“Not Professor Brewster?”
“One and the same. Why?”
“You mean to say he’s in Leavenworth, and you are, too?” Heather asked incredulously.
Faith smiled at the comedy of errors. “Yes. I arrived shortly after Charles did. I came with Santa and the elves and then—”
“Who?”
“Never mind, it’s complicated. But listen, everything’s fine. Charles has been absolutely marvelous about all of this. He agreed to let me stay here until my original departure date.” Faith hated to think what might’ve happened if he’d insisted she leave. She might still have been at the airport, waiting for a standby seat.
“You’re talking about Professor Brewster?”
“Yes. Professor Charles Brewster.”
“You say he’s been…marvelous?” Heather seemed genuinely surprised.
“Yes.” In fact, he’d been more than that, but Faith wasn’t about to share any of the details with Heather. “He isn’t marvelous,” Heather insisted. “He gave my roommate a C when she worked hard on every assignment and studied for every test. Well, okay, she fell asleep in his class, but who can blame her? The guy’s boring.”
“I happen to think he’s a fascinating man,” Faith said sharply, “so please keep your complaints to yourself.”
“Faith?” Heather said, her voice dropping. “Are you…interested in Dr. Brewster?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Heather gave a short, abrupt laugh. “You are! I don’t believe it. Just wait until Tracy hears this. Does the professor feel the same way about you? No, don’t answer that ’cause I’ll bet he does.” She laughed again, as if this was the funniest thing she’d heard in weeks.
“It isn’t that amusing,” Faith said, surprised by her need to defend Charles.
But Heather had already moved on to her own concerns. “So Mom’s still in Boston,” she said.
“Yes, she couldn’t fly home without paying a high-priced penalty.”
“That’s wonderful.” Heather sighed with relief. “Don’t say anything to her, okay?”
“Yes, but there’s something you—”
“I want to surprise her, so promise you won’t say a word.”
Faith leaned against the kitchen counter and raised her eyes to the ceiling, resisting the urge to laugh. “You have my word of honor. I won’t let her know.”
“Great. Thanks, Faith. Say hello to the professor for me.”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to be my mom’s Christmas surprise.” With that, Heather terminated the call.
Faith’s smile grew. Heather was about to discover a surprise of her own.
Just then, the front door opened and Charles staggered into the house, his arms stacked high with packages. Blindly he made his way into the dining room, piling the festively wrapped gifts on the table. Bags hung from his arms, and he set those next to the boxes.
“Good grief!” Faith rushed forward to help him. “What have you done?”
“I went shopping.” His smile was as bright as sun on snow. He looked downright boyish, with a swath of brown hair falling over his brow, his eyes sparkling.
“Who are all these gifts for?”
“The Kennedy kids get a bunch of them and there are a couple in here for you and…” He seemed decidedly pleased with himself.
“Charles.” He resembled Scrooge the day after his nightmare, rushing about buying gifts. Faith half listened for Tiny Tim.
“I got something else for Emily, too, in appreciation for trading places with me.”
This was quite a switch from his initial attitude. “The way I remember it, you said you’d walked into the middle of a Christmas nightmare.” Faith couldn’t restrain a smile. “And then I showed up.”
“That was no nightmare,” he said softly. “That was a gift.”
Faith didn’t know what to say. His intensity flustered her and she felt the heat rush into her cheeks. After the sleigh ride, something had happened between them, something that was difficult to put into words. She sensed that sharing her pain and the bitter disappointment of her divorce had, in some strange way, released him. Charles hadn’t said anything, but Faith realized words were often inadequate when it came to conveying emotions. She’d noticed the changes in him last night and even more so this morning.
“You got presents for the Kennedy kids?” she asked, pointing to the packages.
He nodded. “Did you know their dad got laid off last month?”
The kids hadn’t said anything to her, but apparently they had to Charles.
“They didn’t tell me, either,” he told her before she could comment, “but I overheard Mark and Thomas talking about it. And then, early this morning, I saw someone deliver a food basket to the house. With six children, it’s got to be tough this time of year.”
“What a sweet thing to do. If you want, I’ll help you write up gift cards and deliver them.”
He nodded and the boyish, pleased look was back. “I enjoyed myself today. I didn’t know Christmas could be this much fun. It’s always been a time I dreaded.”
“But why?”
Charles glanced away. “It’s a long story, and a boring one at that.”
“Involving a woman, no doubt.”
He shrugged.
Faith waited expectantly. She’d shared her pain with him; the least he could do was trust her enough to divulge his.
“I see,” she said after an awkward moment. She turned back to the kitchen.
Charles followed her. “If you want to know—”
“No, it isn’t necessary,” she broke in. “Really.”
“It was a devastating experience, and I’d prefer not to discuss it.”
“I understand,” she said and she did. Faith reassured him with a smile, gathering up the cookbooks and replacing them on the shelf.
“Her name was Monica.”
Faith pretended not to hear.
“I loved her and I was sure she loved me.”
“Charles, really, you don’t need to explain if you’d rather not.”
He threw off his coat and sat at the table. “But I would. Please.” He gestured to the chair across from him.
