Christmas at Tiffany's

by Marianne Evans

  “You’re biased because I’m your sister.”

  “No, I’m honest because I’m your sister. Big difference.”

  Tiffany’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. The support was appreciated, and comforting, but when Mitch left the party a few minutes later…with his mystery lady…all Tiffany wanted to do was break down and cry.

  ~*~

  Mitch kept a guiding hand against the small of Wendy’s back as they ambled along the promenade of Rockefeller Center. Statues of trumpeting angels were nestled against rows of snow-tipped evergreens that created a pathway to the centerpiece of the city, an eighty-feet tall Norwegian spruce ablaze with thousands of multi-colored lights and crowned by a glittering Swarovski star. On the ice rink in the plaza below skaters spun, swirled, tumbled and laughed. The noise and bustle of people in motion filled the air with an ebb and flow that somehow blended with the rumble of tires, the honking horns of nearby traffic patterns.

  Mitch needed to get back to the party, but wanted a private interlude with Wendy in order to set matters straight—for both of them.

  How should he even start…?

  “So, the woman. The one who spoke to the group just now about charity work.” Leading and concise, Wendy opened the doorway between them.

  “Tiffany. What about her?” A touch of guilt, iced by defensiveness, layered the question.

  Wendy shook her head, grinning as she tugged her coat collar close to her neck. “Mitch, I wish you could have seen your face, your eyes, from my perspective. Maybe it’s because I know you so well.”

  For a moment, Mitch couldn’t summon the temerity to do much more than stop, turn and gape. “What do you mean?”

  “Convicted?” She tucked her arm through his and issued a gentle laugh. “Men can be adorably clueless.” A few steps later, her mood intensified. “I can see what’s coming between the two of us. I felt it as soon as I entered the Rainbow Room and even now, being with you for the first time in ages. Mitch, we care about each other. I know that. But there’s been distance over the past few months. That’s what prompted me to ask if you wanted me to come to the party tonight. That’s what prompted me to show up in spite you saying it wasn’t necessary. We’re convenient, and we’re comfortable, but we’re never going to be more than that, are we?”

  Mitch tipped his head and took in a magnificent view of the tree, but a deep-from-the-chest sigh sent a plume of white vapor into the frosty night air. “I feel like the worst kind of heel.”

  “You’re not. Not at all.” She slid an arm around his waist and he answered the gesture by drawing her against his side. He felt a brotherly form of affection for Wendy, nothing more. The truth came to him so clearly now…

  “What does she mean to you?”

  There was nothing between them now but friendship and truth. As such, he owed her a large measure of respect. “Right now, I honestly don’t know. Everything about her is new to me. New to both of us. What happens next is a big unknown at this point. All that being understood, I want you to know that I care about you; I don’t want you to be hurt.”

  “But there’s something there for her. For Tiffany. Something you feel.”

  “I think, more accurately, there’s something between us I’d like to figure out and get a handle on. That’s as specific as I can be. I’m not sure what it is yet. What I’m discovering as I get to know her isn’t just about a whirlwind of attraction, it’s…it’s…”

  “Deeper than that.”

  She didn’t phrase her words in the form of a question, she knew. That unnerved him. “Am I that obvious?”

  Catching his startled reaction, she simply smiled. “Call it intuition. I believe, all cliché’s aside, women sense things like this. The looks you gave her were pretty eloquent.”

  Mitch guided her over a patch of snow and ice by tucking a hand beneath her elbow. “Like I said, I just don’t know right now.”

  So, he stewed. Yet somehow, in a puzzling contrast to the confusion that threatened to run away with him, he felt right around Tiffany. He felt alive and authentic in ways he had never considered before now. Increasingly, his heart edged him closer to a moment of truth that would lead to a crossroads both personal and professional. It was time to confront his emotions, and Tiffany, directly.

