Celeste tapped her pencil on the desk top. “How do I do this bucket list challenge without giving him the wrong idea?”
“The wrong idea? You mean, that you like him?”
“Right. I don’t want to ruin our friendship by making him think I feel more for him than I do.” It had, in fact, been a worry of hers for a couple of years, ever since he started looking at her in the way he did.
“He’s not blind,” Lucy said. “He can probably tell that you like him.”
“I don’t.”
Lucy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Sure, you don’t.”
This was getting out of hand. “I didn’t bring this up to have you analyze my feelings. I need to know the name of that second-hand shop where you get your vintage clothes.”
“Second Time Around. It’s on 22nd,” Lucy said. “Do you really think your bucket list outfits are going to be in a vintage shop?”
Celeste sighed loudly. “I’m getting old.”
Her cell chimed, signaling the arrival of a text. She grabbed it and checked. Mike.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Lucy asked.
“How did you…?”
“You only smile like that when he calls or texts or comes by.” She rolled her eyes again— Lucy was an unapologetic eye-roller— and shook her head. “But, of course, you don’t like him.”
She ignored Lucy and read the text.
Mike: 1, Celeste: 0
What did that mean? Her phone chimed again. A picture text this time. The moment it came up on screen, she laughed out loud. She couldn’t help it.
“What?” Lucy asked.
Celeste showed her the photo: Mike holding up a pair of red Hammer pants. “I don’t know how he found them already.”
“I do,” Lucy said. “He’s at Second Time Around. That place is amazing.”
Celeste looked at the picture again. Mike had always had a nice smile, and he was one of the happiest people she’d ever known. She liked that about him. “I am really going to have to step up my game. He checked something off on the first day.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t come to your house and model it for you.” Lucy walked to Celeste’s office door. “Although, maybe that’s smart. Those are ugly pants.” She left, with a grin, on that parting shot.
Lucy had been teasing, but she’d had a point.
Celeste grabbed her cell again and texted Mike back. You have to wear it where I can see or it doesn’t count.
Her kids texted shockingly fast. Mike, however, wasn’t any faster than she was. She’d set down her phone and taken up her papers again before the next chime sounded.
Humiliation was part of our bet?
She sent back, Our agreement included specific clauses re: witnessing each item’s check-off. Her kids were always telling her she texted like an old person, too wordy and formal.
Another chime. I never argue semantics with an attorney. Mike also texted like an old person.
My place. Tonight. Wear the pants or it doesn’t count. That was a little more youthful. Kristina would probably be proud.
Mike answered, You’re killing me.
She scrolled back up to the picture of him holding those pants. The goofy look on his face brought a smile to hers. Lucy had said Celeste always smiled when Mike was involved. How could she help it?
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Mike was a little too tall for the Hammer pants he was wearing. Rather than looking like a throw-back, he looked like an idiot.
Still, Celeste would laugh with him over it, and the sight of her smiling eyes was worth almost any amount of discomfort. He rang her doorbell and did his best to look like a confident, competent adult who happened to be dressed like a circus clown from the waist down.
For a split second after she opened the door, Celeste’s expression was completely normal. Then her eyes pulled wide and her mouth dropped open a bit. The corners of her mouth twitched upward.
“Does this meet the demands of our bet?” Mike asked.
She laughed. “Definitely.”
“You don’t have to enjoy this so much, you know.”
She waved him in. “Come in before you scare someone.”
“Too late. I already scared myself.”
She closed the door behind him. “I cannot believe you ever desperately wanted a pair of those.”
“I wanted a pair that fit.” He tugged at one of the signature over-sized front flaps. “You’d think all this extra fabric could have been used to make them longer.”
She walked right next to him, her arm swinging beside his. It would be the most natural thing to slip his hand around hers. He never knew, though, how she would respond. Sometimes she threaded her fingers through his and welcomed the connection. Other times, she pulled free so quickly that his hand dropped hard against his side.
“I should tell you that I’m also crossing something off my bucket list tonight,” she said.
“Really?” He eyed her T-shirt and jeans— her usual post-work attire.
She shook her head. “Not the clothes. The secondhand shop had one babydoll dress, but it looked the right size for an actual baby doll.”
“So what are you checking off?” he asked.
They stepped into her living room, and she did a Vanna White style wave of her hand.
“Poster board and markers?” It was the only thing different about the room.
“We’re going to a concert,” she said.
“What?”
Celeste grinned at him. “‘Going’ isn’t quite the right word. But it will be an epic concert.”
“Epic?” He laughed to hear the very word Kristina used so often.
She motioned him over to the sofa. As she sat, she pulled her laptop over. “I made a YouTube playlist of live performances from Paula Abdul and Depeche Mode. We can stream it to the TV.”
“Okay. That is pretty epic. Especially since I get to check another thing off my list too.”
She smiled. “See how nice I am?”
He nudged the poster board on the coffee table. “What is this for?”
“Fan posters, of course.”
