“The business will be fine. You’ve got a capable manager and employees who are stupid enough to love you.”
It was true. His people were the best. But Cupid’s Chocolates was Trevor’s baby. He’d poured his heart and soul into it, and like any good parent, he was always nervous about leaving Baby for very long.
“They can handle cleaning the chocolate vats.”
Trevor lifted his glass, pointing his middle finger at his brother in the process. Cupid’s Chocolates was more than a bunch of costly equipment. The company offered premium chocolate treats made from organic, fair trade cocoa beans. He and his people worked hard to make the best and most exotic chocolate to be found anywhere in Oregon. In the Pacific Northwest. In the world. Not that Belgium, Switzerland or Germany would agree.
As if reading his mind, Kurt added, “You can OD on German chocolate, check out the competition. Heck, you can bring samples along and pass ’em out to the other cruisers and probably pick up some new customers.”
There was that. He could stuff a lot of chocolate bars in his carry-on. That, a pair of slacks, some jeans, a sweater and some boxers and he’d be good to go. Shaving kit, toothbrush...
Wait a minute. How had he gone from not going to thinking about what he was going to pack?
“You could maybe even find your dream woman there,” Kurt finished. “A nympho chocoholic.”
“Yeah, hiding in the middle of all those fifty-and sixty-year-olds.”
“What? Now you’re age biased?”
“Only when it comes to who I sleep with.”
“You’ll find somebody. You always do. Come on, what do you say?”
“I say I don’t want to fork out for a plane ticket.”
“You can have Misty’s.”
“You can’t just change someone’s name on a plane ticket anymore.”
“My travel agent will take care of it. She’ll cancel it and rebook. She’s got connections. I’ll even eat the cost of rebooking. Merry Christmas from your big bro.”
How did you turn down an offer like that? “As long as I don’t have to babysit.”
“You can do your own thing. And I don’t have to be with them 24/7. It’ll work out.”
Trevor finally said yes, leaving his brother to get the German 201 class from Portland to Seattle and driving up on his own. It would be fun to hang out with his brother. And who knew? Maybe Kurt was right. Maybe Trevor would meet somebody. Although he doubted it.
* * *
Kurt’s prediction about finding someone proved right. Trevor met someone at the airport, all right. Not the kind of someone he wanted to meet, though.
He was sitting at Gate 20 at SeaTac International, checking his messages on his phone while his brother checked on his herd, when one of the herd broke away and plunked herself down right next to him, dropping a bulging duffel bag in front of her. She was a skinny kid in a winter coat and a long, black sweater that hung over blue leggings with a pattern that made him dizzy. Her feet were in boots that looked like she should be on parade with a drill sergeant yelling at her. Unstyled brown hair hanging to her shoulders and a face scrubbed clean. No makeup. No piercings, no tats to be seen. No perfume. No nonsense. Snap judgment: nerd girl. If they ever did a reboot of The Big Bang Theory she’d be a perfect Amy Farrah Fowler.
He could almost hear his mother scolding, “Look at the heart, not the outward appearance.”
“Guten Tag,” she said. “Sind Sie der Bruder von Herr Professor March?”
Why wasn’t she over there with the herd, practicing German with someone her own age?
Mom had taught him to be polite so he didn’t ask.
“I am,” he said, and looked to where Kurt stood talking with a hefty kid in ripped jeans and a black leather jacket, with blue hair and gauges in his ears. Had Kurt sent this girl Trevor’s way just to mess with him? After their conversation at Pok Pok he’d better not have or Trevor was going to drown him in the Rhine.
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” she asked.
“What?” Seriously?
“Do you speak German?” she asked in English, looking almost exasperated that he hadn’t caught on.
“Sorry,” he said. “I barely sprechen English.” He tried to sic her on the hefty kid with the blue hair. “I bet that guy does.”
She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Hugh? He’s pretty but he’s dumb. He’s on the downside of a C in class. Anyway, boys that age are so immature. I’m Harriet,” she added.
