Tidings of Love

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  Christmas cards lined the mantle and someone had hung two handmade stockings. She picked up a particularly pretty card and gently traced her fingers over the embossing. She received two cards in the mail this year — one from her insurance agent and the other from the director of the dance school. Her friends were more likely to tweet her holiday greetings or send an e-card. The homey cards beautified the mantel, but also served as a physical sign that someone cared.

  She turned toward the Christmas tree. While hardly monochromatic, it looked more unified than her parents’ tree with its haphazard collection of brightly colored ornaments. She loved the small white lights on Carson and Eloise’s tree. Most of the ornaments were silver, glass or white with a few exceptions. Clearly, Eloise added a few decorations this past week. She didn’t remember seeing the glitter and construction paper candy cane at the birthday party and a cut out snowflake was also new. The big paper ornaments added the right touch to keep the tree from appearing sterile. She suspected Eloise had brimmed with pride as she added her handicrafts.

  Turning to the couch with the intent of trying to sit still, something else caught her eye. Last week Catherine’s still eyes had watched over her family in the guise of a formal 5x7 framed photograph on a corner table. Now Penelope’s own face stared back. She remembered smiling for the camera after helping the girls put on their dress-up clothes at the party. She crouched at Eloise’s left, while another girl sat beside her and two other girls sat on the Eloise’s right. Every one of them wore feathers, rhinestones and a big happy smile.

  Penelope focused on her and Eloise. The girl’s dark hair contrasted with her blond hair, but both of them had a smattering of freckles on their nose. Since they’d first met over the summer, Penelope found herself drawn to the girl. She recognized a lot of her own dreamy nature in Eloise. Studying the photo, a new sensation struck her with the force of a semi-truck. Spending time with her as she did tonight in this domestic setting, even becoming stern when Eloise tried to stay up past bedtime, she felt downright motherly.

  She never considered herself the maternal type. She was a free-spirited performer, although one who fortunately managed to save enough to see her through the rainy days of recuperation from her injuries. And yet …

  As much as she loved the stage and the applause of the crowd, teaching was not the chore she expected it to be. The joy was less abstract than performing and more concrete. Under the studio lights, she read the expressions on her pupils’ faces, getting instant and uncensored feedback both positive and negative. She gave the girls play, lessons and discipline. Based on what parents told her, she did a good job. She acted like a mother hen to all children in her class, but none more so than Eloise.

  Thoughts raced through her mind and if she didn’t stop pacing, she’d wear a hole in the carpet. She needed her knitting — repetitive tasks helped her focus. During endless pliés and rond de jambes, she planned her classes and developed choreography. She flopped on the couch and scooped up her knitting. She considered what it would be like to be a mother, but realized she couldn’t visualize that without a man. And the man’s face was Carson’s. Needles flying in her fingers, she muttered, “It’s only because he loves Eloise and I’ve grown to care for her, too. It’s simple transference.” But her body told her something else.

  Her heart always raced at the sight of him. It was only after he’d picked up Eloise in person two weeks ago that she realized why she went home from the class a bit sad most nights. Standing beside him at the party last week, she’d noticed how nice he smelled and the broadness of his shoulders, even in a fisherman’s sweater. She liked how he stood taller than her, even when she wore heels. Even the stubble of his five o’clock shadow as they played board games with Eloise drew her attention. Being in his house tonight, surrounded by his scent, sitting on his furniture, she wondered what it would be like to be his woman. He was so organized and rational, unlike her, yet she found him pragmatic and endearing.

  He was, of course, completely off limits. Between the photos, the woman’s coats and purses she’d noticed in the hall closet, and the floral print curtains, she surmised he still loved his deceased wife. She couldn’t begrudge his reaching out to his wife’s family and keeping her memory alive for Eloise’s sake, but he seemed trapped by a love no longer returned. She suspected he hadn’t dated since Catherine died. She liked that he changed the photo though, bringing in a new memory for Eloise to relive. She found all the photographs of Catherine a bit creepy, in part because she practically heard the woman hissing at her from beyond the grave, “Keep away from my husband and my child.”

  Her own conscience wouldn’t let her get involved, anyway. Not when she had a career to resurrect. Teaching children was fun, but not as fun and certainly less financially rewarding than performing. She should call her brother, Quinn. He had a way of helping her talk through her problems and vice-versa.

  A flash of headlights in the driveway startled her. She focused on her knitting project, attempting to appear fully engrossed. She stopped herself from jumping when the key grated in the door, but she did turn her head to watch it open.

  • • •

  The sight of Penelope sitting on his sofa with her long legs tucked up beside her drew his attention as soon as he stepped inside. Her blue eyes blinked at him, giving her an expression that managed to be both innocent and alluring at the same time. He set down the cups he held in his hand, and after a long minute remembered to take off his coat and boots.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself.” She smiled. “How did your shopping go?” She skeptically eyed the one bag and the cups resting on the entry table.

