by Dawn Atkins
At five, she gave up and was waiting with a mug of chai tea when the carrier tossed the morning paper onto her porch.
Heart banging her ribs, she slipped it from its plastic cover and unfolded it.
The front page was fine, but when she pulled away the first section, there it was. The lead story in B with two photos—the bomb scare and a reprint of the weekly paper’s shot of the graffiti.
As she read the article, Sylvie’s blood ran colder than the early-morning air through her robe:
In recent weeks, the peace of Scottsdale’s Starlight Desert Mall, a 1970s-era mall built by local developer Marshall McCann, has been shattered by multiple instances of vandalism, including insulting graffiti, a bomb scare and rumors of a parking lot mugging.
The attacks, part of rising crime in the older neighborhood, have sparked fear among shoppers, threatening vital revenues on the eve of the biggest shopping season of the year.
Mall officials minimized the incidents, calling them “pranks,” though security has been doubled and police patrols increased. Hope may well rest in the possibility of a PriceLess warehouse opening at the site.
The story pushed all the alarm buttons: peace shattered…escalating violence…fearful shoppers…threatened revenues. The community meeting was mentioned and Collins was quoted about re-envisioning failing enterprises. The article did say the mugging was unverified, but, as she’d feared, not until the last paragraph.
Bleary and discouraged, Sylvie headed for the mall, where she spent all morning dealing with concerned employees, tenants, shoppers and citizens. The most troubling call was from the school superintendent, who was worried that his students might not be safe during the Black Friday event.
“I left another message for Roger Munford,” Mary Beth told her wearily.
“Still no call?” Sylvie had left two messages with the PriceLess VP, then passed the duty to Mary Beth. The silence suggested the terrible media reports had scared him off.
Things got worse. By noon, four store owners had stopped by to tell her they wouldn’t be renewing their leases. They denied it had anything to do with recent events, but Sylvie knew better. Her weathering-the-storm speech hadn’t been enough to keep them hanging in. She tried not to feel betrayed—these were business decisions—but she felt like yanking back her stenciled umbrellas all the same. Where was their faith? What had happened to the family feeling she worked so hard to build?
James Abernathy from the jai alai club stopped in to inquire about the possibility of purchasing the mall as an arena, claiming Collins’s speech had given him the idea. Sylvie could hardly be polite to the man, who sported a pin that said Jai Alai Is Fun For Everyone! on his sports coat.
Was he a predator circling what he saw as weakened prey? Or had Collins colluded with him in making the offer? His speech sounded rehearsed. Or was she just paranoid?
The worst blow came a little while later when Talley Toombs plopped into her guest chair. “Got a minute?”
“Sure,” Sylvie said, scooting close to her desk, bracing her elbows on her blotter, hoping for good news.
“This isn’t official, but I had drinks with Carrie Tracer, the Tracers’ daughter—she’s a friend of mine—and she let it slip that her parents are closing this store.”
“They’re leaving the mall?”
“It’s a shocker, I know. They want to retire soon, so they want to hold on to just the Tucson location, since it’s where they live.”
No. Tracer’s was Starlight Desert’s anchor, its biggest draw and its highest revenue generator. This with the other losses put Starlight Desert in real trouble.
Locking in PriceLess warehouse might make up for that, but she couldn’t get the guy on the phone. Sylvie’s insides seemed to sink to the floor. “If our Christmas sales are spectacular, would they reconsider?”
Talley shrugged. “That depends, I guess. Like I said it’s not official or anything.”
“What about you? Aren’t you upset about losing your job?”
“Oh, you know, when a door closes, a window opens.” She seemed way too cheerful for someone about to be jobless.
“And…?”
“And there’s a guy.” Talley beamed in triumph. “He knows a lot of important people, so…let’s just say I’m pretty sure it will work out.”
“I hope it does,” Sylvie said. “In the meantime, would it help if I talked to the Tracers?”
