Except it didn’t turn out that way. Their father was an old man, seventeen years older than his wife and worn-out. He’d thrown a clot when he had the heart attack and that had left him paralyzed on one side and in rehab.
“We spent our last Christmas as a family at the rehab center.” Guy remembered how the place had smelled—pine-scented cleaner trying to overpower the scent of urine. A little old lady had hobbled past him, leaning on a walker and grimacing. She wore a Santa hat on her head, probably stuck there by the woman who was with her and talking about the wonderful turkey dinner that would be served later.
Neither Bryan nor Guy had stuck around for turkey dinner. Bryan had stood around helplessly for twenty minutes while Dad sat in his wheelchair, unable to talk, and Mom tried to smile through the tears washing away her makeup, then he’d bolted. Guy hadn’t lasted much longer. After some inane comment on how Dad would be out of that thing and back on top soon, he’d kissed Mom on the cheek, promised to take her out to eat the next day and then beat it, leaving Mike to eat turkey dinner with the aged and infirm. It went with being the oldest. Guy had gone back home and found Bryan there, making serious inroads into a bottle of Scotch. He’d joined his brother and they’d drunk their way through Christmas. His dad died two days later and they’d drunk their way through New Year’s, too.
After that Mom dived into mourning, Mike stepped into shoes still too big for him and got his first divorce. Bryan got serious about work and tried to keep up. Guy joined the Hightower Empire, put his shoulder to the wheel and went to work.
As for Christmas? At first they tried to re-create what they’d had as a family, everyone gathering at Mom’s, but sadness tarnished it. After the first Christmas without their dad, Bryan’s wife had stepped into the role of holiday hostess, insisting everyone come to their house. That had really felt wrong. The Hightower version of the holiday eventually turned into skiing with the brothers when they were in between women or taking Mom out for dinner.
Guy doubted he’d find that greeting-card-perfect Christmas with his mom’s new family. She was determined to try, but really, it was like trying to patch up something broken. You always knew it was cracked. You were always aware of the patch.
He hadn’t realized he was frowning until Livi laid a hand on his and murmured, “I’m sorry, Joe.”
He shrugged. “Stuff like that happens in every family.” Then he remembered her mom. “I guess you already know that.”
Her hand slid away and she looked at her cards, blinking back tears. “It’s hard to lose people you care about. But it sure makes you appreciate the ones who are left all the more. And it’s important to honor their memories and keep those special traditions alive.”
Or maybe make new ones. Hard to make new traditions when you didn’t have anyone special to make them with.
He got his head back in the card game. Christmases past were gone and out of reach. Better to stay here in the present, playing cards with a little cutie who, so far, thought he was a good man.
He didn’t want to go too far into the future, either. Except maybe he could change it. Maybe he could change her opinion of him. His was changing toward her. Olivia Berg, he was coming to realize, was something special.
They played out a few hands, the score remaining close. Until the last hand. Oh yeah, luck was being a lady tonight. He stuck Livi with thirty points and that won the game for him.
She looked stunned. “I can’t believe you beat me.”
“Well, you know what they say. Pride goes before a fall,” he teased.
She stuck out her lower lip. Oh yeah, he was ready for that kiss. “Hey now, no pouting just because I’m not making breakfast.”
“You got lucky.”
Oh, how he’d like to get lucky. “Okay, time to pay up.”
Her cheeks turned pink again.
“I promise I’ll make it painless,” he murmured with a smile.
He leaned across the table and she did the same. Then he slipped a hand behind her neck and drew her to him. He could smell that peppermint perfume. Her hair was so soft. So were her lips and they tasted like hot chocolate. She sighed into the kiss and he let the moment stretch out, threading his fingers through her hair. Her hands slipped up to the nape of his neck, her fingers soft and warm against his skin.
He could have gone on like that all night, moving them away from the table and out onto that living room couch, deepening their kiss, pulling her close, enjoying the feel of her curves, inhaling her scent. But that wouldn’t have been right. Even what he was doing was sure to put him on Santa’s naughty list for life.
It had been worth it, though. He pulled back. “You’re a good loser. And a good kisser,” he added, making her cheeks turn pink. “Now, you have to have had other men tell you that,” he said.
She shrugged.
“There’s been no one special?”
“In college. And Morris and I once, when we were younger. But...” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’m waiting for.”
“The right one?” Someone who deserved her. Which instantly disqualified him.
“I guess. How about you?”
“I thought I was in love once. Turned out I was wrong.”
Okay, they were wandering into chick territory. Next they’d be sharing their every heartbreak. He stood. “I’ve had enough sitting. How about a walk?”
She smiled up at him. “I love walking in the snow.”
Of course she did. He sensed a holiday movie scene coming up.
Sure enough, the scene came to life when she turned on the Christmas lights and they stepped outside. Between her house and the neighbors, the street looked like a set on the Universal back lot. A light snow was falling to add to the already-thick white coat frosting yards and houses. Rooflines, bushes and trees all dripped with colored lights like jewels on a woman’s neck.
