Lakeshore Christmas

Of course he hadn’t. And it wouldn’t be the first time. “You should’ve been watching.”

“I was, I—” He raked a hand through his long, wheat-colored hair. “Christ, you scared the shit out of me.”

“There’s no need to take the Lord’s name in vain,” she said, then cringed at her own words. When had she turned into such a marm?

“It wasn’t in vain,” he replied. “I totally meant it.”

She sniffed, filling her senses with winter cold, tinged with exhaust. “It’s just so…unimaginative. Not to mention disrespectful.”

“And self-righteous to boot,” he said with a grin, handsome as a prom king. “It’s been real, but I gotta bounce.” He nodded in the direction of the bakery. “I’m meeting someone.”

A soft burble of sound came from…it seemed to be coming from his jeans. He dug in his pocket and extracted a cell phone.

Maureen glanced down at her own phone’s screen to see that it said Message Sent.

Then she looked back at Eddie Haven. Despite his easy dismissal of polite speech, there was no denying the man had presence. Although he was almost inhumanly good-looking, the strange appeal went deeper than looks alone. He had some kind of aura, a powerful magnetism that seemed to suck all the light and energy toward him. And he wasn’t even doing anything, just standing there checking his messages.

I am in such trouble, she thought.

With a bemused expression, he touched a button. A second later her phone rang. Startled, she dropped it on the ground.

He bent and scooped it up, holding it out to her. “Maureen, right? Maureen Davenport.”

“That’s me.” She turned her ringer off and slipped the phone into her pocket.

“What, you’re hanging up on me already?” he said.

“I suppose that would be a first for you. A woman, hanging up on you.”

“Shit, no, are you kidding?”

She winced. “Don’t tell me you’re going to talk like that the whole time.”

“Great,” he said, “so you’re one of those holier-than-thou types.”

“I’ll bet a convicted felon would be holier than you are,” she retorted.

“I’ve met quite a few felons who were holier than me. Wait a minute, I am a convicted felon.” He touched the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Does that mean I’m holier than me? Jesus, lady, way to mess with a guy’s head.”

“I’m sure I don’t mean to mess with your head or any other part of you,” she said.

He started walking toward the bakery. “So…Maureen Davenport.” He pronounced her name as though tasting it. “From the library.”

“That’s me.” She couldn’t tell if he was surprised, disappointed or just resigned.

He paused, frowned at her. “Have we met before?” Without waiting for a reply, he said, “It’s weird that our paths haven’t crossed, in a town like this. I guess we just move in different circles, eh?”

She considered telling him their paths had crossed, but he simply hadn’t deigned to notice her. Instead, she simply nodded. “I guess.”

“This is going to be fun,” he said, clapping his hands together, then blowing on his fingers. “And fun is good, right?”

She didn’t think he expected an answer to his question.

“I’m Eddie Haven,” he said.

“I know who you are,” she said. Good grief, who didn’t know who Eddie Haven was? Especially now, with his anniversary DVD topping the charts. She knew it topped the charts because the library currently owned a dozen copies, and each of those had more than a hundred patron holds. She wondered what it was like for him to see his own flickering image on the small screen, year in and year out, all hours of the night and day.

She’d have plenty of opportunities to ask him, because this holiday season, she was stuck with him. The two of them had been charged with codirecting the annual Christmas pageant for the town of Avalon. She had taken on the job because it was something she’d always wanted to do, and she was well-qualified for the task. Eddie was her partner in the endeavor thanks to a mandate from a judge ordering him to perform community service. For better or worse, they were stuck with each other.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said easily. “I texted you.”

“I…sent you a text message, as well.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to use texted as a verb. “And after I hit Send,” she added, “I saw your message.”

In the bakery, several people greeted him by name, welcoming him back to town. Several more—mostly women, she noted—checked him out. A group of tourists looked up from studying their area maps and brochures to lean over and whisper about him, likely speculating about whether or not he was who they thought he was. With the publicity surrounding his movie, he was definitely back in vogue.

“Our table’s over here,” she said, leading the way, on fire with self-consciousness. There was no reason to feel self-conscious, but she did. She couldn’t help herself.