“God, no. I wasn’t supposed to find out in the first place. When I hear anything definite, you’ll be the first to know.”
After Talley left, Sylvie rested her head in her hands, her usual optimism draining away like water from a cracked cup.
Someone tapped on her door. What now?
But it was Chase, Dasher in his arms, and her heart lifted at the sight. It was stupid, they’d broken up, but seeing him made her feel better.
He came to sit in her guest chair. Dasher writhed to get down, then ran to her and jumped against her shin. She picked him up and he licked her wildly.
“Looks like he missed you,” Chase said, telling her with his eyes that he’d missed her, too. Sylvie’s throat tightened with emotion.
The sound of ripping paper made her look at Dasher, who was tearing at the newspaper on her desk.
“I’d like to shred that dreck, too,” she said, prying the paper away from him and smoothing it. “Did you see the story?”
“I did. Not good at all.”
“It gets worse. Tracer’s might be closing this store. It’s a rumor from Talley, but the source is legit.”
“That is worse,” he said.
“Four smaller tenants say they won’t be renewing their leases, either. Also the jai alai guy was nosing around about buying the mall. Could he have been scheming with Collins?”
“I doubt that. Collins was just hyping his so-called vision. At least that’s how it seemed to me.”
“I don’t know, but this is all so crazy. On the other hand, if ‘A Starlight Desert Christmas’ goes well, I think I can talk most of the tenants into staying. The Tracer’s thing might not happen, either. PriceLess would change the whole picture, I know. And if we could just stop the creeps from attacking us again…”
“We’ll have weathered the storm and the future will be so bright we’ll need shades?” he offered in kindly irony.
“I can hope, can’t I?” she said.
“We both can.” He squeezed her hand, and for a moment everything seemed possible. But for just a moment.
THAT NIGHT, Sylvie was surprised when her doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone and she was in her robe, planning to turn in soon. Whoever it was stood out of range of the peephole.
“Who is it?” she called through the door.
“It’s me. Chase.”
Oh, yay. Forget wisdom and good sense, she was thrilled to see him and she threw open the door to tell him so, her heart in her throat.
When she saw him she burst out laughing. He wore his elf costume—a green velvet jacket, red suspenders, green felt knickers, pointed green shoes with jingle bells and a cap set at a rakish angle, the red feather quivering in the air.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped. “You are just…so cute.”
“I thought it would cheer you up to know our costumes all fit. Now let me in before the neighbors call the cops about a Peeping Elf on the street.”
“Oh, sure. Sorry.” She moved back and he tromped inside, his bells jingling with each step. “You look great.”
He took a slow turn, arms out, to give her the full effect.
Dasher rushed forward, then stopped, ears back, to cower behind Sylvie’s legs.
“Great, I’m scaring the dog.”
“He’s just awestruck.”
“I look ridiculous, Sylvie.”
“Not at all. I had no idea how sexy green felt could be.”
“Please.”
“I’m serious. You should wear it for the prep party on Thanksgiving. Think of the morale boost.”
<
br /> “What about my dignity?”
“Overrated,” she said, her heart filling up. I love this man. She put her arms around him, stood on tiptoe and kissed him. His arms went around her, holding her close.
“What does that mean?” he said when they broke off.
“It means I’m falling in love with you.”
“And you can’t ignore it? Because I can’t, either,” he said.
“So what do we do?” she asked, hoping he had an answer that didn’t scare her anymore than she already was.
“We go to bed,” he growled, reaching for her.
She took a step backward. “Not until we figure this out.”
He advanced on her, taking her by the arms, turning her toward the hallway. “Let’s just see how it goes.”
“You mean, maybe it will burn out?” she asked hopefully as he steered her into her bedroom.
“Entirely possible,” he said, guiding her to the bed.
“And no one gets hurt?” Her legs hit the edge of the mattress and she let herself fall onto the bed.
“No one gets hurt,” he said, lying over her.
“No one gets hurt,” she breathed as his mouth met hers.
