Mr. Miracle

by Debbie Macomber

  In fact, Harry could hardly wait to tell Celeste about the kiss. She’d be thrilled. Two people who had never been able to tolerate the sight of each other were now … friends, with the potential for a whole lot more.

  Harry was caught up in his thoughts and didn’t notice until he reached his classroom that his room was the only one down the long hallway with the lights on.

  He opened the door to his classroom and stopped cold.

  Michelle Heath, the French teacher, was inside his room. She’d spread a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth on the floor, with one corner anchored by a wicker picnic basket. Two champagne glasses rested on top of the basket.

  “Welcome, Harry,” she whispered seductively.

  His tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of his mouth. “Hi,” he finally managed.

  “I missed seeing you in Massey Hall at the performance.” Her lips formed a soft pout. She sat on the tablecloth with her legs bent behind her and looked up at him with the most enticing smile he’d ever seen. His heart was doing jumping jacks inside his chest.

  “I … know. All the seats were taken by the time I arrived.” He remained frozen, standing in the doorway.

  “Come in,” she beckoned, motioning him by wiggling her fingers.

  Harry felt his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. “What … about class?” His students would arrive any minute. He could only imagine what Dr. Conceito would think if he were to make a surprise visit to the room and find Harry sipping champagne with the French instructor when he was scheduled to be teaching class.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Michelle asked, her eyes rounding with surprise.

  “Hear?”

  “Classes have been canceled due to the snow.”

  “Ah … no one told me.”

  “It was announced earlier.” She removed the champagne flutes from the top of the basket and opened it. She set aside the lid and reached inside to take out a cutting board, a long loaf of crusty French bread, a block of cheddar cheese, and a bottle of champagne. When Harry didn’t immediately join her, she glanced up.

  “No need to be shy, Harry. Come sit with me.” She patted the space on the floor next to her.

  His knees had turned to the consistency of gelatin.

  “I’m going to need you to open the champagne bottle for me,” she said, looking at him with wide blue eyes that seemed to say he was the strongest, most capable man she’d ever known.

  “Um … okay.” He came all the way into the classroom and took the bottle from her hand.

  “Sit,” she urged.

  Harry sank to the ground. His hands trembled slightly as he removed the wire mesh from the top of the bottle and discarded it in the wastepaper basket that was close at hand. Then he remembered how Jonas, the custodian, often rummaged through the trash, and quickly retrieved it. He thrust it into his jacket pocket along with the foil. He was determined there would be no incriminating evidence left behind.

  “My first husband was French,” Michelle explained.

  “Your first husband?”

  Her eyes were round and sad. “I’ve been married twice.”

  “Oh.”

  “You know what they say,” she said, looking up at him with a hopeful expression. “The third time is the charm.”

  Harry’s Adam’s apple did a complete lap. “Third time?”

  “Yes, I don’t want to be alone any longer.”

  He was in trouble here. Big, big trouble.

  “But that isn’t what I wanted to tell you,” Michelle continued. “This is about the champagne. Pierre said there was a trick to opening bubbly. Instead of twisting the cork, one must gently turn the bottle.”

  She made it sound easy, but when he attempted to do it, Harry discovered it was anything but. He gripped the cork and, following her instructions, gently rotated the bottle.

  “If you open it slowly and carefully, it shouldn’t make a popping sound. In fact, Pierre said when properly opened, champagne should have the sigh of a contented woman.”

  It was only by sheer good fortune that Harry managed to save the bottle before it went crashing to the floor. The sigh of a contented woman.

  Heaven hadn’t prepared him for this!

  Harry didn’t have a clue what a woman’s satisfied sigh meant, but whatever it was sounded dangerous.

  All at once the cork shot from the bottle with a popping sound loud enough to send fire engines racing toward the building. Harry nearly fell backward with the shock of it.

  Michelle, however, barely seemed to notice. “Shall I pour?” she asked, when Harry remained frozen, clinging to the bottle with both hands.

  Unable to respond any other way, Harry nodded.

  Celeste had warned him about Michelle, and here he was like a fly trapped in a spider’s sticky web, hardly able to move and struggling valiantly. But not nearly valiantly enough. At this point, Harry found breathing difficult. His head was wandering into territory no angel should explore.

  Harry needed help. And he needed it fast.

  Then, when he least expected it, the classroom door flew open with such force it bounced against the wall. Brady Whitall leaped into the classroom in a crouched position with his weapon drawn. Both hands held on to the Taser gun, which was pointed directly at Michelle and Harry.

  Michelle screamed.

  So did Harry, who toppled the champagne bottle.

  Brady stared at them long and hard before he blinked and lowered his weapon. “What’s going on in here?”

  With her hand pressed against her front, Michelle looked as if she was about to faint. Harry was feeling light-headed himself.

  “A … picnic,” Harry managed, although it was difficult to speak with his mouth so dry.

  Michelle started to mop up the champagne. “Let me explain, Officer,” she said. “Would you care to join us?”

  By the time Harry was due to meet Celeste an hour later, he was an emotional mess. Once more he’d failed, and she was sure to reprimand him. With good reason. He had made a terrible error in judgment.