  He approached the couch, carrying the bag and coffees with him, the same time as she stood. “Very good. I’ll have to empty the trunk later. I brought you something.” He waved the coffee cups. “I didn’t know what you like. I got a peppermint mocha and a gingerbread latte. Which would you prefer?”

  She bit her lip and furled her brow. Her confusion amused him. “Stay for a bit. I can’t drink all this coffee by myself.”

  Her gaze slid to the cups, the left side of her mouth raising slightly as she glanced back to him. “I’m such a typical girl. I can’t say no to chocolate.”

  He offered her the mocha before sitting beside her. He couldn’t agree with her — she was no typical girl in his book. She unsettled him. “Then I know which piece of cheesecake you’ll want.” He reached into the bag and handed her a box and a fork. “I could get plates if you want.”

  She opened the box, revealing chocolate cheesecake decorated with chocolate ganache and white chocolate drizzle. “This is great. Thank you.”

  Her fluttering eyelashes distracted him, but the moan she let out when she took her first bite went straight to his groin. Now he was second-guessing his decision to bring dessert. He’d wanted his grown up company to stay longer — he hadn’t anticipated being reminded of the more carnal pleasures he missed with his self-imposed solitude. Or had he? As he tried to resolve his true motive, she interrupted his thoughts.

  “If it’s not too rude, what prompted this delicious treat?”

  “I was by the shop and cheesecake sounded good. It’s been a long time since I’ve indulged in dessert after Eloise has gone to bed. Dessert always tastes better when … ”

  He hesitated. Calling her a friend didn’t seem quite right. She seemed more than that, even though he barely knew her.

  Rescuing him she said, “When it’s shared.” She smiled mischievously and dangled her fork toward his take out container.

  He chuckled, knowing exactly what she wanted and held the container closer for her inspection. She took a small bite before proffering her own cheesecake.

  “Yum, pecans and caramel.” Her expression turned serious. “I can’t remember the last time I did something like this, having dessert just because.” She sighed. “If I’m f
orced into retirement, at least I’ll be able to eat dessert a little more often.”

  He looked at her slender form, then rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to lose weight. I’ve come to think of you as a positive influence on my daughter.”

  “That’s not it, not exactly. But I am careful when I’m working. The seamstresses get a little testy if they have to let out the costume because I’m bloated from too much sugar or alcohol. I don’t, I mean didn’t, like to cause extra trouble for them.”

  “Sounds like a career of all work and no play.”

  “There’s play.”

  His mind flashed to that blond hair of hers against a pillow, beckoning him. He didn’t want to speculate further on her having lovers traveling with her, but he had to know one thing. He cleared his throat. “So you used to date John Patterson.”

  “Yeah, for a couple of weeks. I think he wanted to be rebellious by dating someone who his parents wouldn’t like, but he was deeply disappointed when I didn’t put out.” Relief filled him as she shrugged. “He probably wouldn’t remember me, but I only went out with two boys, including him, during high school and college.”

  “I would’ve pegged you as a heartbreaker, both then and now.” That beautiful sound of bells filled the air as she laughed. His heart cracked open.

  “Hardly. Besides, I don’t date.”

  “Really? I thought I saw you with someone at the mall a few weeks ago.”

  She shook her head. “My brother. I was going to introduce him to you and Eloise but you disappeared and now he teases me about my invisible friends. And you should talk. I’ve seen the way the mothers, especially the single mothers, in my class look at you.”

  “How is that?”

  She tipped her cup back so far, he knew she must be at the end even before she set it on the coffee table. She glanced at the nearly empty cheesecake box, before turning those stunning blue eyes on him.

  “They look like they could devour you almost as fast as I ate that cheesecake.”

  He didn’t know how to respond to her. He was surprised that she too noticed the almost predatory way some women looked at him as soon as they learned he was a widower. She wasn’t like that. Grateful as he was that she hadn’t looked at him with undisguised lust, especially in front of his daughter, he wondered if she thought of him as anything other than the father of one of her students.

  He could play it safe, make a feeble joke about dessert. Instead, he let impulse rule, for once.

  He cupped his hands on her face and pressed his lips against hers. She yielded at the soft pressure, her lips parting ever so slightly. He accepted her invitation, deepening the kiss. She tasted not merely of cheesecake and coffee, but a flavor best described as joy.

  Her soft golden curls wrapped around his fingers. He savored her mouth, teasing and tasting her as his tongue explored unknown territory. Her small gasps and the clean scent of her skin thrilled his senses. Her fingers gripped his arm. Her other hand teased near his thigh, not touching, but almost. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her back. His fingers roamed across her upper back, unconsciously looking for her wings. He’d never kissed a fairy before.

  As soon as the thought echoed in his head, he realized what he was doing. He opened his eyes and leaned away as she blinked in surprise.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” His voice sounded ragged — he was out of breath, but also angry with himself for his foolish transgression.

  “I thought you were doing fine. Better than fine actually.”

  He struggled, mind versus body not to yield to the promises offered in her soothing voice. He stood, creating the physical space he needed as he paced the room.

