the last piece of pie with her, along with some stuffing and gravy and turkey. She’d planned to have them for lunch the next day. But, like the saying went, life was uncertain. She decided to eat dessert first. Maybe tomorrow she’d bake pumpkin squares. To heck with never eating again. She was going to eat away her sorrows, turn herself into a blimp. Who cared?
She took one bite of the pie and then tossed it in the garbage. Pumpkin pie was a poor substitute for a fiancé.
She was working up to another good cry when her sister called. “I know you’re feeling sorry for yourself again.”
Sometimes older sisters could be real stinkers. “I’d say I have a right to.”
“Yeah, you do, but I have a better idea than sitting around feeling miserable for the next six months.”
She wasn’t planning on feeling miserable for the next six months. More like the next six years. “What?” Riley asked suspiciously.
“Girlfriend party. Pack a bag. Noel’s on her way to pick you up.”
“You told Noel?”
“Yeah, since she’s your oldest friend and your maid of honor. Thought she’d need to know.”
Yes, of course, Noel had to be told. Still, this felt as if her sad news was spreading faster than gossip on Twitter. In fact, it would probably be on Twitter before the day was over. Maybe it already was. Maybe Sean had tweeted. Happy Thanksgiving. Dumped my girlfriend. Gobble, gobble.
“You wanted to give her the happy news yourself?” Jo retorted.
Good point. She supposed she should be thankful her sister was telling people so she wouldn’t have to.
“Come on, we’ll drink eggnog and play Farkle. Then tomorrow we can hit the Black Friday sales and get you some new clothes, give you a break-over.”
A breakup makeover; that did sound tempting.
“You don’t really want to be by yourself, do you?” Jo continued.
“No,” Riley admitted. She had enough of that being-by-herself stuff looming in the future.
“Older sister knows best,” Jo teased.
“Sometimes.” In this case she probably did. Who better to help Riley recover than her sister and her best friend?
Noel, who had gone through a breakup a few months earlier, understood exactly how she felt. “It sucks,” she said as Riley dropped her overnight bag in the trunk of Noel’s old clunker. “I swear there aren’t any decent men left out there,” she said once they were in her car and on their way. “Jo got the last one. No, I take that back. My sister did. Which is great, of course. I’m happy for Aimi.” Noel sighed heavily.
Great. She was almost as depressed as Riley. Before the night was over they’d probably both wind up stretched out on Pine Street in the middle of downtown, praying to get run over by a reindeer. Except it was too early for Santa and his reindeer to be out cruising.
“I think the male population in Whispering Pines is shrinking.” Noel heaved another sigh. Then she cast a guilty look in Riley’s direction. “But you know what? We’re not going to think about that tonight,” she said with a determined nod.
“Thirty-one, and there’s still no one, not even a glimpse of someone on the horizon,” Noel said a millisecond later.
Jilted brides and empty horizons—oh, yes, this was going to be a fun evening.
Another guilty glance shot Riley’s way. “I’m sorry. Listen to me, going on like Princess Pitiful when you’re the one who’s suffering. I’m sorry, Riley. I’m sorry Sean was such a jerk and Emily was such a rotten friend. But like I said, we’re not going to think about that. Tonight we’re going to have fun.”
Fun.
Noel pointed a finger at nothing in particular. “You know, I never really liked her. Remember when we were at her place and she had that box of chocolates on the counter? She never offered to share. And they were Godiva! What kind of friend doesn’t share her chocolates?”
That had been last month. Had those chocolates come from Sean?
They drove through downtown (which took all of five minutes). Santa’s elves had already been busy because twinkle lights now dangled over Pine Street, and the light posts were decorated with giant candy canes and red ribbons. Everything looked festive and happy. Happy holidays. Bah, humbug.
“But you know what?” Noel continued as they turned the corner onto Jo’s block. “Tonight is all about forgetting your troubles, and we’re not—”
“—going to think about it,” Riley finished with her. She was glad when they reached Jo’s house. Maybe now they really could stop thinking. And talking.
Jo was still looking picture-perfect in her maternity jeans and black sweater, an Italian charm bracelet dangling from her wrist. No matter how tired she got, she always managed to look perfect. The eggnog was ready, spiked for Riley, alcohol-free for Jo and Noel, who wasn’t much of a drinker.
“Eggnog!” Noel cried happily. “That’s enough to make us forget our troubles.”
“Until we step on the scale tomorrow,” Jo cracked and took a sip of hers. “Except I’m drinking for two. Probably for another nine months at the rate I’m going. This baby’s taking her own sweet time.”
“She’ll be here any day,” Riley said. Her sister was having a girl and had the ultrasound to prove it. She also had a dresser full of cute outfits so her little girl could be as stylin’ as she was.
“I’m ready. I’m more than ready. I have cleaned this house from top to bottom.”
“It looks great,” said Noel.
Jo’s house always looked great. It was like an ad for Crate & Barrel. Chocolate-brown leather sofa and matching chairs, an expensive, thick throw rug over hardwood floors, her cupboards stocked with artisan stoneware. Tonight an arrangement of fall flowers in a long vase sat on her antique dining table, and she had a balsam-scented candle burning.
“I even cleaned the grout in the shower,” she told them. “Mom says it’s that final burst of energy before the baby comes. I sure hope she knows what she’s talking about. I’d like to see my feet again.”
“I thought expectant mothers were supposed to, like, glow,” Noel said with a frown.
“I left glowing behind two months ago,” Jo informed her.
“But you’re going to have a baby!”
Jo did smile at that and rubbed her bulging belly.
Wait a minute. What was wrong with her sister’s smile? The lips were in the right position but something was missing.
“Are you all right?” Riley asked her.
“Me? Of course I’m all right.”
“Are you sure?”
Jo’s chin went up a notch, a sign that she wasn’t all right at all.
Riley’s stomach started churning her eggnog. She set down her mug. “What’s going on?”
Jo shrugged and downed the last of her drink. “Nothing.”
“Okay, something is definitely wrong,” Riley said.
“Not really wrong, just...not right. I don’t know if I want to stay married to Mike.”
Riley could feel her eyes bugging. “What? You and Mike have a great marriage. What are you talking about?”
“There’s nothing great about him being gone all the time,” Jo snapped. “He wants to re-up.”
“Reenlist? You guys already talked about that,” Riley said.
“We did. And I thought we had it settled. Obviously, we don’t, not according to the email I just got.” Jo frowned. “All he can see is that big bonus he’ll get. He thinks we need it now that we’ve got the baby coming.”
“Well, his motives are good,” said Noel.
“No, they’re not. He’s just being greedy.”
“Maybe he’s worried about finding a job once he gets out,” Riley suggested. Mike was a nice guy. He would never cheat on his woman. Jo had no idea how lucky she was.
“He’d have no trouble getting a job. He’ll be in high demand. That’s why they’re offering him such a big signing bonus. I told him it’s either me or the navy. If he re-ups it’s anchors aweigh. We’re through.”
Jo had dashed all over the emotional landscape during the last few months. Riley was sure this was simply one more case of whacked-out hormones. “You shouldn’t make any big decision like that right now. And anyway, Mike loves you. And you’re about to have a baby, for crying out loud.”
Tears started leaking from Jo’s eyes. “I don’t want to raise this baby alone.”
“You won’t be,” Riley assured her. “Yeah, Mike goes out to sea but he always comes back to you.”
“He’s gone for months at a time,” Jo said, wiping her eyes.
“But we’re all here.”
“It’s not the same. In the end it’ll be me and Annabelle alone in this place. It’ll be me up all night when she’s sick, just me at the PTO meetings and the school plays. He’ll be off...somewhere, keeping the world safe. Super Squid in a sub,” Jo said bitterly.
“But think how noble—he’s serving his country,” Noel pointed out.
“I know, but he’s been doing it for eight years. Isn’t that enough? Can’t he let someone else take a turn?”
This was obviously a rhetorical question, so Riley didn’t respond. Instead she said, “You really need to think about this, sis. If you split with Mike you’ll be even more alone.”
“I’ll replace him.”
“You don’t mean that,” Riley said sternly.
Jo sighed. “I don’t know what I mean. I’m just so...mad.”
It was all Riley could do not to tell her to get over it. But that would be unkind and not very helpful. This was hormones talking. Had to be. So she decided to say, “Mike’s a good man, and it’s darn hard to find a good man.” This was something she was now an expert on.
“Yeah, he’s practically perfect,” Noel added.
“There’s no such thing as a perfect man,” Jo said in disgust.
“I’ll settle for almost perfect,” Noel said.
“I’ll settle for playing Farkle,” Riley said. Sheesh. This was supposed to be a girlfriend party to cheer her up. At the rate they were going, they’d all be lying down in the middle of Pine Street waiting to get run over by a reindeer. “Come on, let’s have fun. No more talk of men. Okay?”
Noel nodded. “I agree.”
“Me, too,” Jo said and fetched the game.
For the next two hours they played games. Then they turned on the Hallmark Channel and watched a Christmas movie. “The guys in these movies are all so great,” Noel said with a sigh as the ending credits rolled.
“That’s because they’re not real,” Jo said. “If you sit around waiting for the perfect man you’ll be on your buttsky for a long time.”
“Thanks,” Noel muttered. “You sure know how to inspire a girl.”
