Christie Ridgway - Must Love Mistletoe

Her father moved back, clapping his palms together in his hearty way. “Surprised, huh?”

Her smile flitted again. “Surprised.”

“But tell me this is a good time to visit.” He propped his fists on his hips.

“A great time. It’s always great to see you.”

It was always great to be reminded of the hard lessons of a lifetime, she told herself, especially when the two men who had meant the most in hers were suddenly so close again.

Taking a step away from her father, she checked over her shoulder. Finn was still high on the ladder. The distance from the both of them made it easier to breathe.

Bailey Sullivan’s Vintage Christmas

Facts & Fun Calendar

December 18

England’s King Henry III was known to put a merchant out of business if he didn’t like the size of his end-of-year cash gift.

Finn watched Bailey close the door to The Perfect Christmas, the bells on the handle chiming cheerfully, in direct contrast to the scowl on her face. “Thank God that’s over,” she said, peering through the glass at the thirty four-year-olds marching down the short front walk. “I’ll need at least the next hour until we open to wipe their finger smudges off everything.”

She made her way toward his place by the cash register, then stopped short by one of the round display tables, her scowl deepening. “Will you look at this? Somebody mixed up the reindeer ornaments. Now the antlered ones and the ones without antlers are all mixed up.”

Finn rubbed his chin. “I think I noticed a few of your, uh, guests playing with them. They wanted to start some reindeer families.”

Bailey looked up. “What?”

“How else are you going to make reindeer babies?”

Shaking her head, she started resorting the ornaments into their side-by-side baskets. “Who invited the little Santaholics anyway?” she muttered. “It’s not as if any of them had a dime in their itty-bitty pockets to spend. We need cash flow, not a crowd of penniless browsers.”

Preschoolers, penniless browsers. Okay. Finn swallowed his grin and threaded his way through the displays. God, he couldn’t resist her, not her smiles, not her scowls, not even her bad temper over being stuck with the store this Christmas. Yeah, he was still having his own bad moments, times when he felt like he was an eyelash away from putting his fist through a wall, but just a stroke of Bailey’s skin, the touch of her lips eased his edginess.

She was the channel for all his frustrated energy.

Standing behind her, he brushed the hair away from her nape so he could kiss the soft, warm skin, and tried to keep the laughter out of his voice. “Wouldn’t that be you?”

Her fingers went lax at the touch of his lips. She leaned her head back against his chest and he kissed her temple and then licked the lobe of her ear. She shivered. “Wouldn’t that be me, what?”

“Who invited the Santaholics in?” She was melting like butter against him and he cupped her shoulders, then ran his hands down her arms so they could link fingers. “Wasn’t that you who came in early today to host this special visit?”

“I came in early today, but I didn’t invite them to make this ‘special visit.’ That would be the bedpan-wielding battle-ax Mrs. Mohn. It was a reflex from the days when she was my school principal. I had to say yes when she phoned. She has a mean voice.”

And you don’t have a mean bone in this pretty little body of yours, no matter how hard you try to make people believe it. Finn snuggled his cheek against hers. “Admit you liked them here, GND. Admit you love The Perfect Christmas.”

She stiffened in his arms. “Give me a break. You know how I feel about this place. About the whole stupid season.”

He thought he really did know and suddenly it seemed imperative for her to admit it. “Bailey-”

“Let’s talk about you instead.” She pulled free of him and spun around, crossing her arms at her chest. “How did your dinner go last night?”

“Fine.” Damn it, she was dodging. And damn it, he was dodging too, but this was his line of questioning and he needed to follow it through. “But let’s get back to-”

“You.” She dropped her defensive arms and moved forward to wrap them around him instead. Her smile was as much crafty as it was seductive. “You left my inner sex fiend panting yesterday. You had her all hepped up with no place to go.” She rubbed her hips against his, the witch. “Or come, as the case may be.”

He groaned, knowing any protest was futile. He was a goner against this grown-up GND. “Bailey…” She cut off further words by drawing his head down and sliding her tongue into his mouth. Heat rocketed up his spine and his hands splayed along her back.

“I’ll make it up to you now,” he said against her mouth. His lips trailed to the sweet spot behind her ear. “Don’t make me wait until tonight.”

She stiffened against him again. “I’m…I’m afraid I have something I have to do tonight.”

“What?”

