“What did you do the first Christmas you didn’t have any children at home?” she asked.
Mike leaned against the counter. “I broke my arm, remember? The back stairs were icy and I slipped.”
“I’d forgotten that.” He’d only lived there for about a year when that had happened. “Breaking my arm is not exactly what I had in mind for my first-time-alone Christmas. Neither is something flashy and glamorous. The whole point is not to kill myself making the usual preparations. To just enjoy the holidays.”
Mike crossed to her side of the kitchen and leaned his forearms on the countertop, facing her. “So which do you want more, low-key or the Christmas of your dreams? Or maybe the Christmas of your dreams is low-key.”
“I guess I haven’t really thought this through. What I did at Christmastime was always about the kids and what would make them happy.”
“What about before that? What did you want for Christmas before they were born?”
“Tickets to a Paula Abdul concert.”
He laughed out loud, his dark eyes dancing with mirth, and she couldn’t help but join in. His laugh was like that. So many times in the years since she’d met him, he’d managed to help her smile through struggles and laugh at even the most difficult moments. She’d never been more grateful for a neighbor, for a friend, in her life.
“Well, I don’t think you can see Paula Abdul in concert now,” he said. “But we might be able to find a concert video. Would that count?”
“What is this, a holiday bucket list?”
“Why not?” He moved back to the coffee maker and pulled out the pot. “You’ve spent more than half your life raising your kids. I think fulfilling a few of those wishes you set aside in order to focus on them would be a good way to celebrate your first all-by-yourself Christmas.”
“I was twenty years old when my first was born. The things someone barely out of her teens wishes for are pretty ridiculous.”
He handed her a cup of coffee with just the exact amount of cream and sugar she liked. “Ridiculous, maybe, but probably fun too.”
“Fun? Like a fabulous new babydoll-style dress?”
He grinned over the top of his mug. “Before my kids were born I was wearing Hammer pants, so I will not condemn your fashion choices.”
“So your Christmas wish would have been for more Hammer pants?”
He nodded solemnly. “And tickets to Depeche Mode.”
She shook her head. “You are so old.”
“I am only a couple of years older than you are.”
“But a crucial couple of years.” She set her cup down. “I am still young and spry, and you are falling down your stairs.”
“Careful, Celeste. I’ll stop inviting you over for coffee if you keep talking like that.”
She smiled. “I’m not worried. You like having me over.”
“I do,” he admitted, his words quieter and less teasing.
Celeste pushed down the surge of uncertainty she always felt when he took on that tone. He was a dear friend— the best she had, in fact. And she had the world’s worst dating track record. The few times she’d dated anyone in the last two decades, the experience had ended in disaster, and she never heard from the guys again. Ruining her friendship with Mike was not something she was willing to risk— even if he was handsome and fun and smart and the highlight of her day. Friendship was safer.
“A holiday bucket list.” That was a less treacherous topic of conversation. “I kind of like that idea, actually, but under one condition.”
He took another sip of his coffee. “What condition is that?”
“That you check things off your list, too. A friendly competition, if you will.”
His lips turned up in a smile. “I’m listening.”
“We each compile a list of things we would have wanted to do in the years before our kids were born, things that being single parents meant we had to push aside.” Few people truly understood the emotional toll of losing a spouse and raising a family alone. Mike knew. He’d lived it just like she had, having lost his wife to cancer when they were both still very young. “The one who can check off the most items wins.”
“And what does the winner get?” Mike asked.
She hadn’t thought that far yet. They both sat a moment in silence, contemplating.
“I’ve got it,” Mike said. “The loser gives the winner something on his or her current Christmas wish list.”
“Like that big, extravagant present you suggested I get earlier?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to commit herself to spending a lot of money.
He shook his head. “Something on the wish list that doesn’t cost anything, or hardly anything. That should probably be a rule for the nostalgia bucket list too.”
“Agreed. Neither of us has a fortune to spend. So do we tell the other person now what we want if we win or is that a surprise?”
“I think surprise.”
Celeste nodded enthusiastically. “I like it.”
“Starting tomorrow?” Mike asked.
“We’ll meet at my house tomorrow night to write up our bucket lists.”
“I’ll be here,” he said.
For the first time since her daughter had told her she wouldn’t be home for Christmas, Celeste felt excited about the holidays. She had something to look forward to, and a friend to share the season with.
Perhaps there was a reason not to give up on Christmas entirely.
Chapter Two
Mike couldn’t remember which of them had come up with the idea for the Holiday Bucket List challenge, but he was glad they had. He would get to spend a lot of time with Celeste, and that, to him, was the definition of a perfect Christmas.
She was amazing. She’d been widowed at twenty-seven, with two elementary-school-aged kids and a newborn. She’d gone back to school to get her law degree, all while raising her kids as a single mother. Rather than take a position in a big, prestigious law firm and earn an impressive paycheck, she’d signed on with a charitable organization where, as she’d once told him, she could know she was doing some good in the world. She had a great sense of humor and an optimistic outlook on life, and she was the best friend he had.