“Why do I get the impression you’ve already decided not to like me?” he asked, shrugging out of his jacket.

Was it that obvious? “I have no idea whether I’m going to like you or not,” she felt compelled to say. “Not a fan of the language, though. Seriously.”

“What, English? It’s standard English, swear to God.”

“Right.” She hung up her coat over the back of her chair and took a seat. She didn’t want to play games with this guy.

“You mean the swearing,” he said.

“Brilliant deduction.”

“Fine. I won’t do it anymore. No more taking the Lord’s name in vain or even in earnest.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” she conceded.

“They’re just words.”

“Words are powerful.”

“Right. You want to know what’s obscene?” he asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Violence is obscene. Injustice—that’s obscene, too. Poverty and intolerance. Those are obscenities. Words are just that—words.”

“A lot of hot air,” she suggested.

“That’s right.”

“Now that we’ve established you’re full of hot air, we should get to work.”

He chuckled. “Touché. Hang on a sec. I need to get a coffee.” He dug in his back pocket and took out a well-worn billfold. It flopped onto the floor, and he stooped to pick it up. “Sh—” he paused. “How about shit? Can I say shit?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Jesus—er, gee whiz. What the hell do you say when you drop something?”

“There are many ways to express dismay,” she pointed out. “I imagine you know plenty.”

“I’m asking you. What do you say when you get pissed off?”

“I don’t get pissed off.” She forced herself to use words she’d rather not.

He stood stock-still, as if he’d been planted in the middle of the bakery. She thought for a moment that he might be having a fit or something.

Instead, he threw back his head and guffawed, causing heads to swivel toward him. “You’re killing me,” he gasped. “You really are.”

She tried to ignore the inquisitive stares. “Why is that?”

“Because lady, I can already tell—you were born pissed off.”

“You can tell this,” she said, scowling a challenge at him. “Because you’re…what? Such an amazing judge of character?”

“Because you’re not hiding a thing,” he said.

“You have no idea whether I’m hiding anything at all,” she said. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

His gaze flicked over her, assessing practical boots, the plain cloth coat, the handknit accessories, the glasses, her stack of books and clipboard.

“I know everything I need to know,” he said.

“And what’s that?”

“Ray Tolley says you’re the town librarian.”

Ray, who played keyboard, was in charge of music for the pageant. Maureen tried to decide whether or not she was pleased Ray had discussed her with Eddie Haven. “That’s not exactly classified.”

“You’re a big reader, and freakishly organized,” Eddie said, eyeing her books and papers.

She sniffed. “You’re stereotyping me. Not to mention being completely wrong.” He was wrong. She cleared her throat and glared up at him. It was then that she noticed he wore an earring. A single, sexy golden loop in one earlobe. He also had a tattoo that rippled when he bent his arm. She could imagine how it looked as he stroked the strings of his guitar. Obvious signs of a person craving attention.

“Okay, then you live a secret life, moonlighting as a dominatrix.”

“That’s no secret,” she said.

He chuckled again, his eyes shining. “Right.” He headed for the counter. Halfway there, he turned. “Do you want anything?”

She tried not to stare at the earring. “No. No, thank you.”

With his weight shifted to one hip and a charming grin on his face, he chatted up the counter girl, whose eyes sparkled as she made small talk with him.

Clearing her throat, Maureen organized the papers on her clipboard and adjusted her glasses. She wished she didn’t wear glasses. It was just so…librarian-like. She owned a pair of contacts, but they irritated her eyes.

Her sisters and stepmom had insisted that she opt for trendy Danish-import frames and a good haircut in order to avoid being regarded as a total cliché. But she usually ended up pulling her hair back and not bothering with makeup. The end result was the impression of a librarian trying not to look like a librarian, which was ridiculous.

She eventually surrendered to who she was, and for the most part she was comfortable in her own skin, with a cozy apartment, two cats and plenty of books. She hadn’t always been that way; her contentment was hard-won. And when someone—like Eddie Haven—came along and threatened that, she went into defensive mode.

He returned with a mug of hot coffee for himself, and a cup of hot chocolate. “For you,” he said. “I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I figured I’d give it a shot.”

