by Dori Lavelle
“Look, this is a small town. We’ll bump into each other at the grocery store or other places. I thought we could make up and be friends. It would make things less awkward.”
“Never.” I push the words through my clenched teeth and slam the door in her face, then lean against it for support before I faint. Through the rush of blood in my ears, I hear her final words from the other side.
“I wanted to ask if you could bake my wedding cake.”
“Fuck off,” I whisper and sink to the floor.
I’m not the kind of person who swears a lot, but the words come out naturally when I’m pushed to my limits.
After sitting on the cool floor for what feels like an hour, I pull myself to my feet and go upstairs to call Olivia.
“What a bitch,” Olivia says, agreeing with me. She hands me a bright red candy apple.
“I guess she couldn’t help herself. She knew that telling me before Dennis did would hurt me the most.”
Olivia swings an arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry, sis. Don’t worry, when I see that bitch, I’ll give her a piece of my mind.”
“I know you will.” I lean into her. Since childhood, my baby sister has always had my back. She’s the tougher one of the two of us.
“But I’m glad she got you to come out with me,” Olivia pauses. “Should we watch Santa from Sandy’s Café? Hot chocolate would be nice.”
“Why not,” I say as we make our way through the throng of people who have come out to do last-minute Christmas shopping and to take their kids to Santa’s Factory, a pop-up store which this year is right across from Sandy’s Café.
Santa, with his white beard and big belly, is already there, surrounded by kids of all ages as well as their parents, who are snapping photos of their kids on Santa’s lap.
“Perfect spot, isn’t it?” Olivia asks as we take our seats by the window. “Sometimes I miss being a kid. There are so many dreams I wish Santa could make come true.”
Our conversation is brought to a halt by a female waitress dressed in a Santa’s elf costume.
“Hey, girls, the usual?” She looks from me to Olivia.
“Yes, please, Holly,” Olivia says.
Holly Sulton is a forty-something-year-old woman who has been working at Sandy’s Cafe for as long as I can remember. As I smile up at her, I’m glad she doesn’t look at me the way most people do in this town, like she feels sorry for me.
“Great. Coming right up.” She walks off and I turn back to Olivia.
“If Santa were able to make one of your wishes come true, what would you wish for?”
“As you know, I’ve always wanted to travel the world. I’d ask Santa to make it possible for me to travel to Europe or Africa.” She shrugs. “How about you?”
I take a breath. “I’d ask him to make the pain go away.”
Olivia takes my hand in hers. “I wish the same for you.”
Our hot chocolates arrive. We drink them while watching the blinking Christmas lights outside the window, listening to Christmas carols playing on repeat from hidden speakers, and watching Santa do his work. The sight almost makes me forget my pain.
When the hot chocolate is finished and we have paid, Olivia pulls me out of my chair.
“Do you want to sit on Santa’s lap?” She winks as we make our way out of the cafe.
“You’re joking, right?” I laugh in spite of myself. “I am thirty-three.”
“No, I’m serious. Let’s join the kids.” She hooks her arm through mine and pulls me toward the crowd of happy kids. We pass an older woman who’s also dressed in an elf costume carrying boxes of presents. She places them next to Santa. He looks up at her with a smile that causes my heart to turn over and my pulse to race.
As kids push against us, Santa looks up again. Our eyes meet briefly and he smiles. I don’t know what it is, but something about him makes me catch my breath. I shake my head.
“This is ridiculous,” I say to Olivia. “Let’s go to my place and watch a movie.”
“Come on, Celine. Let’s wait for our turn.”
I shake my head. “No, silly. Let’s go.”
I manage to drag Olivia out of the mall even though she was determined to stay. It’s 6:00 p.m. when we arrive at my place to find a large square package on my doorstep.
“Looks like Santa is determined to treat you this Christmas,” Olivia picks up the package and hands it to me. “Open it.”
“I don’t think so. Maybe it’s Brianna playing a sick joke on me.” I ignore the package and open the door, my stomach clenched tight. I’m finding it hard to believe someone has sent me a gift.
As soon as the door closes, Olivia sits me on the couch and bugs me until I open the mysterious package.
“Oh my God,” she says when I lift an evening gown from the box.
The knee-length tulle cocktail dress is black with sequins scattered on the hem. Even though it looks simple, I can tell from the feel of the material that it’s expensive.
“Who would send me this?” I rake my head for a plausible explanation, but nothing comes to mind.
“Read the note.” Olivia reaches into the box to remove an ecru-colored card.
“There’s something else,” I say, pushing aside the wrapping paper. I lift out a smaller velvet rectangular box. I open it, and my mouth falls open.
“A diamond necklace? Wow, you are one lucky lady.”
“No.” I put the gifts back into the box. “These can’t be for me. Someone made a mistake.”
“Your name was on the package.” Olivia waves the card in the air. “Let’s confirm it’s yours, shall we?”
My heart racing, I take the card from her and read it.
Celine, be my Christmas dinner date. I’ll pick you up at 8:00 p.m.
I turn the card over in my hand, confusion making my head spin. “It says the card is from an old friend.”
