Christmas in Cactus Flats and Other Holiday Romances

by Laura Briggs

  The instructions were so vague and the atmosphere so overwhelming, the emotion ebbed in a few minutes. Colleen was crushed and overheated in the packed crowd of carolers, pulling her coat off despite the freezing temperatures. She moved towards the back of the crowd as a sense of ridiculousness crept over her, as if she could hide where the shops were closed and darkened, the vendor’s stands locked up tight.

  Someone shoved against her and she heard something clatter to the pavement below. The movement of the still-growing crowd had pushed her several feet away before she realized that Truda’s amulet was no longer hanging round her neck. The clasp had broken for the third time in its life—in her mind flashed an image of it being crushed by the feet of passing strangers.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “I dropped something. Please, can I just get past you…” A sense of despair washed over her as she squeezed in the direction of her previous spot, scanning the pavement for any sign of the precious charm. Instead spotting bits of litter and other lost items, like gloves and hats dropped in the confusion.

  Why had she listened to that note? She should’ve learned her lesson from trusting the previous ones, from thinking any good could come from another clue in an already twisted game. “Please,” she said, gently maneuvering between two parked strollers, “I've lost something—”

  She saw it. Mere feet away, its tarnished surface gleaming in the dim light, momentarily obscured by a child's scuffed sneaker as it trotted past. Lunging towards the glint of metal, her fingers reached it the same moment as another set. Five strong masculine fingers, their owner meeting her glance with surprised brown eyes.

  “Colleen…” he stared at her, his mouth open with shock. “I—I didn’t know…what are you doing here?”

  “Answering your note,” she said, wishing the awkwardness wasn’t so evident in her tone. Snatching the amulet from the pavement, she stuffed it in her pocket and flashed him a challenging glare. Would he explain the point of a freezing outing on Christmas Eve in a crowded square—or maybe issue an apology instead?

  “My note?” He shook his head, his own hand ducking inside his coat pocket to retrieve a folded sheet of paper. “I haven’t sent you a message since the horse ranch. But when I got home tonight I found this…” he trailed off, his hand extending the paper in her direction.

  She read the message, her eyebrows rising as she read the crazily-cut words. “A final chance for true love is within your grasp. Be at Hartley Park with the tree lighting crowd by nine o’clock tonight to seize your destiny.”

  "Meg?" she said.

  "She took the day off," he said. "And she's never been to my apartment before. I don't think anyone at the office knows where I live."

  "Then how—" she began. “Jack, this is crazy.” She looked at him, seeing her confusion mirrored in his gaze. Before she could speak again, the crowd around them roared with appreciation, the big tree lighting moment having commenced.

  “I guess maybe Santa was behind it after all," he said. Despite the teasing note his voice, she saw a look of puzzlement in his glance, along with something more—curiosity, perhaps, about her true feelings.

  Her doubts slid away, even as one of her hands slid across his shoulder, the other intertwining with his fingers. Their lips met in a long overdue kiss, the noise of the crowd's latest carol fading into the backdrop. They were only aware of each other, not noticing as the mysterious note fluttered to the ground beside them.

  *****

  Strings of Christmas lights were strewn across the living room floor as Colleen packed the last of the ornaments back inside their cardboard box. The wreath had come down from the door and lay on the coffee table, its ribbon still somewhat misshapen from poor packing.

  Around her neck was an ornament of a different type, a crescent moon amulet. As she placed the last Christmas ball in the box, her boyfriend settled on the floor beside her, a mug of hot chocolate in each hand.

  “Next year,” he said, “we’re making sure you jazz this place up for the holidays. Something besides a mangled door wreath and a half-decorated cedar in the corner.”

  “But right now, let’s worry about New Year’s,” she said, taking one of the mugs from his hand and sampling its contents. “Because my whole family will be here and they’ll expect you to be pretty fantastic. Magical romances do run in the family, you know.”

  “How can I forget?” he grinned, giving the amulet a playful tap. “I guess it did sort of bring us together. For our last chance, that is.”