“Thank you. How did you know I’m a hot chocolate drinker?”

“Who doesn’t like hot chocolate?” He gave her a smile that made her feel as if she were the only woman in the place. “Whipped cream?”

“No,” she said quickly. “That would be a bit much.” She went back to feeling self-conscious. People were probably wondering what the hot guy was doing with the geeky girl. Some things never changed. Everyone who saw them together would assume he was with her out of some kind of obligation, not because he was attracted to her. Getting attention from Eddie Haven was like being the dork in school, having her pigtail tugged by the cutest boy in class. She was ridiculously grateful for the attention, even if he was taunting her.

Five minutes with this guy and she’d regressed to junior high. Just for a moment, she wished she could be someone else. That was probably unhealthy in the extreme—to be with a person who made you dissatisfied with yourself.

She patted the papers on her clipboard. It was always a safe bet to get down to business with someone who made you nervous. “I’ve made you copies of the audition schedule and the rehearsal times and—”

“Thanks. I’ll look at it later. Give me a break, I just rolled into town.”

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

“At a place by the lake. It belongs to some friends who go to St. Croix for the winter. Hell, I’d like to be in St. Croix right about now.”

“I hope you settle in quickly,” she said. “This Christmas pageant has to come together in a shockingly short amount of time.”

“And yet it does,” he said, “like a miracle, every year.”

“So it’s been your experience that a miracle occurs.”

“Hasn’t failed us yet. I’m not exactly new to this,” he said.

She was aware of his entire history with the pageant, including the infraction that had earned him his sentence of community service. It was a known fact in the town of Avalon that Eddie Haven had begun his involvement in the town’s annual pageant by judicial order. Following a terrible Christmas Eve accident, he’d been sentenced to help with the program, year in and year out. “It’s been my experience that miracles work out better when they’re preceded by a lot of hard work and preparation.”

“Me, I got faith,” he said easily.

She regarded him skeptically. “Are you a churchgoing man?”

He laughed heartily at that. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m a real regular.” He toned down the laughter a bit. “Trust me, I can deal with the pageant without divine intervention, okay? And how did you end up with this job, anyway? Did you volunteer or were you drafted? Or maybe you’re a felon like me.”

“Nobody’s a felon like you.”

“Ouch,” he said. “Okay, I can tell, you’re going to be a barrel of laughs.”

“It’s not my job to amuse you.”

“Come on, be a sport. Tell me more about yourself, Maureen.”

“Why should I? You’ve already declared me a boring person obsessed with books and cats—”

“I never said boring. I never said obsessed. The books were a no-brainer and the cats—every chick likes cats. Lucky guess. Come on. I really want to know. Are you from around here?”

He did this thing, she realized. This magnetic thing that made her want to…she wasn’t sure what. Give him little offerings from herself. It was the strangest sensation. Strange, and maybe dangerous. “I was born and raised here,” she said. “I went to college in Brockport, came back and became the town librarian.” She swallowed. “No wonder you said I was boring.”

“Hey. I did not say boring. And it sounds to me like you didn’t have to go looking for your heart’s desire.”

She actually had gone looking, but she wasn’t about to own up to that, not to him.

“And what about you?” she asked, feeling bold. “Are you looking for your heart’s desire?”

“No need. I know what my heart desires. It’s just a question of finding it.”

“Really? And what is that?”

“I just met you. I can’t be telling you that.”

During their conversation, something unexpected occurred. Against her will, she started to like him. As a person, not just as an amazing-looking guy, a guy who was so far out of her league, he might as well be on another planet.

Planet of the Fangirls, thought Maureen, as three women approached their table. They were all nudging each other and exchanging bashful smiles.

“Excuse me,” one of them said. And it was completely clear they weren’t addressing Maureen. “You’re…Eddie Haven, right?”

“The Eddie Haven?” her friend clarified.

He gave them an easy smile. “I guess that would be me.”

“We thought so. You look the same as you did in that movie.”

“Oh. Not good,” he said.

“No, you were adorable.” The three women looked jubilant. “And we saw you on Extra just last week.”

