by Traci Hall
“You never want to talk to me!”
“Because you don’t answer my questions.” She tapped the steering wheel with a long candy-apple red nail.
“What questions?”
“Ma!” Teagan loved her mother but they had a toxic symbiotic thing where Frau Becker treated Teagan like a child, so Teagan, in turn, acted like one. With great patience she concentrated on the road. Why were there so many cars in the way? “I have to go. You better be taking the medicine the doctor gave you, or you could die. Strokes are nothing to “pah” about, Ma – Mom.”
“Our hotel has a view of the Cologne Cathedral,” her mom said in her “I’m changing the subject” tone. “They have tours all afternoon. We’re going to go.”
Teagan switched into the right lane. The bridge was ahead, the light green. So close! “I know. I booked it, remember?”
Her mother’s stroke had scared the crap out of all three of them and despite the fact that Becker’s Bakery had delivered cookies for over thirty years to the Ft. Lauderdale area, her dad had bought tickets and guilted Teagan into coming home to work for the holiday while her parents visited Mom’s relatives in Cologne. Not good family, as her mother refused to stay with her cousins, but she wanted to see them and her birthplace before she died.
If her mother would take the medicine and lay off the beer bread and schnitzel then dying could be decades away, but Frau Becker loved drama and she rarely got to be the center of attention.
“Teagan, schnukiputzi, what is wrong?” Her dad’s calm voice crossed the thousands of miles like a hug. “Your mother looks upset, and she doesn’t need to be upset. The doctor said she should relax.”
“Touring the cathedral is relaxing?” She’d taken the virtual tour. Stairs everywhere.
“She walks as slow as a snail, engel. Don’t worry.”
Teagan hoped the time away from the bakery allowed her mom to heal. “Is she taking her medicine?”
“Pah,” her dad said, echoing her mother’s sentiments.
The bridge lights turned red and some jack ass cut in front of her, forcing her to slam on the brakes. Boxes of delicate cookies banged against the back seat. “Happy holidays!” Teagan shouted as the guy rolled down his window to give her the finger.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, Dad.” Since traffic was now at a time-halting stop, and would be for five minutes as hundred-foot sailboats went through the Intracoastal, Teagan stuck the van in park and pulled the plastic ears from her purse. “Make sure she follows the exact dosage. And no heavy cream in her coffee.”
“Now, Teagan, a little bit won’t hurt.” Her pacifist father always tried to smooth things over, but high cholesterol was out of his control.
“I printed out a list of foods that were better options, Dad. Low fat or non-fat. Did you read it?” Growing up, veggies were a four-letter word, unless cooked in a savory cream sauce. Or topped with cheese.
Silence, then, “I’m sure I put it somewhere. In the suitcase.” He cleared his throat. “You should be at Watkins already.”
“I’m in the van.” The three of them had worked together to get the cookie orders all finished before the elder Beckers got on the plane, leaving the younger, less enthusiastic Becker to make deliveries.
“You checked the wax paper? The frosting is perfect?”
“Everything is perfect, just as you left it.” If it was up to Teagan, a cookie wreath might miss a holly berry, but no—her parents counted. Three red berries per cookie. It made her crazy. “I have to go. Bridge is green.”
“We will call tonight, to see how it went.”
“Checking in twice a day is not disengaging from the business.” Teagan wiggled the pointy flesh-colored ears over her own. “Mom needs a break, so give her one, Dad. Take her on a riverboat ride. Walk around the shops.”
Her dad chuckled. “It’s like a second honeymoon. The tub in this hotel is big enough for two.”
“Dad!” Teagan scowled at the phone on her dashboard. “Ew. Listen, don’t call for a few days, okay? Think of the international phone charges.” I need a break.
“Hmm. All right. We love you, Teagan. Thank you for helping us out—I know you sacrificed your vacation.”
Vacation? If she liked Europe, she might never come back. “I love you too. And it wasn’t a sacrifice, just a small delay. You have one month, Dad. Then I’m out of here.” She planned on starting with a Europass in London and going from there.
