Christmas on Mistletoe Lane--Includes a bonus short story

by Annie Rains

  Flo gave Tom a small smile. “Really?”

  He nodded. “I didn’t have the heart for surgery,” he said. Another strike against him as far as Ma was concerned.

  “You want some more sweet tea?” Flo asked.

  “No, thanks, I’m fine,” he said.

  Flo eyed Savannah again. “You here to give him advice?”

  Savannah blushed to her hairline. “I’m just visiting with the new doc, Flo.”

  “Uh-huh, I can see that.” She turned and walked away.

  “Well,” Savannah said on a rush of air, “I guess the rest of the town is going to know that I dropped in to say hey.”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess so. Thanks for making an announcement about Mrs. Bray. I’m happy to hear that she’s getting the medical attention she needs.”

  “Me too. But to be honest, that’s not the only reason I dropped by. Honey, you need help.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes, you do. And I’m going to give you some. You see, the truth is, walking by Last Chance Bloomers and looking in the window every day is not going to get you what you want.”

  So people had noticed his ineffective courtship of the town florist. That was slightly humiliating. “Okay, what should I do? I can’t exactly send her flowers, can I?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s—”

  “Buy them at the FTD florist in Allenberg and send them to her with something romantic on the card. Write the card yourself too. The note’s the important thing. Teri needs more than a little shove to jump into the pool again. She’s convinced herself that no one could ever be interested in her.”

  “So I gather.”

  She gave him a warm smile and reached across the table to pat his hand. “Everyone here loved Doc Cooper. And it’s hard for folks to change. But I want you to know that I approve of you sending Lillian to see a specialist, and I approve of you telling Arlo Boyd he needs to go on a diet. And also, I’m bringing my aunt in next week for her annual checkup. She’s getting real old. I’m worried about her.”

  “Everyone gets old, Mrs. Randall.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake, call me Savannah. And, really, Tom, when it comes to courting a woman, you just need to be persistent. Teri has built a wall around her heart and then dug a moat just to be sure. I can see you’ve already shaken the foundations of that wall. You just need to keep up the siege.” She leaned in again and spoke in a near-whisper. “And it’s perfectly okay to play dirty.”

  “Play dirty?”

  “Go for her most vulnerable spot. The one thing she’s foolishly trying to protect.”

  “Aiden?”

  Her smile lit up her face like a dozen flaming candles. “You are a very smart man. I’m a mother, Doc. I’ve learned the hard way that being a mother means letting go of your baby from the very moment he comes into your arms. If you do your job right, you have to let him take falls and experience disappointments and, well, help him grow up. That’s hard for any mother. But a mother with a sick or special child—well, it’s nearly impossible. And I have a strong feeling that you understand exactly what I mean.”

  “You’re talking about my childhood, aren’t you? But how could you possibly know…”

  Savannah pushed up from the table. “Don’t ask me how I know things, Doc. I don’t even understand it myself. But I have a strong feeling that your childhood will give you all the answers you need. God bless you, Doc, for seeing the truth about Teri. And Lillian.

  “And welcome to Last Chance.”

  * * *

  Teri’s front doorbell rang just as she was putting away groceries. It was 6:00 p.m. on the Saturday before Christmas. She was dog, dead tired. Everyone and their brother wanted their Christmas flower arrangements. She was sick to death of red roses, red carnations, and red poinsettias. In fact, she was starting to see red when she closed her eyes.

  So it was kind of surprising, and maybe a little bit like falling into the Twilight Zone, when she opened her front door to find Jasper Wilkins, the delivery guy for her competition, standing on her porch holding a vase with a dozen white roses in it.

  No red roses, red carnations, red holly berries. Just white roses.

  “Hey, Teri,” Jasper said with a big, slightly toothless grin. “These are for you. Looks like you’ve got yourself a not-so-secret admirer—the new doc in town.” He handed her the vase. “Looks like you’re in for a very merry Christmas.” He winked before he turned and headed back to his panel van.

