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Call Me Mrs Miracle
Debbie Macomber
�Perfect for fans of Maeve Binchy’ - CandisA heartwarming new Christmas novel from Debbie Macomber, internationally bestselling author of Rose Harbor in Bloom, Blossom Street Brides and Starry Night.This Christmas, Emily Merkle (call her Mrs. Miracle!) is working in the toy department at Finley's, the last family-owned department store in New York City. And her boss is none other than Jake Finley, the owner's son.For Jake, holiday memories of brightly wrapped gifts, decorated trees and family were destroyed in a Christmas Eve tragedy years before. Now Christmas means just one thing to him and to his father. Profit. Because they need a Christmas miracle to keep the business afloat.Holly Larson needs a miracle, too. She wants to give her eight-year-old nephew, Gabe, the holiday he deserves. Holly's widowed brother is in the army and won't be home for Christmas, but at least she can get Gabe that toy robot from Finley's, the one gift he desperately wants. If she can figure out how to afford it.Fortunately, it's Mrs. Miracle to the rescue. Next to making children happy, she likes nothing better than helping others and that includes doing a bit of matchmaking!This Christmas will be different. For all of them.
Mrs. Miracle on 34th Street
This Christmas, Emily Merkle (just call her Mrs. Miracle) is working in the toy department of Finley’s, the last family-owned department store in New York City. And her boss is none other than Jake Finley, the owner’s son.
For Jake, holiday memories of brightly wrapped gifts, decorated trees and family gatherings were destroyed in a Christmas Eve tragedy years before. Now Christmas means only one thing to him—and to his father. Profit. Because they need a Christmas miracle to keep the business afloat.
Holly Larson needs a miracle, too. She wants to give her eight-year-old nephew, Gabe, the holiday he deserves. Holly’s widowed brother is in the army and won’t be home for Christmas, but at least she can get Gabe that toy robot from Finley’s, the one gift he desperately wants. If she can figure out how to pay for it…
Fortunately, it’s Mrs. Miracle to the rescue. Next to making children happy, she likes nothing better than helping others—and that includes doing a bit of matchmaking!
This Christmas will be different. For all of them.
A story that’s destined to become a Christmas classic from the Official Storyteller of Christmas.
Dear Friends (#ulink_6b690ff9-dd13-58a8-a780-e4493d4a2ad3),
Merry Christmas! I’m excited that two of my favorite holiday stories are being published together. Call Me Mrs. Miracle was written after the success of the Hallmark adaptation of Mrs. Miracle, which ranked as their highest rated movie of 2009. Call Me Mrs. Miracle, also starring the talented Doris Roberts, again scored as the network’s most viewed movie of the year.
The bonus story in this collection, The Christmas Basket, is another of my favorites. It won a RITA® Award, which is Romance Writers of America’s highest award for excellence in writing. That’s especially gratifying, because it was chosen by my peers. So you can see that both books signify high points in my writing career.
The holidays are a special time with our children and grandchildren, a time of gathering together, building memories, of laughter and fun. My wish is that these two books will be part of your holiday enjoyment.
Merry Christmas!
P.S. You can reach me in a number of ways—through my webpage at www.debbiemacomber.com (http://www.debbiemacomber.com) or on Facebook. Or if you wish, you can reach me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366.
