THE NIGHTS BEFORE CHRISTMAS
Part 2 of 3 of
Secret Santa
Isabel Sharpe
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
To my sons, two of my best friends, who keep
Mom young and always make her proud.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 1
“Oh my God, Cathy, you’re not going to believe this. Listen to your horoscope today.”
Cathy glanced over and continued making her lunch to take with her to work—smoked ham, natural cheddar, light mayo, brown mustard and lettuce on whole-grain bread. Sometimes she went wild and put in a pickle. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
Her roommate, Melinda, was holding up the New York Post, which she devoured every morning before she went off to her waitressing job at iCi Restaurant on DeKalb Avenue, a couple of miles from their Brooklyn apartment at Eighth Street and Fifth Avenue. Melinda treated horoscopes as predictions of biblical importance.
“‘A surprise gift today will lead you straight to true love.’” She lowered the paper with a jerk and stared at Cathy, her already big blue eyes even bigger. “Not only is this exactly what Madame Cassandra predicted, but today is your office’s Secret Santa party!”
“Imagine that.” Cathy dried the apple she’d washed and added it to her blue insulated lunch bag neatly printed with her name in permanent marker. Melinda had dragged Cathy to one of her psychic advisor appointments and insisted Cathy get a reading, too. Not to burst Melinda’s bubble, but in “Madame Cassandra’s” outer office, Cathy had seen an apparently overdue parking ticket addressed to Cass Brown, which made the woman seem a lot less exotic and not at all clairvoyant. Shouldn’t she have foreseen getting that ticket?
Granted, occasionally Madame Cass’s intuition was eerily accurate, but most of the time Cathy could trace her “sight” back to hints and subtle signals Cathy was providing in spite of herself. Fascinating stuff, but fakery.
How hard was it to predict that in December she’d receive a gift from a loved one? Madame Cassandra had said from a man, but, hey, her Dad was a man and she loved him. Ditto her brother.
“I’m serious, Cathy. Madame Cassandra is the real deal, and this horoscope only confirms it.” Melinda slapped the paper on the table and jumped up. “Let’s revisit your closet. You have to look incredible today.”
“Nothing wrong with this.” She gestured to her olive pants and beige patterned top, which she’d ironed and laid out the night before. No way would she change her outfit because some newspaper column said—
“What if it’s Quinn?”
Cathy felt a blush spread over her cheeks and knew Melinda would pounce on it. Big mistake to confess her silly crush to someone who imagined love lurking under every glance or sigh. “Be serious. Even if Quinn picked my name for Secret Santa, true love is not going to happen there.”
“Why not?” Melinda’s stare went on so long, Cathy wanted to clap her hands in front of her face to make her blink.
“Because he’s not my type.”
“How so?”
“Let me count the ways. For one thing, he’s Quinlan…Jussstin…Alexaaander.” She drew the words out in a low, dreamy lilt, then pitched her voice high and brisk. “And I’m CathyAnnJohnson.”
“What does that—”
“He’s international playboy, I’m girl next door. He’s calendar pinup, I’m digital photo snapped by Grandma. He’s caviar and champagne, I’m PB&J and a glass of cold milk. Both good, but they don’t belong together.”
“I still don’t—”
A familiar tap-tap-boom knock sounded on their door. Cathy’s heart jumped—with relief, for one thing, to get away from Melinda’s off-target matchmaking skills. And, well…Jake, their new neighbor across the hall, was very…she could definitely…
Well, mmm. And he’d been showing a lot of interest in the few weeks he’d lived here. Seemed a guy could think of a lot of reasons to drop in on his single female neighbors when he wanted to.
She let Melinda get the door and heard her chatting comfortably with Jake. Melinda could chat with anyone. She’d be her same sunny, curious, slightly flaky self talking to the Queen of England. Hey, there, Elizabeth, great hat. So what’s your sign?
