Three Christmas Wishes

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

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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