Here was something that always seemed to be true. Attractive women tended to hang out together. Each of these had the looks of a former cheerleader—brighteyed and smiling, in jeans and high-heeled boots, fitted sweaters.

“So…would you mind if we got a picture together?”

“Actually, I’m kind of in the middle of something—”

“Just a cell phone pic,” she said, whipping out an iPhone and thrusting it at Maureen. “Here, would you take it?”

Before Maureen could reply, one of the women showed her how to point and shoot. The three draped themselves around Eddie and—it had to be said—he lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Thanks. You were really cool about that.” The woman addressed Eddie as she saved the image on the phone. “And I know you must hear this all the time, but I loved you in that movie. I still love you in that movie, every time it airs.”

“Thanks,” said Eddie. “Nice of you to say so.”

She handed him a card. “Here’s my number. For, you know, if you ever feel like hanging out.”

“You bet.”

The three took off, putting their heads together and scurrying away, giggling like schoolgirls. Maureen felt a little stunned. The woman had hit on him right in front of Maureen. For all they knew, Maureen could be on a date with him. She wasn’t, but still. The thing that hurt—and she hated the fact that it hurt—was knowing the women looked at her and clearly did not consider, even for a moment, that she might be…with him. His date. His girlfriend. Instead, they had treated her as if she was his assistant or secretary.

“Sorry about that,” Eddie said. “Now, where were we?”

Maureen shook her head. “I have no idea.” She’d never witnessed anything quite like that before. It was slightly shocking, like an ambush. “That happens to you a lot, doesn’t it? People—women—just appear out of the blue and ask for an autograph or picture.”

“Not sure what you mean by a lot,” he said.

“Has it happened before?”

His face confirmed it.

“More than once constitutes a lot,” she said.

“I wish they hadn’t been so rude to you,” he said.

She was surprised he’d noticed.

“I should have spoken up,” he told her. “I should have pointed out they were being rude.”

“Thank heaven you didn’t,” Maureen said. “That would have been flat-out embarrassing.”

“And you don’t like being embarrassed,” he observed.

“Do you? Does anybody?”

“I’ve been a performer all my life, and like it or not, being embarrassed on a regular basis comes with the territory.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. Thank goodness. “But don’t be embarrassed. They called you adorable.”

“Hell, I was adorable,” he said with a curious lack of vanity.

“I know. I’ve seen The Christmas Caper.” Maureen paused. It was strange, knowing more about him than he knew about her. Generally speaking, that was the librarian’s role, to be the woman behind the desk. The woman no one wondered about or speculated about.

As for Eddie’s movie, she’d not only seen it. She watched it every year with rapt attention. She had already bought the just-released commemorative edition DVD and had played and replayed all the special features, paying particular attention to the interviews with the grown-up Eddie. She’d memorized every frame, every word of every song in the film. She loved that movie so much it was ridiculous. “Would it make you feel old if I said I saw it when I was in the second grade?”

“Nah, because I was six at the time of the theatrical release.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Yeah, I peaked at age six and it’s been downhill ever since.”

There was something about his smile. Something that made Maureen understand why grown women would approach him for a picture, giggling like schoolgirls. The other thing about his smile was that when she looked at him, she could see the precious little boy who had captured the hearts of America more than two decades ago.

He had played little Jimmy Kringle in The Christmas Caper, which was universally acknowledged to be one of the most sentimental Christmas movies ever made. Yet he’d transcended the stigma, taking a character who was trite and absurd and transforming him into a little boy everyone could believe in. And did, for years to come, thanks to the wonders of digital remastering, DVD extra features and the unending routine of round-the-clock cable.

“It can’t have been easy, being made a star at such a young age,” she observed.

“Wasn’t so bad, back in the day. But nobody saw the Internet coming. Or cable TV on this scale.”

Maureen was getting much too interested in him on a personal level. “We should finish up,” she suggested.

“Can’t wait to get rid of me, eh?”

“Yes, I mean, no, but—” Flustered. She was getting flustered, talking to this guy. Which was ridiculous. She was an established professional in her field. Still, she couldn’t help getting unnerved over Eddie Haven, with his sexy attitude, his earring and his too-pretty face. He must think she was a total loser. She didn’t like being around people who thought she was a loser. She liked people who propped her up. Her family. Library patrons. Children.