“Just sayin’.” Jo heaved a sigh. “Oh, never mind me. I’m cranky. And I’m pooped. You guys feel free to stay up as long as you want, but my daughter and I are going to bed so we’ll be ready to hit the mall tomorrow.” She waddled off to her bedroom, calling over her shoulder, “Leave the mess. We can clean it up in the morning.”
“I’m tired, too,” Riley said. It had been a long day and she suddenly felt the weight of all her misery. She stacked the empty popcorn bowls and grabbed a couple of glasses.
“Me, too,” Noel said, picking up the rest of the mess. “Do you think your sister’s right?” she asked as they loaded the dishwasher.
“About what?” Not about Mike, that was for sure.
“About there being no such thing as a perfect man.”
“Well, none of us is perfect, but I hope there’s such a thing as the perfect man for me,” said Riley.
Maybe someday, somewhere, she’d find him.
Chapter Three (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
The problem with writing children’s stories was that the only men you met were A) editors, who were either married or gay; B) happily married stay-at-home dads who brought their children to author appearances (where were the single dads these days?); and C) little boys who came to those author appearances (all those adorable little boys—where were the big ones?). Even Noel’s landlord was a woman. Mrs. Bing was fifty-something and you’d think she’d have had a son but no. Actually, considering what Mrs. Bing looked like, that was probably just as well.
So, naturally, Noel had been thrilled when Donny Lockhart walked into Java Josie’s one rainy fall morning. Noel had been seated at a table, working on her latest project with her gingersnap latte within easy reach. It was a Saturday, practically the only day of the week besides Sunday that she got out of her jammie bottoms and got out of the house. The coffee shop was packed with people. Tables were scarce. He’d asked if he could share hers. Donny was tall and cute with red hair and freckles and trendy glasses. Of course she’d said yes.
He’d taken out his tablet and gotten to work, typing away. There was no “Hey, we’re both redheads.” No “Crappy weather we’re having, huh?” No “What are you drinking? It looks good.” No “Wow, are you an artist?”
She could’ve asked him what he was working on, but she didn’t have the nerve. All kinds of clever words poured out of her when she was working on her Marvella Monster books but when it came to picking up guys, she was more of a Timid Tillie Titmouse.
It wasn’t that she was ugly. She was okay-looking. She just...well, all those years of wearing glasses before they became a fashion statement, coupled with braces and a few extra pounds (the kiss of death when you were in high school) had messed with her self-esteem. That, plus being a bit of a nerd. Who wanted a nerd when you could hook up with a cheerleader? That had become her belief and she’d kept it all through college, which left the shelves in the boyfriend department pretty bare. If a guy got things started, she was fine, but it was hard to put herself out there and make the first move, even though the glasses had been replaced with contacts and the extra pounds had long since disappeared.
So she’d sighed inwardly and gone back to sketching the illustrations for her latest Marvella book, Marvella and the Monster Under Mary’s Bed.
She’d just finished sketching Marvella pulling a protesting green gremlin out from under the hapless Mary’s bed when someone spoke. “Are you an artist?”
Mr. Cute Glasses was talking to her? “Yes.” Now, there was an area where she had complete confidence. “I’m a children’s book author but I illustrate all my own books.” That in itself was quite an accomplishment, if she did say so herself. Not many people could do both well.
“Yeah?” He’d leaned over and checked out Marvella, who was upside down. She’d turned her sketch tablet around so he could see her creation better.
“You’re really good.”
She’d smiled modestly and thanked him. Now that the conversational gate was open, she’d had no problem asking, “What about you? What do you do?”
His cheeks had turned a little pink. “I’m between jobs at the moment. What I want to do is be a writer.”
A kindred soul! “Really? What do you want to write?”
“Legal thrillers. You know, like John Grisham.”
“I love him.” Something else they had in common. “So is that what you’re working on right now?”
His cheeks had gone from pink to red. “Actually, no. I’m, uh, writing something different, along the lines of Fifty Shades.”
She’d felt her own cheeks sizzling. She’d tried to watch the movie, but her eyes had started to melt five minutes in. Her life was more like fifty shades of white.
“I heard there’s big money in romance novels,” he’d said, “so I thought I’d start there.”
“That sounds like a plan,” she’d said, at a loss for anything better. She knew quite a few writers, and none of them were in it for the money. They wrote because they loved to write. Still, she supposed it was good to be practical.
Donny had introduced himself and they’d wound up talking for twenty minutes until he’d checked his cell phone and announced that he had to go. Writers group meeting.
But before he left, he’d gotten her phone number and promised to call.
Lo and behold, he had. They’d dated hot and heavy for six glorious months. Six months of foreign films at The Orpheum. Lunch at Lettuce Love, since lunch was cheaper than dinner and Donny was on a budget...so of course she always offered to pay and he always let her. (Very secure in who he was as a man.) Six months of open mike on Monday nights at Java Josie’s, where aspiring writers read their work. (Donny always read. His stuff was...well, he was still a beginner. He had room to grow.)
Six months of Donny asking her if her agent represented romance novelists, if she could edit his latest chapter, what she thought of his new scene. Six months of Donny talking about Donny and his dreams and very little talking about Noel and hers. Six months of him looking for a job to support himself while he finished his novel and finding nothing and continuing to live in his parents’ basement. Of him asking if he could borrow ten bucks and then forgetting to pay her back. Six months before she finally realized that Donny was cute and creative—and self-centered and a user. After six months, Donny was history. The last time she saw him at the coffee shop he was hitting on a blonde in a business suit. So much for true love.
But she wasn’t going to think about that. There was more to life than men.
Like holiday sales. And the mall, which served both Whispering Pines and the nearby town of Salmon Run, definitely had that going now that Black Friday was here. Christmas decorations were up and oversize golden balls and swags hung everywhere. In the middle of the mall, right by the information booth, Santa’s shack, a red plywood chalet with white gingerbread trim, was being erected. A sign at the corner of the fake snow lawn announced: Santa Arrives December 1.
Good thing he wasn’t arriving this weekend, she thought. He’d never have found a place to park his sleigh. It looked as if everyone in Whispering Pines and their fishy neighbor seven miles to the east was here. They all seemed to be swarming the department stores, getting their cell phones upgraded or their ears pierced or buying cookies over at Carmen’s Cookie House. And they were all ready to do battle for bargains, especially at Macy’s. One woman beat her to the last black sweater in her size by all of two seconds.
Jo was currently using her belly as a lethal weapon, knocking competitors out of the way in the activewear department. “She’s fierce,” Noel observed to Riley.
“Yep. She always has been. Sometimes I feel sorry for poor Mike.”
“You don’t think they’re going to split up, do you?”
“I hope not,” Riley said. “His shipping out never bothered her when it was only the two of them, but now with the baby in the picture, she’s been complaining a lot about him being gone so much. Of course, she’s been complaining a lot about all kinds of stuff. It’s really not like her. I’m not sure being pregnant agrees with her.”
“It would with me,” Noel said. Darn, but she wanted a baby. Here she wrote children’s books and didn’t have a child. What was wrong with that picture? “Maybe I’ll adopt.” Why wait for a man to come along? At the rate she was going, she could be waiting until she was fifty.
“I don’t know,” Riley said. “I think I’d rather have a dad in the picture, someone to take over when you’ve got cramps and just want to go to bed.”
“Yeah, but what if I never find someone? What if...” Oh, dear. Don’t go there. “But we’re not going to think about that.”
Riley frowned. “No, we’re not. Instead we’re going to try on dresses.”
She hauled Noel over to a rack where evening outfits were thirty percent off. “I don’t need an evening dress,” Noel protested. Besides being on a tight budget, she wasn’t exactly the fancy-dress kind of girl. Her pink sweats and Uggs said it all—boring homebody who writes on her laptop in her jammies. Besides, if they went out and she needed something fancy, she had the red bridesmaid dress she’d bought for Riley’s wedding.
Except wearing that around her friend would be mean. And tacky. Anyway, where were they going to go with their love lives in the toilet?
“Well, I do,” Riley said. “Let’s buy some sexy dresses to wear on New Year’s Eve.”
“Uh, Riley, neither one of us has someone to go out with on New Year’s Eve.”
“This will be like thinking positive, putting it out there in the universe that we want someone to celebrate with. And if no one comes, we’ll still go out. I’m not going to start the New Year feeling like an abysmal love failure.”
“No one would ever call you that,” Noel insisted.
Riley began furiously sorting through the dresses. She pulled out a black one with a sweetheart neckline, trimmed with fake pearls and gold beads and held it against her. “What do you think?”
“That Sean blew it.”
Riley’s lower lip wobbled and a tear slipped out of the corner of one eye. She dashed it away. “I can’t become pitiful,” she said in a low voice.
“You won’t. You aren’t,” Noel assured her, and gave her a hug.
“Excuse me,” said another woman, nudging them aside. “If you aren’t going to look, could you please get out of the way?”
“Sorry,” they said in unison and stepped aside.
Riley frowned. “You know what’s wrong with us?” Noel wasn’t sure she wanted to hear but Riley rushed on before she could say so. “We’re too nice, that’s what. We let people walk all over us.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do. I let Sean get away with sneaking out on me. I never made demands, never said, ‘I’m sorry, you can’t work late tonight because we have plans.’ And you, you always let your publisher walk all over you.”
“I do not!”
“Yeah, you do. You hated that last title they picked for your Marvella Monster book and you never said anything.”
“That’s because no one cares whether I like the title or not. Publishers want something that will sell, and they figure they know what works. Authors hardly ever get to keep their original title idea.” Honestly, she should never have complained to Riley.