Make time for friends. Make time for (#ulink_85f18012-cc94-5a03-a6de-639bb6e48b54)
DEBBIE (#ulink_85f18012-cc94-5a03-a6de-639bb6e48b54)MACOMBER (#ulink_85f18012-cc94-5a03-a6de-639bb6e48b54)
CEDAR COVE
16 Lighthouse Road
204 Rosewood Lane
311 Pelican Court
44 Cranberry Point
50 Harbor Street
6 Rainier Drive
74 Seaside Avenue
8 Sandpiper Way
92 Pacific Boulevard
1022 Evergreen Place
1105 Yakima Street
A Merry Little Christmas
(featuring 1225 Christmas Tree Lane and 5-B Poppy Lane)
BLOSSOM STREET
The Shop on Blossom Street
A Good Yarn
Susannah's Garden
(previously published as Old Boyfriends)
Back on Blossom Street
(previously published as Wednesdays at Four)
Twenty Wishes
Summer on Blossom Street
Hannah's List
A Turn in the Road
Thursdays at Eight
Christmas in Seattle
Falling for Christmas
A Mother's Gift
Angels at Christmas
A Mother's Wish
Be My Valentine
Happy Mother’ s Day
On a Snowy Night
Summer in Orchard Valley
Summer Wedding Bells
Summer Brides
This Matter of Marriage
THE MANNINGS
The Manning Sisters
The Manning Brides
The Manning Grooms
THE DAKOTAS
Dakota Born
Dakota Home
Always Dakota
The Farmer Takes a Wife
(Exclusive short story)
Call Me Mrs Miracle
The Christmas Basket
Debbie Macomber
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u684348a8-d433-5156-a27e-bfe16d6bf09d)
Back Cover Text (#u94e0da9a-c75b-5720-ab8e-6bb9235fc5e4)
Dear Reader (#ulink_9c0a441e-400f-5ced-8bbf-b51237a60d08)
Make time for friends. Make time for DEBBIE MACOMBER (#ulink_195d895b-0e9e-520a-8d41-e15a376a9a33)
Title Page (#u5d67d36c-5174-5349-b3e8-b70761b1ca0d)
Call Me Mrs Miracle (#ulink_1f7ef8a2-f298-5010-b5fc-1969f1ce0893)
Dedication (#ue6f00c13-2930-58b7-a0f0-2009b9a48aa6)
Chapter One (#ulink_e13dc01b-cd8a-5173-b2eb-8153e1759238)
Chapter Two (#ulink_3af1e9bc-4ba5-5ddd-bd8d-f385104a0908)
Chapter Three (#ulink_acc60570-ef06-54fb-9a0d-7f855bef87a5)
Chapter Four
Holiday Sugar Cookies
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Fried Chicken
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Baby Arugula Salad with Goat Cheese, Pecans and Pomegranate Seeds
Chapter Nineteen
The Christmas Basket
Dedication (#u11e3aceb-4913-5763-bb8e-2aa60222deea)
Noelle McDowell’s Journal
Chapter One
Noelle McDowell’s Journal
Chapter Two
Noelle McDowell’s Journal
Chapter Three
Noelle McDowell’s Journal
Chapter Four
Noelle McDowell’s Journal
Chapter Five
Noelle McDowell’s Journal
Chapter Six
Noelle McDowell’s Journal
Chapter Seven
A Note From Noelle McDowell
Chapter Eight
Women’s Century Club
Chapter Nine
Sarah McDowell
Copyright (#uc9a28af5-bdf5-5fe9-ad90-8f4c021a7595)
Call Me Mrs Miracle (#ulink_1f7ef8a2-f298-5010-b5fc-1969f1ce0893)
Debbie Macomber
To
Dan and Sally Wigutow
and
Caroline Moore
in appreciation for bringing
Mrs. Miracle
to life
One (#ulink_d0694dd6-6188-5408-9120-55ed2b583bad)
Need a new life? God takes trade-ins.
—Mrs. Miracle
Jake Finley waited impatiently to be ushered into his father’s executive office—the office that would one day be his. The thought of eventually stepping into J. R. Finley’s shoes excited him. Even though he’d slowly been working his way through the ranks, he’d be the first to admit he still had a lot to learn. However, he was willing to do whatever it took to prove himself.
Finley’s was the last of the family-owned department stores in New York City. His great-grandfather had begun the small mercantile on East 34th Street more than seventy years earlier. In the decades since, succeeding Finleys had opened branches in the other boroughs and then in nearby towns. Eventually the chain had spread up and down the East Coast.
“Your father will see you now,” Mrs. Coffey said. Dora Coffey had served as J.R.’s executive assistant for at least twenty-five years and knew as much about the company as Jake did—maybe more. He hoped that when the time came she’d stay on, although she had to be close to retirement age.
“Thank you.” He walked into the large office with its panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline. He’d lived in the city all his life, but this view never failed to stir him, never failed to lift his heart. No place on earth was more enchanting than New York in December. He could see a light snow drifting down, and the city appeared even more magical through that delicate veil.
Jacob R. Finley, however, wasn’t looking at the view. His gaze remained focused on the computer screen. And his frown told Jake everything he needed to know.
He cleared his throat, intending to catch J.R.’s attention, although he suspected that his father was well aware of his presence. “You asked to see me?” he said. Now that he was here, he had a fairly good idea what had initiated this summons. Jake had hoped it wouldn’t happen quite so soon, but he should’ve guessed Mike Scott would go running to his father at the first opportunity. Unfortunately, Jake hadn’t had enough time to prove that he was right—and Mike was wrong.
“How many of those SuperRobot toys did you order?” J.R. demanded, getting straight to the point. His father had never been one to lead gently into a subject. “Intellytron,” he added scornfully.
“Also known as Telly,” Jake said in a mild voice.
“How many?”
“Five hundred.” As if J.R. didn’t know.
“What?”