  7

  The following weekend, Tiffany pushed through the glass doorway of Pets Finding Home in Brooklyn. A sense of familiarity wrapped around her with every yelp she heard, with every bark, meow and every plaintive cry. There were scents and stories within the steel cages and mangled blankets that many might find heartbreaking, or challenging, but to Tiffany, this was home.

  She needed this sense of comfort, because as far as work and her emotions were concerned, life couldn’t get much crazier. She had found out the lovely gate crasher at the Christmas party was Wendy Pace, a more-than-acquaintance to Mitch. That nixed his availability straight away. Meanwhile, human resources guru Jay Robertson had extended his stay in the city, and the rumor mill had been churning overtime with stories about a fresh batch of candidates—with one in particular—a guy named Tom Keelor—who would be a slam-dunk successor to Mitch.

  Which would send Mitch back to California. And to Wendy.

  Beyond those facts, Tiffany didn’t need to know much. In the past week, she had avoided him with the steely resolution of a woman on a mission. She didn’t need complications or drama. She didn’t need some kind of misbegotten crush to send her work life into a tailspin. Life and love and the kind of emergence Melody had alluded to during her visit could wait until later. Until after school was finished.

  The only thing Tiffany wanted in the year to come was her Master’s Degree. Men—men much more suited to her lifestyle than Mitch Alexander—could just wait.

  Embracing routine, Tiffany settled freshly-filled water and food dishes inside a metal cage occupied by Max, a cuddly golden retriever puppy that had been surrendered last week when his owners were forced to relocate in a hurry and claim occupancy of an apartment that didn’t allow pets.

  Into her seminal moment of refined purpose and determination strode Mitch, ready to volunteer. He joined her in the housing area, obliterating her fine ideals with nothing more than his smile and the soft caress of his eyes.

  In an instant she regretted avoiding him.

  He sported comfortably-worn blue jeans and an untucked button-down of black he had pulled on over a plain white T-shirt. The casual attire struck her as sexy; his overall image initiated a tap dance of energy against her nerve endings.

  Curse it all.

  “Good morning—and you’re staring.”

  Tiffany blanched at the tender tease, that warm, appealing grin. “Good morning—and you’re casual today. I suppose it’s throwing me off a little.”

  “Call me crazy, but I like to give my suits the day off when I volunteer at animal shelters.”

  “Probably a very good call.”

  “I thought so.” He joined her in front of Max’s cage. Peeking inside he extended his fingers for an exploratory, familiarizing sniff from the dog. “So, what do you need me to do, coach?”

  In the hours that followed, designates from InfoTraxion filed in and were put to work. Tiffany took Mitch through the paces of a shift. Side-by-side they mucked litter boxes, laid fresh newspaper and continued feeding the animals in a cage-by-cage process. Mitch exchanged tired, dingy nesting blankets for ones pulled fresh from the laundry area positioned at the rear of the facility. After that, Tiffany retrieved a leash so she could hook up Max and let him have some exercise.

  This was her favorite part of volunteering—playing with the animals, one-by-one for short intervals. She lifted a squiggly, face-licking Max from his cage and strode across the hall to the play room while Mitch followed and closed the door behind them to prevent any kind of canine escape. The glassed-in space also came into use when potential adoptees wanted to spend time bonding with a dog or cat before making that final decision to take them in as new famil
y members.

  Tiffany sat cross-legged on the floor and Mitch followed suit as she freed Max from his leash and let him romp around. There was a cardboard box not far from her elbow stuffed with dog and cat toys. From within she grabbed a small squeaky ball and gave it a toss. Max scampered after it and beat it around with his paws a few times. Following a happy yelp, he pranced straight into her open arms and waiting lap, the ball ignored in favor of TLC.

  “This is what I love. Connection.” She lifted the dog to her face and snuggled her cheek against a silky puff of fur. “I love that moment when a family finds their escaped or runaway pet. And I love the times when someone wanders through the shelter and—just like true love—lays eyes on one of our displaced dogs or cats and fall head-over-heels.”

  Mitch watched her long and hard for a moment. “I wish I had a camera right now. I’d love to somehow capture your passion and fire. If I did, these animals would be adopted in a heartbeat.”