  He rubbed his hands on his face and in his hair, trying to scrub away all thoughts of her. Looking up to see the hurt and desire still simmering in her eyes, he had to turn away.

  “I shouldn’t have done that. It just seemed so right, but … ” He glanced toward the hallway, lined with photos of his family, with Catherine, on the approach to where his daughter slept.

  In his peripheral vision he watched as she stood and approached him, stopping at the tree, before coming too close. She gently lifted silver rocking horse Eloise so adored. “A wise man once wrote something to the effect that humans are inherently social creatures. Sometimes, we get lonely. Companionship is a basic need.”

  He stopped pacing. She gave him the out he needed without chastising or judging. He didn’t need to explain how part of him still loved Catherine and always would. He didn’t need to express his fear that he would screw up somehow if they became intimate. His one time being with a woman since Catherine’s death had ended disastrously when he shouted out Catherine’s name instead of his partner’s. He feared putting Penelope through that humiliation. She deserved better. She was so full of joy. She needed someone who would love her fully and completely. He was damaged goods.

  “Maslow’s chart of needs. How did you get to be so smart?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, she intoned, “I’ve had a lot of time to read while on the road. I’ve never been one for late nights in smoky clubs. It’s bad for my instrument.”

  He was confused for a moment by her words. She lowered the ornament before meeting his gaze. “My body, my voice, my instrument.”

  It was a beautiful instrument. She took good care of it, but he was a doctor, not a musician.

  Silence spread between them. “I should go.” She walked toward the door.

  “Wait.”

  She turned.

  “You forgot this.” He held up her book and nodded toward the knitting draped on the back of the couch.

  “Thanks.” She gathered her things, tucking them into a colorful bag.

  He helped her into her coat, knowing they had nothing left to say to each other. Opening the door for her, she passed through the entry into the cool night air.

  Turning back for a brief moment, she flashed him a forced smile, but her words sounded sincere. “Don’t forget family and friends are encouraged to come to the show off day on Tuesday. I’m sure Eloise would love your support.”

  He nodded and closed the door. He was a jerk. But it was better to never get started than to put them both through unnecessary pain, even if it meant someone else would get to enjoy that beautiful laugh.

  • • •

  Penelope steeled herself before class on Tuesday, using the same pep talk she gave herself when anxious before a performance or audition. It was only one day. It was only one hour. For tonight’s class, she added reminders about how hard the children had worked and how excited they were to show off before their parents. The more she thought about the children, the more her own enthusiasm grew. Some of the kids had been talking about their costumes for weeks. She hoped Eloise would wear her new white tutu.

  She spent the afternoon setting the stage as much as she could without disrupting the other classes. She strung fairy lights around the mirrors and along ceiling moldings. She double-checked her sets, consisting solely of large glittery snowflakes made of foam board. She tested the stereo system, hoping to avoid the embarrassing mishap of her last show off day. Mostly, she waited. Her nerves hadn’t rattled like this since a national magazine reviewed her performance of Peter Pan.

  With her tutu visible under the hem of her coat, Eloise arrived second, accompanied by her Patterson grandparents. Penelope wrestled with relief and disappointment. She wanted to see Carson again. But last Friday’s passionate kiss and confusing aftermath left her wondering whether any good could come from it. She tried not to dwell on the kiss, but at random times she remembered his tenderness and the strength of his body enveloping hers. She could hold onto the memory for those quiet nights on the road. If only she could separate them from the way he cast her out when he remembered she wasn’t Catherine.

  S
he greeted the Pattersons, relieved they brought their digital video camera. At the very least, he could watch Eloise at a later time. She doubted he’d show up here willingly again and risk embarrassing either one of them.

  Although by design her class emphasized movement, the show off class featured two original poems and an interpretation of “Frosty the Snowman.” Penelope worried about the latter in particular. They’d practiced it only twice with uneven results, but the girls wanted to sing so badly. Ultimately, the class was about the girls and exploring their creativity. Figuring out how to go “bumpity bump bump” had brought lots of laughs, but they’d also had a few hard collisions in the process, the type that would bring over protective parents running to sweep up their child and yell at her for being so irresponsible.

  The girls started their warm-ups then transformed into trees preparing for the winter and then into the first delicate snowflakes. The first girl read her poem as several girls pantomimed a snowball fight. As she lowered the music once more, the faint creak of the front door reached her ears. Carson came after all. Perfect timing, she thought. He looked good in a shirt and tie. She reminded herself this was a stage. The audience sat removed from the performers. She was the emcee, providing introductions. Carson was remote in oh so many ways. But that didn’t change the memory of his lips on hers. Softly padded feet echoed on the wood floor. Today was not her day. It was all about the girls.

  She introduced “Frosty the Snowman,” declaring, “Believe it or not, this was not their most dangerous idea.” She gave Carson a wink before walking further back in the room and tucking a few items behind the large snowflakes. She hoped he’d figure out that his daughter masterminded this part of the performance and not think she was trying to seduce him. Not after last week. After a cleansing breath, she counted off and sang quietly to help the girls stay together in the song.