Jake struggled not to flinch at his father’s angry tone, which was something he rarely heard. They had a good relationship, but until now, Jake hadn’t defied one of his father’s experienced buyers.
“For how many stores?”
“Just here.”
J.R.’s brow relaxed, but only slightly. “Do you realize those things retail for two hundred and fifty dollars apiece?”
J.R. knew the answer to that as well as Jake did. “Yes.”
His father stood and walked over to the window, pacing back and forth with long, vigorous strides. Although in his early sixties, J.R. was in excellent shape. Tall and lean, like Jake himself, he had dark hair streaked with gray and his features were well-defined. No one could doubt that they were father and son. J.R. whirled around, hands linked behind him. “Did you clear the order with...anyone?”
Jake was as straightforward as his father. “No.”
“Any particular reason you went over Scott’s head?”
Jake had a very good reason. “We discussed it. He didn’t agree, but I felt this was the right thing to do.” Mike Scott had wanted to bring a maximum of fifty robots into the Manhattan location. Jake had tried to persuade him, but Mike wasn’t interested in listening to speculation or taking what he saw as a risk—one that had the potential of leaving them with a huge overstock. He relied on cold, hard figures and years of purchasing experience. When their discussion was over, Mike still refused to go against what he considered his own better judgment. Jake continued to argue, presenting internet research and what his gut was telling him about this toy. When he’d finished, Mike Scott had countered with a list of reasons why fifty units per store would be adequate. More than adequate, in his opinion. While Jake couldn’t disagree with the other man’s logic, he had a strong hunch that the much larger order was worth the risk.
“You felt it was right?” his father repeated in a scathing voice. “Mike Scott told me we’d be fortunate to sell fifty in each store, yet you, with your vast experience of two months in the toy department, decided the Manhattan store needed ten times that number.”
Jake didn’t have anything to add.
“I don’t suppose you happened to notice that there’s been a downturn in the economy? Parents don’t have two hundred and fifty bucks for a toy. Not when a lot of families are pinching pennies.”
“You made me manager of the toy department.” Jake wasn’t stupid or reckless. “I’m convinced we’ll sell those robots before Christmas.” As manager, it was his responsibility—and his right—to order as he deemed fit. And if that meant overriding a buyer’s decision—well, he could live with that.
“You think you can sell all five hundred of those robots?” Skepticism weighted each word. “In two weeks?”
“Yes.” Jake had to work hard to maintain his air of confidence. Still he held firm.
His father took a moment to consider Jake’s answer, walking a full circle around his desk as he did. “As of this morning, how many units have you sold?”
That was an uncomfortable question and Jake glanced down at the floor. “Three.”
“Three.” J.R. shook his head and stalked to the far side of the room, then back again as if debating how to address the situation. “So what you’re saying is that our storeroom has four hundred and ninety-seven expensive SuperRobots clogging it up?”
“They’re going to sell, Dad.”
“It hasn’t happened yet, though, has it?”
“No, but I believe the robot’s going to be the hottest toy of the season. I’ve done the research—this is the toy kids are talking about.”
“Maybe, but let me remind you, kids aren’t our customers. Their parents are. Which is why no one else in the industry shares your opinion.”
“I know it’s a risk, Dad, but it’s a calculated one. Have faith.”
His father snorted harshly at the word faith. “My faith died along with your mother and sister,” he snapped.
Involuntarily Jake’s eyes sought out the photograph of his mother and sister. Both had been killed in a freak car accident on Christmas Eve twenty-one years ago. Neither Jake nor his father had celebrated Christmas since that tragic night. Ironically, the holiday season was what kept Finley’s in the black financially. Without the three-month Christmas shopping craze, the department-store chain would be out of business.
Because of the accident, Jake and his father ignored anything to do with Christmas in their personal lives. Every December twenty-fourth, soon after the store closed, the two of them got on a plane and flew to Saint John in the Virgin Islands. From the time Jake was twelve, there hadn’t been a Christmas tree or presents or anything else that would remind him of the holiday. Except, of course, at the store...
“Trust me in this, Dad,” Jake pleaded. “Telly the SuperRobot will be the biggest seller of the season, and pretty soon Finley’s will be the only store in Manhattan where people can find them.”
His father reached for a pen and rolled it between his fingers as he mulled over Jake’s words. “I put you in charge of the toy department because I thought it would be a valuable experience for you. One day you’ll sit in this chair. The fate of the company will rest in your hands.”
His father wasn’t telling him anything Jake didn’t already know.
“If the toy department doesn’t show a profit because you went over Mike Scott’s head, then you’ll have a lot to answer for.” He locked eyes with Jake. “Do I make myself clear?”