“Okay, what about Donny? How many times did he hit you up for loans before you finally got rid of him?”
She’d lost count. “I did get rid of him, though.”
“Only after Jo threatened to call, pretending to be you, and break up with him.”
Noel sighed. “Okay, maybe we are too nice.”
“We are. I mean, how about what we did just now? Don’t we have a right to stand at a rack and look at clothes?”
“We weren’t really looking and we were kind of in the way.”
“I was looking. Anyway, it’s the principle of the thing,” Riley said and stepped back over to the rack, giving the hangers a violent shove.
“Hey, watch it,” the other woman snapped.
“Sorry,” Riley mumbled. She grabbed a red dress and slinked away. “I guess it takes time to change your life. But I’m going to,” she said with determination. “I’m going to be like Jo and take life by the horns. I’m going to buy a new dress and I’ll go out on New Year’s Eve. By myself if I have to. I’m not going to let Sean turn me into some pitiful reject who sits home all the time and feels sorry for herself.”
Pitiful reject who sits home all the time—why did that have a familiar ring to it?
Jo was back with them now, carrying another bulging bag. She’d obviously succeeded in her quest for new workout pants.
She approved her sister’s speech by saying, “All right, sis,” and bumped knuckles with Riley. “I like this new you.” She looked at the cocktail dresses in Riley’s hands. “Oooh, pretty. Have you tried those on yet?”
“Not yet, but I will. Noel, how about you?” Riley challenged.
“Well...” A fancy dress so wasn’t in the budget. She was trying desperately to save money for a down payment on the little house she was renting. She loved that place and when Noel had called to tell Mrs. Bing she wanted to rent for another year, Mrs. Bing had mentioned that she was thinking of selling it. Noel was determined to be the one she sold it to. In addition to saving for that worthy goal, Christmas was looming and she had more presents to buy.
Still, it would be fun to go out on New Year’s Eve even if she didn’t have a man. And since she could hardly go out with her friend and wear the bridesmaid’s dress from the wedding that didn’t happen...
“Thirty percent off,” Jo reminded her.
Riley snagged a black dress in Noel’s size. “Come on,” she said. “Try it on.”
“Okay.”
Riley beamed. “Let’s go.”
Jo plopped onto a nearby chair. “There’s no way we can all fit in a changing room. Come out and show me.”
“If we ever get a changing room,” Riley muttered. “This is like standing in line for the bathroom.”
“I’ll bet the bathroom line’s shorter,” said Noel.
But ten minutes later they were in a changing room, side by side and admiring themselves in the mirror, Riley in the red dress and Noel in the black one, accessorized with her Uggs. “Oh, we look hotter than cinnamon,” Riley said with a smile. It was a big, wide smile, not one of the small, dull ones she’d been showing recently.
Noel smiled, too. “You look great.”
“So do you,” Riley said. “Except for the shoes,” she added. “Come on, let’s show Jo.”
Jo approved. “Oh, yeah. You guys are crazy if you don’t buy those.” Then she grimaced at Noel’s feet. “Shoe-shopping next.”
Noel didn’t want to be crazy, so she joined Riley at the cash register and bought the dress. Anyway, Riley had a point, and Noel decided she, too, needed to get a life, one that took place in the real world, not just inside her head with Marvella. She was going out and she’d be wearing this dress. And some sexy shoes, too!
“I’m starving,” Jo said after they’d bought Noel a pair of red stiletto heels guaranteed to break her neck, as well as some rock-me-baby black boots. “Let’s go to the food court and see if they have any chocolate chip cookies left at Carmen’s Cookie House.”
Chocolate chip cookies weren’t as good as sex but they ran a close second. Noel followed the sisters out of the department store.
They all stopped for a moment to watch as Santa’s Play Land came to life with mall employees setting out plastic elves and mechanical reindeer with heads that bobbed up and down. “Just think,” Riley said to Jo, “this time next year you’ll be taking your baby to see Santa.”
“That was always so fun when we were kids,” Jo said. “I can hardly wait to do it with mine.” Then she grinned. “In fact, I’ll start this year.” She turned to Riley and Noel. “You guys want to come with me to see Santa?”
Now Riley was grinning, too. “Like we all did when we were in high school.”
Noel remembered that. Jo had been in her junior year, and she and Riley had been sophomores. Riley had asked for a car, which she didn’t get. Noel had asked for straight As, and almost got there except for a B in algebra. And Jo had asked for a new boyfriend, which she did get. Jo had always been good at finding ways to get what she wanted. Sometimes Noel wished she was more like Jo. Considering all the time she and Riley had spent trailing her like puppies, you’d have thought more of her warrior princess attitude would’ve worn off on them.
“Let’s do it,” Riley was saying. “Let’s come here on December first after I get done with school. We can see Santa and then go out for dinner.”
“Twelfth Man Sports Bar,” said Jo. “Who knows? There might be some cute guys there.”
“I think we’ve met about every single man in Whispering Pines,” Riley said, backing up Noel’s theory about the shrinking male population. “But hey, you never know.”
True. Maybe if Noel asked for a man, someone who was a step up from Donny (which would be just about anyone), Santa would come through.
They were buying their cookies when her cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw it was her landlady. What could Mrs. Bing want?
“Noel, I wanted to give you a heads-up. I’m bringing someone to look at the house this afternoon. It’s short notice, but I hope that’s okay.”
“The house?” Her house? “I don’t understand.”
“You remember I’ve been talking about selling it.”
Yes, to her! She’d told Mrs. Bing she’d love to buy it. She’d hoped Mrs. Bing would be open to carrying a contract with her. Mrs. Bing hadn’t been too excited about that, so Noel had made her an offer. It turned out to be an offer she could refuse. Still, Noel had insisted she could come up with the money Mrs. Bing wanted. Somehow. She’d been saving like crazy for a down payment that would impress both Mrs. Bing and the bank. All she needed was a few more months. Okay, more like a year, but still.
“I have someone who’s interested,” Mrs. Bing said.
“But I’m interested!”
“Yes, I know you are, dear, but this person actually has money and wants to make a cash offer, and I’m a little strapped for cash right now.”
“Oh, Mrs. Bing,” Noel began miserably.
“I’m sorry, dear. I really am. Anyway, we’ll be coming by around four. Like I said, I should’ve given you more notice, so I hope you don’t mind.”
Yes, she minded.
“You don’t need to be home,” Mrs. Bing continued. “In fact, I’m sure you’re out enjoying the Black Friday sales.”
She had been until this.
“Now, don’t worry. I’ll see that you have plenty of time to move out. A month’s notice should do, shouldn’t it? I heard they have vacancies in those new apartments over on East View.”
Noel didn’t want to live in the new apartments on East View, even if some of them did look out on Case Inlet. But before she could say that—or anything—Mrs. Bing said a cheery goodbye and ended the call.
“What’s wrong?” asked Jo.
“Mrs. Bing’s selling my house. Can she do that?”
“When’s your rental contract up?”
Oh, boy. “End of this month. But I already told her I’d stay another year.”
“Why’s she bringing in someone else? I thought you told her you wanted to rent with an option to buy.”
“Because she didn’t want to do that,” Noel said. “She wasn’t exactly open to any of my ideas.” She handed over her money and got a big cookie in exchange. Suddenly she wasn’t in the mood for a cookie. She wasn’t in the mood for anything except a good cry.
“She could have given you first dibs,” Riley said, incensed on her behalf.
“She knows I don’t have enough for a down payment yet.” Now she wished she hadn’t bought that fancy dress and boots. Or the stupid shoes. Even though the money she’d spent on them was only a drop in a very big bucket that seemed to have a hole in it.
“What if you went and talked to her, asked her for a few days to see if you qualify for a loan?” Jo suggested.
Noel already knew the answer to that. She’d been to the bank. With her fluctuating earnings as a children’s book author, Mr. Ridley, the loan officer at First Mutual, was nervous about giving her a loan, especially in light of how far short she was of what she’d need for a healthy down payment.
Her parents weren’t currently in any financial shape to help her. Dad had been laid off, and he and Mom were trying to make ends meet on his unemployment and what Mom earned working part-time at the library. Plus, they now had a wedding to pay for.
If only Marvella was real. Noel would sic her on this would-be buyer and get him out of the way so she’d have time to pull together her finances.
But she didn’t have a Marvella. All she had was herself.
“You should go over there and talk this potential buyer out of it. Don’t let him or her swoop in and take your place away from you,” Jo said.
Noel looked despondently at her cookie. “I have no idea how to talk somebody out of buying a house.”
“Too bad it isn’t falling down around your ears,” said Riley.
“Too bad it doesn’t have termites,” Jo added. “Or rats.” Then she grinned. “Rats, that’s it!”
Riley stared at her as if she were nuts. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about a strong deterrent,” Jo said. “Come on, Purrfect Pets has got to be open today.” She started waddling down the mall.
“What’s she talking about?” Noel asked as they followed her.
“I think she’s found a way to discourage your buyer,” Riley said. “Would you fall in love with a house that was infested with rats?”
“You mean turn rats loose in the house?” Eeew.
“It’s worth a try,” Riley said as they caught up with Jo.
“But...rats?”
“You got a better idea?” Jo asked.
“No,” Noel said with a sigh. “But I hate rats.”
“They’re kind of cute,” Riley said. “Anyway, you’ll probably only need a couple.”
“What am I supposed to do with them after this potential buyer leaves?”