Faith pulled it out and sat down. He took her hands, holding them in his own. “I adored her and assumed she felt the same way about me. I bought an engagement ring and planned to give it to her on Christmas Day. Thankfully I never had the opportunity to ask her to marry me.”
“Thankfully?”
Charles’s fingers tightened around hers. “She told me on Christmas Eve that she found me dull and tedious. I learned later that she’d met someone else.”
Faith knew he didn’t want her sympathy and she didn’t offer it. “I think she was an extremely foolish woman.”
Charles raised his eyes until they met hers. “I am dull and tedious.”
“No,” she countered swiftly. “You’re brilliant and absentminded and quite possibly the kindest man I know.”
A slow smile touched his mouth. “And you,” he said. “You’re the most marvelous woman I’ve ever met.”
TWENTY-FIVE
“Alone at last,” Ray muttered as he shut the condo door. He’d walked his mother outside and waited with her until the taxi arrived to take her to the Four Seasons Hotel.
“Ray!” Emily said. “Your mother is hilarious.”
“Believe me, I know. She’s also meddling and demanding.”
“But she loves you and worries about you.”
“I should be worrying about her,” Ray said. “I can’t believe she’d fly here without telling me.”
“She tried,” Emily reminded him. “If I remember correctly, she left four messages, none of which you returned.”
Ray looked up at the ceiling and rolled his eyes. “Guilty as charged.”
“She does have impeccable timing, though, doesn’t she?” Emily doubted she’d ever forget the expression on Bernice’s face when Emily appeared at the front
door with a lobster attached to her pant leg. The Pomeranian had started barking like crazy, and pandemonium had immediately broken out. Bernice wanted answers and Emily wanted the lobster off her leg and the dog had taken an immediate dislike to both the lobster and Emily. FiFi had leaped out of Bernice’s arms, grabbing hold of Emily’s other pant leg, and she was caught in a tug-of-war between the lobster and the lapdog.
Everything eventually got sorted out, but until Ray was able to rescue Emily and assure his mother that all was well, it had been a complete and total circus.
“This isn’t the way I intended to spend Christmas Eve,” Ray said.
“It was wonderful,” Emily told him. His mother had known exactly what to do with the lobsters and she’d taken over in the kitchen, issuing orders and expecting them to be obeyed. Ray and Emily had happily complied. That evening, the three of them had feasted on the lobsters and a huge Caesar salad.
After dinner, they’d gathered in front of the fireplace, sipping wine and listening to Christmas music, and Bernice had delighted Emily with tales of her two sons growing up. Emily had enjoyed the evening immensely. And while he might complain, Ray seemed to take pleasure in their visit with his mother, too.
“She insists on taking us out for Christmas dinner,” Ray said.
“That would be lovely.”
“I’ll bet you’ve never eaten at a hotel on Christmas Day in your life.”
“True, but nothing about this Christmas is normal.”
Ray walked over to where she stood by the tree. “Do you mind sharing the day with my mother and me?”
Emily smiled. “I consider myself fortunate to be with you both.” She was sorry she couldn’t be with her daughter, but she’d come a long way since Heather had announced she wouldn’t be flying home for the holidays. She was far more prepared to accept Heather’s independence, for one thing; it was a natural, healthy process and it was going to happen anyway, so she saw no point in fighting it.
“You’re right, this isn’t the Christmas Eve I expected,” she added, “but I’ve had such a fabulous time in Boston and I owe it all to you.”
“I should be the one thanking you,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms. His kisses were gentle but thorough, coaxing and sensual. Emily’s knees were weak by the time he released her.
“I have something for you,” he said, stroking her arms. He seemed unable to stop touching her, and Emily was equally loath to break away from him.
“I have something for you, too,” she told him.
“Me first.”
“Okay.” They separated and went to their respective bedrooms to retrieve their gifts. A few minutes later, as they sat beneath the Christmas tree, he handed her a small beribboned box. Emily stared at the beautifully wrapped present and then at Ray.
“Open it,” he urged.
Her pulse going wild, she tore away the red satin bow and the wrapping paper. The jeweler’s box surprised her. This looked expensive.
“Ray?” Her eyes flew up to meet his.
“Open it,” he said again.
Slowly, Emily lifted the lid and swallowed a gasp. Inside was a cameo, about the size of a silver dollar.
“It’s on a chain,” Ray said.
“I love cameos,” she whispered, and wondered how he could possibly have known. “Did I mention that?” She had two precious cameos that were among her most treasured possessions. The first had belonged to her grandmother and the second, a small one about the size of a dime, held an even deeper significance. Peter had given it to her on their fifth wedding anniversary. Now she had a third.
“I didn’t know, but I saw this one and somehow I was sure you’d like it.”
“Oh, Ray, I do. Thank you so much.”
He helped her remove it from its plush bed. Emily turned her back to him and lifted her hair so he could connect the chain. This cameo was the most perfect gift he could possibly have given her. The fact that he’d sensed, after such a short acquaintance, how much it would appeal to her, was truly touching.