Jake nodded. If the toy department reported a loss as a result of his judgment, his father would question Jake’s readiness to take over the company.
“Got it,” Jake assured his father.
“Good. I want a report on the sale of that robot every week until Christmas.”
“You’ll have it,” Jake promised. He turned to leave.
“I hope you’re right about this toy, son,” J.R. said as Jake opened the office door. “You’ve taken a big risk. I hope it pays off.”
He wasn’t the only one. Still, Jake believed. He’d counted on having proof that the robots were selling by the time his father learned what he’d done. Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, which was generally the biggest shopping day of the year, had been a major disappointment. He’d fantasized watching the robots fly off the shelves.
It hadn’t happened.
Although they’d been prominently displayed, just one of the expensive toys had sold. He supposed his father had a point; in a faltering economy, people were evaluating their Christmas budgets, so toys, especially expensive ones, had taken a hit. Children might want the robots but it was their parents who did the buying.
Jake’s head throbbed as he made his way to the toy department. In his rush to get to the store that morning, he’d skipped his usual stop at a nearby Starbucks. He needed his caffeine fix.
“Welcome to Finley’s. May I be of assistance?” an older woman asked him. The store badge pinned prominently on her neat gray cardigan told him her name was Mrs. Emily Miracle. Her smile was cheerful and engaging. She must be the new sales assistant Human Resources had been promising him—but she simply wouldn’t do. Good grief, what were they thinking up in HR? Sales in the toy department could be brisk, demanding hours of standing, not to mention dealing with cranky kids and short-tempered parents. He needed someone young. Energetic.
“What can I show you?” the woman asked.
Jake blinked, taken aback by her question. “I beg your pardon?”
“Are you shopping for one of your children?”
“Well, no. I—”
She didn’t allow him to finish and steered him toward the center aisle. “We have an excellent selection of toys for any age group. If you’re looking for suggestions, I’d be more than happy to help.”
She seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was the department manager—and therefore her boss. “Excuse me, Mrs....” He glanced at her name tag a second time. “Mrs. Miracle.”
“Actually, it’s Merkle.”
“The badge says Miracle.”
“Right,” she said, looking a bit chagrined. “HR made a mistake, but I don’t mind. You can call me Mrs. Miracle.”
Speaking of miracles... If ever Jake needed one, it was now. Those robots had to sell. His entire future with the company could depend on this toy.
“I’d be more than happy to assist you,” Mrs. Miracle said again, breaking into his thoughts.
“I’m Jake Finley.”
“Pleased to meet you. Do you have a son or a daughter?” she asked.
“This is Finley’s Department Store,” he said pointedly.
Apparently this new employee had yet to make the connection, which left Jake wondering exactly where HR found their seasonal help. There had to be someone more capable than this woman.
“Finley,” Mrs. Miracle repeated slowly. “Jacob Robert is your father, then?”
“Yes,” he said, frowning. Only family and close friends knew his father’s middle name.
Her eyes brightened, and a smile slid into place. “Ahh,” she said knowingly.
“You’re acquainted with my father?” That could explain why she’d been hired. Maybe she had some connection to his family he knew nothing about.
“No, no, not directly, but I have heard a great deal about him.”
So had half the population on the East Coast. “I’m the manager here in the toy department,” he told her. He clipped on his badge as he spoke, realizing he’d stuck it in his pocket. The badge said simply “Manager,” without including his name, since his policy was to be as anonymous as possible, to be known by his role, not his relationship to the owner.
“The manager. Yes,” she said, nodding happily. “This works out beautifully.”
“What does?” Her comments struck him as odd.
“Oh, nothing,” she returned with the same smile.
She certainly looked pleased with herself, although Jake couldn’t imagine why. He doubted she’d last a week. He’d see about getting her transferred to a more suitable department for someone her age. Oh, he’d be subtle about it. He had no desire to risk a discrimination suit.
Jake examined the robot display, hoping that while he’d been gone another one might have sold. But if that was the case, he didn’t see any evidence of it.
“Have you had your morning coffee?” Mrs. Miracle asked.
“No,” he muttered. His head throbbed, reminding him of his craving for caffeine.
“It seems quiet here at the moment. Why don’t you take your break?” she suggested. “The other sales associate and I can handle anything that comes along.”
Jake hesitated.
“Go on,” she urged. “Everyone needs their morning coffee.”
“You go,” he said. He was, after all, the department manager, so he should be the last to leave.
“Oh, heavens, no. I just finished a cup.” Looking around, she gestured toward the empty aisles. “It’s slow right now but it’s sure to pick up later, don’t you think?”