  Unwilling to be swayed by his kindness, Tiffany shook her head. “If only it were that easy.” She paused, scratching Max behind the ears rather than meeting Mitch’s eyes. “You make me think of Garry and Opal. One day this big, burly, forty-something guy walked in with his grandmother, Opal. His grandmother.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  Tiffany lifted to a stand. With Max at her heels, she crossed to the dog’s empty crate and settled him inside. Next, she moved to the station where a gorgeous, green-eyed calico cat watched them as it shivered with uncertainty. Tiffany could thoroughly relate. She doled out a reassuring pet that prompted relaxation as well as a resounding purr.

  “Opal was almost a hundred and one years old, and she had just lost her cat. Evidently they had been companions for over seventeen years.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “I know, right? Isn’t that cool? Anyway, she was devastated, and she wanted to adopt another cat.”

  “At that age?”

  “Yes, and trust me, there was considerable discussion about that fact.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “But in this case, Opal’s grandson lived just a block away from her and he made a strong case for the fact that Opal was more than capable of caring for the animal, and that Opal benefited from having an animal to tend to. She spent some time with a four-year-old male cat that hadn’t found a home after four months with us. The cat, Oliver, was so sweet and docile…but he was older. Well, thank goodness for Opal. She fell for him immediately.”

  “Did the adoption work out?”

  Tiffany nodded, washing her hands at a stainless sink. “Garry happily signed a waiver that guaranteed he would assume ownership of Oliver when his grandmother passed. We took a picture of Opal and Oliver before she left, and tears were running down her cheeks she was so happy.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “Oh, about three or four months ago. Garry stopped by last week to give us a fresh picture he had taken of Oliver in his new digs.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Sure.” Tiffany led the way to reception. There, like a beacon of hope, rested a long rectangle of corkboard filled by dozens of pictures—a living chronicle of newfound pet-families transformed by the power of love.

  While Mitch studied the photos, Tiffany studied Mitch. She couldn’t deny, or avoid, her pleasure at being pulled toward him. His respect and admiration flowed free, touching her with brushstrokes of affirmation.

  “You puzzle me, Tiffany. You intrigue me. To be honest, you’re also somewhat of a mystery.”

  “Umm…there they are…” Tiffany skirted his observations by pointing to the picture of Oliver curled happily into the depths of a dark brown sofa cushion right next to Opal. Her gnarled, tender hand rested against the four-legged companion. The old woman’s smile spoke volumes.

  Mitch touched the slightly curled edge of the photograph, and the smile he wore skimmed through her bloodstream like an elixir.

  “Just look at the way she’s beaming at him,” he said. “It’s like love scripted a path straight across her face.”

  Tiffany found it difficult to catch her breath. Shyness, a futile rush of magnetism, left her emotionally stymied. “We should probably finish up our tour of duty.”

  Nerves on the rise, she didn’t wait for his answer. This time she tasked herself with starting a load of laundry, pushing old towels and blankets into the washer so they could be recycled for use tomorrow. Mitch followed.

  “Thank you for sharing Opal’s story. Do you know what I wish, though?” After dumping a cap full of detergent into the hot cycle, Tiffany tilted her head, waiting.

  “I wish you’d share your story with me.”

  Captured, helpless to him, a sense of futility careened Tiffany against stone-hard walls. “Mitch, I’m sure I’d bore you silly. I’m nothing out of the ordinary. I grew up with loving parents who raised me to believe in my dreams and goals. We weren’t rich, we weren’t poor. We were…ordinary.” She shrugged, desperate. How could she explain the patterns of her nondescript life to a powerhouse like him? “By nature, I’m quiet. The fact that I’m reserved might lead people to think I don’t care, or that I only want to stick to the sidelines, but the opposite side of that equation is the fact that I care. I care deeply.”

  “That much is obvious, trust me. And I hate to break it to you, Tiffany, but you’re anything but ordinary.”