  “Un-huh. So I was right all along—sort of.”

  He shook his head. "I think you mean I was right. Shouldn't the credit go to the mysterious Santa?"

  "The real one, yes," she answered, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. She paused as a rap sounded on the door.

  “Special delivery for Miss Quinn,” said a voice on the other side.

  “Thanks,” said Colleen, signing for the slender package, a curious look on her face as she studied the postage. “Look at these crazy stamps,” she said, as Jack leaned over shoulder. “It looks like it came from somewhere international, but the return address is so blurred…I don’t think I know anyone overseas.”

  “Yeah, but its got your name and address, so it must be for you.”

  She pulled the wrapping away, her curiosity building as she sensed another mysterious surprise coming her way. A gasp escaped her lips as she pulled out a glossy eight by ten photograph of her and Jack at the skating rink, like the one in her desk drawer—only this one was bordered by an elegant silver frame.

  “Who sent this?” she asked. Flipping over the tag dangling from one corner to read a sweeping, old fashioned cursive:

  “Merry Christmas, Colleen and Jack! I trust you took my advice and are now ringing in the New Year together. It took quite a bit of work to bring the two of you together, but I savor a good challenge, so don’t feel bad. Instead, commit to celebrating many more Christmas Eves together.

  —Your good friend, Saint Nicholas

  “Don’t look at me,” said Jack as she turned a wide-eyed gaze in his direction. “It’s just another gift from our friendly neighborhood Secret Santa.”

  Her smile, devoid of surprise, glowed brighter than the one in the photo as his arm curved round her shoulder in a loving embrace.

  "Don't talk to me ever again." Lisel Bishop's eyes held a warning that struck fear in the hearts of most grown men.

  Marc Romez, however, was not most grown men, which was why his dark eyes remained locked with her gaze. With a childish grin, he flipped the light switch to the conference room, bathing the interior in light.

  "Don't be such a prig," he answered. "The clients loved it. And I would have cleared it with you, except somebody spent the weekend at a spa."

  "It was my vacation, Marc! My vacation!" She practically shouted as she tossed her briefcase onto the table. "I scheduled it three weeks beforehand after the publishing house cleared our idea. Remember, the one we had together?" She glared at him to emphasize this statement.

  He sank down in a padded office chair and swiveled towards her. "Yeah, the idea that you forced on me after browbeating me for hours."

  "Well, wait and see what Downey has to say about that," she retorted, turning to face the windows.

  There were feuds at Holly Tree Publishing just like any other office—and then there was Bishop and Romez. Three years of constant fighting had made them legend, from the rooftop smoking zone where the interns hung out to the underground parking garage.

  Lisel claimed the worst day of her life was the day the publishing firm made the two of them an author acquisitions team designed to woo new and existing authors to sign with Holly Tree, their cubicles separated by mere feet on the office floor. As for their work schedules? Almost never. Unless one of them slipped away and handled the client's wishes on their own, that is.

  "I think Downey will back me up on this one," Marc answered. He propped his feet on the table, despite the shiny walnut surface. "You'
ll see." He shrugged his shoulders as he perused their latest client's file.

  A snort of contempt escaped Lisel's nose. She was silent until the door to the conference room opened, admitting the editor in chief Ronald Downey and the rest of the editorial team. A secretary followed behind, with a tray of coffee and donuts.

  "Congratulations on the Wallace contract, you two," said Downey. "I can't tell you how much he raved about that release party. The disco ball, the band—he was still talking about it a week later." He seated himself at the head of the table. "The pen practically leaped into his hand when we put the contract before him."

  Lisel's jaw dropped open slightly. "But I thought you approved of the first idea we had. The dinner party at Tah's Palace." She referred to the new four-star Asian restaurant, considered the hottest cultural spot in the city.

  Downey nodded as she spoke. "I did. Until Marc ran with that last-minute concept you guys dreamed up for the 70's dance bash. Positive genius, Lisel."