  Oh boy, everyone in town was going to know that the new doc had sent the local florist a dozen white roses. White, for goodness sake. Hell, she only ever used white roses in bridal bouquets.

  Although she had to admit that a dozen white roses in a simple vase made a real statement. She put the flowers on her dining room table not knowing precisely what to think. No one had ever sent her flowers. Ever. Not even her ex-husband. Not on Mother’s Day, or Valentine’s Day, or their anniversary.

  She hadn’t ever expected flowers from anyone. She had the flower situation covered. She brought flowers home from the store. She grew flowers in her perennial border. She was the treasurer of the Last Chance Flower and Garden Club. Flowers were her thing. Guys knew this and stayed away.

  But Doc Crawford was not like other guys. He wasn’t staying away, was he? She stood there absolutely gob-smacked. Until this moment, she hadn’t even realized what she was missing. All these years making arrangements for other people. Writing out romantic cards. Hell, helping clueless guys come up with romantic cards. And she’d never, ever been on the receiving end.

  She plucked the small card from its plastic holder and opened it. The handwriting was bold, masculine, and just a tiny bit illegible. Betsy Ashworth, the owner of the FTD florist shop in Allenberg, hadn’t written this card. Tom had written it himself.

  Her pulse went erratic, just like it did every noontime when the man strolled down Palmetto Avenue and stopped to glance through the windows of her shop. He’d been doing this for a solid week, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, that daily moment when Tom walked by Last Chance Bloomers was the best moment of her day.

  She read the card.

  White roses to remind you of angel wings. Meet me at the village green at midnight on Christmas Eve.

  Love,

  Tom

  Love? Goodness, he’d signed the card with the L-word, and it made her heart pirouette in her chest and her mouth go dry.

  Village green? No one in town referred to the town square as the village green. No one except Tom, the Yankee from Boston.

  What was she going to do about this? She wasn’t ready to fall in love with anyone. In her experience, romantic love was highly overrated. Not only had her ex been an idiot, but the guys who bought flowers from her were just as likely to send a dozen red roses to their mistresses as their wives. In fact, more so.

  More important, she wasn’t ready to meet him for an angelic experience. Chances were, a meeting like that would turn into one of Aiden’s epic meltdowns. Not on Christmas Eve in the middle of town. Let Aiden have his annual Christmas meltdown in private this year. Isn’t that what her family had wanted when they uninvited her?

  No, she wasn’t ready for Tom or the angels or the town square at midnight.

  She picked up the flowers, ready to toss them in the trash. But she couldn’t throw them away. They were so beautiful. So utterly thoughtful. And the man who sent them was kind and patient and knew how to kiss.

  “Damn,” she muttered as she set them back down. What was she going to do now?

  * * *

  Teri did nothing about the roses, except maybe enjoy them in a clandestine way. And she might have enjoyed them even more if Tom had continued to stroll by the store. But on the following Monday, four days before Christmas, Tom didn’t make his daily noontime trek to the Kountry Kitchen. And he didn’t do it on Tuesday either. And he didn’t call. Or show up unexpectedly. Or anything.

  It was as if he’d disappear
ed.

  Of course, she didn’t call him to thank him for the flowers. She’d consciously decided not to do anything about them. And by doing nothing, she’d sent her own message to him.

  She wondered if he was still planning to show up at the town square on Christmas Eve, like one of the characters out of that Nora Ephron movie, Sleepless in Seattle, where the hero and heroine agree to meet at the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day.

  Unfortunately life was not like the movies.

  But someone forgot to tell the members of the Christ Church Ladies’ Auxiliary this fact. Those ladies seemed to think that life—especially when it came to romance—was exactly like the movies. And when Betsy Ashworth, the owner of Allenberg Flowers, mentioned the roses and the contents of the card (which she’d read, contrary to ethical business practices) to Millie Polk, it was inevitable that every busybody in town would know about Tom and Teri’s clandestine meeting at midnight.