  “Yes, I am.” Panic textured the words.

  Mitch denied them with the shake of his head.

  “No, you’re not.” He turned away from the dachshund he tended in order to face her directly. “Furthermore, please give me a moment to set the record straight. Quietness masks your drive and intellect. You’re reserved, yes, but that makes you fascinating. Everything about you makes a person want to figure out the mystery of why you draw back. How can you be so reserved when at the same time you possess this converse ability to pull people forward?”

  “I’m afraid anyone who searches that deep would come away disappointed.”

  “All evidence to the contrary.”

  “Well…thanks…but I still can’t buy into your theory.” She aimed for lighthearted humor, but her tone revealed inner tremors. She needed to back away—fast—so she turned to bid Max a tender farewell. Opening his cage, she reached in to deliver a few last pets and strokes. The pup shifted, offered a generous hand-lick then dozed off to sleep.

  “You have a lot of depth. Share it. Share who you are. Don’t keep quiet.”

  So, he wasn’t going to let it rest. OK, she could deal with that. Tiffany angled a hip against the nearby counter and looked into his eyes. When she did, she took a hard, fast and sweet little heart-tumble in the millisecond it took to draw a breath. “You know what? I've never met anyone so forthright and confident before. I wish I could be just half as sure of myself as you are.”

  “Learn.”

  “Learn?”

  “Yes. You’re a woman of faith. I’m a believer as well. That leads me to know there’s a reason why God brought our paths together. Maybe you’re meant to show me something striking about truth of soul, and depth of feeling. Meanwhile, maybe I can show you the fact that you’re striking, and you deserve to shine. You’re worthy, Tiffany. Very worthy.”

  Her mind raced, energy sang against nerve endings that sparked with life, with hope-filled expectation. She opened her mouth, ready to ask him about Wendy, and what he meant to accomplish by being so forceful and overt. Before she cold formulate the words, Mitch took her hands but refused to relinquish his visual hold.

  “For now, forget everything else and do me a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When we’re finished here, I want you to show me New York City. Through your eyes. Do you have plans?”

  Jump, she told herself. Jump. Her entire spirit quivered—just like that terrified little calico not far away. Nonetheless, she met his gaze straight on. “It seems I do now. Challenge accepted.”

  8

  Following a c
ozy, burger and fries dinner at a diner in Midtown, Mitch expected Tiffany to lead him to all things quintessentially New York—to Rockefeller Plaza or the elaborate window displays along Fifth Avenue. He should have known she’d bypass them all. Instead, she guided him to Washington Square Park, with its triumphal marble arch majestically spotlighted. An enormous Spruce tree, draped by thousands of lights, was centered perfectly within its curved opening.

  From there they cabbed to the New York Palace hotel, which took him by complete surprise, until he stood within its snow-dusted courtyard which was decorated to resemble a Christmas fairyland.

  “This is my favorite spot at Christmas.”

  “Why this spot in particular?” He could assume, of course, but wanted to hear her impressions—in her words—from her heart.

  “It’s elegant, romantic, and full of Christmas spirit. It’s tucked away from the bustle, which is the best thing of all, and you have to admit, the view is incomparable.”

  No argument there. A massive, live tree glowed. A snowflake princess and palace guards stood ready for photo-ops so Mitch opened the camera app on his phone and commissioned a bystander to capture the moment with Tiffany.

  Directly across the street, standing proud sentinel, loomed the soaring spires and chiseled statuary of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, beautifully illuminated by ground lights that shone toward the heavens.

  Next came what seemed to be her lone concession to typical New York tourism: they indulged in a horse-drawn carriage ride to Central Park and followed a number of hearty folks who made their way to Gapstow Bridge. Curving gracefully across a narrowed portion of the nearly frozen Pond at Fifty-Ninth Street, the fieldstone structure was dotted by people, and the darkness of night was punctuated by occasional camera flashes. At the highest point of the bridge, the skyline of the city sparkled as though covered in angel dust.