  She forced a smile to her lips. "Yes, but Sam Wallace's major support for the Asian arts made the dinner a perfect choice—"

  "The dance club was perfect," another editor chimed in. "Those pivotal chapters in the story where Wallace discusses the music scene that inspired his first documentary film. Everybody knows that's what inspired him to write the memoir."

  "That's what we were thinking," said Marc. A wide grin had spread across his face, his eyes darting towards Lisel as he spoke. "So no problems with the change, right?"

  Downey shook his head. "Absolutely not. You went with your gut and now another successful author will be writing books for this company. No problems with that." He flipped open his business schedule. "Now, let's turn our attention to the rumors that Levitz and Stacy are finally collaborating ..."

  Her fingers crushed the sides of the Styrofoam cup as Lisel stared at Marc with slit eyes. He was hiding a laugh, his gaze focused on something just underneath the edge of the table. No doubt a stupid internet video scrolling on his phone; or pictures of girls posed in bikinis. He wasn't even listening to the discussion of their potential clients' writing plans. Meaning it would be her job to fill him in on the details later.

  "So, any thoughts on what we can do to reel them in?" Downey's glance darted between Marc, who finally glanced up, and the attentive figure of Lisel.

  Her lips formed a tight smile. "Plenty," she answered.

  *****

  When they left the conference room, Lisel beat her partner to the elevator by a few seconds. Pressing the button, she calculated the odds that the door would slam in his face, forcing him to wait for another one or take the stairs.

  A muscular arm, however, slid between the doors in the nick of time. They parted to allow his lean figure to slide inside and join her. He glanced at her as if trying to gauge her mood; she turned her face the opposite direction to hide the angry flush in her cheeks.

  "Don't be mad, Lisel." That little teasing note in his voice only made her more angry. "He loved the idea. I couldn't resist going with it if we had a chance to snag this client."

  "Yeah, I know." Her tone was frosty. "You can't ever resist doing these things, can you? Treating my opinion like—"

  "Whoa, wait a minute," he interrupted. "This from the person who once rewrote my entire presentation to Downey without my consent—"

  "Only because you compared wooing authors to learning to rap!" she answered. "Stupid analogies, rambling thoughts, a music track? Get real, Marc. We're grownups in a grownup business."

  "Maybe being a grownup gets in the way of our success sometimes. Ever think about that?" He raised his eyebrows to emphasize this statement, as the elevator doors opened on their floor. She brushed past him and made her way out first, skirting a group of public relations agents and in-house cover designers busy stringing tinsel garland around the office.

  Sliding behind her desk, she scowled. For a moment, she actually hoped Downey would scold them for a job well done only because it was a job she didn't want to do. Creating crazy publicity stunts to snag authors seemed, well, cheap. And tacky. Definitely tacky compared to dinner at a four-star restaurant. Holly Tree is a respectable publishing house, not a house zoo for frat boys.

  She typed the password into her computer and opened her online calendar, a black and white page covered with tiny notations for business and personal appointments. "Dentist's appointment at two-thirty" appeared on the day below the reminder to "rotate tires/add snow chains." Today's meeting was erased with a few keystrokes, a new one scheduled for the following week.

  A perfect example of Lisel's cubicle as a whole. Neat containers filled with paper clips and rubber bands, a matching silver stapler and hole punch. Photographs perfectly spaced on the walls, with a decorative cover hiding the outlet that powered her phone's battery charger and her desk lamp.

  "What's up, girl?" Debbie, one of the firm's copy editors, leaned in the cubicle doorway, sporting a bright red Christmas sweater. "You look like somebody just stole the last cookie from the jar."

  "I'm just steamed from the meeting," Lisel answered. "My brilliant partner behaving himself, as usual. Do you know he actually—"

  Debbie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, so what's new?" she said. "Forget him for now and take one of these," she continued, holding out a handful of candy canes. "There's about a billion in the coffee room right now."

  Lisel pulled the plastic off one of the canes and bit a piece off. "Don't you think it's a little early for all this?" she asked. "I mean, Christmas is over two weeks away."