She was right. In another half hour or so, he might not get a chance. His gaze rested on the robots and he pointed in their direction. “Do what you can to interest shoppers in those.”
“Telly the SuperRobot?” she said. Not waiting for his reply, she added, “You won’t have any worries there. They’re going to be the hottest item this Christmas.”
Jake felt a surge of excitement. “You heard that?”
“No...” she answered thoughtfully.
“Then you must’ve seen a news report.” Jake had been waiting for exactly this kind of confirmation. He’d played a hunch, taken a chance, and in his heart of hearts felt it had been a good decision. But he had four hundred and ninety-seven of these robots on his hands. If his projections didn’t pan out, it would take a long time—like maybe forever—to live it down.
“Coffee,” Mrs. Miracle said, without explaining why she was so sure of the robot’s success.
Jake checked his watch, then nodded. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Take whatever time you need.”
Jake thanked her and hurriedly left, stopping by HR on his way out. The head of the department, Gloria Palmer, glanced up when Jake entered the office. “I’ve got a new woman on the floor this morning. Emily Miracle,” he said.
Gloria frowned. “Miracle?” She tapped some keys on her computer and looked back at Jake. “I don’t show anyone with that name working in your department.”
Jake remembered that Emily Miracle had said there’d been an error on her name tag. He rubbed his hand across his forehead, momentarily closing his eyes as he tried to remember the name she’d mentioned. “It starts with an M—McKinsey, Merk, something like that.”
Gloria’s phone rang and she reached for it, holding it between her shoulder and ear as her fingers flew across the keyboard. She tried to divide her attention between Jake and the person on the line. Catching Jake’s eye, she motioned toward the computer screen, shrugged and shook her head.
Jake raised his hand and mouthed, “I’ll catch you later.”
Gloria nodded and returned her attention to the caller. Clearly she had more pressing issues to attend to just then. Jake would seek her out later that afternoon and suggest Mrs. Miracle be switched to another department. A less demanding one.
As he rushed out the door onto Thirty-fourth and headed into the still-falling snow, he decided it would be only fair to give the older woman a chance. If she managed to sell one of the robots while he collected his morning cup of java, he’d consider keeping her. And if she managed to sell two, she’d be living up to her name!
Two (#ulink_3bb2fd20-1ee0-559d-a3ac-a3fc17bf16b3)
If God is your copilot, trade places.
—Mrs. Miracle
Friday morning, and Holly Larson was right on schedule—even a few minutes ahead. This was a vast improvement over the past two months, ever since her eight-year-old nephew, Gabe, had come to live with her. It’d taken effort on both their parts to make this arrangement work. Mickey, Holly’s brother, had been called up by the National Guard and sent to Afghanistan for the next fifteen months. He was a widower, and with her parents doing volunteer medical work in Haiti, the only option for Gabe was to move in with Holly, who lived in a small Brooklyn apartment. Fortunately, she’d been able to turn her minuscule home office into a bedroom for Gabe.
They were doing okay, but it hadn’t been easy. Never having spent much time with children Gabe’s age, the biggest adjustment had been Holly’s—in her opinion, anyway.
Gabe might not agree, however. He didn’t think sun-dried tomatoes with fresh mozzarella cheese was a special dinner. He turned up his nose and refused even one bite. So she was learning. Boxed macaroni and cheese suited him just fine, although she couldn’t tolerate the stuff. At least it was cheap. Adding food for a growing boy to her already strained budget had been a challenge. Mickey, who was the manager of a large grocery store in his civilian life, sent what he could but he had his own financial difficulties; she knew he was still paying off his wife’s medical bills and funeral expenses. And he had a mortgage to maintain on his Trenton, New Jersey, home. Poor Gabe. The little boy had lost his mother when he was an infant. Now his father was gone, too. Holly considered herself a poor replacement for either parent, let alone both, although she was giving it her best shot.
Since she had a few minutes to spare before she was due at the office, she hurried into Starbucks to reward herself with her favorite latte. It’d been two weeks since she’d had one. A hot, freshly brewed latte was an extravagance these days, so she only bought them occasionally.
Getting Gabe to school and then hurrying to the office was as difficult as collecting him from the after-school facility at the end of the day. Lindy Lee, her boss, hadn’t taken kindly to Holly’s rushing out the instant the clock struck five. But the child-care center at Gabe’s school charged by the minute when she was late. By the minute.
Stepping out of the cold into the warmth of the coffee shop, Holly breathed in the pungent scent of fresh coffee. A cheery evergreen swag was draped across the display case. She dared not look because she had a weakness for cranberry scones. She missed her morning ritual of a latte and a scone almost as much as she did her independence. But giving it up was a small sacrifice if it meant she could help her brother and Gabe. Not only that, she’d come to adore her young nephew and, despite everything, knew she’d miss him when her brother returned.