She shifted the van into drive, checking her lipstick in the rearview mirror, her mouth a bright red bow. Blue glitter in her eyelashes, and twin rosy circles on her cheeks. Her long red hair was up in a high ponytail to show off the ears. Dang it, the left one was loose.
The clock blinked from the console as if yelling at her, but she didn’t dare speed and risk a ticket. Her parents would kill her if she screwed this up.
Riley McSorley led his class in another rendition of Jingle, Jingle. He stood on the stage, facing thirty ten-year-olds as they practiced in the auditorium for the holiday celebration in two days. Parents and family were invited, making it a big deal at Watkins Elementary. The private school was not religion-based, so the classics like “Oh Holy Night” were out, though “Grandma Got Ran Over by a Reindeer” was a crowd favorite.
“Excellent. Maybe not at the top of your lungs, Mitch? Let’s do it again. Just the girls.”
This was his first job out of college, where he’d graduated from FAU with a master’s degree in music, which was one step above an arts degree, according to his mother, which was one step above working at Starbucks. In fact, the coffee company probably had better benefits than most jobs a guy could get with an art degree. Again, according to his mother.
“Now only the boys,” he said, rocking back on his heels and directing them with hand gestures.
His mother, thank God, lived in Kansas. On her third husband, through no fault of her own, she’d announced that she wasn’t in the mood for Christmas shenanigans this year. Too much work. Her and, what was his name, Josh? John? were going down to the Gospel Mission to uplift the spirits of those less fortunate.
Riley felt sorry for the poor souls. They had no idea how not uplifting his mother was. Relieved, and guilty for being relieved, he’d ordered a meal to be sent to their house for Christmas Eve, along with some generic gifts. His mom liked to re-gift, and once he’d gotten over the hurt of her passing along the scarf he’d bought her to someone else, he’d tried to make it easy on her.
Nothing says love like vanilla-scented bath soaps.
“Together, again!” He pointed at the tallest boy in the back who had to be tone-deaf. “No screaming, just singing. Good.” He nodded, knowing that this class wasn’t hiding any raw musical talent, but they had enthusiasm, and that would count with the parents.
When they finished, he clapped. “Awesome. Stretch now, touch your toes. Reach for the sky. What next?” He knew what came next, but he’d learned very quickly that keeping the kids busy was the key to a happy classroom.
It was his second year, and he was hoping to get his contract renewed at Watkins for a third. This wasn’t his dream but it was a decent job. And according to his mother, dreams didn’t pay the bills.
All of a sudden the kids started laughing and pointing behind him. Riley turned, adjusting the sleeves at the wrists of his Oxford shirt. He wore a burgundy tie, his dress-code approved nod to the season.
He wondered if the principal had come in but when he looked up he swallowed a chuckle. A woman in low-heeled, curved-toe elf shoes, green and white tights, a green velvet costume that burst at the seams in very interesting ways, pulled something on a trolley as she backed into the auditorium.
He realized she needed help balancing a high tower of bright red boxes before they all crashed and he stepped forward. “Hello!” Riley took the stairs down from the stage two at a time. The top box teetered, ready to fall. “Can I help you? Are you looking for the office?”
Riley heard he
r intake of breath as she looked up the tower, one of her elf ears loose and hanging from the lobe like a gory earring. He followed her gaze and quickly reached over her head to steady the too-tall column. What had she been thinking? Basic physics. Gravity. Common sense said that it would fall.
“Thanks. You really saved my ass.” She met his eyes and smiled, revealing two dimples below the painted red circles on her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled, the most gorgeous green eyes he’d ever seen, like those fancy crystals.
The kids all laughed at her use of profanity. Alarmed, she swiveled toward them and blushed, her natural red painful against the paleness of her skin.
“Shit. I mean, sorry. Don’t say that either.” She closed her eyes, blue glitter on her lashes. “Do I need to put a quarter in a jar somewhere?”