  "Apparently, an agency with a name like Holly Tree has to live up to people's expectations for the holiday season," Debbie answered. "So I better see that mistletoe sweater of yours before the office holiday party."

  "Like I have a reason for mistletoe," Lisel scoffed. "Around here, I spend all my time trying to rescue my career from the gutter of juvenile reason." She pulled open a drawer and fished through the neatly-divided sections for a pair of scissors.

  "Maybe you should try kissing and making up for the holidays." Debbie's suggestion snapped Lisel's attention away from her task almost instantly.

  "You think I'm the one who should play nice?" she answered. "What about him? He cancels all my reservations for clients; he sneaks around reversing all the decisions we made together about pursuing clients. He even ate my lunch one day even though it was clearly labeled with my name in the company fridge!" She slammed the drawer shut in her anger.

  Debbie held up her hands defensively. "Hey, I'm not trying to start World War Three," she said. "It was just a joke. Although, you have to admit, it has its upside." With a meaningful glance towards Marc's cubicle, where he was visible at his computer working.

  Dark hair and bronzed skin. A slight stubble that suggested he hadn't shaved that morning. A lean, muscular frame evident beneath his suit. And as for his smile—if you weren't immune to its charms the way Lisel was, it had the potential to stir sparks in a girl's heart.

  "I see what you mean," Lisel admitted— begrudgingly. "But that's not the problem, Deb. The problem is his whole attitude. It's—"

  "Fun?" suggested her friend. "Casual, easygoing? All things you avoid like the plague." As Lisel shot her an incredulous glance, she added, "Remember the last DVD that excited you? Yoga Plus Workout. And the color-coded salad containers in your fridge?"

  "All right, all right. Point taken." She scowled again. "But work isn't supposed to be fun. Maybe if Marc tried being responsible here, he wouldn't be such a jerk."

  With that, she swiveled her chair to face away from the sight of Marc on the phone, a slow grin crawling across his face as he talked. Anyone but Debbie might suspect she was avoiding the sight of him for other reasons. But her coworkers knew better than to think there was anything between them other than a world-class feud.

  *****

  "So, what about Thursday's basketball game?" Ed, the house accountant, leaned over the top of Marc's cubicle.

  "No can do," Marc answered. "I got a thing
with a client on Thursday. Dinner and a show at that Mongolian Barbecue place." He pulled a fast food bag from a filing cabinet drawer, where it was stuffed next to a pair of sneakers and a box of Wheat Thins.

  "I'm gonna guess Lisel scheduled this event," said Ed. "Tell her you've got other plans and take the client out on Wednesday instead."

  Marc popped a few fries in his mouth. "Can't do that, either," he said, opening a packet of ketchup. "She's already fuming over a couple of changes I made to our last client meeting." With a wry grin as he glanced at one of the photos from the club concert, pinned on an untidy wall of personal photos and snapshots from office parties.

  "You mean the disco thing? I heard that was awesome, man." Ed's voice was filled with envy. "How did you ever find a Beegees cover band that fast?"

  "Hey, lower your voice," Marc answered, hiding a half-grin. "My by-the-book partner wasn't so thrilled by it." He glanced over his shoulder, but there was no sound from Lisel's cubicle.

  "Anyway, it was a last-minute change that I figured would pay off, so I went with it," he said. "Lisel thinks plans are carved in stone, so I sort of didn't mention it until the day before." It had earned him a week of stony silence punctuated by cold remarks from his partner.

  "It could be worse," Ed reminded him, "You could be partnered with Trevor instead. I heard he hit his last partner with a car." He referred to an obnoxious acquisitions employee known for abusing his business charge account and circulating office gossip emails.

  "That's true." Marc answered slowly, his eyes traveling towards Lisel's cubicle. A half-smile crept across his face as he watched her wind a strand of blond hair around her fingers absently, her blue eyes trained on a file open on her desk. Her flawless blue-grey suit a perfect match for her porcelain skin.