  Now every customer who came through the doors of Last Chance Bloomers wanted to know if she was planning to meet “that Yankee doctor” at the town square tonight.

  The majority of her customers thought it would be oh-so-romantic, even if he was from up north and talked funny. People’s attitudes toward Tom were beginning to thaw, especially since that specialist up in Columbia had found something wrong with Lillian and put her on medicine that was actually helping her.

  Of course the town might be warming to the new doc, but Lillian had lost a lot of face, so she wasn’t all that keen on any of Last Chance’s single ladies taking up with that new doctor. She didn’t mince words when she bustled into the shop on Christmas Eve morning to pick up her centerpiece. “Teri, you cannot go meet that man at midnight. He’s a Yankee, and you know he’s going to leave in two years.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” This was Teri’s standard reply to the question she had to answer at least ten times every day. She pulled Lillian’s centerpiece out of the refrigerator.

  “Piffle, of course you know what I’m talking about.” Lillian appraised the flowers. “Goodness, Teri, you’ve outdone yourself.” The centerpiece consisted of a swag of Douglas fir interspersed with sprigs of variegated holly and red glass balls. A wide, wired red velveteen ribbon looped on either side of a three-inch red-cinnamon scented candle. She’d made about ten of these centerpieces over the last few days. They were quite popular this year.

  “Thanks, Lillian. I’m glad you like it.”

  “I do.” The large church lady looked up. “But I don’t want you getting involved with that man. It’s not as if Miriam—” Lillian bit off the end of her warning when the old-fashioned bell above the shop’s door jingled. Good thing, because Teri really didn’t much like it when Lillian started pointing and waving her finger. It was a sure-fire indication that the woman was about to go righteous. And it was mildly uncomfortable to find herself agreeing with Lillian Bray about the wisdom of going out to the town square tonight at midnight.

  “Oh, good gracious, it’s you, Savannah,” Lillian said interrupting her own tirade.

  Savannah Randall gave Lillian a wide smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey, Lillian, I just came to get my centerpiece.”

  “It’s ready,” Teri said, escaping to the back room. Savannah’s centerpiece was nothing like Lillian’s. In fact, Savannah’s centerpiece had been a labor of love. Not many folks in Last Chance were looking for something different when it came to Christmas. But she could always count on Savannah.

  Savannah had just finished redoing the old Victorian house that had belonged to her family for generations. She wanted something that evoked an earlier time. Teri had created a centerpiece entirely out of natural materials. A swag of magnolia leaves provided the arrangement’s backbone. She’d wired orange and clove pomanders to the swag to provide the bulk of the color and a wonderful scent. Tucked around the oranges were sprigs of juniper, pheasant feathers, bundles of cinnamon, and orange pyracantha berries. Aiden would have liked this arrangement. It had not a smidgen of red anywhere in sight.

  “Oh my word,” Lillian said in an avaricious voice the moment she saw Savannah’s centerpiece. “That’s just gorgeous. Teri, why on earth didn’t you advertise this one?”

  “Because it’s one of a kind. Savannah commissioned it specifically.”

  “Oh.” Lillian’s nose went right in the air. Typical.

  She picked up her flowers and gave Teri the evil eye. “You remember what I said, now, you hear? You stay away from that man.” She turned and left the store.

  “I’m assuming she was talking about Doc Crawford?” Savannah asked, apparently in no hurry to get home and do whatever still needed to be done for tomorrow’s holiday.

  Teri rolled her eyes. It was rude, she knew, but really. “It would be terrific if the people in this town would just mind their own business.”

  “It would be. But it’s not going to happen.” Savannah smiled. “So Lillian thinks you should stay away from the town square, huh? That’s kind of sad, really. She can’t even be grateful to the doctor who paid attention to her.”

  “I guess that is kind of sad,” Teri said.

  “And what about you? How do you feel about the new doc?”

  Teri gave Savannah a sober stare. Savannah and her aunt Miriam had a reputation for handing out infallible romantic advice. So there was no way she was going to spill her heart.