“Trevor,” he said in return.
“This is my first trip outside the US. I still can’t believe it’s happening.”
That made Trevor smile. Little Harriet with her big brain sounded like a little girl who’d just been promised she could stay up late on New Year’s Eve.
“It’s happening, trust me,” Trevor said.
“It’s so awesome of Professor March to do this trip for us.”
“Always good to learn the people and their customs as well as the language,” Trevor said. His German grandma would have been glad to see that he was finally getting his butt over to the fatherland.
“Have you traveled very much?” Harriet asked.
“Some.”
While Kurt’s studies had taken him to Germany, Trevor’s interests had sent him places like Ecuador and the Ivory Coast. The two of them hadn’t traveled together since a road trip to the Grand Canyon after Trevor’s high school graduation. They were past due.
“I intend to travel a lot,” Harriet informed him. “I’m going to be a citizen of the world.”
Trevor had his hands full being a citizen of the US. “Go for it,” he said.
“Do you believe in the propinquity effect?”
The switch in topics about gave him whiplash. “Pro what?”
“Propinquity. It’s one of the main factors leading to personal attraction. The more we interact with individuals, the more likely we are to form friendships and romantic attachments with them.”
“What if someone doesn’t want to spend time with you?” Trevor asked.
“Oh, they will eventually,” she said, confident in P-power. “People think you form attachments just seeing someone across a room full of people. You know, love at first sight. But it’s much more complicated than that.”
He nodded. “Interesting.” Oh, shit. Wrong thing to say.
“Isn’t it?” she said, warming to her subject. “It’s a scientific fact.” She pulled a cheap supermarket chocolate bar from her backpack.
Trever watched in disgust as she broke off a piece, and popped it in her mouth. Okay, she was young. You had to make allowances.
She offered the bar to him. “Want some?” Have some chocolate-flavored wax.
He held up a staying hand. “Uh, no, thanks.”
“You don’t like chocolate?” She gaped in amazement.
“I’m a chocolate snob.”
“Oh, Godiva.” She rolled her eyes.
“No, more like Cupid’s Chocolates,” he said, unable to resist dropping his company’s name.
“That stuff is expensive,” she said with a frown.
“Ever hear the saying you get what you pay for?”
“I’m a student. I can’t afford to pay that much.”
She was on this trip. She couldn’t be that broke. Still, generosity urged him to zip open his carry-on. Give the kid a treat.
Was this the equivalent of feeding a stray? He was aware of her looking over his shoulder, like someone standing over a guy panning for gold, eager to see what he came up with. Yeah, this probably wasn’t such a good idea.
Too late. He heard the little gasp and knew she’d seen the gold nugget. A suitcase stuffed with gold nuggets. Now there would be no getting rid of her.
Oh, well. Convert them when they’re young, then you’ll have them when they’re older
and they have money. He pulled out an Orange Blossom Special, a three-ounce bar—55 percent dark chocolate infused with orange and loaded with almonds.
“Are you allergic to nuts?” he asked.
She wiped saliva from one corner of her mouth and shook her head, too awed to speak.
“Well, then, this is for you. But you have to hand over that poor excuse for chocolate first.”
She did and practically snatched the bar out of his hand. “Where did you get all that? Are you a salesman?”
In a way. “Something like that.”
She unwrapped the chocolate, broke off a piece and put it in her mouth. Closed her eyes and let out a groan. Chewed a little and groaned some more. Sounded like a woman working her way to an orgasm. Trevor looked around, hoping not too many people had heard it.
“OMG.” Another groan.
Okay, this was getting uncomfortable. “Excuse me, I’m just gonna...” Run away. Trevor zipped his carry-on back up and bolted. The men’s restroom. She couldn’t follow him there. He found a stall and shut himself in.
* * *
“I’m so glad it worked out for me to come,” Athena White said to her father as they towed their carry-on suitcases through the crowd at LAX, heading for the Lufthansa gate. “This is going to be so much fun.”