“This is so exciting.” Olivia claps her hands the way she used to on Christmas morning when we were kids, then her face grows serious. “Please tell me you’re going.”
“You’re crazy.” I remove my wig and toss it onto the coffee table. “Of course not. I don’t know who this person is. How can I go on a date with a stranger?”
The truth is, I am intrigued. No one has ever done anything like this for me before.
“Come on, sis. Have a little fun. You deserve it. People go on blind dates all the time. And the note does say it’s from an old friend.”
“I don’t have guy friends.” That’s, of course, if it’s from a man.
“Well, whether you decide to go or not, your date will be here tomorrow at eight. You might as well wear that pretty dress.”
Long after Olivia leaves my house, I continue to think about the gifts I received. Finally, at midnight, my curiosity gets the better of me and I decide I’ll do it.
BLAKE
I’m parked in front of her cottage, waiting for her to come out for our date.
I’ve been waiting for five minutes. My chest tightens with each second the door doesn’t open. I want to fool myself into thinking that she’s not home, but the lights are on, and not too long ago, I saw her peering out the window. She knows I’m here. And I know she got my package.
Following my instructions yesterday, my driver waited in the car until he was sure it was safely in her hands.
I feel the urge to get out of the car, to knock on her door, but something stops me, an emotion that’s foreign to me—fear. Being famous has given me a taste of what it feels like to have women throw themselves at my feet. I haven’t asked a woman out in years. They all came to me.
My phone beeps with a message from Madison.
Have a great date, Santa. You deserve it. M.
I push the phone back into my pocket. Then I reach for the door handle. If she won’t come to me, I’ll go to her.
The moment I step out into the balmy evening air, Celine’s door opens. I watch her emerge from the house like a vision.
She’s
wearing the dress I got her, but with a cream shawl draped over it. Even though most of the dress is covered, the sequins on the hem sparkle in the porch light, just like the curly black hair tumbling in waves onto her shoulders.
She locks her door and descends the two front steps, then she glides down the path leading to the gate. I hold my breath. I don’t dare move in case she changes her mind.
Halfway down the path, she comes to a halt. Her mouth parts in surprise, and her eyes widen. “It’s...it’s you?”
“Hi, Celine. I hope you’re not disappointed,” I say with a chuckle. “Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with me.”
“I...” She glances behind her, then back at me. Then she walks up to the gate, which I’m now holding open for her. Air rushes from my lungs when her perfume wraps itself around me—flowers and vanilla.
Neither of us speaks until we’re both settled in the backseat of the car.
I turn to her, my heart going wild in my chest. “It’s good to see you again. You look stunning.”
I haven’t seen her in years, but the sight of her face still makes my heart skip a beat, especially when our eyes met at the mall yesterday evening. Of course she had not recognized me, thanks to my Santa costume, but I knew it was her immediately. She may have been only a teenager when we last saw each other, but I’d recognize her hypnotic eyes anywhere.
“Why?” she asks. “Why are you doing this?”
“I wanted to see you.” My answer sounds pathetic even to my own ears.
She frowns and I hold my breath again.
“I don’t believe that. We hardly even talked in school,” she says. “And you’re a famous boxer now. Why would you want to have dinner with me?”
“You’re still one of the few people I never forgot.” I pause. “I’m also not as famous as I used to be. I can actually have a life now, without being chased around by paparazzi.”
She watches me in silence, her plump, pink tinted lips still parted with surprise, her eyes holding so many questions. “I don’t know about this.”
I reach for her hand and almost go nuts with need when our skins touch. Ignoring the tightness inside my pants, I squeeze her fragile fingers. “I know this is unexpected, but I’d really like you to have dinner with me tonight. Don’t change your mind on me. Since you’re already dressed, let’s just do it.”
She removes her hand from mine. “I guess I should thank you for the clothes and necklace.” The tips of her fingers touch the diamond necklace I bought in Liverpool. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to. And you look amazing tonight.” I tip my head to the side. “Will you have dinner with me for old time’s sake?”
She nods with a shaky smile. I instruct the driver to start the car.
We don’t speak again during the short journey to the restaurant. But I’m watching her from the corner of my eye, still wishing I could reach out and touch her once more. Her gaze is on me too, but she doesn’t let me catch her staring.
When the car comes to a stop in front of the Rosewood Restaurant, I get out to open the door for her.
For a moment, she doesn’t get out of the car, just stares past me at the entrance of the restaurant. “Why here?” Her voice is soft, but my ears don’t miss a single word.
“Because it’s the best restaurant in town.” I stretch my hand toward her. “Let’s go in.”
After a few more heartbeats, she takes my hand and allows me to usher her inside. But something is wrong. The tension in the air is unmistakable. Hopefully she doesn’t think she made a mistake.
A man in a crisp, black suit and a distracting cleft chin rushes up to meet us, his eyes fixed on my face. The sheen of sweat on his upper lip tells me that he’s not as calm as he pretends to be. I’m sure having a celebrity at the Rosewood is a big deal to him.
“Mr. Lockhart.” He extends his hand. “It’s such a pleasure to have an important man like yourself dining at our restaurant. I’m the manager.”