“Call me and I’ll help you catch them. I could use some rats in my classroom.”
“I guess,” Noel said. Oh, but rats were so creepy with their little ratty paws and that long, ratty tail. Eeew. Just. Eeew.
Purrfect Pets was indeed open and filled with people hoping to buy puppies for Christmas. They passed a tank with snakes in it and Noel shuddered.
“Maybe we should get a snake, too,” Riley suggested and Noel quickly vetoed it. The rats were bad enough.
Ten minutes later she was the proud owner of two gray rats. (Riley had fallen for a gray-and-white one, but Jo had vetoed him. Too domestic-looking. Noel wanted to veto the whole plan, but she’d been outnumbered.) She’d also shelled out for a cage, bedding for the cage and rat food.
“I can’t believe I just spent all that on vermin,” she muttered as they left the mall.
“Don’t worry. I’ll reimburse you,” Riley told her.
Back in Jo’s Honda Pilot, the two sisters took the front seats and left Noel in back with the rats, who kept making little scritchy-scratchy noises as they paced around their cage. “These things creep me out,” she said, hugging the door.
“My kids will love them,” Riley said.
“Let’s hope the potential buyer hates ’em,” Jo said then groaned. “Oh, my gosh, I swear this girl is going to be a boxer the way she keeps pushing me.”
“A sure sign she’s about ready to come out,” Riley told her.
“The sooner, the better,” Jo said as they turned into Noel’s driveway.
“Want me to come in with you and set them free?” Riley offered as she took out the cage for Noel.
“No, I can do this,” she said as much to herself as her friend. “But I will definitely call you to come back and help me catch them.”
“Okay. Good luck in your mission,” Riley said and hugged her. Then the sisters roared off down the road, leaving her alone with the rats.
She carried her new houseguests into the house, holding the cage as far away from her as possible. This was too, too creepy. But she’d have brought home a boa constrictor if it would keep away the competition.
The house wasn’t a mansion. In fact, it was small, with only two bedrooms. But it had a bay window in the living room and a brick fireplace that she loved using in the winter, with a mantel just right for hanging Christmas stockings, and a built-in china cabinet in the dining room. The lawn at the back of the house wasn’t much, but it was the right size for a puppy...which she fully intended to get once she owned the place and was free of the no-pets rule. She loved sitting out on the patio in the summer, smelling the honeysuckle that grew on the side of the house and working on her books. The kitchen cabinets and floor vinyl were both as old as time. The windows tended to sweat in the winter and the hardwood floor was scratched up, but none of that bothered her. Someday, when she had money, she’d replace the windows and refinish the floor, refinish the kitchen cabinets, and this old place would sparkle like the gem it was. Meanwhile, though, she loved it, and she wasn’t going to give it up.
She glanced around at her tidy living room with the apartment-size, cream-colored sofa and matching chair, the rocking chair that had been her grandma’s, the fall candle arrangement on the coffee table. Ugh. It all looked way too inviting. She couldn’t do anything to the house itself, but she could at least cut down on the cozy factor. She set down the cage and got to work messing up the room, putting away the candles and throwing some sofa pillows on the floor. In the kitchen she pulled dirty dishes out of the dishwasher and scattered them on the kitchen counter. There. That was better. Now, all she had to do was set loose the vermin.
Oh, wait. Did she want rats climbing on her sofa pillows? She put them back on the sofa. Okay, it was showtime.
She approached the cage as if it bore two ravenous tigers, reaching out a tentative hand to the latches on the little door. “You can do this,” she told herself. Honestly, she was a huge, powerful human. They were only the size of her feet.
Rats the size of her feet running around the house!
She held her breath and opened the door, granting them freedom to pillage her place, then dashed for the sofa. Rats couldn’t climb furniture, could they?
She huddled there and watched as the stupid things stood at the door of their cage and sniffed. “Come on, already, get out and do your duty.” What was the problem here? Were they agoraphobic? She left the sofa and crept to the cage, giving it a wiggle. The rats planted their feet. Great. Just great. She’d brought home defective rats.
But no, now one was poking its nose out of the cage. Then, next thing she knew, he was out. With a screech she ran back to the sofa.
Brother rat came out, too, and she sat helplessly watching as they scuttled around her living room, sniffing and exploring. She was never going to be able to leave her sofa. And, oh, how dumb! Her cell phone was in her purse on the hall table. How would she ever be able to call Riley to come over and help her put them back in their cage? Doomed. She was doomed to stay on her sofa for the rest of her life like some poor flood victim camped on her roof, hoping for a helicopter.
The mantel clock told her she only had half an hour before the invaders arrived. Of course, now she had to go to the bathroom. Maybe she could wait until Mrs. Bing came. Maybe Mrs. Bing and the potential house thief would distract the rats long enough for her to dash to the bathroom. This had been such a stupid idea.
She nibbled her lip. She really had to go.
She was going to have to be brave. Time to make a break for the bathroom. The rats were over there, on their way to the kitchen. She was clear over here. She could do this. She put one tentative foot down and then the other. One of the little beasties lifted its gray head and looked at her. Looked right at her!
Eeeee! She dashed for the bathroom and shut herself in. She was never coming out.
She kept her vow until she heard her front door open, followed by the sound of voices, one feminine, the other masculine. Mrs. Bing and the interloper. Suddenly Noel had no idea what to do. Should she stay in the bathroom with the door locked? Ha! Not a bad plan. They’d both try the door and not be able to open it, yet another sign of a flawed house.
“This was my mother’s home,” Mrs. Bing said. “She lived in it for fifty years. As you can see, it has a lot of charm.”
Dear God, please let him be blind.
Footsteps moved from the hall into the living room and Noel opened the door and stuck her head out, trying to hear.
“Windows will have to be replaced,” said the voice.
Yes, too expensive. You don’t want a house where you have to replace the windows.
“What the hell?”
He must’ve seen the rats. Hee, hee.
“Oh, my!” cried Mrs. Bing. “We’ve never had rats in this house.”
Noel crept down the hall and peered around the door frame into the living room. There was Mrs. Bing in all her glory, wearing a faux fur coat over a tentlike green dress that made her look like a Christmas tree. Atop that Christmas tree sat a face like a pumpkin with Chia Pet hair.
Next to her stood a tall, dark-haired man with a body to match his manly voice. He wore jeans and a black sweater and an old, leather jacket and had black stubble on his chin. His eyes were brown. And his mouth...it was lifted in a half smile.
“Those are domestic,” he said, and pointed to the cage.
Darn. Why hadn’t she hidden the stupid cage? Oh, yeah. Terror.
“That’s impossible,” Mrs. Bing said in shock. “Noel knows I have a no-pet policy.”
Noel decided it was time to show herself. “I’m keeping them for a friend. She’s a teacher. She’s coming to get them tonight.”
“Why are they out of the cage?” Mrs. Bing demanded.
Jailbreak? Noel had a very creative mind; why couldn’t she think of something? “Um, the latch on their door must have jiggled loose.” Did that sound lame to anyone besides her?
“Well, put them back,” Mrs. Bing ordered.
“Now?” She’d have a heart attack right here.
“Don’t worry,” said the interloper. “I’ll get ’em.”
She watched as he chased down the first rat and bent to pick up the disgusting little squeaker. Nice butt. Oh, who cared?
“You didn’t need to be home,” Mrs. Bing told Noel as the unwanted visitor scooped up Useless Rat Number Two and stuck him back in the cage with Useless Rat Number One.
“I was done shopping,” Noel said. “I wanted to come home and...check for leaks.” Ha! Brilliant. No one would want to buy a house with leaks.
Mrs. Bing’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “When did you notice a leak, Noel?”
Noel’s guilty conscience started a fire on her cheeks. “I thought I saw water the day before yesterday. In the kitchen.”
“Really.” Mrs. Bing was not fooled.
The rats were safely in the cage now. “Let’s go look,” said the interloper.
So they all trooped out to the kitchen to look.
The kitchen was as cheerful and warm as ever with its yellow walls. Noel and Riley had painted those walls last summer. She’d even sprung for the paint herself. All the love she’d been pouring into this house and Mrs. Bing was going to sell it out from under her just like that. Mrs. Bing was an ingrate.
“Where exactly was the leak?” asked Mrs. Bing.
“Uh, over by the window. I think.”
The interloper gave the window and surrounding wall a checkup. “No signs of water damage. But the counters need replacing.”
“The counters are fine,” Noel informed him and he raised an eyebrow.
“Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house,” Mrs. Bing said. “Noel, you can wait down here.”
“That’s okay. I’ll come with you,” Noel said. Her rent was paid up. She had every right to join the home tour.
They walked from room to room, the interloper seeing ways he could change every one.
“You know, this house is very nice just as it is,” Noel informed him.
The interloper cocked his head. “Yeah? Then why don’t you buy it?”
“I want to. Mrs. Bing knows that,” Noel said and looked accusingly at her landlady.
Mrs. Bing’s cheeks turned rosy. “Noel, if you had the money I’d sell it to you.”
“Noel, pretty name,” said the interloper. He thrust out a hand for her to shake. “Mine’s Ben, Ben Fordham.”
Noel put her own hands behind her back. “What do you intend to do with this house, Ben Fordham?”
“I intend to fix it up.”
“And then what? It needs a family, people to live in it and love it.” Okay, she was lecturing now.
No, no. She wasn’t lecturing. She was getting in touch with her inner Marvella Monster, chasing away a predator.