The line moved quickly, and she placed her order for a skinny latte with vanilla flavoring. The man behind her ordered a large coffee. He smiled at her and Holly smiled back. She’d seen him in this Starbucks before, although they’d never spoken.
“Merry Christmas,” she said.
“Same to you.”
The girl at the cash register told Holly her total and she opened her purse to pay. That was when she remembered—she’d given the last of her cash to Gabe for lunch money. It seemed ridiculous to use a credit card for such a small amount, but she didn’t have any choice. She took out her card and handed it to the barista. The young woman slid it through the machine, then leaned forward and whispered, “It’s been declined.”
Hot embarrassment reddened her face. She’d maxed out her card the month before but thought her payment would’ve been credited by now. Scrambling, she searched for coins in the bottom of her purse. It didn’t take her long to realize she didn’t have nearly enough change to cover the latte. “I have a debit card in here someplace,” she muttered, grabbing her card case again.
“Excuse me.” The good-looking man behind her pulled his wallet from his hip pocket.
“I’m...I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. This was embarrassing, humiliating, downright mortifying.
“Allow me to pay for your latte,” he said.
Holly sent him a shocked look. “You don’t need to do that.”
The woman standing behind him frowned impatiently at Holly. “If I’m going to get to work on time, he does.”
“Oh, sorry.”
Not waiting for her to agree, the stranger stepped forward and paid for both her latte and his coffee.
“Thank you,” she said in a low, strangled voice.
“I’ll consider it my good deed for the day.”
“I’ll pay for your coffee the next time I see you.”
He grinned. “You’ve got a deal.” He moved down to the end of the counter, where she went to wait for her latte. “I’m Jake Finley.”
“Holly Larson.” She extended her hand.
“Holly,” he repeated.
“People assume I was born around Christmas but I wasn’t. Actually, I was born in June and named after my mother’s favorite aunt,” she said. She didn’t know why she’d blurted out such ridiculous information. Perhaps because she still felt embarrassed and was trying to disguise her chagrin with conversation. “I do love Christmas, though, don’t you?”
“Not particularly.” Frowning, he glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Oh, sure. Thank you again.” He’d been thoughtful and generous.
“See you soon,” Jake said as he turned toward the door.
“I owe you,” she said. “I won’t forget.”
He smiled at her. “I hope I’ll run into you again.”
“That would be great.” She meant it, and next time she’d make sure she had enough cash to treat him. She felt a glow of pleasure as Jake left Starbucks.
Holly stopped to calculate—it’d been more than three months since her last date. That was pitiful! Three months. Nuns had a more active social life than she did.
Her last relationship had been with Bill Carter. For a while it had seemed promising. As a divorced father, Bill was protective and caring toward his young son. Holly had only met Billy once. Unfortunately, the trip to the Central Park Zoo hadn’t gone well. Billy had been whiny and overtired, and Bill had seemed to want her to deal with the boy. She’d tried but Billy didn’t know her and she didn’t know him, and the entire outing had been strained and uncomfortable. Holly had tried—unsuccessfully—to make the trip as much fun as possible. Shortly thereafter, Bill called to tell her their relationship wasn’t “working” for him. He’d made a point of letting her know he was interested in finding someone more “suitable” for his son because he didn’t feel she’d make a good mother. His words had stung.
Holly hadn’t argued. Really, how could she? Her one experience with Billy had been a disaster. Then, just a month after Bill’s heartless comment, Gabe had entered her life. These days she was more inclined to agree with Bill’s assessment of her parenting skills. She didn’t seem to have what it took to raise a child, which deeply concerned her.
Things were getting easier with Gabe, but progress had been slow, and it didn’t help that her nephew seemed to sense her unease. She had a lot to learn about being an effective and nurturing parent.
Dating Bill had been enjoyable enough, but there’d never been much chemistry between them, so not seeing him wasn’t a huge loss. She categorized it as more of a disappointment. A letdown. His parting words, however, had left her with doubts and regrets.
Carrying her latte, Holly walked the three blocks to the office. She actually arrived a minute early. Working as an assistant to a fashion designer sounded glamorous but it wasn’t. She didn’t get to take home designer purses for a fraction of their retail price—except for the knockoff versions she could buy on the street—or acquire fashion-model hand-me-downs.
