“Uh,” he said. There was a great beginning. Good grief. He tried again. “Uh. Lexie.” I miss your cookies. I miss hanging out with you and Brock. I don’t mind driving you places. I’m sorry about the Santa thing. It’s for the best, though. No, not that. That was stupid. Start with...not about missing cookies. That would put him right on the same level as Bonnie. May as well bark. And it wasn’t about the cookies. It was about what they’d meant, that someone cared.
He was still choosing his next words when the beep that said You’re done, fool, went off. He clicked off his portable phone with a scowl and went in search of peppermint ice cream.
His last words before nodding off that night were, “Sorry, Carol, I just can’t get it right.”
For a minute there, he thought he felt a gentle touch on his cheek. But he knew he’d only imagined it. Carol was still silent, and his life was empty once more.
* * *
Lexie’s doctor gave her permission to ditch the walking boot, and she came home with a lightweight brace, which meant she could start wearing cute shoes again. And driving!
“Just in time for Christmas,” she told Shannon, who’d driven her. “And a nice present for you, too. Now you don’t have to take me everywhere.”
“I didn’t mind,” Shannon assured her. “And you’d do the same for me. Only I might not spend as much on chocolate for you,” she joked.
“With all those rides you’ve given me I owe you chocolate for life,” Lexie said.
“I like the sound of that.”
“Want to stay for dinner?”
Shannon shook her head. “I can’t. I’m meeting another potential Mr. Perfect.”
“Oh?” Lexie prompted.
“He seems promising, but then they always do until you spend some time with ’em. I think my New Year’s resolution is going to be to quit trying so hard, let things happen naturally. And enjoy my life just as it is.”
“That sounds like a good plan.”
“Unless, of course, tonight’s man du jour turns out to be great. Then, forget the resolution,” Shannon finished with a grin.
“You never know. You can find love anywhere.” Maybe even across the street.
It was way too early to tell, but a girl could hope.
Free to drive, Lexie decided it was time to make good on her promise to take Brock to see Santa. She fed him a quick meal of mac and cheese and chicken fingers, then got him dolled up in his slacks and red sweater, and off they went to the nearby mall where Santa was making an appearance.
“Come up with me,” Brock said when it was his turn to sit with Santa.
“Well, who have we here?” the man greeted him and added the requisite “Ho, ho, ho!”
“I’m Brock, and this is my mom,” Brock said. “I know we’re just pretending, but I still like you.”
The man shot an amused look at Lexie. “Well, now, that’s good to hear. I like you, too, young man. I think I need to bring you something extra special for Christmas. What do you think?”
“I want a Junior Handyman tool set. I thought you should let Mommy know in case she forgot.”
“I bet she remembered,” said Mall Santa.
“I bet she did, too,” Brock agreed.
Mall Santa smiled up at Lexie. “And what would you like for Christmas, young lady?”
My mother to be with me, a good man. Neither were things she could ask for in front of her son.
The first wasn’t going to happen: she was resigned to that. But the good man? She pictured Truman’s smile and felt as warmed as if she’d consumed a hot buttered rum. Maybe the New Year was going to be a happy one.
Meanwhile, she had her pretty new house, a good friend in Shannon, and her adorable boy. She had much to be grateful for.
“You know, Santa, I think I’m good,” she said.
“Well, then, let’s take a picture together,” Mall Santa suggested. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas.”
Yes, it is looking merry, she thought when Truman came by that evening with a book for her. “A thank-you for dinner,” he explained as he handed it over.
It was wrapped in red ribbon, but she could easily see the title: Living Your Best Life Yet.
“Not that you aren’t,” he hurried to add, “but I thought you might like this. It’s by a woman named Muriel Sterling. She’s pretty popular with a lot of my women readers. She actually lives here in Washington, in a town called Icicle Falls. Her family owns a chocolate company.”
“Ooh, I like her already,” Lexie said. “Thank you. I love self-improvement books.” And she was more than ready to live her best life yet.
“Good. Well, I guess I’d better get back over to the house. I promised the girls I’d send out for pizza again.” He didn’t move.
“Do you normally eat this late?”
“For a while. Have to keep the bookstore open, and until I find an employee, that job falls on me. I gave them cheese and crackers and some apple slices at the store, so they’re not starving.”
“An apple a day, that’s what my grandma used to say.” Who cared? What a dumb remark.
“So did mine,” he said, smiling. “I’m a big believer.” Still he stood there. “I guess you and Brock have already eaten.”
Never turn down an opportunity to be with a great guy. “We have, but there’s always room for pizza.”
His smile grew. “Yeah?”
“I could come over and help you finish unpacking,” she offered.
“That would be great,” he said.
Yes, it would. She called up the stairs, and her son came racing down them. “How would you like to go over to Mr. Phillips’s house for pizza?” Lexie asked him.
“Yes!” he whooped and yanked the closet door open.
“I guess that settles it,” she said and reached for her coat.