Awesome. “So, I’ll Depeche Mode mine, and you’ll Paula Abdul yours?”
“Exactly.”
The smell of markers soon filled the air. They razzed each other about their posters, inquired after each other’s kids, and talked about their work, all with complete ease. How could she not see how perfect they were together?
Just as they were putting the finishing touches on their signs, Celeste’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “It’s Kristina. I wonder why she didn’t text.”
It was unusual but not unheard of.
“Hi, hon.” Her expression grew instantly more concerned. “He is, actually.” Another pause as she listened. “I’ll put you on speaker.”
She set the phone on the coffee table. “She sounds stressed.”
Kristina was pretty level-headed. What had happened?
Celeste tapped the screen. “Okay, Kristina. Go ahead.”
“Yeah. Go ahead,” Mike added.
“So I ran in to that creepy guy from Econ today.” Kristina’s tone was not one of casual conversation. Mike was immediately on alert. “Like ten times. He just kept showing up. He wasn’t pushy or weird, really, and he only talked to me a couple of times but… I don’t know.”
“Your gut says something is off,” Mike guessed.
“Exactly.”
Celeste clasped her hands and pressed her lips together. Her brow pulled downward.
“Do you feel threatened?” Mike asked.
“No.”
He was relieved that she didn’t hesitate with that answer. Yet, she was concerned enough to have called to talk to them about it. “You don’t usually see him around campus that often, I’d guess,” he pressed.
“Until today I only ever saw him in class and that one time at the student union.” Kristina sounded calm but a little unnerved. “I don’t know for sure that he wa
s following me or anything. It just weirded me out, I guess.”
“Have you told anyone?” Celeste asked. “Besides us? Someone there?”
“I don’t even know who I would talk to,” Kristina said. “There’s no law against giving off a creepy vibe.”
“Well, no,” Celeste said, “but it’s still a good idea to make sure someone knows about your concerns.”
“Like who? My roommates know. Should I tell anyone else? Someone more official, I guess? And what would I tell them?”
Mike had two sons. Taking on the role of surrogate father to Celeste’s daughter had shown him just how different the world was for young women than for young men. He worried about her for entirely different reasons than he had with his boys.
“Kristina, I think you should go to the Office of the Dean of Students tomorrow and find out which department is in charge of student safety.” Early in his career, Mike had worked in the IT department at a college. Though he hadn’t been directly involved in student services, he’d learned a little about them.
“I don’t think I’m actually in danger,” Kristina said.
“I know.” He leaned a little closer to the phone. “And you can make that clear. Just tell them what you told us and ask what the process is for reporting problems should things escalate. This way you have someone who knows what’s going on and there’s a paper trail.”
“I just feel like I might be making a big deal out of nothing.”
“Mike is right, hon. Having someone there who is aware of what’s happening is important.”
Kristina took an audible breath. “I kind of feel stupid.”
“Don’t,” Mike said. “You’re doing what you need to do in order to feel safe. That’s smart, not stupid.”
“Thanks. You too, Mom.”
“Do like Mike suggested,” Celeste said. “And then text us tomorrow. Tell us how it went.”
“I will.”
“Love you, kid,” Mike said. “Always have.”
It was a familiar exchange between them, one Kristina always finished with, “Always will.”
“I love you too, hon,” Celeste added. “Don’t forget to text.”
“Okay.”
Celeste didn’t say anything for a long moment after the call ended. She steepled her hands and pressed her fingers to her lips. “She is not an over-reactor, Mike.”
“She’s also not flaky. She’ll follow through on this.”
Celeste didn’t look reassured. “I hate that she’s so far away.”
He threw caution to the wind and set his arm around her shoulders, pulling her up close to him. “When you talk to her tomorrow, if you’re still uneasy, you can call the Dean of Students office yourself.”
Celeste leaned her head on his shoulder. “Kristina would kill me.”
Mike rubbed her arm with his hand. “Probably, but a parent has to do what a parent has to do.”
She slipped her arms around him, something she very seldom did and only, it seemed, when there was a crisis. “Thank you for being a dad to her all of these years. I was more or less enough for the other two, but Kristina needed something more.”
“Give yourself more credit, Celeste. Being a single parent isn’t simple, and it isn’t easy.”
“You didn’t tell me that it didn’t get easier once they’d all left home.”
That was the hard truth. “But there is one thing that does get easier,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Enjoying a Depeche Mode concert without the kids complaining that the music is old or lame or whatever else they would say.”
She sat up straight once more and gave him a look of teasing disapproval. “This is a Paula Abdul concert, with special guests Depeche Mode.”
He scooted to the edge of the sofa. “Cue up the concert,” he said, standing up. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
She smiled up at him. “You always do know exactly what I need.”
“That’s because I know you really well.” I know what makes you happy, what you worry about, your wildest dreams and fondest hopes. I know you better than anyone else. Why, then, did she seem to not know him at all?