The woman he was with needed no jewels. Her smile sparkled more than any diamond ever could.
“Mrs. Newton lives in this house,” she said as they strolled past a little cottage with an ancient station wagon parked in the driveway. “She’s on a fixed income but she gives a hundred dollars every year to Christmas from the Heart.”
Guy remembered the check he’d sent off and felt squirmy.
The curtains of the place were open to show off a skinny artificial tree in the window. A fuzzy little dog perched on the couch caught sight of them, jumped up and put its paws on the window, and began barking, tail wagging.
“That’s Juniper, her watchdog.”
“More like watch rat,” Guy said. If you were going to have a dog you should have a dog—a Lab or German shepherd or a golden retriever.
“I think he’s cute,” Livi said in Juniper’s defense. “Do you have a dog?”
“I did when I was a kid.”
It had broken his heart when their golden died. She’d been fifteen. “It was her time,” Mom had said. “All living things die, but remember that doesn’t mean they’re gone from our hearts.” Small comfort.
It had been the first time he’d experienced death. As time moved on he’d lost a set of grandparents in a car wreck and his other grandpa. And then Dad, and that had been the worst of all. His dad had been Guy’s hero, tough in business, soft on his family. Having someone in your heart was a far cry from having that person with you.
“But no dog now?” Livi asked, bringing Guy back into the moment at hand.
“I’m not home enough to have one.” No one special in his life, not even a dog. What did that say about him?
“We had a dachshund when I was growing up,” Livi said. “I think I’d like to get a dog again at some point, maybe a cockapoo.”
He shook his head and said, “I’m sorely disappointed in you,” which made her smile.
He liked making Olivia Berg smile. If only they’d met under different circumstance
s. Or earlier, before that disastrous phone conversation and the ensuing emails. He could have easily written a check for five times as much as what he’d sent her. Why hadn’t he?
On they walked, her giving him the scoop on various neighbors. There were the Twitchams, who had been divorced and then remarried twice. Then there was the Williams family. “She’s a single mom with three little boys. She’ll be getting a stocking and a turkey from Christmas from the Heart,” Livi said. “And she’s planning to share her holiday meal with the little old man next door, who’s fast becoming a surrogate grandfather for her children.”
“Is there anyone in this town you don’t know?” Guy asked.
Livi thought a moment, then said, “I don’t think so. It’s good to know your neighbors.”
He didn’t know any of his, but he said, “Yes, it is.” And after agreeing on that important point it only seemed right to take her mittened hand in his.
She didn’t pull away. Instead she smiled up at him. “I’m glad you got stranded here, Joe.”
“So am I,” he said, and wished he really was Joe Ford. Joe anybody.
Back at the house, after they’d hung up their coats, they sat in the living room, warming up with more hot chocolate and talking. Favorite books. He loved Grisham, so did she. She also loved Jane Austen, Agatha Christie and someone named Jillian George. Favorite movies. He wanted action. She wanted romance.
“But I did love all those Jack Reacher movies,” she said. Of course she did. Jack Reacher, save-the-day hero. Favorite foods. Steak for him, cake for her. “I like to have my cake and eat it, too,” she quipped.
Pretty, sweet, good sense of humor, kindhearted. Livi Berg was the whole package. Except everyone had their faults. What was hers?
That was easy. She was quick to judge. It had showed in that email she’d sent Guy and in the way she talked about him. Man, would she be happy to pass judgment on him, sentence him to a million years of hard labor in the North Pole. And here he was, playing cards with her, going for walks, even kissing the woman. He was out of his mind.
That was the only explanation for what he did when they got back to the house. At the foot of the stairs he put his arms around her and drew her to him. “I had a good time tonight.”
She smiled up at him. “I did, too.”
She wanted to be kissed and he wanted to kiss her, so of course he put his brain in lockdown and did exactly that.
And she kissed him back, her arms around his neck, her body pressed up snug against his deceitful heart.
“You only won one kiss,” she teased after they’d come up for air.
“One for the road,” he said, and then went upstairs. One for the road was right. If she found out who he was, he’d be hitting the road whether his car was fixed or not.
And he’d deserve it. Not so much because he’d pulled the plug on her nonprofit—he’d made the best decision he could at the time—but because of his cowardly deception. Here he was flirting with Olivia Berg, kissing her, staying at her house and eating her cookies and not telling her the truth.
He should have from the very beginning, should have said, “This is who I am and if you think what I did was wrong convince me otherwise.”
“What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.” The poet was right and Guy had trapped himself in a sticky holiday web. How on earth was he going to get out of it?
10
Livi rarely wore makeup. There hadn’t been much point living in the same town with the same people who’d known her all her life. But come Sunday morning the application of makeup suddenly felt vitally important and she found herself primping in front of the bathroom mirror before going downstairs to make breakfast. This had nothing to do with a certain handsome houseguest, she told herself. As the face of Christmas from the Heart she should look her best.