She was paid a pittance and had become the go-to person for practically everyone on staff, and that added up to at least forty people. Her boss, Lindy Lee, was often unreasonable. Unfortunately, most of the time it was Holly’s job to make sure that whatever Lindy wanted actually happened. Lindy wasn’t much older than Holly, but she was well connected in the fashion world and had quickly risen to the top. Because her work as a designer of upscale women’s sportswear was in high demand, Lindy Lee frequently worked under impossible deadlines. One thing was certain; she had no tolerance for the fact that Holly now had to stick to her official nine-to-five schedule, which meant her job as Lindy Lee’s assistant might be in jeopardy. She’d explained the situation with Gabe, but her boss didn’t care about Holly’s problems at home.
Rushing to her desk, Holly set the latte down, shrugged off her coat and readied herself for the day. She was responsible for decorating the office for Christmas, and so far, there just hadn’t been time. On Saturday she’d bring Gabe into the office and the two of them would get it done. That meant her own apartment would have to wait, but...oh, well.
Despite her boss’s complaints about one thing or another, Holly’s smile stayed in place all morning. A kind deed by a virtual stranger buffered her from four hours of commands, criticism and complaints.
Jack...no, Jake. He’d said his name was Jake, and he was cute, too. Maybe handsome was a more accurate description. Classically handsome, like those 1940s movie stars in the old films she loved. Tall, nicely trimmed dark hair, broad shoulders, expressive eyes and...probably married. She’d been too shocked by his generosity to see whether he had a wedding band. Yeah, he was probably taken. Par for the course, she thought a little glumly. Holly was thirty, but being single at that age wasn’t uncommon among her friends. Her parents seemed more worried about it than she was.
Most of her girlfriends didn’t even think about settling down until after they turned thirty. Holly knew she wanted a husband and eventually a family. What she hadn’t expected was becoming a sole parent to Gabe. This time with her nephew was like a dress rehearsal for being a mother, her friends told her. Unfortunately, there weren’t any lines to memorize and the script changed almost every day.
At lunch she heated her Cup-a-Soup in the microwave and logged on to the internet to check for messages from Mickey. Her brother kept in touch with Gabe every day and sent her a quick note whenever he could. Sure enough, there was an email waiting for her.
From: “Lieutenant Mickey Larson”
To: “Holly Larson”
Sent: December 10
Subject: Gabe’s email
Hi, sis,
Gabe’s last note to me was hilarious. What’s this about you making him put down the toilet seat? He thinks girls should do it themselves. This is what happens when men live together. The seat’s perpetually up.
Has he told you what he wants for Christmas yet? He generally mentions a toy before now, but he’s been suspiciously quiet about it this year. Let me know when he drops his hints.
I wish I could be with you both, but that’s out of the question. Next year for sure.
I know it’s been rough on you having to fit Gabe into your apartment and your life, but I have no idea what I would’ve done without you.
By the way, I heard from Mom and Dad. The dental clinic Dad set up is going well. Who’d have guessed our parents would be doing volunteer work after retirement? They send their love...but now that I think about it, you got the same email as me, didn’t you? They both sound happy but really busy. Mom was concerned about you taking Gabe, but she seems reassured now.
Well, I better get some shut-eye. Not to worry—I reminded Gabe that when he’s staying at a house with a woman living in it, the correct thing to do is put down the toilet seat.
Check in with you later.
Thank you again for everything.
Love,
Mickey
Holly read the message twice, then sent him a note. She’d always been close to her brother and admired him for picking up the pieces of his life after Sally died of a rare blood disease. Gabe hadn’t even been a year old. Holly had a lot more respect for the demands of parenthood—and especially single parenthood—now that Gabe lived with her.
At five o’clock, she was out the door. Lindy Lee threw her an evil look, which Holly pretended not to see. She caught the subway and had to stand, holding tight to one of the poles, for the whole rush-hour ride into Brooklyn.
As she was lurched and jolted on the train, her mind wandered back to Mickey’s email. Gabe hadn’t said anything about Christmas to her, either. And yet he had to know that the holidays were almost upon them; all the decorations in the neighborhood and the ads on TV made it hard to miss. For the first time in his life, Gabe wouldn’t be spending Christmas with his father and grandparents. This year, there’d be just the two of them. Maybe he’d rather not celebrate until his father came home, she thought. That didn’t seem right, though. Holly was determined to make this the best Christmas possible.
Not once had Gabe told her what he wanted. She wondered whether she should ask him, maybe encourage him to write Santa a letter—did he still believe in Santa?—or try to guess what he might like. Her other question was what she could buy on a limited income. A toy? She knew next to nothing about toys, especially the kind that would intrigue an eight-year-old boy. She felt besieged by even more insecurities.