Footsteps approached. Cathy folded over the Velcro flap of her lunch bag and tucked it carefully into her black leather tote, trying to appear oh-so-nonchalant.
“Hi, Cathy. How’s it going?”
“Hi, Jake.” She stepped out of their kitchen and was very glad she did. He must have just gotten out of the shower; his dark hair had curled from the wet, making him look even more boyish and appealing. “How are you liking life in the ugliest building in New York?”
“Not bad. At least we don’t have to look at the exterior from in here.” He smiled and rocked back and forth on his heels, glancing at Melinda a couple of times. “So, Cathy, are you on your way out?”
She checked her watch. She didn’t have to leave for seven minutes. “Not just yet.”
“Oh. Okay, well, I was going to walk with you….” He glanced at Melinda again. “So we could talk.”
“You know what?” Melinda grabbed her newspaper and winked up at Jake, who topped her by about two feet. “I have a sudden urge to go to my room. See you later.”
Cathy’s heart started to thumpa-thumpa; she tossed back her hair to cover her nerves. “What’s up?”
He grinned and his eyes got warmer than she’d ever seen them, which caused warmth to spread over her cheeks again, darn it. Blush, blush, blush. Embarrassing how easily she flustered.
“You look very pretty today.”
Cathy laughed. “You say that every time you see me. One of these days you’ll drop by and I’ll be unwashed and horrifying and then you won’t be able to.”
“I doubt that.” He looked her up and down in a way she usually hated men doing, but this time…okay, she still hated it. She never knew if they were lusting or tallying up her figure flaws. “You know, Cathy, there is nothing more wonderful than waking up on a Saturday morning before Christmas, rolling out of bed and going out to brunch. Don’t you think?”
“I…well, sure, yes.” Blush-blush-blush. Stop it! She’d been asked out plenty of times but had yet to find a way past the awkwardness surrounding a first date. “It sounds really nice.”
“Yeah?” He took a step closer. “You want to do that with me tomorrow?”
“What, roll out of bed?” She grinned at her joke, but instead of laughing, Jake looked startled and then…enthusiastic.
Um, no. Get to know each other first, sex after. “I was kidding…”
“Oh. Right.” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “A man can always hope. Just brunch then?”
“Brunch definitely.” A great start to the holiday weekend. She liked Jake a lot.
“Excellent.” He backed away a few steps, then jerked his thumb toward the door. “You coming?”
“Oh. Yes.” She picked up her bag and coat, considered stepping into her warm, waterproof but extremely unsexy boots and changed her mind. Most of the snow had melted. The sidewalks wouldn’t be that bad.
“Cathy?” Melinda chose that moment to burst out of her room. “Hang on a second, you forgot your…um…”
She glanced around wildly, found nothing—since Cathy always got everything ready the night before—and frowned. “Can I talk to you a sec?�
��
“Sure.” Cathy turned apologetically to Jake. “Meet you downstairs?”
“I’m on it.” He gave a sexy boy-next-door grin, waved to Melinda and left.
“So? So? So?” Melinda rushed over, blond curls bouncing. “Tell all!”
“Honestly, Melinda.” Cathy shoved her arm into her coat. “I’m going to be late.”
“Did he ask you out?”
Cathy’s smile ruined her perfect exasperated attitude. “Yes. Brunch tomorrow.”
“Ooh! I knew it! I knew it! I’m totally jealous. He is supremely hot.” She patted her chest as if to calm her heart. “So, okay. He just has to give you a present today and—”
“For crying out loud.” The exasperation sailed back in. “He does not have to—”
“Yes, he does. That way you’ll know if it’s true love or not. If it’s not, can I have him?”
“Melinda.” She used her mother’s let’s-get-this-straight voice, then sighed and gave up. “I’m going to work. See you later.”
She met Jake in the tan minimalist lobby of their bizarrely shaped building famous for having been built without right angles. Undoubtedly the architect considered it a masterpiece of design. She’d like to point out that he hadn’t chosen to live here. But in this city, if you were lucky enough to find affordable, clean and comfortable, you didn’t worry about aesthetics.