“Nice to meet you, and thank you.” I shake his sweaty hand. “Is our table ready?”
“Of course, Sir. The best table in the house. May I take your shawl, ma’am?” For the first time since we entered, he gives his attention to Celine. Blood drains from his face.
“Is everything all right?” I ask. The man looks about to pass out. I glance at Celine, whose face has also lost its color.
“I’ll...no,” she murmurs, holding on to her shawl. “I need it. It’s chilly in here.”
“Oh...okay.” The manager’s gaze returns to me. “I’ll show you to your place...table.” As he leads the way, he’s swaying slightly.
I’ll wait until we take our seats before I find out what’s going on.
“Please bring us a bottle of water first,” I say to him. “We need a bit of time before we order.”
“Of course.” The manager hands us the menus, his hand shaking.
“Are you okay?” I ask Celine after our water arrives and I give her time to take a few sips. “You don’t look well.”
She clasps her hands on the table. “I wish I could say I am.” The smile she gives me does not meet her eyes. “The truth is, I haven’t been okay for a long time.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The pain in her eyes makes me want to pull her out of her chair and into my arms. “Want to talk about it? I’m a pretty good listener.”
“That’s kind of you, but you didn’t ask me to dinner so I can spoil the evening with my problems.”
“You can never spoil the evening.” To hell with holding back. I reach out and place my hand on hers. “The fact that you’re here makes it a great evening.”
“That means a lot.” She withdraws her hand from mine again and glances back at the manager, who’s talking to a waiter not too far from our table. His eyes are still on us.
“Do you know him?” I ask. “I know this is a small town, but it seemed like—”
“I do know him.” She lowers her gaze. When she raises it again, her eyes are sparkling. “Since you’re bound to find out sooner or later, I might as well tell you. His name is Dennis Whitefield, my ex-husband. We were happily married, then I was diagnosed with cancer and he called it quits.”
“What?” An invisible fist punches my gut. My hands curl into fists. “He left you because you fell ill?”
She shrugs. “Some people say their vows, but they don’t mean the words.”
“What a jerk!” I shoot him a scathing look. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
“I’m sorry too, Blake.” She gets to her feet. “I’m sorry for wasting your time. Coming out with you was a mistake.”
I shoot to my feet, my heart thumping inside my throat. Before I can stop myself, I’m by her side, my hand on her arm, her warmth seeping into my palm. “I want you to stay, Celine.”
She shakes her head. “Look at me. I’m a complete mess.” She glances at my hand on her arm.
I let her go and push my hands into my pockets to stop myself from grabbing her again. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful mess.”
“Just because I’m a mess wrapped in a pretty package doesn’t make me less of a mess.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m a mess myself. We could keep each other company. Please sit down and let’s eat.”
She sighs, then lowers herself back into her chair. I do the same.
“Sorry if I spoiled your evening.” Her gaze flits to her ex again. “I recently found out that he’s getting married to the woman he started dating two months after he left. She came to tell me in person. I guess she couldn’t resist the urge to rub it in.”
Her words are like hammers hitting my temples hard. “He was a fool to let you go.”
Even though I made my money throwing punches, I’ve never been a violent person, but the more I learn about Celine’s ex, the more I want to punch him in the face. But I can’t show Celine that side of me. I also can’t let him get away with treating her the way he did. Her ego is bruised and I’l
l be the one to repair it. “Can you do me a favor?”
She nods with a raised eyebrow. “What are you up to?”
“Something that will make this evening so much better. Follow my lead, okay?” I wave Dennis over. He hurries to our table so fast I fear he’s going to trip. I’m sure he told the waiters to keep a distance so he can take care of our table himself. He’s about to regret that decision.
“We’d like the bill, please,” I say with a smile. “We’re leaving.”
“But...but you just got here. Did you have a look at our menu? Our food is—”
“Excellent?” I pick up the menu, then put it back down without opening it. “I’m sure it is. But this woman here deserves even better.”
Dennis glances at Celine, but looks away quickly. “Whatever you need, we can make it happen. Even if it’s not on the menu.” Begging makes him look pathetic.
I pretend to think for a moment, then I shake my head. “That’s okay. We’ll eat dinner at my hotel.” I get to my feet and extend my hand toward Celine. She hesitates only for a second before taking it. Pulling her close to my side, I dig into my pocket for money and drop it on the table. “Mr. Whitefield, we have to get going, but there’s something I’d like to say to you.”
Dennis doesn’t respond. The tips of his ears have turned red.
“You made a big mistake letting this woman go.” I tighten my grip around Celine. “But I’m not complaining. You actually did me a favor. I guess what I’m trying to say is, thank you.”
I walk Celine away from the table with everyone watching after us, several—who probably recognize me—are taking photos.
Unable to resist the urge to leave Dennis with another painful memory, once we reach the doorway, I turn Celine to face me and kiss her hard on the mouth without her permission.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper, blood rushing to my head and drugging my senses.
We step outside and the door closes behind us. We speak about what happened only when we’re back inside my car.