He pondered that as he made her tea. They weren’t teenagers who were still trying to decide what they wanted in life or needed most in another person. Celeste was not a wishy-washy person who couldn’t make up her mind about things.
If she was so dead set against any kind of relationship, maybe it was time he took her at her word and quit hoping for something more.
Chapter Four
Mike hadn’t been by in days.
He’d sent a few texts, mostly about Kristina, but otherwise Celeste hadn’t heard much from him. She didn’t know what to think of that. It wasn’t that she never went a day without talking to him, it just didn’t happen that often, especially in the months since she’d officially become an empty-nester.
I could make Christmas cookies and invite him over. She would enjoy the cookies; she would enjoy his company even more.
Celeste pulled out her phone and sent off a text. I’m making cookies. Want to come over and have some?
She pulled on her apron and dropped her phone into the pocket. Mike liked chocolate chip the best, so she gathered up the necessary ingredients. Why had it been so long since she’d baked cookies? She liked baking, and she liked eating. It didn’t make any sense to have avoided her own oven.
Not long after Kristina had left for college, Mike had told Celeste that one of the challenges of suddenly having no kids at home was figuring out which things she’d done primarily for the kids and which things she’d done at least partially for her own sake. Maybe baking was one of those things she’d enjoyed as much as they had.
Her phone chimed. Celeste smiled as she pulled it out of her apron pocket. Mike, just as she’d assumed.
I’m at the annual holiday work party. Give me a rain check on the cookies.
She read it twice just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood. She had gone with him to that party the last couple of years. Everyone else, he’d explained the first year, brought their spouses or significant others. He hadn’t wanted to be the only one there alone. Why hadn’t he invited her this time?
I hope it’s not too miserable, she typed back. She stood at her counter, the cookie ingredients laid out, but nothing actually mixed yet.
Her phone chimed. Amy from accounting is here alone, too. So, not too bad.
Amy from accounting? Why would Amy from accounting make his evening so much better? Mike had only ever mentioned her in offhand ways like, “I need to get my expense report in to Amy from accounting before the weekend” or “The last person I would want to watch a fake YouTube concert with is Amy from accounting.”
Celeste stared at her phone for a long, drawn-out moment. She didn’t know how to respond or if she even should. Interrupting a date was rude— not that Mike was on a date. He and Amy were only at the party together by chance, really. It wasn’t like Mike had gone over to accounting and asked Amy to sit with him at the party. Right?
Ask Amy if she knows where to find a vintage babydoll dress. LOL
The moment she sent the text she realized how stupid it probably was. And a little pathetic. She was trying to spend the evening via text with a guy who was already spending the evening in person with someone else. And she’d typed LOL, something she’d always sworn she wouldn’t do; it felt too… stupid.
In the end, she couldn’t say if Mike agreed that the message was pathetic or the acronym stupid. He didn’t text back.
A batch of cookies later, he hadn’t texted back.
She strung a strand of lights on the front porch. Still no text.
She pulled the tabletop Christmas tree out of the attic and set it up on the end table in the front room. No text.
She even found a babydoll dress in her size on eBay and ordered it. Nothing.
There was nothing to be done but turn on A Christmas Carol and have some cookies and hot chocolate. W
atching George C. Scott transform into a decent person was usually very cathartic, one of the highlights of the season for her— why had she ever thought that skipping these things would make her happier this year?— but it fell a little short this time.
“I’m Scrooge,” she said to the empty room, “no family around, no friends, all alone at Christmas.” Except Scrooge had been happy about it, at first anyway. “I was, too. A little bit.” She had been looking forward to a very low-key Christmas. Mike had turned that in to an fun scavenger hunt, and she couldn’t be satisfied with the quiet any longer.
“That’s what friends are for, making a person dissatisfied with the status quo.”
Speaking of status quo: why in the world was he at his annual work party with Amy from accounting? He always took Celeste. Always.
She felt like she’d been stood up. Or overlooked. Or something.
Not that the work parties were dates or anything. They were just friends. Friends who were free to date… accountants. Except, Mike worked in IT. An accountant didn’t seem like the best match for a computer geek. A lawyer would be more likely to offset the geekiness. Not that Mike was super geeky. Or that she was looking to date him.
Then, what was her problem? She was upset about him being out with someone else even though she wasn’t looking to be anything but his friend? Was “friend jealousy” a thing? She wasn’t jealous of his other friends. She knew most of them; she liked them. She enjoyed hearing about the things Mike did with his other friends.
Just not Amy from accounting.
Mike had never before wished that texting wasn’t a thing. But, there he was, making his first attempt at accepting his spot on Celeste’s designated friend list, and he’d spent the whole night getting texts from her. Friendly texts, but a lot of them. There wouldn’t be any distance between them to make giving up his pursuit any easier.
Amy had been good company that night. Her husband was at home with a sick child, so she’d come alone. They’d spent most of the party talking about childhood illnesses and injuries, and his hope that he’d eventually have grandchildren to spoil.
Under the Mistletoe Collection Page 16