He held up his left hand. “Not married.”
“Well, then...” Suddenly it dawned. “You don’t want this house for yourself. You’re going to flip it.”
“I’m going to fix it up and sell it to a family who will love it.”
Fix it up? Ha! He was going to destroy its character. Noel turned to Mrs. Bing. “Mrs. Bing, please don’t sell the house to this...this...Scrooge. He only wants it so he can make a profit. Please let me rent to own or give me time to come up with a down payment. I love this place. I’ll take care of it.”
“I saw how you’re taking care of it with the dirty dishes on the counter,” Mrs. Bing said, pursing her lips.
“I never have dirty dishes on the counter, really. That was...” Noel was aware of Ben the Bad Man looking at her.
“Camouflage?” he guessed. “Like the rats and the so-called leak.”
She wasn’t too proud to beg. “I’m sure you can find other houses to buy.”
“Of course I can,” he said, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Until he added, “But not at this price point.” He turned to Mrs. Bing. “Why don’t we go back to your house and talk?”
Nodding, Mrs. Bing started down the hall.
Ben the Bad Man turned to follow her and Noel caught him by the arm. “Please don’t buy this house.”
He looked down at her pityingly. “This is nothing personal. It’s just business.” Then he gently disengaged his arm and trailed Mrs. Bing down the hall. “Nice meeting you, Noel.”
“I wish I could say the same,” she called after him then leaned against the wall and wished all manner of Christmas disasters on him. She hoped he fell off a ladder while hanging Christmas lights and broke his leg. No, make that both legs. She hoped his dog bit him. And if he didn’t have a dog she hoped all the dogs in the neighborhood would poop on his lawn. She hoped Santa would drive right by his house or, better yet, drive over it and dump an entire load of coal down his chimney. She hoped...he’d have a change of heart. Maybe he’d have a dream and get visited by a bunch of ghosts showing him what a bad boy he was.
Or maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to win him over.
Chapter Four (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
Riley called Noel shortly after the invaders had left. “How’d it go?”
“He wasn’t fooled. And he wants to buy the house and flip it. He’s talking about taking down walls and ripping out counters and all kinds of things. He’ll ruin its character.”
“Too bad the rats didn’t work.”
“Please don’t say that word,” Noel begged, looking over at the useless rodents in their cage.
“Sorry. I’ll come over and collect them for you.”
“No need. The house thief already did that.”
“He saw the cage?”
“What can I say? I screwed up. It’s just that they had me so icked out I couldn’t concentrate.”
“We’ll think of something,” Riley said. “And I’ll come and get them tomorrow, okay?”
“In the morning?” If she had to look at them all day...
“Yes, and don’t worry. I’m sure this will all work out.”
Perhaps, but meanwhile, she had to be proactive. She said goodbye to Riley then pulled out her laptop and did an internet search for Ben Fordham. She found him under Fordham Enterprises. We Turn Nightmares into Dream Homes, he promised on his website. And there was a picture of the dream-maker himself. He looked like an HGTV star in his jeans and T-shirt and tool belt, with his muscles and dark hair and trust-me smile. He was on the front porch of a pretty Victorian, sitting on the railing, one leg dangling casually. Underneath that was a before-and-after example of his work, two shots of the same house. In one it resembled something out of a Halloween movie, with peeling paint and a front lawn overrun by unruly shrubs; in the other, it had turned into a sweet, two-story charmer with a freshly mowed lawn and flowers blooming along its front walk. Very impressive.
But her house wasn’t a nightmare. And she had her own plans for turning it into a dream home.
She poked around the site, checking out more examples of what he did. Various pages offered visitors a chance to sell a property (You need out, we’ll step in) or buy property (We did the work, you reap the benefits), and his contact information gave not only his email address but the physical address and phone number of his business, as well. She knew that building. It was downtown, around the corner from the Wiltons’ hardware store. It had once been a little on the derelict side, but now housed both his business and a real estate office, plus an escrow company and an interior decorator. Very handy. No doubt he worked hand in glove with the Realtor, and she supposed the home-decorating woman helped him stage his stolen homes.
Stolen was about what they were, she was sure. He probably never paid full market value, probably preyed on poor widows who were desperate for money. Like Mrs. Bing.
Except Mrs. Bing drove a new car and lived in a rambler in a nice neighborhood. Noel didn’t believe she needed the money as badly as she claimed. Of course, in all fairness to Mrs. Bing, you never really knew about a person’s personal finances.
Still, darn it all, she’d been providing the woman with a monthly income in the form of rent for two years now. Why couldn’t Mrs. Bing have given her a chance? Greed. It came down to that.
Well, she wasn’t going to let her house go without a fight.
That’s the spirit, whispered Marvella, who sometimes hung around even when Noel wasn’t working on a story.
She returned to the Fordham Enterprises home page and studied her nemesis. What a phony, insincere smile! She studied that naked ring finger on his left hand. The man was single, which might make him susceptible to female persuasion. A hot outfit, a plate of cookies...
Except, unlike Riley, she was a lousy baker. Okay, then, wine. Most people liked wine and that was more sophisticated, anyway. She knew nothing about it, but there was a new shop in town that sold wine. They could help her choose something classy.
That took care of the bribe. The hot outfit was another matter. The clothes in her closet fell into the lukewarm category.
But Jo the stylist had a whole closet full of clothes that didn’t happen to fit at the moment. And she and Noel were the same size. Noel collected her cell phone and made the fashion equivalent of a 911 call.
“I need wardrobe assistance,” she said, hardly giving Jo time to answer.
“The rats didn’t work?”
“No. And he’s over at Mrs. Bing’s right now, making her an offer she probably can’t refuse.”
“That sucks. Hey, if you need a place to stay while you’re looking for a new house, you can stay with me.”
“That’s really nice of you,” Noel said, “but I intend to stay here. I’m going to talk him out of buying my house.”
“Sounds like it’s too late for that.”
Deep down, Noel had the awful suspicion that her friend was right. “I’ve got to try. Maybe I can convince him to take back his offer.”
“Ah, so when you say wardrobe assistance, you’re thinking wardrobe malfunction.”
“Nothing that extreme,” Noel said. A vision of sexy Ben Fordham tugging at her top and setting a boob free à la Janet Jackson set her face (and other body parts) on fire. Oh, no. We’re on a mission. We’re not going to think about costume malfunctions and sexy men with brown eyes and a black heart. And she certainly wasn’t going to think about those big, strong-looking hands. He probably had big...everything.
Whew! Had Mrs. Bing turned up the thermostat? She walked over to check it. Nope, still set on sixty-eight. So the only thermostat getting turned up was hers. “I just want something sexy. I know you’ve got a lot of great stuff in your closet and we’re the same size.”
“We were, once upon a time, before I morphed into a whale,” Jo said. “Yeah, come on over tomorrow morning. I can fix you up.”
Fix you up, fixer-upper. Yes, she was the human equivalent of a fixer-upper. Her work wardrobe consisted of pajama bottoms and old sweaters, and even when she dressed up no one ever stopped her and asked where she got that cute...anything. No wonder Jo had suggested going to the mall.
“You just need some polishing,” she told herself. Hopefully, Jo could get her good and polished. A hot look combined with a bribe...that might be enough to melt Ben Fordham’s cold, cold heart.
Riley came over to pick up the rats the next morning, and when she learned about Noel’s scheduled makeover, invited herself along. “I don’t have anything else going on,” she said, and her lower lip wobbled.
“It’s okay. You will,” Noel assured her. “We’re going to have a great Christmas and a fabulous New Year’s no matter what.” Even if they were manless and homeless. Don’t think about that!
So, not thinking, Noel drove to Jo’s place, Riley and the rats following behind.
Jo took in Noel’s ancient coat, sweatpants and Uggs when she and Riley walked through the door and frowned. “Does your mommy know you’re out looking like this?” she said, and hauled Noel inside and upstairs to her bedroom, where her bed was covered with all manner of sartorial delights—camisoles, Victoria’s Secret bras and panties, jeans, leggings, blouses, jewelry, tops, sweaters, dresses.
“Better than Nordstrom, huh?” Riley cracked.
“I only need one outfit,” Noel said.
“No, you need a wardrobe. Take off those disgusting clothes.”
Noel obliged, and Jo began grabbing sweaters and blouses and holding them up to her. “No, no, not that... No, not sexy enough... Hmm, might be too small. Oh, yes!” she finally said after holding up a black, bell-sleeved winter top with a sweetheart neckline accented with crocheting around the neck. The crocheting also served as straps. Noel put it on and saw that it left her shoulders exposed and also allowed a peek at her cleavage. “That should do for starters.” Jo handed Noel some tight jeans. “Now, try these on.”
“Maybe we’re not the same size, after all,” Noel said, struggling into them.
“We are. You’re just used to pajamas,” she said, eyeing Noel’s discarded sweatpants with revulsion. “Honestly, I didn’t know they even made those anymore.”
They probably didn’t. Noel had found hers at a thrift store a couple of years ago. “I don’t wear them when we’re out doing things,” she protested.
“You shouldn’t wear them at all. And the way you dress when we’re all out doing things is barely a step above.”
She’d heard that from Jo on more than one occasion.
“It’s okay,” Riley consoled her. “She says stuff like that to me, too.”
“I only speak the truth,” Jo said, frowning at her sister’s jeans and tennis shoes.
As the oldest, Jo had tried to guide them. Maybe they were unguidable.