They strode down Eighth Street
together toward the Fourth Avenue
subway, Cathy nearly running to keep up in her low heels, toes rapidly chilling, wishing for her unsexy warm boots. “How do you like living in New York?”
“It’s different.” He dodged to avoid a pedestrian and veered back next to her. “I miss Boston. But when your boss says, ‘An opportunity has arisen that we’d like you to take advantage of,’ you don’t say, ‘No, thanks.’”
“What do you like better about Boston?”
“Easier to negotiate. A big city with a small-town feel. Brooklyn is nearly like it, but downtown—” he gestured in the direction of Manhattan “—is deadening.”
“I hear you.” She told herself it meant nothing that they both took the same view of New York. Like millions of other people didn’t feel that way? “I moved here five years ago from Chicago—where I went to college—to be closer to my family. Sometimes I miss the relative calm of the Midwest.”
“I bet.”
“Would you go back to Boston if you got the chance?”
“Right now? In a heartbeat. There’s another management consulting firm there I’m pretty sure would snap me up if I went back. But I’ve been with Bronson and Company for seven really good years and I haven’t been here long enough to give New York a fair shot. Ask me again in six months?”
“I will.” She liked thinking about him still being around in six months. Horoscope notwithstanding, maybe this was the beginning of something really good….
They reached the Fourth Avenue
subway at Ninth Street
and clambered companionably down the stairs and through the turnstile. Cathy would take the F train to Times Square and Jake the R train to Wall Street. “Have a good day at work.”
“You, too.” Jake raised his eyebrows. “Hope Secret Santa brings you something you really like.”
She gaped. “How did you hear about that?”
“Melinda.”
“I should have known.” Cathy laughed uncomfortably, wondering what else Melinda had been telling him. “She’s obsessed with that astrology stuff.”
“I gathered. It can be pretty interesting. So I’ll see you tomorrow morning, if not before.” He touched her shoulder and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I…hope before.”
“Oh.” She got the sudden feeling he’d been about to say something else, but she hadn’t a clue what. “Me, too.”
“Have fun at your party.” He winked and lifted a hand in farewell.
“Thanks.” She let their eye contact linger, and started off toward her train with the feeling he was standing watching her. Luckily she avoided tripping, though she didn’t go so far as to risk a seductive wiggle.
Jake seemed perfect for her in a lot of ways, and she was happy he was interested. Fireworks weren’t going off between them, but she was probably being stupid expecting so much when they hadn’t even gone out yet. Her mom and dad had been happily married for thirty-five years, and Mom told her fireworks hadn’t started until their fourth or fifth date.
Even if fireworks never showed up, there was more to life and love than instant chemistry. More important things to build a relationship on.
Still, she couldn’t help hoping something would start sizzling as they got to know each other better. Didn’t have to be big-bang, cover-the-sky-with-stars fireworks. Bottle rockets would work. Even a couple of good-size sparklers…
She did manage to daydream about Jake and get fluttery over their date all the way to Times Square. Then out of the train into the sea of jostling, rushing bodies, up the stairs and onto the sidewalk trimmed with dirty snow, heading for the glass-and-steel Jackman Butler Building, where she’d been photo coordinator for the food-and-travel magazine Connoisseur for the past five years. Then through the revolving door into the sleek black-and-white marble lobby where shoe and boot heels clicked and thudded and murmured conversations echoed. Then through security, nodding to the guards, past the company’s Christmas tree, flawlessly decorated as usual, this year in red and gold.
At the elevator, she exchanged greetings with a woman from the HR department and stood waiting in the small crowd of employees, many already holding steaming cups of coffee as if they couldn’t even last the trip up to their offices without a chemical boost.