  With his hands over his face, Harry sat in the vacant cafeteria at one of the tables. The kitchen staff was just finishing the cleanup when Elaina, the young single mother he’d met earlier, saw him. Right away she came over.

  “Hello, Mr. Mills,” she said in perfect English, smiling. “I’m happy to see you again.”

  “Hello,” he whispered back.

  She frowned. “You okay?”

  He nodded. It would be too difficult to explain that he’d just looked down the barrel of a police weapon. Because they were both badly shaken, they’d drank the entire bottle of champagne. Michelle insisted it was exactly what they needed. Now Harry wasn’t so sure.

  “You don’t look so good.” The frown had turned into worry lines that creased her brow.

  “I don’t?” This didn’t bode well. Celeste would know right away that he’d messed up. It would be a miracle if he was allowed to finish teaching the course. He wouldn’t be surprised if she banished him from Earth, and he wouldn’t blame her.

  Elaina pressed her hand against his forehead. “No fever.”

  He smiled weakly and hiccupped.

  Next she reached for his hand, and, looking at her watch, she checked his pulse. After a moment, her eyes widened with alarm. “Your heart is beating very fast.”

  No doubt. Hers would be, too, if she’d come face-to-face with RoboCop.

  “I’m fine,” he insisted, although he didn’t feel the least bit well.

  Celeste was finishing counting out her register and would be joining him in a matter of minutes.

  “I’ll bring you something to calm you,” she said.

  “No … no.”

  “Please. You have been so nice to me.”

  Harry couldn’t very well refuse and so he smiled, agreeing. “You’re very kind.”

  “I hurry back.”

  “No rush.”

  Elaina left him and trotted back into the kitchen. She wa
sn’t gone more than a couple minutes. When she returned, she carried a mug of steaming water, which she set down on the table in front of Harry.

  “Sip this,” she instructed. “Don’t swallow fast. You understand?”

  Harry nodded. Tea leaves, or what he assumed must be tea leaves, covered the bottom of the mug.

  “Sip,” she said again.

  “I’ll sip,” Harry promised.

  “Medicine from my country,” she whispered. “It will relax you.”

  Harry watched as she returned to the kitchen. From the look, this was some herbal concoction she kept on hand for emergencies. Some home remedy. He took his first sip and noticed that Elaina must have added a tablespoon of honey, because the tea had a sweet taste.

  Celeste approached and Harry yawned. He didn’t know what it was that Elaina had put in the tea, but whatever it was had a powerful calming effect on him. Maybe it was the champagne, because now he seemed to be having trouble holding up his head. He was tempted to fold his arms and rest his head on the tabletop.

  He gave Celeste a huge smile and then yawned.

  She frowned. “Harry? What are you drinking now?”

  “Tea. Elaina gave it to me to calm my nerves after Brady Whitall threatened me with a gun.”

  Celeste slowly shook her head. “I was afraid something like this would happen.”

  “Not only me, but that beautiful French woman, too.”

  “Michelle Heath,” Celeste supplied.

  “Right. She isn’t French … she just speaks it.”

  “She’s a French teacher.”

  Harry nodded and held up his index finger. “It was all my fault. I accept full responsibility. No one told me what the sigh of a contented woman sounds like.”

  Celeste grabbed the back of the chair. “I think I better sit down.”

  “Good idea,” Harry whispered. “Can you tell me about that? Because I can assure you there was no such lesson in heaven. No one explained about French teachers with champagne, either. Were you aware,” he said, waving his finger, “there’s a very particular way to open champagne? It’s dangerous, I tell you. Dangerous.”

  “Yup,” Celeste whispered, pulling out the chair, “I think it might be best if I sit down.”

  “You shouldn’t hurry home,” Harry pointed out. “It’s snowing.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Classes were canceled.”

  “So I understand.”

  “Someone should have told me. It would have saved me from all this.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “Is it hot in here or is it just me?”

  “It’s just you,” she said kindly, and patted his hand. “I need you to tell me what transpired from your point of view. Start at the beginning.”

  “In the beginning, God created …”

  “Not that beginning,” she said, stopping him. “Start with the French teacher and the gun.”

  Harry’s shoulders sagged and he covered his face with both hands. “I don’t think you’re going to like this.”

  “Probably not,” she agreed. “Go back to Michelle and the champagne. And you drank the entire bottle. Oh Harry, you should know better.”

  “You’re right, I should have resisted.” He dropped his hands and then placed one against his forehead. He’d failed when he was convinced he wouldn’t have any problems. But then, he hadn’t known Earth had women as lovely as Michelle Heath and drinks that tasted as wonderful as French champagne.

  He’d been sent to Earth to help humans. Now he was badly in need of heaven’s help.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Just what are you doing?” Erich demanded when Addie breathlessly opened the front door. “I thought you were supposed to be studying for class.”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” she returned, shoulders heaving with the effort of carting the five-foot-long fir tree from her car up the sidewalk and into the Simmonses’ house. “I’m planting a tree in your living room.” Actually, Addie was pleased with herself. It’d taken some doing getting the Christmas tree home.