Noel zipped up the pants and Jo studied her carefully. “Oh, yes,” she said, nodding. “Now you’re starting to look like something this goon might want for Christmas.” She snatched up a pair of gold, chandelier earrings. “Put these on.”
Noel hesitated. “Isn’t that a little, um...”
“No, it’s not. Put them on,” Jo commanded. Noel obliged and she smiled approvingly. “Oh, yeah. Sizzle, sizzle.”
“Sizzle, sizzle is right,” Riley agreed. Jo turned Noel around so she could check herself out in the full-length mirror.
“Oh, my,” Noel said with a smile.
“Just what every man wants on his tool belt,” Jo murmured. “Now, your feet.”
“I can wear those black boots we bought.”
Jo nodded. “That’ll do.” She pointed at the Uggs. “No, wait. Put those back on. They might work. Anyway, you don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”
Noel obliged, and Jo nodded again. “Actually, that’s kind of buff and sexy. I think they’ll be fine, for the first encounter, anyway. You can wear the boots another time. Now,” she said, turning back to the pile of clothes on the bed, “what about the outfit for your second encounter?”
Noel wasn’t sure there’d be a second encounter. She wasn’t even sure she could pull off a first encounter. Jo handed her a simple white shirt.
“This,” she said. “And leggings.” She picked up a pair of patterned black leggings. “And the boots.”
“How about this necklace?” Riley suggested, holding up a chunky stone number.
“Definitely. Third encounter wear the heels and this dress.” She handed Noel a black dress with a scoop neck. “Redheads look great in black.”
More jewelry, a Victoria’s Secret bra, a black cashmere sweater, a white blouse—a wardrobe basic according to Jo—a little faux fur-trimmed jacket and Noel was in business. “Thanks,” she said as they loaded her new wardrobe into the back of her car. “I really appreciate this.”
“They’re just hanging in my closet all sad and lonely,” Jo said. “They may as well be out there doing some good. And I hope they do,” she added and hugged Noel. “Wear the coat when you go see him, but make sure you shed it the second you’re in his office. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“And don’t forget to wear makeup. And perfume.”
Perfume. Oh, yeah. That. She had a bit of Viva La Juicy left.
So, she was going to look good, smell good, and bring something good as a bribe. Hopefully, by putting her best foot forward, she could impress him enough to convince him to reconsider buying her house.
She frowned, remembering his comment about price points. Bah, humbug!
Sunday afternoon she made her way to beautiful downtown Whispering Pines in search of the perfect wine for a house thief. Thanksgiving weekend kicked off the holiday shopping season, and it appeared that every business in town (including ones that often closed on Sundays) was open. She passed her favorite bakery, Hey, Cupcake, as quickly as possible, averting her gaze from the display of holiday treats. She’d indulged in eggnog at Jo’s, and Riley, who was in a manic baking phase, had brought her M&M cookies when she came to collect the rats. If she didn’t turn off the eating machine, she’d eat herself right out of Jo’s wardrobe before she even had a chance to use it.
She did stop by Wilton’s Hardware Store to pick up a few replacement bulbs for her Christmas lights. Mr. Wilton, Jo’s father-in-law, was behind the counter and gave her a friendly hello as she approached. He had circles under his eyes and she noticed he took in a deep breath while ringing up her sale, as if he was trying to draw in extra energy. She knew the signs of overwork. She’d done that to herself a few times, staying up late at night working on illustrations for her Marvella books, trying to meet her deadline. She wondered how old he was. Her dad’s age? Older? He had some gray hairs and wrinkles. Did he want to retire?
“Men never want to retire,” Dad often said. Poor Dad.
“Hey, Darrel, what are you doing still hanging around?” called an older man as he entered the store. “Thought you’d be in Hawaii.”
“With a grandkid about to arrive? Are you kidding?” Mr. Wilton called back. “Anyway, who’s got time?” he added with a shrug and a wink for Noel.
“Looks like you’re busy,” she said. The place was full of people, buying everything from chain saws to mechanical reindeer.
“Always,” he said. “And it looks like you’re going to be busy hanging Christmas lights, young lady.” He gave back her credit card.
Young lady, code for I don’t remember your name. Hardly surprising, considering how many people came into the store. She’d been there with Jo a couple of times, but other than that she only came to buy seeds and fertilizer for her flowers from the nursery section. And Christmas lights, of course.
“I like dressing my home for the holidays,” she said, and hoped this wouldn’t be her last Christmas there.
“Be careful hanging them,” he cautioned as he handed over her purchase. “Better yet, send your boyfriend up on that ladder.”
She smiled and nodded as if she did, indeed, have a boyfriend to send up a ladder.
“Us guys are expendable.”
Not as far as Noel was concerned. She thanked him and left with her purchases. Next stop, Cheese and Wine.
She entered the shop and was almost overwhelmed by the huge selection of wines for sale. One corner had a refrigerated case displaying a variety of cheeses, and boxes of crackers surrounded artfully displayed gift baskets on a table in the center of the shop.
Several customers were browsing. One woman was gobbling little cheese bits from a tray of samples. A large man in an overcoat, carrying his purchase in a tall bag, brushed past Noel. She walked over to a shelf and tried to pretend she knew what she was doing.
“May I help you?”
Noel gave a start and turned to see a pencil-thin middle-aged woman, all dressed in black, her dark hair pulled into an elegant upswept style. She looked like a transplant from Paris. Noel took in the cashmere sweater and wool slacks, the simple gold jewelry and black heels. Another Jo Wilton. And here she was in yoga pants, her favorite ratty sweater and an old coat. She hadn’t wanted to waste any of her borrowed finery on a quick run downtown. Now she wished she had.
“I need a bottle of wine,” she said, stating the obvious.
“Did you want a red or a white?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t really drink it.”
This brought a look of disdain from the woman, but she quickly covered it with a smile. “We have some very affordable ones over here,” she said, moving Noel to the wine equivalent of a low-rent district. The way Noel was dressed, the woman probably thought she couldn’t afford much of anything. The woman probably thought right.
“Can I get something decent for twenty dollars?” Noel asked. She preferred to spend ten, but that might look cheap. A cheap bribe wouldn’t be good.
“I think so,” said the woman.
“Never be afraid to seek advice when you need it,” Mom always said.
“This is a gift. For a man. Would you recommend red or white?”
“You can’t go wrong with a nice red. We have some lovely ones from Walla Walla as well as the Yakima Valley.”
“Would you pick one for me?” Noel asked.
“Of course.” The woman plucked a bottle from the shelf. “Here’s a cab from Chateau Ste. Michelle, one of the oldest wineries in Washington. It has plenty of complexity and structure.”
And it was in her price range. “I’ll take it.”
The woman rang up the wine and put it in a cheery red bag with the shop’s gold logo. Perfect. Armed with wine and Jo’s new clothes, Noel would be a force to reckon with.
She hoped.
Monday morning she showered, washed and straightened her hair, put on makeup, and donned her man-killer clothes. Then, with the wine in tow and sprayed with enough perfume that he’d be able to smell her coming for miles, she drove downtown to the office of Fordham Enterprises. A big red truck sat in front of the building, just the kind of vehicle a construction guy would drive. So Ben Fordham was in the building.
She took a deep breath, grabbed her red bag and went into the enemy camp. The first-floor offices were occupied by the Realtor and the escrow company. The second floor held two offices. The name on one door read Elegant Interiors. The other was Fordham Enterprises.
She entered Ben Fordham’s domain and found that he had a guard on duty, a secretary. When Noel envisioned calling on Mr. House Thief, she hadn’t taken into consideration that she’d have to go through a secretary to get to him. She should’ve, though. Now, what to do? The woman was smiling politely but her eyes said, You look like competition, so I already don’t like you.
The secretary was only visible from the waist up, but Noel could tell that she’d also been to the Jo Wilton School of Fashion. She was wearing a very professional white blouse similar to the one Jo had lent Noel, and she’d gotten the memo about leaving it unbuttoned low enough to advertise. She wore a fancy gold necklace to fill in the gap and keep the professional vibe going. Her hair was an expensive shade of blond, complete with highlights and she, too, was wearing perfume. It wafted over to where Noel stood hesitating and smacked her in the face.
Was she a girlfriend or simply a girlfriend wannabe? More to the point, how was Noel going to get this wine to Ben the Bad Boy? If only Marvella would materialize and haul this fake blonde off her chair and out of the office.
“May I help you?” the secretary asked, her tone of voice adding, Not.
“I’m here to see Mr. Fordham.”
A delicately penciled eyebrow shot up. “Do you have an appointment?”
Crud. She was sunk. Now what? Get in touch with your inner Jo. What would Jo do? Noel raised her chin. “No, I don’t, but when I saw him last night he said to stop by.”
She was lying! Mom always said nothing good ever came of lying. But this was just a half lie. She had seen him a couple of nights before, so why quibble over details? And what man, if he knew he was going to get a bottle of wine, wouldn’t tell a woman to stop by?
The guard-secretary frowned. “Have a seat,” she said. “May I tell him who’s here?”
The woman whose house he’s trying to take.
Marvella arrived on the scene. Don’t frown. She’ll think you’re competition and that’ll set off her bitch alarm.
The red bag was most likely already doing that, but Noel pasted a smile on her face. “Noel,” she said and perched on the edge of a fake leather seat, part of a grouping of fake leather seats around a large coffee table strewn with magazines about home improvement. Would he remember her name? If he did, would he refuse to see her? “With his wine,” she added. That might intrigue him enough to lure him out.