She was also not interested in him as anything other than a friend. At least that was the impression she gave him. Still, sometimes there was something in the way she looked at him that made him wonder if maybe she felt more than she was letting on. He hoped so, because he’d tried over the past seven years to not be madly in love with her. It hadn’t worked.
He knocked on her door the next evening, hoping she’d had time to finish dinner. He probably should have waited a little longer, but he never was patient when he knew he’d be seeing her. Pathetic.
The door opened, and there she was, smiling at him. “Hey. Come on in.”
He didn’t have to be asked twice.
Her house smelled like bacon. If he hadn’t loved her already, that might have been enough to convince him.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Pretty good, except that I came face to face with how old I really am.”
He tossed her a questioning look.
“I am realizing just how long ago twenty-five years really is. I can hardly remember any of the things that interested me when I was twenty years old.”
“It’s twenty-five years for me as well.”
Her smile turned taunting. “But your brain is older than mine. I’m impressed you remembered our conversation from yesterday.”
“I’m forty-seven, not seventy-four.”
Her blue eyes pulled wide and her mouth dropped open. “Forty-seven!”
He had to laugh. She always knew how to pull that from him, even on his hardest days. He’d done his best to return that favor over the years.
She’d set out pens and paper on her dining room table, along with a plate of butter cookies. She took a seat opposite the one he walked to. What would it take to get her to sit next to him, close, maybe even touching?
<
br /> “I’ve already written down ‘Attend a Paula Abdul concert’ and ‘Babydoll dress,’” she said. “I admitted to it yesterday, so I figured there was little point denying it.”
He pulled a sheet of paper over to him. “So I guess I have to write down ‘Hammer pants’ and ‘Depeche Mode.’”
She reached over and patted his hand. “You remembered.”
He pretended that her touch didn’t affect him at all. “You should be nicer to me, Celeste. Otherwise I’ll require a hand-knitted sweater when I win our little bet, and I know how much you hate to knit.”
She grinned. “Then I’ll demand you paint my basement, and I know how much you hate painting.”
“Does your basement need to be painted?” He tried to help her out when things around the house needed fixing. In return, she had talked him through the minefield of interacting with his new daughter-in-law. He’d raised two boys on his own. He knew next to nothing about women, which was probably a big part of his repeated strike-outs with Celeste.
“It doesn’t need it at all,” Celeste said, a laugh obvious in her words. “That’s why it would be so dastardly.”
“What is the third thing on your bucket list?”
“The Christmas before my oldest was born I was going to see Home Alone in the theater, but I never did. I don’t remember why.”
He nodded and pointed at her paper. “Write that down.”
“In the theater? We’ll never pull that off.”
He shrugged. “We may have to make some adjustments, but we’ll figure it out.”
“What’s your number three?”
What were his interests a quarter of a century ago? “An NES gaming console.”
“We can look at that antique store on Center.”
He set his forearms on the table and leaned toward her. “Are you going to make ‘old’ jokes throughout this entire thing?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” She raised an eyebrow. “Scared?”
“Bring it.”
“I don’t think our generation is allowed to say ‘bring it.’ We need to stick with ‘far out’ or ‘word to your mother.’”
He leaned back in his chair once more. “It’s only December 2nd, and we’ve already resorted to quoting Vanilla Ice. This doesn’t bode well.”
“Ooh. Vanilla Ice. That needs to be on my list, too.” She was already writing it down. “I loved Vanilla Ice, and I remember thinking if I wasn’t twenty years old, and married, and supposed to be really grown up, I would get a poster or something.”
“Or something? You mean like a notebook or a lunch box?”
A little color touched her cheeks. “I know it’s stupid, but…”
It was his turn to reach out and take her hand. While he didn’t like that he’d embarrassed her, he always loved the feel of her hand in his. “I didn’t mean to imply it was stupid. These are all things from when we were young. They’re going to seem a little strange to us now, but that’s half the fun.”
“I got married at nineteen. I don’t regret it, and I don’t think I was too young, but there were still some things about me that weren’t…” Her brow pulled as she tried to think of the right word.
“Very grown-up yet?” he suggested.
“I guess. Vanilla Ice was one of them.”
“What else was?” He wanted to know her better. These moments when she talked about her past were like a door being opened, and he had a glimpse of the Celeste he hadn’t known, the woman who’d struggled with so many burdens for so long.
“I cried a lot,” she said, “and I got frustrated at the world for not functioning the way I thought it should. And I… I was so sure that I could simply plan my life and everything would go the way I expected.”
He threaded his fingers through hers. “It doesn’t work that way, does it?”
She shook her head no.
“You write down Vanilla Ice souvenir, and I’ll think of some immature thing that twenty-two year old me wanted. Then we’ll be even.”
“Deal.”
Her phone rang in the next instant. She pulled her hand from his to grab her cell. He immediately missed the contact.