  “I already told you: no tree.”

  Addie had barely managed to get the Christmas tree through the front door, and already Erich was making noises. “Did you?” she asked, playing dumb.

  “Take that ridiculous monstrosity to your house,” he insisted, none too gently.

  She ignored his protests and dragged the tree all the way inside his living room. Who knew a tree could be so heavy? She’d found one at the lot when she stopped off at the grocery store. It was snowing, and she simply couldn’t resist. Erich had made his point, but Addie refused to accept it. It wouldn’t be Christmas without one of the most important traditions.

  When she happened to look his way, Addie noticed that Erich’s face was tight with agitation. “It’s perfectly fine if you want to put up a Christmas tree, but do it at your house and not mine.”

  “I would, except for one thing.” She stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. The tree lay on the floor in all its natural glory.

  “I can hardly wait to hear this,” he muttered, his words thick with sarcasm.

  “You’re the one in need of Christmas spirit, not me. I can’t think of a better way to put you in the mood for the holidays.” She hesitated. “Oh, and you might want to reconsider attending the holiday potluck with my class.”

  “No to both,” he said, scowling.

  She released a low sigh. Clearly her plan wasn’t working, but she was too committed to change course now. “Okay, fine. Whatever. I’ll give you an out on the potluck, but not the tree.”

  “I always knew you were stubborn, but this is over the top. Would it be too much to ask you to listen to reason? This is my home, and I don’t want anything to do with Christmas. Can I make it any clearer than that?”

  “Message received.”

  “But you’re not listening.”

  “No.” He was being a Scrooge, and she wasn’t going to let it happen. “Be careful or those three spirits might just pay you an uncomfortable visit,” she warned.

  “I’d rather deal with them than one stubborn female.”

  Erich looked away. With effort, she stood the tree against the wall and paused to look around to decide where best to set it up. “I bought something else while I was shopping.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s a waste,” Erich grumbled.

  “You’ll have to decide that for yourself,” she said, as she continued to survey the room for the perfect spot for the tree. Her choices were few, but if she moved some furniture around a bit …

  He mumbled something else, but Addie was only half listening. She reached for a small sack and brought out a sprig of mistletoe. “A waste, you say?”

  “Yes, I already told you …” He stopped mid-sentence. The look on his face was priceless, as if he was debating how to react. “Mistletoe?”

  Addie tossed him a saucy smile. “Aha, just as I thought. You have no objection to certain aspects of Christmas.”

  Scowling, he refused to meet her gaze. “In the interest of compromise, keep the mistletoe, take back the tree.”

  “Sorry, no can do.”

  He mumbled something unpleasant under his breath.

  “Complain all you want, Erich Simmons, but I refuse to allow you to ignore Christmas. It’s not happening on my watch.”

  Erich tilted back his head and closed his eyes. “Why me, God? First I break both wrists and then you send me this stubborn woman who refuses to leave me be. Why? Why? Why?”

  “God sent you exactly what you need,” she said. Inwardly, she was pleased God had sent her, not that she’d admit it to Erich, especially when he was in this sour mood.

  “Get rid of it,” he returned.

  “The mistletoe?”

  He grumbled again and shrugged as if he didn’t really care one way or the other. “You can keep that.”

  Addie was exhausted. This Christmas-tree business was hard labor. “My dad used to say I was stubborn. I
would have thought you’d know that by now.”

  “Now, that’s an understatement if ever there was one.”

  “Ah, come on, Erich, lighten up. A Christmas tree is exactly what we both need. Okay, maybe you don’t, but I do,” she countered. This was as much for her as for Erich.

  “Okay, fine; have it your way.”

  “Your enthusiasm overwhelms me,” she joked.

  “If you’re looking for enthusiasm, you’ll need to search elsewhere.” His face was tight and dark.

  “What is it with you?” she demanded. He should at least appreciate the effort she’d made to bring a bit of cheer into his life. As a kid, she recalled that Erich had been as excited about Christmas as Jerry and she were. He might pin his bad attitude on the car accident, but there was more to it than that.

  “My attitude is not changing,” he said, “so you’d better get used to it.”

  She reached for her coat and headed toward the front door.

  “Hey,” he said, stopping her, “where are you going now?”

  She paused in the entryway. “To my garage for the tree decorations.”

  “You’re coming back?” The question sounded as if he wasn’t sure he’d welcome her company.

  “Would you rather I stay away?” She was only half-serious.

  “It’s tempting to say yes.”

  Addie grinned because she knew he didn’t mean it.

  For the next half hour, Addie hauled plastic containers from her garage to Erich’s house. It was demanding work. Erich watched, his gaze following her movements, but he remained stubbornly silent. When she’d finished stacking the containers in the living room, she went directly into the kitchen.

  “Now what are you doing?” he said, following her into the other room.

  She opened and closed cupboard doors. “I’m looking for a pan to pop popcorn.”

  “You’re hungry?”

  She shouldn’t need to explain. “In case you’re unaware, it’s impossible to decorate a Christmas tree properly without eating popcorn and listening to the appropriate music.”