“My, uh, father stopped by the house yesterday.” She pushed his chest away. “When you were dealing with the lights.”

“I didn’t see Dan.”

She shook her head. “Not Dan. My real father. He shows up from time to time. The law firm told him where he could find me and he stopped by on his way to go beach camping in Mexico. He wants to take me out to dinner tonight.”

There was a weird, forced little smile on her face, which caused Finn’s sixth sense to start whispering in his ear. “Maybe-”

The jingle of the front door bells broke in. They turned their heads, then separated from each other as two people-a woman and a little boy-entered the store.

“I’m sorry for the interruption,” the woman said. She had on red sweat pants and a white sweatshirt. An official-looking badge from Beachside Preschool was pinned on her collar and stated her name was “Miss Michele.” Her mouth pursed and she sighed as she glanced down at the scruffy charge by her side. “Angel has something to say to you.”

Naming her son Angel must have been wishful thinking on his mother’s part. If his dark, wavy hair had been clean and combed at some point, he’d long ago found some sand to rub through it. There was a rip in the pocket of his shorts, and the neck of his stained T-shirt was stretched out as if he’d been hanging from it.

His black-lashed eyes were trained on the toes of his grubby sneakers that had parted company with the soles. If Finn had to guess, he’d say the kid was pretending he was somewhere else.

Miss Michele gripped the little boy’s upper arm, giving it an impatient shake. “Angel?” She cast an apologetic look at Bailey. “This one causes us trouble.”

Finn felt himself twitch. This one causes us trouble. The class would be quiet if it wasn’t for this one. This one got us all kicked out of the museum. We’d have peace in the family, Rita, if it wasn’t for this one.

Frowning, Bailey flicked him a glance as if she’d noticed his reaction, then she crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her gaze between Angel’s face and Miss Michele’s. “What’s the problem?”

Miss Michele shook the little boy again. “An-”

“You can let go of him.” Bailey had enough ice in her voice to build igloos at the North Pole. Finn didn’t know if she was pissed at the woman, the kid, the interruption of her morning’s work, or all three. “Just tell me why you came back.”

“One of the other children let us know he broke something,” Miss Michele answered, dropping the little boy’s arm.

Bailey gazed around the room. “Broke what?”

Still staring at his toes, the kid dug his fingers in the pocket that wasn’t ripped. Out came a palm-sized, ceramic figurine of Santa Claus, now decapitated. He held the two pieces out in both grubby hands.

“The children were told not to touch anything,” Miss Michele intoned.

Bailey face appeared etched in stone. “I remember. I believe I was the one who made that request.” She stepped forward and the little kid jolted back, as if expecting a slap.

Finn froze. Then he shot a look at Bailey, wondering if she’d read it as he had.

“Accident,” the kid mumbled. “Didn’t mean to.”

Miss Michele sighed, looking less of an ogre now, and more just worn out. “Yes, well, Angel, you sure have a lot of didn’t-mean-to moments. The preschool’s sorry, Ms. Sullivan, and I’m sure Angel is too.”

It was Bailey’s turn to say something. “I-”

“Santa won’t bring me nuthin’ will he?” Angel’s words rushed out and he looked up, his gaze latching on to Bailey like a laser beam.

She stilled-the pose of a deer hoping she’d be lost in the forest camouflage.

“My brother says there’s no such thing as Santa. And that my mom won’t bring us nuthin’ either.” Angel didn’t blink. “What do you say?”

Slowly, oh-so-damn-slowly, Bailey turned her head and looked at Finn.

He didn’t know what the hell she was thinking, but he could imagine any number of things she might say in response to the boy.

You might as well find out now, kid…

Nothing in life comes for free…

Or perhaps what she’d told Finn in his loft that fateful night: We thought it was magic. But there’s no such thing.

His gut clenched, his breath backing up in his lungs.

With a little shrug, she turned her gaze back on the boy. “Angel. Buddy.” She took the ceramic pieces out of the boy’s hands and fitted them back together. Then she held up the almost-as-new figurine. “All I can tell you…” She cleared her throat, started again. “All I can tell you is that you just gotta believe.”

Finn and Angel exhaled in identical relieved puffs of air. Even Miss Michele had her holiday face back on. Finn walked the boy and the woman to the front door. The two left for the Beachside Preschool with a happy jingle of the front bell. He thought he saw the little guy skip a couple of times down the sidewalk.