And her best involved lipstick and mascara. Except it had been so long since she’d used the mascara that it had dried in the tube and her lipstick was about as moist as chalk.
She settled for lip gloss.
“You are who you are,” she told herself. And people either liked you for who you were or they didn’t.
Joe Ford seemed to like her just fine so it was silly to try to change who she was. She only hoped he continued to because she certainly liked him. A lot. A whole lot.
* * *
Guy awoke to the aroma of bacon and coffee. He picked up his cell phone from the bedside table and checked the time. Eight-fifteen a.m. He normally slept in on Sundays. Most people slept in on Sundays.
But most people weren’t Olivia Berg. He pulled on his jeans and a fresh sweater, and went down to the kitchen to find her at the stove in a red dress and boots, pulling a foil-lined sheet of bacon out of the oven. Her father was seated at the kitchen table, reading the Sunday paper, a mug of coffee in front of him.
He put it down at the sight of Guy and greeted him. He, too, was dressed for the day, wearing slacks and a red sweater pulled over a shirt and necktie. “Sit down, make yourself at home,” he said.
“Would you like some coffee?” Livi offered as Guy took a seat at the table.
“Sure. Thanks.”
“I’m glad you got up when you did,” she said. “We’re going to the early service at church. Another fifteen minutes and you’d have missed out.”
Church. Oh yeah. That. When they were kids, his mom had made sure they all went.
“You’re welcome to join us,” Mr. Berg offered as his daughter set a mug of coffee in front of Guy.
“Uh, that’s okay. I have some work to do.” He already had a fruitcake competition looming. He didn’t want to take his hypocritical self to church on top of that.
“Well, make yourself at home while we’re gone,” Livi said, and set a plate in front of him with bacon and scrambled eggs and toast.
This was all so homey and friendly and...uncomfortable. With each new kindness he felt increasingly undeserving and guilty. He was a fake, taking advantage of these people, and the knowledge was gnawing at his conscience. It was like being poked to death with a sprig of holly, being made to listen to “Jingle Bells” played at high speed over and over again. This was Christmas purgatory.
He was relieved when she said, “You won’t see much of me for the next few hours. I have a lot to do to get ready for the event. And Dad has to be there to help set up tables and booths.” The sense of relief ended when she added, “Morris will be coming by to pick you up.” She put more bacon on his plate.
A cozy ride to fruitcake torture with the ex-boyfriend who still wanted to be the boyfriend. Oh yeah. Guy was all over that.
“I can walk,” he said.
“But you don’t know where it is,” she said reasonably, and began putting things away in the refrigerator.
“I can look it up on my phone.”
“It’s no trouble for Morris. He’d be happy to.”
Sure he would. And the Sugarplum Fairy couldn’t dance.
Guy was about to insist on being allowed to get himself to the corny event when Mr. Berg said to his daughter, “We’d better finish getting ready or we’re going to be late.”
“Oh yes,” she said, and set the pan in the sink.
Then both she and her father left Guy with his half-finished eggs and a second helping of bacon for which he’d lost his appetite. He frowned at his coffee mug. Scrooge, the ultimate bad boy businessman, had it easy compared to what Guy was going through. He’d only had to face ghosts.
* * *
“I wondered if you’d even make it today with everything you probably have to do,” Tillie greeted Livi as she and her father walked into the narthex of the church.
“It is going to be a busy day,” Livi admitted, “but I wanted to start it off right.”
“You are such a dear girl,” said Tillie. “Some young man is going to be lucky
to get you.” She looked speculatively over Livi’s shoulder.
Livi knew before she even turned around who had come in. Sure enough, there was Morris with his mom, who he picked up and squired to church every Sunday. Good old Morris. A dutiful son, a nice young man with a steady job. Everyone in town seemed to think he was the ideal man for her.
Certainly more of a match than a man who drove fancy foreign cars and threw around hundred-dollar bills. And played cards for kisses. Joe Ford may have had a plain name but there was nothing plain about him.
He’s just passing through, she reminded herself. Men like him didn’t stay in small towns. They went places and did things, the kind of things she only dreamed of doing. As for thinking they had anything in common, who was she kidding? That was like saying a thoroughbred racehorse and a donkey had things in common. Yeah, four legs.
Her father had already ducked into the sanctuary, not anxious to stand around and make small talk. Hardly surprising, considering he probably felt like a hunted animal with every single woman over the age of forty eyeballing him. Oh, the casseroles and cakes and pies that had showed up after Mom died. And the number of women needing life insurance or better car insurance had doubled in the last couple of years. Their machinations were in vain and always would be. Her father had loved only one woman and he had no desire to replace her.
Livi joined him in the sanctuary and a moment later Morris was slipping into the chair next to her, his mother on the other side of him.
“Good morning, Livi,” said Mrs. Bentley. “Are you all ready for the fruitcake competition?”
Mrs. Bentley had won the previus year’s competition and was hoping for a second win. Another reason Livi didn’t want to be one of the judges. She didn’t want anyone accusing her of playing favorites.
Christmas from the Heart Page 12