Everything in her rose to the contact, as if that kiss held both their souls. This might be foolish, stupid and self-defeating, she knew. She could be pulling a Desiree—throwing her heart like a decorative pillow for Chase to drop. But it felt so right she couldn’t give it up. Not yet.
“You’re wearing that nice, slippery, easy-to-get-out-of robe again,” he murmured, going for the tie.
She looked up at him. “You might want to keep that hat on,” she murmured. “I like hearing bells.”
Chase laughed and then he kissed her smile until it went away and desire surged through her. She forced herself not to think, to get lost in the moment, to feel how she felt and let that be okay.
They made love with quiet intensity, as if they were crossing an important line. Each brush of a fingertip, each moan, each stroke, tightened muscle and gasp, each answering ache carried them further along, took them deeper into this love they’d created.
I love you, Chase. Stay with me was a whispered song in her head, born of what they’d shared, the feelings growing between them.
Release, when it came it, was mutual and they cried out in unison, their voices blending, almost mournful, and full of relief. Afterward, Chase held her tightly. She rested her cheek against his chest and silence enveloped them.
Helped up by Chase, Dasher nestled above her head on the pillow. Maybe this would run its course, like a fever, and they’d both walk away, content with what they’d shared.
She could hope, couldn’t she?
CHASE WOKE EARLY with Sylvie still in his arms. Maybe this will work out after all. He’d be around for at least another month. That was plenty of time for them to figure out what to do or maybe even to finish with each other.
Right now, Sylvie felt so good in his arms. When she’d returned to him, it was like a reprieve from a prison sentence.
The dog stirred and nudged his head. Time for a potty break. Careful not to wake Sylvie, he took the dog outside. Then, on his way to the kitchen to fix coffee, he stopped to look in her workroom at all the perfect little houses she’d carefully built. In Sylvie’s world, everything was sized to fit and stayed where she put it. That’s what she wanted in life—order, control, routines.
That was not Chase’s way at all, though this time in Phoenix hadn’t been as claustrophobic as usual. Sylvie had helped him get past some negatives. He accepted the General more. He didn’t like how his father operated, but at least he understood him. He’d been pleased when Fletcher stood up for himself. Maybe Fletch would do what Chase had harassed him about—grow a pair…and get a life.
Then there was Home at Last. Chase did love the project. He’d liked working with Jake Atwater, too. Intrigued by an urban park Jake was working on, he’d felt the urge to play with designs again. A sideline amusement, no doubt.
Was that what Sylvie was to him?
No. The thought was so abhorrent he actually shook his head. The puppy whined, as if in agreement.
Sylvie had been hot heaven—passionate in bed, smart and savvy at work, and a lovely spot of quiet acceptance in between.
Sylvie felt like home. The way home was supposed to feel. As if he even knew how that worked. He snorted at his own dazed fantasy.
When the coffee finished burbling, he carried a cup with cream, two sugars, the way Sylvie liked it, to bed for her. She opened her eyes and then her arms and he realized they would both be late to work.
AT ELEVEN on Thanksgiving morning, Sylvie headed toward Desert Oasis, her mother’s mobile home park tucked into the base of Papago Buttes, with the ready-made Thanksgiving meal she’d picked up from the gourmet grocery store.
Desiree always wanted to cook the holiday meals, but Sylvie knew better. Her mother got sidetracked, letting the sweet potatoes boil over, the turkey shrivel, the pies burn black.
For the past two years, Sylvie had brought the premade meal and her mother warmed up a bakery pie and provided the sparkling apple juice. No alcohol for Sylvie, since the sale prep and mall party would start at three.
The week had flown by for Sylvie, the work taking on a manic pace as they neared Black Friday. There had been no further news stories on the mall’s troubles and, thankfully, no more attacks. The PriceLess VP had yet to return her call, but she’d decided to get through the weekend and see where things stood after that. She and Chase spent every spare moment together.
Sylvie knocked on the door.