“I have a lot to tell you about this production,” she said. “For starters, it’s going to be filmed for a PBS special.” It still excited her, just saying it. “A production company from the city is coming up to cover it as part of a story about small-town Christmas celebrations.”

“Cool,” he said, but he didn’t look thrilled.

“It doesn’t really change our plans, but I wanted you to be aware of it.” She handed him a printed document. “Here’s the program I’m planning. You can take a look at it tonight.” She’d spent weeks finding the perfect combination of story and song for the traditional Christmas Eve celebration at Heart of the Mountains Church. It was a wonderful program, designed to bring the magic of Christmas to life. She had envisioned the ideal pageant for a long time, ever since she was small. She conjured up images of an evening aglow with candlelight, the air infused with incense and alive with song. It would be the quintessential celebration, one that would soften even the most jaded of hearts and remind people that the joys of the season could be felt all year.

He took a cursory look at the script and song list. “Sure, whatever. But it doesn’t lead with the angels,” he said. “When Mrs. Bickham was in charge, we always led with the angels.”

Ah, the ghosts of Christmas pageants past, thought Maureen, clasping her clipboard to her chest. She was going to be haunted by them for a long time. “Not this year.”

“It’s your show,” he said. “Hell, I don’t even like Christmas.”

He was so obnoxious, she thought. But so ridiculously good-looking, in a shaggy-haired, skinny-jeans, tight-T-shirt way. A lethal combination. “Nonsense. Everyone likes Christmas.”

He laughed. “Right. Okay, I guess I didn’t explain this very well.”

“Explain what?” In spite of herself, she was intrigued, and found herself leaning toward him, hanging on his every word like the most hopeless sort of Fan-girl.

“This whole Christmas thing.”

“What about it?”

“This is probably going to throw you for a loop, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a big fan of the holiday.”

Maybe, she thought, he appealed to her because he challenged her. It had been a long time since anyone over the age of five had challenged her. “Don’t be silly. Everybody loves Christmas.”

“You slay me, Maureen. You really do. News flash—everybody does not love Christmas.” Then his gaze slipped down the list of songs. “I’m not seeing a lot of variety here. Nothing new.”

“We could always add ‘The Runaway Reindeer’ from your hit movie. Your fan club would love it. Would that make you happy?”

“That would make me gag.”

The meeting was going so badly. She wished she knew how to bring it back on track. “Here’s the sign-up sheet for auditions.”

“Ought to be interesting. Everybody wants to be a star.”

“So it seems. We’ll try to be as inclusive as possible. We should remind everyone that there are no small actors—”

“Only small parts,” he finished for her. “And everybody knows that’s bullshit.”

She winced, wondering why he felt compelled to antagonize her. Her friend Olivia would say it was because he liked her. The notion intrigued Maureen far too much. She busied herself with her printouts, hoping to disguise her nerves. “And then we’ll go right into rehearsals. Here’s a schedule.”

“Got it, boss.”

“Are you patronizing me?”

“I’m trying to, yeah.”

“It’s not working. I won’t be patronized. Let’s not lose sight of our goal. This program isn’t for us or about us. It’s for the children, and for everyone who wants to celebrate the holidays.” The more nervous she got, the more cranky she sounded.

“Honey, you’re taking this way too seriously.”

“Honoring Christmas should not be taken lightly.” Oh, Maureen, she thought. When did you turn into such a dork? Olivia was always telling her to relax and have fun. But Olivia was pregnant, and hormones made her completely unreliable these days.

“Got it,” Eddie said again. “Are we done here?”

“Yes,” she said. “We’re done.” She hesitated, then screwed up her courage, struggling to conquer her nerves. They’d had a rough start. Maybe, she thought, they could fix things over dinner. “Listen, Eddie, let’s try not to start off on the wrong foot together. The bakery is about to close, but I was thinking, maybe we could go somewhere else, get some dinner and talk about this some more. I’d like to hear your ideas.”