A Town Called Christmas

Mike nodded and pulled out a card at random. A cardinal in the snow.

He advanced along the aisle. Wrapping paper, twig reindeer, needlepoint Christmas stockings. Porcelain plates painted with winter scenes. Matching coffee mugs. What did a man without the proper Christmas spirit get to thank his best friend’s parents for welcoming him into their home and holiday?

“Is it a fix-up?” the clerk asked her other customer. “You and Oliver?”

“Good grief, no.” The blonde seemed alarmed by the idea. Her hands flashed over her hair before tucking a lock of it behind one pink-rimmed ear. A small gold hoop pierced the lobe. “In my situation? No.”

Mike glanced away so he wouldn’t be caught staring. Situation?

“Not even my mother, desperate as she is to marry me off, could think I’d possibly be interested in…” The woman shook her head in the emphatic negative.

Desperate?

The sales clerk clucked. “Then she’s still on your case?”

“In her own way.” A shrug. “You know my mom—she’s so proper. This is hard for her.”

“Well, she probably knows that Oliver’s always had a crush on you. Just about everyone knows.”

“Maybe he used to, but he must be over that. I was gone for years.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” The clerk’s lips pursed. “Haven’t you read any of his books?”

“The science fiction? Not in a long time.”

“And the romances. He writes them under the name Olivia Devaine. You’ve been missing out.”

The blonde’s gaze skipped sideways toward Mike. He bent his head over the plate display. “Oh, dear,” she said quietly. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

The clerk beamed. She was enjoying herself. “I’ve gotta tell ya. Every single one of his heroines bears a striking resemblance to you.”

The woman groaned. “Are you certain you’re not reading too much between the lines?”

“The latest one’s titled Marianne’s Homecoming. See for yourself.” The clerk pulled a well-worn paperback from beneath the counter and tossed it onto the glass. “You can have it, if you want. I’ve finished. It’s all about a lady executive named Marianne who returns to her hometown to stop an evil developer from bulldozing her family homestead. The hero is an investigative reporter.”

With some hesitation, the blonde picked up the book. “That’s not so very much like—”

“His name is Tolliver. Rand Tolliver.”

“Please. Stop.” She laughed. “Are there love scenes? I won’t be able to look Oliver in the eye if there are steamy love scenes.”

Colored lights winked off the lenses of the clerk’s oversize glasses as she wagged her head. “There are a few kisses, but nothing explicit, darn it. Oliver’s books never get too sexy. He closes the bedroom door, as they say.” She hunkered down, her elbows on the counter. “If it wasn’t for Dolly getting him liquored up at the Kiwanis picnic and taking him out to her van, he’d probably still be a virgin.”

The blonde blinked. “That’s old gossip. And private. You don’t know what happened.”

“I know that Dolly was hoping she’d get preggie so Oliver would marry her. She was certain he was rich, being a famous author, you know.”

The blonde’s head snapped back. Her cheeks had turned hot pink, but her expression was glacial. She yanked a fountain pen set from the display and set the case on the glass with a distinct click. “I’ll take this. I’m sure a writer can always use a new pen.”

“Oh. Um, hey, I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” The blonde reached for her purse. “It’s fine. Really. I’m not much in the mood for gossip these days, if you know what I mean.”

Mike gripped one of the plates. He didn’t know what she meant, but his curiosity was certainly roused. Suddenly he found himself hoping that the blonde wasn’t secretly pining for that Oliver guy. Shouldn’t matter to him when he was here for only seven days…except that seven days seemed a much shorter stay than it had fifteen minutes ago.

Christmas in Christmas might not be so bleak after all.

He walked toward the register with the plate and the card. The blonde’s head dipped forward while she dropped coins into a zippered compartment of her wallet. She took her bagged item from the clerk and tucked that, the paperback book and the wallet inside her leather bag, not looking up until Mike stood right beside her.

“Thanks,” she said to the clerk. Finally she glanced at Mike. He was six-one, but she was only an inch or two shorter in her stacked boot heels. A lovely smile flitted across her face as she nodded at him. Her nose was aquiline, with bold cheekbones set high in well-rounded cheeks. Her eyes were a dazzling blue that took his breath away. “Merry Christmas.”

He made a raspy sound. “Merry Christmas.”

She turned with a hitch of her purse strap and a swirl of the nubby coat, yanking her red hat over her head as she departed. The bell chimed when she opened the door. A snow flurry swept inside, accompanying the blast of cold air.

Mike stared after her, even when she was gone. His pulse ticked like the ignition of a gas burner. Heat crawled up his throat. There’s something about her. Somethingvery merry.

“Didja find what you were looking for?”

“Uh, yes.” He handed his selections to the clerk. “I’ll take this and the card. Gift-wrapped, please.”

“Sure thing. Let me get you a box.”

Mike waited impatiently while the clerk boxed the plate and carefully wrapped the purchase in paper covered with candy canes. She chatted him up, managing to establish that he was only visiting and that the TV6 weatherman was forecasting a blizzard for Christmas Eve, three days hence.

“You mean this isn’t a blizzard?” Mike asked absentmindedly while he fingered a couple of twenties. He’d pulled out his billfold to have payment ready even before the clerk had totaled the charges. He was being ridiculous. The blonde would be long gone by the time he reached the street.

But it was a small town. He could run in to her again.

The clerk chuckled while she rang him up. “You’re not from around here, are you? This is a flurry.”

“The only snow I’ve experienced was on a ski holiday in the mountains.” His family had once been big on skiing vacations, but that had stopped when he was seventeen. He hadn’t been back to the mountains since.

“Merry Christmas to you,” the clerk called after him as he strode toward the door with his coat hanging open.

“And you,” he returned.

The street was empty. Michael buttoned up, put on his gloves and checked his watch. Only five-thirty and the wan sun had completely disappeared. The streetlights had come on, illuminating the flakes that filtered out of the vast charcoal darkness above. He was stuck in a snow globe.

He tilted back his head. More of the snowflakes melted on his face and lips, but this time he didn’t mind.

Let it snow.

A car pulled out of a small parking lot adjacent to the grocery store. Headlights cut across Mike’s face, blinding him for an instant. Laughter rang out from the tavern as its door opened and closed. She might be there, toasting the holidays.

He was about to step over the snowdrift at the curb when he thought of the grocery store instead. I should get wine. And chocolates for the sisters. There’ll still be time to look for the blonde.

The store was named Ed’s Fine Foods and it was chockablock with overstocked shelves. The aisles were only wide enough for one cart at a time to pass among paths narrowed further by freestanding displays holding mismatched assortments of goods. Mike brushed the snow off his shoulders and stepped over a dirty puddle just inside the glass doors. He passed up the cart to take a handbasket and began to wend his way through the aisles in search of the liquor department.