Her mother flung it open, wearing a kiss-the-cook apron streaked with what looked like frosting. “You have to quit knocking, Sylvie. You’re not company. This is your home.”
Hardly, but Sylvie did enjoy the cozy space, its walls full of her mother’s paintings and weavings, the shelves packed with clay pots, carved figurines and knitted items, along with a happy jumble of half-finished projects.
Desiree air-kissed Sylvie on both cheeks and Sylvie set down her heavy bags, fragrant with the smell of roast turkey, sage dressing and sweet potatoes.
“Pies are boring, so I made a cake.” Desiree motioned toward a fondant-covered cake shaped and painted to resemble Starlight Desert.
“Wow,” Sylvie said. “That looks amazing.”
“The cake overcooked a bit, but I think the decoration came out great. You think I could sell novelty cakes?” She shifted the cake slowly around, studying it.
“That’s not part of your business plan.” Her mother was talented, but as distractible as a cat. She could run a buzz saw like a champ, made beautiful jewelry, pottery and weavings, but never stuck long with any medium.
“You never know when an idea will score, Sylvie. If you let me sell your stuff online, you could quit the mall and make dollhouses for a living.”
“I make dollhouses to relax. I love my job.” And she was getting tired of people suggesting she leave it.
“Not lately. I’ve never seen you so tense.”
“It’s a tough time right now, that’s all.” She sighed, taking the containers out of the sack.
“Maybe that’s the cosmos telling you to move on.”
“No job is fun all the time, Desiree. Could we just enjoy our meal?”
“Of course.” Desiree brought the sparkling apple juice from the refrigerator and poured it into two hand-thrown ceramic goblets, then handed one to Sylvie.
Once they were both seated her mother clinked her goblet against Sylvie’s. “Cheers! I was hoping we’d be celebrating you being the new general manager. Starr would have wanted that, you know. I’d be happy to give Marshall a piece of my mind.”
“There’s no need. If everything goes well I’ll get the job.” As long as the problems worked themselves out and the McCanns didn’t get an irresistible sales offer. Sylvie’s insides churned at the thought.
“The McCanns take you for granted, that’s all I’m saying. Y
ou work miracles out there.”
“Let’s eat before it gets cold.” Her mother’s extravagant compliments were like so much confetti thrown for effect.
“White or dark meat?” Sylvie asked.
“White, please.”
Sylvie put the turkey on their plates, then they served themselves sweet potatoes, garlic mashed potatoes, asparagus, carrot salad and cranberry sauce.
“Gravy or butter?” Sylvie asked her mother.
“Butter. By the way, I should tell you I’m thinking a mall kiosk isn’t the proper sales environment for me anymore.”
Sylvie set down the gravy container so quickly liquid splashed onto the table. “You can’t leave, Desiree. You owe back rent. Plus, you miss a dozen sales a day when you come late or don’t show up at all.” Alarm made her voice spike.
“Don’t get excited,” Desiree said, scooping the spilled gravy with a finger, then licking it off. “I’ve got a deal cooking on some ceramics. I’ll pay the rent, no problem. Don’t I always come through?”
“You always try.” That was the best Sylvie could manage, considering all the ways her mother had let her down over the years. Talking to Chase about Desiree had stirred up some anger.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” her mother asked.
“Nothing.” Desiree didn’t want the answer to that question any more than Sylvie wanted to give it.
“I’m just giving you notice that when my lease is up you’ll have my space to rent. As a courtesy.”
“I appreciate that,” Sylvie said, praying there would be a mall at all by then. “Are you coming to the mall party with me?”
“I told Margery I’d help her decorate the trailer park. But I have the ornaments for your tree ready.” She left the table to bring out a cardboard box. “Take a look.”
Sylvie lifted out two. Each glass ornament had a decoupaged photo of one of the stores on it. “These are gorgeous.” Her mother had insisted she make them for Sylvie, who was in charge of decorating the mall employee tree. For all her faults, Desiree had a generous heart.