The guard called the inner sanctum. “There’s a Noel here to see you.”
“With wine,” Noel prompted her.
“With wine,” the blonde said and scowled.
A moment later the door to the inner sanctum opened and out stepped Ben Fordham himself. He wore jeans and boots and a casual plaid shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. He raised both eyebrows inquisitively at the sight of Noel. She probably had about one minute before he informed her that he had an important meeting or an appointment with the devil about interest payments on the soul he was selling.
Noel jumped up from her seat and quickly moved in Ben’s direction. “I thought I might find you here,” she said, keeping her voice light and friendly. Just one house-lover visiting another.
“Uh, yes,” he said slowly. “But what are you doing here?”
She was very aware of the guard looking her up and down through narrowed eyes. Yes, what are you doing here, you and your borrowed clothes and your dangly earrings?
“Maybe we could talk about that in your office,” Noel said and swept past him on shaky legs.
“Hold my calls, Janelle,” he said and followed her in.
Okay, she’d reached the inner sanctum and she had his full attention. Yay for her.
She glanced around. So this was where Ben Fordham plotted and schemed. A desk sat on the far wall, relatively uncluttered with only a laptop and a cell phone, a pad of paper and pencil. No pictures of a girlfriend. A couple of leather chairs sat in front of a wall lined with bookshelves, which were mostly empty except for a few books on finance, and some baseball trophies. Oh, and here were two framed photographs. One showed a house with a smiling family posed on the front porch, with writing over it. Thanks for your help, Ben. Love our new digs! Another was a picture of a Santa holding a hammer. Probably him, trying to disguise himself as a nice guy.
“Noel,” he said as if trying her name on for size. “Didn’t we meet Friday night?”
Yes, we did, you skunk. You know we did! “I think we might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” Noel proffered the wine.
He took it. “That’s, uh, nice of you. And about the other night, like I said, it’s just business.”
“Not to me. I love that house.”
“It’ll be even more lovable after I’ve fixed it up.”
“Please don’t buy it,” she begged.
Now his expression was regretful. He shrugged. What can I do? “I’m sorry, but I already made your landlady an offer.”
Noel sat down hard on the nearest chair. “Oh, no.” Then she burst into tears. Her house, her sweet little house, had been snatched away from her. All her plans for it, all her dreams...
“Shit,” he muttered. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
“There are all kinds of houses in Whispering Pines. Why did you have to want mine?” she sobbed.
“Yours? Funny, I thought it belonged to Mrs. Bing.”
Was that supposed to be funny? She glared at him.
“Lady, look—”
“Noel,” she corrected him and took an angry swipe at her eyes. Good thing she was wearing waterproof mascara. She’d spent a lot of time on her makeup that morning. Big difference that had made.
“Noel. I’m not out to ruin your life.”
“I’d say turning people out of their homes at Christmas is a good way to ruin their lives.” What a heartless Scrooge.
He knelt in front of her. “I’m really sorry. I am. And nobody’s turning you out of your house at Christmas. I’m not going to close on this until the end of January, so you’ll have plenty of time to find a new house.”
“Not a house, a home. That’s my home and I love it.”
He frowned. “Then you should’ve bought it.”
“I was working on that!”
He sighed and sat back on his heels. “I don’t understand what you want me to do.”
“I want you to go away!”
He half smiled at that. “This is my office. I belong here.”
“You know what I mean. You don’t belong in my house.”
“I’m not going to be in your house other than to fix it up. Listen, if you can come up with the money you can buy it after I’ve remodeled.”
“As if I could afford it then. Anyway, it won’t be the same. You’ll come in and destroy the character.”
The frown was back. “I assume you found me on the internet. So you’ve seen my website. Do the houses I’ve flipped look like I destroyed their character?”
Well, no.
“I promise I’m not going to wreck the place,” he continued.
“You’re going to pull up floors, take out counters and change the living room floor plan and...and who knows what else.”
He studied her. “Okay, what would you do to improve the house?”
“I’d leave the built-in china closet, that’s for sure. I bet you were going to take that out.”
“I hadn’t decided.”
“It gives the house character. And you’re probably going to modernize the fireplace. All those house people do it. I’ve watched Flip or Flop.”
The frown was growing.
“Oh, never mind.” She was doing this all wrong. She hadn’t even taken off her jacket.
He laid a hand over hers and sent a jolt zipping along her nerve endings clear to her chest. “I promise I’ll retain the character of the house.”
Was it suddenly hot in here? She freed her hand and opened the jacket. His eyes slid to her cleavage. Oh, Jo, you’re so smart.
“I’m in this business because I love houses and I love fixing them up,” he said, returning his gaze to her face. He looked so sincere.
And maybe he was, but darn it all, why did he have to be sincere about her house?
“I’ve got an idea.”
“What?” she asked.
“Why don’t I stop by one night this week? You can share your vision for the place.”
And show off Close Encounter Outfit Number Two. Perhaps she could convince him to sell to her on some kind of payment plan. Maybe he’d let her rent with an option to buy. Unlike Mrs. Bing, he could probably afford to carry her.
Financially. Not off to bed. Get your mind out of the sheets! “Okay,” she said.
Don’t leave it at that, scolded Marvella. What are you thinking?
That Ben Fordham has great eyes. Those brown eyes reminded her of chocolate. She loved chocolate.
Never mind his eyes! Promise him food. You can poison him.
Poisoning was not acceptable. But food... “I can make dinner,” she suggested. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Maybe he’d think Noel was desperate for a man. Her cheeks began to heat up. “Unless you have, um, unless...”
“Dinner sounds good. How about Friday night?”
Friday night was a date night. He obviously didn’t have a girlfriend.
Excellent, said Marvella. Then you can sleep with him. That’ll sweeten him up.
I’m not pimping myself out for a house, she told both herself and Marvella.
A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Marvella said that a lot in her books, but never in this context.
Noel told her to butt out and stick to helping children in trouble. Then she smiled at Ben. “Thank you. You’re being very considerate.” Even though you did buy my house out from under me.
“I’m not out to make enemies,” he said. “In fact, I’ve never found myself in a situation like this before.”
He was looking at her so earnestly. He sure was...masculine. The sizzle on her face slipped way south. It was time to get out of this very hot office.
Noel stood. “Well, thanks. I guess you know where I live,” she added.
He stood, too. Oh, he was...big. He smiled and all the hot spots got hotter. “I think I can find you.”
She swallowed and nodded. “I’d better go,” she said, backing up. She backed into the door and her face got even hotter. “Um, I’ll see you Friday, then.”
“What time?”
Anytime you want. “Six?”
“I’ll be there.”
She nodded again and then opened the door and hurried out.
Janelle, the secretary/guard, glared at her as she did her jacket back up. “Have a nice day.” Translation: I’d like to poke out your eye with a candy cane.
“Thank you,” Noel said with dignity and left.
Okay, mission accomplished. Sort of.
Sleep with him, urged Marvella. It will help the cause.
She was certainly not going to lower herself to that. But if she could convince him to sell the house to her, if he was willing to be creative and make a deal, maybe they could both end up with a happy New Year.
If not, poison him, Marvella advised.
Right.
Chapter Five (#u6bb90c9d-0f9e-5c55-aa0f-fa78f3b99f22)
Monday meant a school day. Normally Riley was happy to get back to work after a holiday weekend. Not today. A woman shouldn’t have to go to work and see the man-stealer who took her man. A woman shouldn’t have to come into the teacher’s lounge at lunch and find the man-stealer in there feeding her skinny, undernourished body with yogurt, passing up the pumpkin bread Marge Connor had brought in while mere mortals who had no power to resist snagged a piece and ate it to console themselves for their romantic loss.
Riley took her pumpkin bread and her sack lunch and seated herself at the far end of the table, determined to ignore the man-stealer. For her, Emily Dieb no longer existed.
“Hi, Riley,” Marge said from where she stood at the counter, helping herself to a cup of coffee. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
Rotten, thanks to that woman who pretended to be my friend and then stole my fiancé. Riley shot a quick glance in Emily’s direction. Look at her over there, all remorseful and pleading, that sad expression in her eyes, like she really feels bad about what she did.
“It was great,” Riley lied, and then, before Marge could ask for any details on her wonderful weekend with Sean, she changed the subject. “I’m so glad you brought in some of your pumpkin bread.”
“I had some left from the weekend with the kids and I had to get it out of the house.” Marge patted one hefty hip. “There’s been too much on the lips and now it’s forever on the hips.”
“You look fine,” Riley told her. “There’s nothing wrong with looking like a woman.” Instead of a skinny, man-thieving stick.
“Well, that’s kind of you to say,” Marge said. “I really should go on a diet, but I’m not even going to attempt that until after the holidays. Speaking of, how are the wedding plans coming along?”
Riley’s face suddenly burned. “Um, you’ll be getting an email about that soon.”
Marge’s brows knit. “Trouble?”
“No trouble.” Just no wedding. “You know, I’ve got some things I need to do in my room.” With that, she gathered up her turkey sandwich and skedaddled. She was out the door and halfway down the hall when she heard Emily calling her.
“Riley, wait. Please wait.”
She kept walking and now Emily was running. No running in the halls. Riley frowned and kept going.
A couple of little girls passed her. “Ms. Dieb’s running in the hall,” one of them reported.
I’ll send her to the principal’s office. Maybe she’d like to hit on him, add him to her man collection.