“This is for you,” she said shyly, handing him her present. The day before, they’d strolled past an antique store that specialized in rare books. That morning, she’d gone inside to investigate and discovered a first edition of the science-fiction classic Dune by Frank Herbert. It was autographed, and because this was Christmas Eve, she’d been able to talk the dealer down to a reasonable price.
In one of their many conversations, Ray had said that he’d enjoyed science fiction as a teenager. She watched as he eagerly ripped off the paper. When he saw the novel, his eyes grew wide.
“It’s autographed,” she told him, smiling.
Ray’s mouth sagged open. “I loved Dune as a kid. I read it so many times the pages fell out.”
Reverently he opened the book. “How did you know?” The whispered question revealed his own astonishment that she could find him such a fitting gift.
“I listened.”
“You listened with your heart.” His fingertips grazed her cheek as his eyes held hers. Slowly he glided his hand around the nape of her neck and brought her closer to thank her with a kiss.
Emily opened her lips to his. Their kisses were warm, moist, each more intense than the one before. Ray leaned back, gazing at her for several breath-stopping moments. Then he wrapped his arms around her and held her hard against him.
“Ray?”
He answered her with another kiss, and any sensible thoughts she might have had vanished the moment his lips met hers. He lowered her to the carpet, leaning over her.
Emily slid her arms around his neck. Excitement tingled through her, and passion—so long dormant, so deeply buried—came to life.
Ray’s hand cupped her breast and she gasped with pleasure. She was afraid and excited at the same time. He began to unfasten her blouse and when she saw that his fingers trembled, she gently brushed them aside and unbuttoned it herself. Just as she reached the last button, there was a knock at the door.
Ray looked at her. Startled, Emily looked at him.
“Your mother?” she asked.
He shrugged and got to his feet. “I doubt it.” He walked across the room. “Whoever it is, I’ll get rid of them.” From her vantage point, she couldn’t see the door, but she could hear him open it.
Emily waited. At first nothing happened, and then she heard Heather’s shocked voice.
“Who are you?”
“Ray Brewster. And you are?”
Heather sidestepped Ray and walked into the condo. Emily quickly bunched her blouse together and stared up at her daughter’s horrified expression.
“Mother?” Heather screeched.
Emily was sure her face was as red as the lobster she’d had for dinner that very night.
TWENTY-SIX
When Faith woke on Christmas morning, it was snowing, just as she’d hoped. Tossing aside the covers, she leaped out of bed, thrust both arms into her housecoat and bounded down the stairs. Happiness bubbled up inside her—it was Christmas Day!
From their short time together, Faith knew Charles wasn’t a morning person, but she couldn’t bear to let him sleep in on a morning as special as this.
After putting on the coffee and waiting impatiently for enough of it to filter through to fill a cup, she swiftly removed the pot and stuck the mug directly under the drip. Then, coffee in hand, she walked down the hallway to the room in which Charles slept.
Knocking at the door, she called, “Wake up, it’s Christmas! You can’t escape me this morning.”
She could hear him grumbling.
“Charles, it’s snowing! Come on, get up now.”
“What time is it, anyway?”
“Seven-thirty. I have coffee for you. If you want, I can bring it in.”
“Do I have a choice?”
She laughed and admitted that he really didn’t. If he chose to sleep longer, she’d simply rattle around the kitchen making lots of noise until he got up.
“All right, all right,
come in.”
He didn’t sound too pleased, but Faith didn’t care. When she creaked open the door, she discovered Charles sitting up in bed. His hair was disheveled and a book had fallen onto the floor.
“Merry Christmas,” she said, handing him the coffee.
His stare was blank until he took his first sip. “Ahh,” he breathed appreciatively. Then he gave her an absent grin. “Merry Christmas, Faith. Did Santa arrive?”
“Oh…I didn’t think to look.”
“Let me finish my coffee and shower, and then I’ll take a peek under the tree with you.”
“You’re on,” she said and backed out of the room before she could do something silly and completely out of character—like throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. With the two of them alone in Emily’s cozy house, the atmosphere had become more and more intimate….
A half hour later, Faith had dressed and was frying bacon for their breakfast when Charles appeared. He wore a dress shirt and sweater vest.
“Merry Christmas!” he said again.
“You, too.” She made an effort not to look at him for fear she’d be too easily distracted.
“So, did you check under the tree?” Charles asked.
“Not yet.” She slid the bacon onto the platter and wiped her hands.
“You look very nice,” Charles said. “I generally don’t notice much of anything before ten. I don’t know if it’s the day or if it’s you.” His comment was as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
“Me?” she whispered.
“You’re an attractive woman.” He cleared his throat. “Very attractive.”
“Oh.”
“It’s true.”
Flustered now, she offered him a tentative smile. “Breakfast is ready.” She carried the crisp bacon over to the kitchen table, which she’d already set using a poinsettia-covered tablecloth. The juice was poured and the toast made; scrambled eggs were heaped in a dish. A quiche lorraine sat in the center of the table. And she’d brewed fresh coffee, the aroma pervading the room. She’d prepared far more than the two of them could possibly eat, but she supposed the quiche would make a nice lunch tomorrow.
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