  Savannah’s smile warmed and reached all the way to her eyes this time. “I know this is scary for you, Teri. But, honey, I’m going to give you just a little bit of advice. You should examine your heart and do what it tells you to do. And besides, you have to admit that it’s kind of exciting to have a man like Doc Crawford send you flowers.”

  Teri let go of a completely pathetic sigh. “You won’t believe this, but I’ve never gotten flowers before.”

  “Of course you haven’t. Who sends flowers to a florist?”

  “Right. And his note was—well, he kind of hit me right where my doubts are.”

  “Of course he did. He strikes me as a smart and kind man. I suppose he became a doctor because of what happened to him as a kid. In my opinion, he’s got a terrific bedside manner.”

  “You mean his cancer?”

  “Oh, is that what it was? I didn’t know. I just knew that he’d been sick as a child.”

  “He lost his leg.”

  “You’re kidding me? Really? He doesn’t even limp.”

  “He’s got a prosthesis. Below the knee.”

  “Well, I reckon if he’s setting up clandestine midnight meetings with you, then you must know him better than a lot of folks in this town.” There was a mischievous glimmer in Savannah Randall’s eye.

  “Savannah, quit. It’s embarrassing. Every darn person who’s come through the door today has wanted to know what I’m going to do.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Stay home.” She said it clearly and succinctly. She hadn’t even known that the decision was made. But that amused sparkle in Savannah’s eye had turned the tide. Everyone in town wanted her to risk her heart on a guy who was practically a stranger. A guy who wanted her to allow her son to make a fool of himself in front of the whole town. The more people who expressed interest in her decision, the easier her decision became. She had to keep Aiden away. The angels weren’t going to visit the little town of Last Chance. She had to protect him from that disappointment or he’d pitch one of his fits. She wasn’t going to let that happen just because she had the hots for Tom Crawford.

  That old adage about “nothing ventured, nothing gained” could be turned around on its ear. Nothing ventured, nothing lost was equally as true. And she was not about to lose her head over Aiden’s angel fantasies. As for her heart—well, she didn’t want to lose that either.

  AIDEN SPEAKS

  I played the Prelude and Fugue in F from Book II of J. S. Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier three times before dinner and four times after dinner. Mom made roasted chicken,
which is white. We had white potatoes, but they weren’t mashed. Mom took all the brown stuff off them. We had cauliflower, which is white.

  I hung up a stocking with a snowman on it. Mom will put stuff in it tonight and then pretend that someone else did it. That’s a lie. I don’t like it when Mom lies.

  At nine forty-seven, Mom said, “It’s time for bed.”

  I said, “It’s still one hundred and thirty-three minutes before midnight.”

  Mom said, “It’s your bedtime.”

  I said, “But we need to be at the town square at midnight.”

  Mom didn’t say anything for about thirty seconds. Then she said, “We are not going to the town square.”

  This made my chest feel funny. My head felt funny too. I went upstairs and found Raphael and sang “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” ten times.

  At ten thirteen, Mom came in my room and said, “Put on your pajamas. I don’t want any trouble from you.”

  I don’t make trouble. I don’t lie. I decided to put on my pajamas just to make her go away. I like being alone. I turned out the light. I stayed in my bed and counted seconds and minutes.

  Mom opened the door fifty-seven minutes later but she didn’t say anything. I pretended to be asleep.

  At eleven twenty, I got out of bed and put on my blue pants and my white shirt. The hall was dark. I went downstairs. The lights on the tree were still burning, and there was stuff in the stocking.

  I got my coat and mittens and opened the door.

  It was pretty warm outside so I put my mittens in my pocket. Mom doesn’t like it when I lose my mittens. I heard a siren, which made my head feel funny. I don’t like sirens. I don’t like ambulances, especially if they are red.

  I walked to the town square.

  I waited.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tom Crawford had a quiet Christmas Eve at home in his new one-bedroom condo. He nuked a chicken pot pie and settled in with a good book. It was lonely, but that was okay. He had an important appointment at midnight.