She stepped off the subway, climbed the stairs to the street and hurried to Gabe’s school, which housed the after-hours activity program set up for working parents. At least it wasn’t snowing anymore. Which was a good thing, since she’d forgotten to make Gabe wear his boots that morning.
What happened the first day she’d gone to collect Gabe still made her cringe. She’d been thirty-two minutes late. The financial penalty was steep and cut into her carefully planned budget, but that didn’t bother her nearly as much as the look on Gabe’s face.
He must have assumed she’d abandoned him. His haunted expression brought her to the edge of tears every time she thought about it. That was the same night she’d prepared her favorite dinner for him—another disaster. Now she knew better and kept an unending supply of hot dogs—God help them both—plus boxes of macaroni and cheese. He’d deign to eat carrot sticks and bananas, but those were his only concessions, no matter how much she talked about balanced nutrition. He found it hilarious to claim that the relish he slathered on his hot dogs was a “vegetable.”
She waited by the row of hooks, each marked with a child’s name. Gabe ran over the instant he saw her, his face bright with excitement. “I made a new friend!”
“That’s great.” Thankfully Gabe appeared to have adjusted well to his new school and teacher.
“Billy!” he called. “Come and meet my aunt Holly.”
Holly’s smile froze. This wasn’t just any Billy. It was Bill Carter, Junior, son of the man who’d broken up with her three months earlier.
“Hello, Billy,” she said, wondering if he’d recognize her.
The boy gazed up at her quizzically. Apparently he didn’t. Or maybe he did remember her but wasn’t sure when they’d met. Either way, Holly was relieved.
“Can I go over to Billy’s house?” Gabe asked. The two boys linked arms like long-lost brothers.
“Ah, when?” she hedged. Seeing Bill again would be difficult. Holly wasn’t eager to talk to the man who’d dumped her—especially considering why. It would be uncomfortable for both of them.
“I want him to come tonight,” Billy said. “My dad’s making sloppy joes. And we’ve got marshmallow ice cream for dessert.”
“Well...” Her meals could hardly compete with that—not if you were an eight-year-old boy. Personally, Holly couldn’t think of a less appetizing combination.
Before she could come up with a response, Gabe tugged at her sleeve. “Billy doesn’t have a mom, either,” he told her.
“I have a mom,” Billy countered, “only she doesn’t live with us anymore.”
“My mother’s in heaven with the angels,” Gabe said. “I live with my dad, too, ’cept he’s in Afghanistan now.”
“So that’s why you’re staying with your aunt Holly.” Billy nodded.
“Yeah.” Gabe reached for his jacket and backpack.
“I’m sorry, Billy,” she finally managed to say, “but Gabe and I already have plans for tonight.”
Gabe whirled around. “We do?”
“We’re going shopping,” she said, thinking on her feet.
Gabe scowled and crossed his arms. “I hate shopping.”
“You won’t this time,” she promised and helped him put on his winter jacket, along with his hat and mitts.
“Yes, I will,” Gabe insisted, his head lowered.
“You and Billy can have a playdate later,” she said, forcing herself to speak cheerfully.
“When?” Billy asked, unwilling to let the matter drop.
“How about next week?” She’d call or email Bill so it wouldn’t come as a big shock when she showed up on his doorstep.
“Okay,” Billy agreed.
“That suit you?” Holly asked Gabe. She wanted to leave now, just in case Bill was picking up his son today. She recalled that their housekeeper usually did this—but why take chances? Bill was the very last person she wanted to see.
Gabe shrugged, unhappy with the compromise. He let her take his hand as they left the school, but as soon as they were outdoors, he promptly snatched it away.
“Where are we going shopping?” he asked, still pouting as they headed in the opposite direction of her apartment building. The streetlights glowed and she saw Christmas decorations in apartment windows—wreaths, small potted trees and strings of colored lights. So far Holly hadn’t done anything. Perhaps this weekend she’d find time to put up their tree—after she’d finished decorating the office, of course.
“I thought we’d go see Santa this evening,” Holly announced.
“Santa?” He raised his head and eyed her speculatively.
“Would you like that?”
Gabe seemed to need a moment to consider the question. “I guess.”
Holly assumed he was past the age of believing in Santa but wasn’t quite ready to admit it, for fear of losing out on extra gifts. Still, she didn’t feel she could ask him. “I want you to hold my hand while we’re on the subway, okay?”
“Okay,” he said in a grumpy voice.
They’d go to Finley’s, she decided. She knew for sure that the store had a Santa. Besides, she wanted to look at the windows with their festive scenes and moving parts. Even in his current mood, Gabe would enjoy them, Holly thought. And so would she.
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