Riley averted his face to hide his laughter and then walked around the trolley that he recognized now as the lunch cart.
“You’ve already been to the office?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes. I was directed here. To a storage room? I thought I’d be seeing the kids, but the receptionist said there was a mix up on the schedule. These are cookies for the pageant.”
His well-behaved group of ten year olds suddenly went rabid as they realized they were close to sugar. “Coookies! Cookies. Cookies.” Mitch organized a chant at the front of the stage, his small fist pumping.
Riley flushed.
“Nice kids,” she said with a smirk. “Should I give them some cookies? I have an extra box in the van.”
“Don’t you dare,” he countered with real horror.
She took the handle of the trolley and started walking backward again. “You mind showing me where the storage room is? Then I’ll get out of your hair and you can get back to practice. Sounds like they need it.”
Not offended, Riley gave her points for being honest. “Let me help,” he said, going to the opposite side of the trolley. She was pretty, he decided. Great eyes, nice curves. The top button on her velvet costume looked ready to bust. Was it wrong to hope the candy cane broke?
She had red hair, snow-white skin and great—he forced his gaze upward to her cute nose, but he was drawn like hell to her rack.
“You bake all these?” Lame question, Mr. McSorley, he scolded himself. Smooth he was not.
“My parents.”
“Where are they? North Pole?” He winked.
She tossed her head, the elf ear dangling from a single fleshy strand. “That was awful,” she said. “Better stick to,” she paused, a tiny frown hovering between her red brows. “What do you do, anyway?”
“I’m Mr. McSorley. Riley.” He straightened his tie. “I teach fourth grade and music.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see the kids jumping up and down to a pop song that definitely wasn’t part of the pageant. “Do you go home and drink a lot?”
“No.” Caught off guard, he chuckled. “Maybe I should start.”
“Headache.” She tugged the cart backward, slow and steady. “I’d be addicted to Excedrin if I had to teach kids music.”
“You get used to it.” In a rare epiphany Riley McSorley knew that he had to see this woman again. She stirred his curiosity. Challenged his apathetic acceptance of going with the flow. “What’s your name?”
“Sorry. I’m just helping out for the holiday at the bakery. I usually keep my one-on-one interactions to a minimum. Socially awkward,” she shrugged and her breasts pushed against the velvet. “Teagan Becker.”
He yanked his eyes up. “You seem…” He was about to say normal, but she was missing an elf ear and would know he was lying. “Interesting.”
Teagan burst out laughing, tossed her head back and damn if the candy cane didn’t bust—showing off the best cleavage this side of the trolley. He about choked in surprise at the gorgeous ivory expanse of flesh. Not a single freckle to mar her perfect skin. Twin globes encased in cherry red lace and silver paper tucked in the center...
“Hello!” She snapped her fingers, amused rather than pissed, thank God. “I knew it was a stretch when I put this on. Believe what you will, but this is not my usual attire.”
“Are you coming to the pageant?” Riley processed the tickets snuggled between her breasts. He recognized the silvery paper from pushing sales for the past month. All of a sudden he could breathe. His brain cleared and he put his hands on the trolley. He would see her again and didn’t have to break any school rules by asking the bakery elf girl for a date.
“The principal said that my parents always come.” Teagan screwed up her cute little nose. “But I would rather stick a pencil in my eye.”
Continue reading HOLIDAY by the Sea
A Note From the Author
Thank you for reading Masquerade by the Sea.
I healed in Lauderdale by the Sea after my personal life was turned upside down. The ocean's tranquility gave peace during a tumultuous time. My hope is that these stories will offer a soothing seaside escape and a continued belief in happily ever after.
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About the Author
With an impressive bibliography in an array of genres, USA Today bestselling author Traci Hall has garnered a notable fan base. She pens stories guaranteed to touch the heart while transporting the reader to another time and place. Her belief in happily ever after shines through, whether it's a romantic glimpse into history or a love affair for today.
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