Winter darkness had fallen, and the Christmas lights Stanley had strung for her sparkled like jewels. His lights were on, too. His house looked deceptively festive. What was he doing in there, all by himself?
Who cared?
And what would her grandma say about her attitude? She already knew what Truman would say, and she suddenly felt a little small.
Once inside his house, though, she quickly became absorbed with the children and helping organize more of the chaos scattered around the Phillips’s house and forgot about Stanley Mann. Laughter and pizza. Merry Christmas from Truman’s home to hers.
While the children raced around, the two adults talked about the holidays, both past and present. Truman’s plans included spending some time with his old friend on Christmas Eve and doing an online chat with his family back home on Christmas morning.
“Then I guess the girls and I will tuck in for the day,” he finished.
“You’re more than welcome to come over to my house in the afternoon,” Lexie said. “As it turns out, it’s just going to be Brock and me.”
“No family coming to visit?”
She sighed, then told him about her mother.
“That’s too bad,” he said.
“Hopefully, by next year it will be different. I still wish I could get her to come up this year. I think it would do her good. But there’s not much I can do if she doesn’t want to.”
“It sounds like she needs more time,” Truman said. “When you’ve gone through something bad, it can take a while to see anything good in life.”
Like Stanley Mann? Why, oh, why, did he keep coming to mind? She pushed him firmly out and kept him out for the rest of the evening. She had other things to think about besides him.
Once the house was pretty much squared away, she decided she really didn’t have an excuse to hang around any longer. They’d been at the kitchen table relaxing with glasses of soda pop, but now the glasses were empty.
“I should go,” she said, and got up a
nd set hers on the kitchen counter.
He set his down, too, and they stood there, looking at each other. The heat growing between them was enough to start a whole troop of little elves running around in her tummy.
“It’s probably too soon to kiss you,” he murmured and moved closer.
“Probably,” she agreed. Darn.
“But we have spent a lot of hours together,” he pointed out.
And unpacking a lot more than dishes. They’d already shared so much of their personal lives.
“But we still don’t know each other very well.” And they had children. They needed to be cautious and responsible.
She didn’t make a move to leave.
He inched a little closer. “What else do you want to know?”
“What are you like when you’re not being so...” Perfect. “Nice. Do you lose your temper?”
“When I’m tired. Sometimes I yell. Mostly, though, I give myself a time-out. Send the girls to their rooms, chill and reassess. I swear if I hit my finger with a hammer. But I’ve never hit a woman, never spanked my girls.”
She bit her lip. “Ever cheated?”
His eyes popped wide. “No. Good God, no.”
“Sorry. I had to ask.”
“Understandable. How about you? Do you have a fatal flaw I should know about?” he asked. “I can’t imagine you do.”
She thought of how long it had taken to forgive the man who had once wanted to be her husband and then dumped her, and of how upset she’d been with Stanley.
“I hate to confess it, but I think I have a hard time forgiving and letting go.”
“That’s understandable, too” he said. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t move on to what’s better until you let go of what was bad.”
“How true. You know, you are a very wise man.”
He also looked good in his jeans and shirt with its sleeves rolled up. They showed off his strong arms. And those lips sure knew how to smile. What else were they good at?
She closed the last few inches between them. “I think moving on to what’s better sounds like an excellent idea.”
He raised an eyebrow, half smiled. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.”
He took off his glasses and set them on the counter. “Should we pretend it’s already New Year’s Eve and about to strike midnight?”
“I think we should.”
He slipped his arms around her waist. She slid her hands up his chest, and they pretended.
Truman was a fabulous pretender.
Later that night, as she snuggled in her bed, it wasn’t sugar plums Lexie dreamed about.
* * *
Monday was the last day of school before Christmas, and Lexie had a party with her students. Before they arrived she sprayed a cinnamon-scented air freshener around the room and sprinkled cookie crumbs on their desks. When they came in she informed them that the Gingerbread Boy had been to school.
“Is he still here?” asked one of the children, looking eagerly around.
“No, but I think some of his friends might be. Shall we look for them?”
The search was mounted, with the children exploring every corner of the classroom. Alas, the Gingerbread Boy’s friends were nowhere to be found in class. Which meant coats had to be donned, and the children had to be taken outside to search the playground. While they conducted their search, the two room mothers came in and set up for a party, decorating and distributing Lexie’s baked, wrapped gingerbread boys. When the children returned they found a giant cardboard Gingerbread Boy waving at them, and edible ones at each desk. Then there were stories to read, songs to sing and a game to play. The children left for their holiday break happily wound up and buzzing.
Her own son was buzzing at the end of the school day, also, full of details about his class holiday party. “We played pin the hat on Santa,” he told her.
“And did you get the hat on the Santa’s head?”
Brock shook his head. “I pinned it on his shoulder. Teacher said it looked good there. Emily thinks Santa is real.”