She glanced at the screen. “It’s Kristina.” She tucked back a strand of her dark brown hair as she raised the phone to her ear. “Hi, hon. What’s up?”
Mike should have been concentrating on the next item to add to his list, but Celeste was too big of a distraction. He liked watching her with her kids, even when it was nothing more than a phone call. She lit up when she talked with them. It was little wonder she felt lost not having them around. He’d gone through the same thing when his youngest had left home.
“Talk to the T.A.,” Celeste said, still talking on the phone. “That’s what he’s there for.” She listened to whatever her daughter said next. “Mike is here, actually. Okay.” She held her phone out to him. “She wants to talk to you.”
He took the phone. “Hey. How are you?”
“Okay, so remember that guy I told you about in my Econ class?” Kristina said from the other end.
He leaned back in the dining room chair. Conversations with Kristina could be long. “The one who smiles at you?”
“Yeah. So, I saw him at the student union yesterday and decided to say hi.”
Something in her tone didn’t bode well. “And?”
“And, even though it was like literally the shortest conversation ever, I totally got this creepy vibe off of him. I don’t even know why. Is that crazy? Am I just being all judgmental or paranoid or something?”
Mike had known Kristina since she was twelve. He’d taken on the role of surrogate father, answering endless questions about boys and cars and anything else she thought he might know about. “It’s possible you misjudged things, but if the guy’s coming off as a creep, there might be a reason.”
“He asked me out.”
Mike’s stomach twisted. “You didn’t say yes, did you?”
“I said no, and I was nice about it. But he seemed so disappointed. He kept asking why I wouldn’t go out with him. I feel bad.”
Man, he wished she was going to school closer. “If he’s trying to guilt you in to doing something you don’t want to, that might be why he seems like a creep.”
She sighed. “Being a grown-up is a pain.”
“It sure is.” He caught Celeste’s eye from across the table. She mouthed a “thank you.” He nodded and smiled.
“Can I ask you a huge favor?”
His kids had asked a few favors while they were away at college. Most of the time it involved money. “What is it?”
“Would you hang out with Mom over Christmas? She keeps saying she doesn’t care that none of us will be home, but, I don’t know, I think she’s sadder about it than she’s letting on.”
“I think you’re right.” Even then, Mike could see the loneliness in her eyes. If she’d give him half a chance he would happily do what he could to fill that void. “Your mom and I have a Christmas bet going.”
Celeste reached out and swatted at him. “Kristina will think I’ve turned in to a gambler.”
“Awesome,” Kristina said. “Text me about it. I gotta go.”
“Say goodbye to your mom first.” He handed the phone across the table once more.
Celeste made a quick goodbye before tapping the end button and setting her phone on the table. “She did turn the creepy guy down, right?”
“Sure did.”
Her sigh perfectly matched her daughter’s from a moment earlier. “Do you think kids ever realize that their parents never stop worrying about them?”
“Not until they’re parents themselves.”
She snatched a butter cookie from the plate and snapped part of it off with her teeth. He followed her lead.
“Did you think of something immature to put on your list?” she asked between bites.
“I haven’t yet.”
“There must be something you wanted or wanted to do but felt too stupid about it at the time.”
There were probably a lot of things actually. One jumped immediately to mind. “The Christmas my wife was pregnant with our oldest, the roller rink in our town announced it was closing at the new year. I wanted to go and have one last skate, but Bev was too pregnant and I was too embarrassed to go by myself.”
She pointed at his paper. “Write it down.”
He shook his head. “There are no roller rinks anywhere near here. I’ll never be able to cross that off.”
“‘We may have to make some adjustments, but we’ll figure it out.’” She quoted him word for word. “That’s four each, and some of them are going to be tough. What do you think? Are we good?”
Are we good? That was more of a loaded question than she likely knew. Their friendship was good. The idea of “we” was more than good. The fact that she wasn’t open to the idea of “we” wasn’t good at all.
“Mike?”
He put on his most convincing smile. “I think we need a couple of ground rules. First, no sabotage.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” She popped another cookie into her mouth.
“C’mon.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Second,” he continued, “the other person has to be present when the bucket list item is checked off. If it’s an activity, we have to both be part of it.” He’d take any opportunity to spend time with her. “If it’s an item, we have to show it to the other person.”
“I’ll agree to that.”
He eyed her closely. “We’re really going to do this? Spend the Christmas season together?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Why not?”
That was exactly the question he’d been silently asking for years: why not?
Chapter Three
“He’s dedicating his whole Christmas season to this bet of yours?” Celeste’s friend and co-worker, Lucy, had been asking her about the holiday bucket list all day. “He is totally in to you, Celeste.”
Lucy was more than fifteen years younger than Celeste, which somehow made her both more, and less, authoritative on these things. She leaned on Celeste’s desk. “He likes your kids. He’s a nice guy. And, I’ve seen him, Celeste, he’s hot— for an old guy.”
Under the Mistletoe Collection Page 15