“Riley, wait,” Emily said, catching up with her.
Did she really think Riley was going to stand there right in the middle of the hall and chat with her about their reality TV lives? Riley didn’t wait.
Emily fell in step. “Are you ever going to be able to forgive me?”
“At some point, yes. But I’ll never be able to stand being around you. Good luck and happy New Year,” she finished and marched into her classroom and shut the door. Then she sat down at her desk and indulged in yet another good cry. Not that she had more than a few minutes to cry. Recess would soon be over and then she’d have to be on top of her game. The kids would be back in the room, and it would be time to go over math skills.
She looked around at her little kingdom of learning. It held eight tables, each with four chairs grouped around them so students could work together on projects. One side of the room was lined with a shelf of cubbyholes for students to store their coats and backpacks. Then there was the reading corner, with tubs of books and carpet squares for comfy kid seating. The table by the window housed science displays—a small aquarium, a terrarium and now Noel’s rats. Computers sat at the back of the room, and the walls held everything from a whiteboard to a TV, along with posters promoting reading and math skills, plus her holiday decorations. Here in this room, thirty-two children adored her. Here her life was under control. Here was where Emily used to stop by after class and suggest they get a latte at Java Josie’s.
Oh, no. No more thinking about Emily.
Here was where Sean had sent flowers for her birthday.
Especially no more thinking about Sean!
Thankfully, the bell rang, and within minutes rosy-cheeked children were pouring into the room, laughing and talking and still hyped up from chasing each other around the playground. The room smelled of sweaty little bodies and fresh air. She quickly took care of crowd control and got them settled down. It didn’t take much because Monday after recess they always played Wise Old Owl, the trivia game she’d created from past assignments. Her students competed for such treasures as lip balm, glow bracelets, tentacle balls and stickers. She loved this game as much as the kids did, and soon they were deep into it, and thoughts of Sean the disloyal and Emily the Man-Stealer fell away. Thank God for work.
But then work ended and the orange school buses chugged off with her thirty-two distractions and Riley was left alone with her sad self. What would she ask Santa for when she and Jo and Noel went to the mall? How about a stocking full of happiness? She could use some.
You need to refocus, she told herself. You still have lots of good things in your life.
It was true. She did. She loved her job. She had a great family. She was about to become an aunt, for heaven’s sake. And she had close friends. Faithful friends. Well, most of them were. The thought of Emily’s betrayal left her needing a cookie. Maybe she’d bake some brownies. Yes, chocolate cured all ills. She’d barely gotten home when her mother called. “How are you doing?” Mom asked.
“Fine,” Riley lied. Tears began to spill and she sniffed.
“It’ll get better once you have a little distance from this. Would you like me to call the golf club?”
She was tempted to hand off the ugly chore of canceling her venue to her mom, but she resisted. “No. I reserved it. I’ll cancel it.”
“All right, if you’re sure. I think we’ve gotten hold of all the family now.”
Goody. All her relatives knew about the great Thanksgiving dumping. “Thanks, Mom,” she managed.
“And your sister’s got most of your friends covered. But you’ll probably have to let your fellow teachers know.”
Ugh. Telling the people she worked with every day was going to be the hardest.
“I’m really sorry this happened,” Mom said.
That made two of them.
“But remember, all things work together for good.”
Riley was sure this dilemma was the exception to the rule, but she said, “I know.”
“Meanwhile, pamper yourself.”
“I am. I’m going to make some brownies.”
“Good idea,” Mom said. “That can be your reward after you call The Pines.”
Subtle. She’d call and cancel the venue, but first things first.
She ended the call with her mother and got out her ingredients and got busy. Soon her apartment was filled with the aroma of chocolate. She baked up half a batch of brownies (a girl had to have some self-control, after all) and then ate half the pan. So, if Riley baked half a batch of brownies and only ate half, how many brownies did Riley eat? Too many!
After she’d fortified herself, she sent out a group email to the Whispering Pines Elementary School faculty. Due to circumstances beyond my control... Scratch that. I hope you haven’t bought a wedding gift yet. LOL. Ugh. Someone among us is a traitor, therefore... She hit delete again. She finally settled on:
Just a quick note to let you know Sean and I have called off our wedding. It would appear we’re not a match, after all. Thank you for your understanding.
By the time she hit Send she was emotionally drained. She’d cancel the venue tomorrow. Or the day after. She’d get to it soon.
Riley didn’t get around to canceling the venue, but over the next few days she did create more story problems with new batches of cookies. If Riley eats half the package of gumdrops before putting them in her gumdrop cookies how many pounds did she add to her thighs? And... If Riley makes a dozen sugar cookies and takes them to school tomorrow, how many would she have to force-feed Emily to put even an ounce on her thighs?
When December 1 rolled around, she was sick of story problems, sick of cookies and sick of having to see Emily. And more than ready to pick up Jo and Noel, go to the mall and see Santa.
They’d all agreed to dress Christmassy for their holiday photo op, and Jo was looking chic in a cream-colored sweater accented with a red scarf and her maternity jeans. Her hair fell in a shimmering cascade to her shoulders, and she wore gold ballet slippers and a gold bracelet and earrings. Noel had donned a green sweater, a pair of Jo’s pre-pregnancy black leggings and her new black boots.
Riley was in a red sweater, jeans and her favorite ankle boots. No shimmering highlights. Maybe if she’d highlighted her hair, gone more blond like Jo...
Okay, now you’re just being stupid, she told herself. You look fine. Well, except for the extra cookie pounds she’d put on.
“We look good,” Jo said, confirming it, and Riley smiled.
It was pushing six as they made their way to Santa’s Play Land, and most people were home having dinner. The few left in the mall were down at the food court stuffing themselves with cheap Chinese food, hot wings, blended drinks and cookies, so there was no line of parents and offspring waiting to see Santa, who was sitting all by himself on his holiday throne in front of his red shack.
This year’s version was sure authentic-looking, down to the nose like a cherry. Or berry. Or tomato. Whatever. His beard was full, but well-trimmed, and both that and the hair under his hat were white as new-fallen snow. The photographer wasn’t your typical photo-snapping twenty-something. This year Mrs. Santa had come along for the ride. She appeared to be somewhere in her seventies and was as round as her famous spouse. Her hair was equally white and done up in tight little curls, like grandmas in the fifties used to sport. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose and she wore a ruffled white blouse and a red skirt over which she’d tied a ruffled and beribboned candy-striped apron. The pair looked like they’d stepped right out of the poem that had made the modern Santa so popular.
Santa watched the three women approach with a cocked head and a grin. “I’ve been expecting you ladies,” he greeted them.
“I think the only one expecting here is me,” Jo cracked and patted her gigantic baby bulge.
“Ah, yes. You are about to experience a lot of Christmas joy, young lady,” he told her.
They gathered around him. What kind of aftershave was the man wearing? It was great. He smelled like peppermint and balsam.
“So, Santa, can you guess what we want?” Jo asked.
“I have a pretty good idea. I keep a list of who’s naughty and who’s nice.”
Jo snickered.
“You’re the easiest of all,” he told her. “I suspect you’d like that baby to come soon.”
“You got that right.”
“And you two ladies,” he said, turning his benevolent gaze on Riley and Noel. “How about you? Old Santa knows what you want but you go ahead and tell him.”
I’d like a man, Riley thought. A perfect man. “I’ll just settle for having my picture taken.”
Santa lifted a bushy, white eyebrow. “You’re not going to come right out and ask for that perfect man?”
“What?” Riley stammered. Had she spoken out loud and not realized it?
“Ladies, it’s time Santa brought you all what you deserve.” He held out a hand, beckoning them to come closer. Then he settled Noel on his leg. “Tell me what you’d like, my dear.”
“A house,” she said. “I want to buy the house I’m living in.”
“I think that can be arranged,” he said. “And I bet you’ll want to start a family in that house. How about a good man to go with it? There’s nothing like going through life with someone who loves you,” he added, smiling at Mrs. Claus, who was holding her camera and beaming back at him.
“That would be nice,” Noel admitted. “But I’ll settle for a house.”
“You don’t believe in love?” Santa asked. “Or maybe you don’t believe in Santa.”
Noel’s face turned as red as the old guy’s suit.
“That’s fine,” he said. “We’ll make a believer out of you. I have the perfect man in mind.”
“There’s no such thing,” Riley muttered.
“The one I have in mind for you will be,” Santa said, drawing her onto his other leg. “You be on the lookout. You’re going to find yours in quite a memorable way.” He smiled at Noel. “You’ve already met yours.”
Noel gaped and he chuckled.
“Oh, you’re really good,” said Jo.
“I try to be. Now, as for you, young lady.”
She cut him off. “I already have a man.”
“Yes, you do, and he’s the perfect man for you. But you have another one who’s going to arrive any minute.”
Okay, this guy was creepy.
“Oooh,” Jo wailed and Riley turned to see her looking down at her wet pants in disgust. “My water broke,” she announced.
“What!” Riley jumped up.
“Get me out of here!” Jo demanded.
“Don’t panic,” Riley said. Where had she parked her car?
“We can be at the hospital in ten minutes.” Noel took Jo’s arm as if she was an invalid. Riley took her other arm and they rushed her off the platform.
“Ho, ho, ho,” chuckled Santa. “Hope he waits that long.”
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Sheila Roberts
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Three Christmas Wishes, электронная книга автора Sheila Roberts на английском языке, в жанре современные любовные романы