by Susan Wiggs
She wondered if Eddie Haven liked his notoriety. Maybe now that they were about to be forced to work together, she would have the chance to ask him. Or not.
The sad fact was, she’d probably be too bashful to ask him what time it was, let alone the way he felt about the vagaries of fame. She knew plenty about Eddie Haven. Yet she didn’t know him. Perhaps over the weeks leading up to Christmas, that would change.
Or not.
She wondered if it was possible to get to know someone without letting him know her. And did she care enough to try?
She read a page of her book, then tried to avoid looking at the lighted neon clock on the wall. A burst of laughter sounded from a nearby table, and the trill of a child’s gleeful voice drifted across the busy café. Along with the library, and Heart of the Mountains Church, the Sky River Bakery was one of her favorite spots in town. It was impossible to be sad or depressed in a bakery. There must be something in the sugary, yeasty scent that imparted serenity, for everyone Maureen could see appeared to be happy.
A girl in a white apron perched on a step stool, creating a list of Thanksgiving pie options and announcing Christmas pre-orders. Seeing that, Maureen felt a thrill of anticipation. Christmas was right around the corner, and in spite of everything else going on in her life, it was still her favorite time of year.
She made the mistake of glancing at the clock. Eddie Haven was officially late. Seven minutes late, to be precise, not that she was counting—though she was. How long did one wait until the other party was considered “late?” Five minutes? Ten? Twenty? And whose responsibility was it to check in with the other? The waitee, or the waiter?
She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered out the window. There were a lot of people out this time of day, heading home from work or after-school activities. A boy passed by, and she thought he might be the one she’d seen earlier at the library—Jabez. He had enormous dark eyes, thickly fringed by long lashes. His poise and formality when he’d greeted her had struck Maureen as unusual in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He regarded the rows of bread loaves and pastries, and his hand went inside the pocket of his olive-drab jacket. Then he sighed, freezing the air with his breath, and moved on. She had an urge to call him back, to offer…what? Maureen wasn’t given to social impulses, and she doubted a teenager would welcome an invitation from the town librarian, anyway.
After nine minutes, she began to wonder if she had made a mistake with the time and place of her meeting with Eddie. Just to be sure, she opened her clipboard and consulted the printout of their e-mail exchange. No, she hadn’t gotten the time wrong. He was late. Totally, inexcusably late.
By the time he was twelve minutes late, she was seriously nervous. She might need to phone him after all. Good grief, but she hated phoning. Or…wait. She could send him a text message. Perfect. A text message. She could ask him if he was still planning to meet with her.
Yes, that would give him a chance to save face in case he’d forgotten the appointment. Why it was her job to save his face was another matter entirely.
Taking out her mobile phone, she remembered the no-phone rule in the bakery. There was a sign just inside the door, depicting a symbol of a phone with a slash through it. Did that include sending a text message? Maureen was new to sending text messages, so she wasn’t sure.
Just to be safe, she stepped outside, feeling almost furtive. Frowning down at the keypad, she composed a text message with too much care. “Come on,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s not as if this is going to be chiseled in stone.” Yet she agonized over the greeting. Did she even need a greeting? Or should she just plunge into the body of the message it self? And what about a sign-off? BEST WISHES? SEE YOU SOON? Was she MAUREEN? M.D.? No, that was weird. Okay. M. DAVENPORT. There.
She hit Send.
At that precise second, she noticed a little flashing icon on her screen, indicating she had a message. Strange. She almost never got text messages.
This one was from—whoops—Eddie Haven, sent about an hour ago.
RUNNING 15 MIN LATE. SORRY. SEE U 6:15.
So now she would look like a neurotic psycho stalker, nagging him over a fifteen-minute delay and too much of a ninny to check her messages.
Staring down at the tiny screen, she stood on the edge of the curb, wishing the pavement would crack open and swallow her up, sparing her this awkward meeting. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the white, windowless van careening toward her until it was almost too late. She jumped away from the curb just as it angled into a parking spot a few feet away, nearly flattening her against the brick building. Rock music thumped from the scratched and dented vehicle for a couple of seconds before the engine rattled to a halt.
Clutching the mobile phone with frozen fingers, Maureen choked on a puff of exhaust. She heard the thud of a door, footsteps on pavement.
A man in black appeared, glaring at her. She looked him up and down. He had the shaggy blond hair of an old-school California surfer. He wore ripped jeans and black high-top sneakers, and a jacket with a ski pass hanging from the zipper tag, open to reveal a formfitting black T-shirt. Eddie Haven had arrived. Wonderful. He was going to think the world of her.
“Jesus Christ, lady. I didn’t see you there. I nearly ran you down,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed. “Yes, you did.”
“I didn’t see you,” he repeated.
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 p
ronounced 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 some thing 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 do mi natrix.”
“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 som
e 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.”