Oh, dear. She hoped Brock hadn’t passed on what he’d learned from their neighbor.
“Did you tell her he wasn’t?” Lexie asked nervously.
Brock shook his head. “I didn’t want to make her cry.”
Like someone had made him cry. Lexie’s brows dipped into an irritated V.
“I don’t think she’s big enough to know yet,” Brock continued. “Not like me.” He was silent a moment, then asked, “Can Grandpa Stanley come over and play Candy Land?”
“You want to see Grandpa Stanley?” Lexie asked, surprised.
“I miss him.”
Faults and all. Her son was more forgiving than she was. What did that say about her?
More important, what did that say to her?
Stanley Mann had a crusty exterior, but inside he had a soft heart. That had been evidenced in the things he’d done for her and her son. She contrasted that to herself, all sweet and kind on the outside, but when it came to forgiving a grumpy old man who’d made a misstep, she had a heart as hard as a lump of coal.
This had to be a lonely time for the man. She could fix that. It was the season of peace on earth, goodwill toward men. Even curmudgeons.
The next day, with Brock riding shotgun, she drove to the supermarket—it felt so good to be able to drive herself!—and picked up buttermilk, red food coloring, and cake flour. She’d make red velvet cupcakes and take some to Stanley and maybe even invite him over for dinner.
On her way back she happened to drive by the bookstore. What a coincidence! Ha.
“This is the bookstore Mr. Phillips bought. I bet he and the girls are in there working. Should we go in and say hi?” she said to Brock.
As expected, her son said an emphatic yes, so they parked the car halfway down the block and made their way to the store. Walking with that light brace felt so good.
Once they got to the store she saw the sign on the door. Closed, but not for long. Please join us for our grand reopening February 1. Darn.
Oh, well, she had cupcakes to bake.
“I guess they’re not open yet,” she said to Brock.
He had his face pressed to the window. “But I see Mr. Phillips.”
She joined him at the window. Indeed, Truman was there with the former owner. They both were seated in armchairs, and each had an iPad and the woman had a notebook and pencil. They were obviously working. The girls were over in the children’s book section, reading.
“Come on, Brockie, let’s go. They’re not open,” Lexie said.
Too late. He was already knocking on the window.
“Brockie, don’t bother them. They’re busy.” Casually dropping by to purchase a book was one thing, but ignoring a Closed sign and hovering at the window probably looked more like stalking.
But Truman was on his way to the door.
“We came to see you,” Brock told him once he’d opened it.
“Well, come on in.”
“You’re closed,” Lexie protested. “And you’re obviously busy. I thought you were open for business.”
“We will be. And June and I were just going over a few things,” he said. “We could probably use a break.”
He ushered Lexie in and introduced her to the former owner, June Yates.
“Oh, yes, you’ve been in before,” June said with a smile. “Nice to see you.”
The girls came over, each with a book in hand. “Hi, Brock,” said Isobel. “I’m reading this.” She held up a Dr. Seuss book. “We have a whole bunch. Want to come see?”
He nodded eagerly and ran for the books.
“I shouldn’t be bothering you,” Lexie said to Truman.
“It’s no bother. Sorry we’re not open for business. I’m going to d
o a little remodeling.”
“Feel free to show her,” said June.
“I’ll give you the two-minute tour,” he said to Lexie.
It wasn’t a large store, but he had good ideas for making better use of the space. “These—” he said, pointing to two rows of shelves “—we’re going to put on rollers and make them movable. That way we can push them aside and make extra room for seating when we have author events.”
“That’s a great idea.”
They moved to the children’s book section. “Going to have different bookcases here, too. They’ll be circular and rotate. Then, right there we’ll make a space for story time. I’m hoping to find someone who’d like to come in on a Saturday afternoon once a month and read to the kids. Know anyone who might be interested in that?” he asked, raising both eyebrows.
Reading to children? Gee, twist her arm. “I think I might know someone,” she said with a smile.
Brock held up a book to her. Splat the Cat. “Can we get this?”
She turned to Truman. “I know you’re not officially open, yet but can you ring up a sale?”
“I’ll do better than that. How about I give that to you for Christmas, Brock?” he asked.
Brock hugged the book to him. “Yes! Thank you.”
“How will you make any money if you keep giving away your books?” Lexie protested.
“I’m sure you’ll be a loyal customer,” he said.
He had that right.
They stayed a few more minutes, then Lexie herded her son toward the door, saying to Truman, “We need to let you get back to work.”
He walked them to the door. “I’m looking forward to Christmas,” he said to her.
“Me, too,” she told him.
As she was about to follow her son out, he caught her hand and drew her close enough so he could whisper in her ear. “And maybe celebrating New Year’s Eve.”
His breath tickled, and those little elves all began to dance around in her tummy again.
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” she said.
Brock grabbed her other hand and pulled. “Come on, Mommy. I want to go home and read my new book.”
A Little Christmas Spirit Page 23