“Yes, it will,” said her father agreeably.
It was the first trip they’d taken together since her mother’s death, which had been six years and one second wife ago. Athena was an only child and she and her father had always been close, even more so when her mom was ill. They had faced the hard time and terrible loss together.
Then something even more tragic had happened. Nicole. The very memory of that sneaky little gold digger still was enough to make Athena’s blood pressure spike. Nicole had been forty-one, only one year older than Athena. Daddy’s old tennis buddies had finally lured him back to the racket club and there had been Nicole in her short little tennis skirt, needing help with her backhand. That tennis club membership had been an investment that sure paid off for her.
Daddy had been easy pickings—widowed and lonely, and after no longer having a sick wife to care for, drifting and purposeless. Athena had tried to point out that Nicole was after Daddy’s money. A nice-looking doctor with a healthy financial portfolio—every greedy woman’s dream. But Daddy, it turned out, was as human as any man, and vulnerable to flattery. Nicole had convinced him she was more interested in his tennis game and his brilliant mind than his bank account. They were soul mates, so what did the age difference matter? It had worked out fine for Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones.
So Nicole had led him to the altar like a sheep to slaughter and, once they were married, proceeded to throw around his cash like it was Monopoly money. Spending someone’s money was one thing. Marrying him for his money was quite another. It soon became apparent that Nicole enjoyed spending time with Daddy’s American Express card and her girlfriends more than she did spending time with him. The bitch. She spent their short-lived marriage making demands on him, doing everything she could to put a wedge between him and his daughter and then, finally, leaving him for a heart surgeon. How appropriate. Maybe he could give her a heart.
Daddy had been devastated. But he’d survived the devastation. The last few months he’d begun to ease into a social life. Some doubles at the racket club, drinks with an old friend here and there. Attending an occasional party.
Wondering about checking out one of those dating sites for seniors.
No! Athena had almost had a heart attack the moment he mentioned it. Those sites were shark-infested waters. She’d convinced him he wasn’t ready yet and he’d settled back into seeing his old friends, staying home on a Friday night with a good book or streaming a movie. Meeting his daughter for lunch every Saturday. It was a good life. Who could ask for anything more?
Her father apparently. He’d been reading about cruises online and thought a holiday river cruise sounded kind of fun.
A cruise. By himself. No one to protect him. Oh, no. She’d quickly enthused over what a nice thing it would be to do together. He’d been pleased at the suggestion and made the arrangements, and now here they were at the airport, Daddy under the illusion that he was footloose and fancy-free, his daughter walking by his side, holding the invisible leash tightly. No one was going to get him this time. Daddy had endured enough unhappiness. The marriage gate was closed.
“Not everyone is a fortune hunter,” her son had told her when they’d talked on the phone before her departure.
“Only the ones who go after rich people.”
“Mom, you’re such a cynic,” he’d said in disgust.
Cynics weren’t born. They were made. And Athena’s rotten ex had certainly done a good job of turning her into one—hiding women, hiding assets. The only good thing she’d gotten from him was their son, a starving college student who was majoring in history. He was the one thing they’d gotten right.
“I’m not a cynic. I’m a realist,” she’d insisted. She’d seen firsthand how twisted relationships could get when people married for the wrong reasons.
They got to the gate and saw a crowd of people, most seated, some milling about, many speaking to each other in German. Several couples sat side by side, drinking lattes and reading books. An older woman in a nice coat who looked like she was pushing ninety, a middle-aged woman sitting next to her. Maybe a daughter. Here came another couple, retirement age. There was a pair in their forties and a couple who looked like newlyweds. If these people were bound for Amsterdam and their cruise ship, she’d worried for nothing.
She caught sight of a new arrival, a slender woman in a red wool coat with a pretty face accentuated by eyelash extensions and plenty of makeup. A blonde.