The gold doors opened, bodies piled in; the elevator began its stop-and-start ascension. Cathy got off on the twenty-sixth floor, where the photo department lay in the southeast corner of the building. Her first month, she’d gotten lost nearly every time she’d come to work and had spent several panicked minutes every morning striding purposefully through the maze of clustered cubicles and offices, trying to look as if she knew where she was going.
The magazine had completed its holiday issue months previously—they were now working well into spring—but in the offices, Christmas and Hanukkah reigned. Her department’s three-foot tree had been funkily decorated with photographs, plastic eating utensils, tiny kitchen gadgets, corks, Pepto-Bismol tablets, used boarding passes and foil-covered chocolates.
Neatly piled around it, the colored, ribboned stack of Secret Santa presents. Cathy casually rummaged in her tote for her gift of flavored coffees and a hefty Starbucks gift certificate for Bill, the senior photo editor and resident java addict, plunked it down and beat a hasty retreat to her desk, located on the short side of a nearby L-shaped grouping of cubicles.
On the Friday before a major holiday, the mood was festive, and thoughts of Jake and the Secret Santa party—and, okay, even the dopey horoscope—made work nearly unbearable. She could honestly say she got nearly nothing accomplished all morning, most likely along with everyone else. Now, pleasantly full from lunch, staring blankly at her computer screen, she just needed to kill a little more time until the party started. Maybe she could do some research on—
“How is Cathy Johnson today?”
She started and looked up into the square-jawed, clean-shaven, blue-eyed face of staff photographer Quinlan…Jussstin…Alexaaander, who was looking at her as if he really wanted to know how she was instead of just hurling the question out as a greeting. He’d been in the office quite a bit over the last two weeks and had been coming to chat nearly every day, be still her heart. Clearly he needed more to do with his time. “She’s fine. And how are you?”
“Fine, huh?” He picked up a pen and half sat on her desk, next to the neat stack of folders Bill had asked her to pull and the picture of her family on a ski vacation in New Hampshire. “Would you tell me if you were miserable?”
“Probably not.” She grinned stupidly. “But
you haven’t told me how you are, either.”
“Me?” He quirked an eyebrow and gave her a devilish look that was so sexy she had to do deep breathing to keep herself from blushing. “I’m fine.”
Cathy laughed too loudly and stopped herself too abruptly. Why couldn’t she be at least somewhat collected around Quinn the way she could be around Jake? “Glad to hear it.”
“What are your plans for the holidays?”
“I’m going to my parents’ house. As usual. In Westchester. My brother is coming, too. With his family. What about you?”
“Same, only Princeton, not Westchester.” He tapped the pen against his palm, looking at her much too intently for her comfort. But then, he looked at everyone that way. She’d seen him reduce Bianca, their no-nonsense art director, to outright giggles. “And I’ve got two brothers to your one. Much older.”
“Oh.” She nodded rapidly, her mind infuriatingly blank of appropriate follow-up questions. “That sounds fun.”
“It is—for about two hours.” He gazed off across the office. “Until Dad and my brothers start making snide remarks about my job, since I’m not a CEO or a surgeon.”
“Ow.” Cathy winced. “That doesn’t sound fun.”
“Nope.”
She waited eagerly, in case he felt like telling her more personal details.
Which apparently he didn’t. “And then you’re leaving for London on Tuesday for the year?”
“Yes, Cathy. A whole year. I’ll do my last assignment for Connoisseur there. Then I’ll be studying photography at Sotheby’s Institute of Art and sharing a studio with my friend John.” He turned back and eyed her gravely. “Can you live without me that long?”
In spite of the double backflip her heart executed, she managed to look equally grave. “I’m not sure, but…I think so.”
“If you can’t, let me know. Or, better yet, catch a flight and come—”
“Oh, what, you’re hitting on Cathy now? Honestly, forget one girl in every port, this guy’s got dozens.” Sandra Dentyne, beautiful, sexy, supremely annoying office slut, sidled up to Quinn and ran her hand down his arm. “You like it that way, huh?”
The Nights Before Christmas Page 1