Nicole had been a blonde.
This woman was at least a little older than Nicole, but that didn’t make her any less dangerous. She smiled at Daddy, a speculative, hungry kind of smile.
Innocent that he was, he smiled back. Oh, no.
“I’d sure love a coffee,” Athena said, improvising fast.
“You know, that sounds like a good idea. Why don’t I get us both one?”
“Thanks, Daddy. You’re a doll,” she said, and stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Maybe the shark in the red coat would think they were an item and look somewhere else. Athena looked over at the woman, cocked her head and lifted both eyebrows. A challenge. Still want to try for this one?
The woman frowned and turned her head a different direction.
That’s right. Look somewhere else. My father is not on the market.
Ten minutes later Daddy returned, holding two cups of coffee and walking beside a short, middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair. They were smiling and chatting away like old friends. Good grief, guarding her father was going to be a full-time job. She wouldn’t be able to leave him alone for a second.
“This is my daughter, Athena,” he said, handing Athena her coffee. “Athena, this is Mona Gardner. She’s on her way to Seattle to see her daughter.”
At least Mona wasn’t going on the cruise. Oh, and what was this? A ring on Mona’s left hand. Athena relaxed and smiled at her. “Nice to meet you.”
“I think it’s great that you and your father are taking a trip together,” said Mona. She shook her head. “My Gregory hates to travel.” She nodded to where a heavyset man sat, reading a paperback novel. “It’s a good thing our son and his family only moved to Seattle. We’d never have seen them otherwise. You’re so lucky your daughter lives near you,” she said to Daddy.
“Yes, I am,” he agreed, and smiled at Athena.
Good Lord, how much information had the woman pried out of him when they were in line at Starbucks?
“Well, it was nice talking to you,” Mona said. “Have a wonderful trip.”
“We will,” Daddy said. As Mona walked away he said to
Athena, “Isn’t it interesting how many friendly people you meet at the airport?”
“Most of the people I’ve ever met have been stressed and cranky,” she replied.
“They probably weren’t in vacation mode. Travel is different when you’re doing it because you want to and not because you have to. There’s something about travel that loosens people up.”
How many loosened-up women were they going to meet before this trip was over?
“I’m sure we’re going to make lots of new friends on this cruise,” Daddy said. He sounded terrifyingly hopeful.
Athena smiled back and sighed inwardly. This was going to be a challenge.
* * *
“This is going to be fun,” Sierra said to Sophie as they towed their carry-ons toward Gate 20 at SeaTac airport.
It was about the twentieth time she’d said it since Sierra committed to going with her. Which one of them was she trying to convince?
“Beautiful sights, happy people.”
Who had better not be traveling if they were sick.
“Elegant dinners.”
Dinner on board a ship. Sophie hoped she wouldn’t get seasick. She always got sick in the back seat of a car. She patted her little red backpack purse for reassurance. If somebody rocked the boat she was good. She had Dramamine.
But even Dramamine couldn’t guard you against food poisoning. “I hope I don’t sick,” she muttered.
“On the kind of five-star meals they’re going to serve us? Don’t worry. Anyway, if you do I’m sure they’ll have a doctor on board.”
“They don’t. I checked. But the cruise line at least has a doctor waiting at each of their ports of call.” And since those happened on a daily basis, Sophie figured she’d be okay.
Sierra gave her a teasing grin. “I’m sure you’ll manage to meet one of them. Maybe he’ll even be single. A doctor would be the perfect husband for you.”
Yes, he would. If only.
3
“Of course, Jane Austen perfectly captured the everyday life of her class and time,” Harriet said to Trevor. “I wrote a paper on it for my Women Writers of the Nineteenth Century class. But I prefer the Brontës. All that sexual repression unleashed, spilling out in such passion on the page,” she rhapsodized. “Not that Fifty Shades of Grey is lacking in passion, you know. But I like subtlety. Don’t you?”
One Charmed Christmas Page 3
