"Merry Christmas," I said back. It was like old times—the two of us sitting side by side in the kitchen on Christmas morning, eager for Nana to wake up so we could attack the massive pile of presents waiting in the other room.
"Do you remember when you were about six and you decided to catch Santa?" Pops stroked his chin.
I grinned. "I'd forgotten about that. I put traps down all over the living room."
"Almost killed myself on those marbles." Pops chuckled. "You recall what your Nana told you?"
"Yup. That Santa was magic, and he was too clever to get caught in any traps."
Pops shook his head and gestured around the house. "Thank you for this, Andy-girl. I feel like she's right here with us."
"You have to thank Jones. He did most of it."
Pops eyed me shrewdly. "You gonna marry him?"
I groaned and stood up. "Pops!"
My grandfather shrugged. "It's a simple question."
"He hasn't even asked me yet."
Pops scowled, his spidery salt and pepper eyebrows drawing together. "Now that ain't right, him sleeping in your bed and all."
"He slept in the spare room." Last night, anyway. "Besides, I don't know if I'm cut out for marriage, Pops."
My grandfather scowled. "Sure you are."
"How would you know?"
He reached out and patted my hand. "Because you are just like your grandmother. Skittish as a colt, harder to pin down than pudding. But once you make up your mind to go for something, you give it your all. Man couldn't ask for a better wife."
I had tears in my eyes but wiped them away on the sleeve of my pajamas when I heard Jones's footsteps on the stairs. "Don't say anything to him about this," I hissed.
Pops made the zipper across his mouth gesture and threw the key away.
"Good morning," Jones said to my grandfather before bending low to whisper in my ear,
"Merry Christmas."
"Right back atcha, handsome." I was so glad he was with me, that Pops was still with us, and that I'd have one last precious memory to cherish of this house and my family.
I'd staged a hash brown casserole the night before, and I popped it into the oven to bake while we waited for Aunt Cecily. Anticipation filled me, and the years melted away as I was once again a kid on Christmas morning.
Aunt Cecily shuffled out, looking as cheery as she ever did. She didn't drink coffee and declined the offer of tea. "There are gifts waiting to be opened. How much longer must they wait?"
I didn't need an engraved invitation and made a beeline for the tree.
We opened presents in a whirlwind of torn wrapping paper and delighted laughs. Despite what I'd said to Jones earlier, I'd spent more time than money picking out the gifts. Pops adored the new fleece lined slippers I'd given him because his feet were always cold. Aunt Cecily nodded with approval at the Bobby Darin CD. She'd been in serious "Mack the Knife" withdrawal ever since her copy had gotten scratched. I wished I could have found her recipes, but I didn't want to spoil the moment by bringing that up.
Jones appeared thoroughly baffled by my gift, easily the largest under the tree. "It's er…what precisely is it, Andrea?"
"It's a bumper. Specifically, an SUV bumper."
His eyes lit up as he got it. We'd met when I'd rear-ended his car. "You know that car was totaled."
"Yeah, it's not so much a practical gift as a sentimental one. What can I say—you're impossible to shop for."
He pulled me onto his lap. "That's because I have everything I want."
I smiled up into his eyes. "So where's mine?"
He feigned surprise. "Was I supposed to get you something?"
I mock-punched him in the shoulder. "Damn straight."
He kissed me quickly then set me aside. My heart pounded as he crawled around the tree. I still didn't have the confidence Pops had about me being a good wife. I'd given the man a bumper, for the love of grief.
"Here." Jones set a wrapped package on my lap, about the size of a toaster.
"Huh?" I frowned. Maybe he did that thing with multiple boxes, and the tiny ring box was in the center. Leave it to Malcolm Jones to prolong the moment.
But as I lifted the lid on the box and stared down at the leather-bound book, my confusion only grew.
"Well, what is it?" Pops asked, his tone gruff.
"Get on with it, girl." Aunt Cecily made a hurry-up motion.
I took the book out and opened to the first page. My breath caught. "Oh, my."
It was a picture of Nana and Pops on their wedding day. The last time I'd seen it was hanging on the wall heading to the second floor. But it looked like it was in better condition than it had been in the glassed-in frame.
Holding my breath I turned the page, to a picture of my mother, her graduation picture. On the opposite page was a photo of her holding me the day of my birth. Nana stood on one side, smiling down on me, and Aunt Cecily was on the other. The Rossetti women, all together. I'd never seen this picture before.
Tears threatened as I looked up at Jones. "How did you do all this?"
"With a lot of help. Do you like it?"
Like wasn't the right word. I was moved beyond belief. There was a formal homecoming shot of me and Kyle opposite a picture of me holding my daughter almost nine months later. The only photo I had of my baby girl, enlarged and retouched as only a master photographer could. I stifled a sob. It was the best present I'd ever been given, a photographic love letter filled with acceptance of who I'd been and love for who I'd become. I looked up to see him smiling at me, his dark blue gaze drinking in my every reaction.
"I love you," I sniffled and threw myself at him.
He hugged me back, and I felt stupid for thinking I could live without him. Why would I ever want to?
An untold amount of time later, I realized Aunt Cecily and Pops were just sitting there, waiting for me to pull myself together.
"Well, I can't top that," Pops said gruffly. "But here's our gift to you. To both of you."
He handed me a manila envelope. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and reached for it.
"The deed to the Bowtie Angel?" I whispered, shocked.
Pops nodded. "It's all yours. I wish we could afford to give you the house too, but well, we need to plan ahead for our old age."
Aunt Cecily actually chuckled.
I swallowed hard around the lump in my throat. "Pops, I don't know what to say."
"You saved it, Andy-girl. Without you we would have had to sell, so it's only right you inherit the business."
"Thank you," I breathed, overwhelmed. I'd been given my past and my future all in one day.
The doorbell rang. "That must be Lizzy." Jones frowned as he looked at the clock on the mantel. "She said she wouldn't be here until noon."
The timer buzzed in the kitchen. "That's the casserole." I needed a minute to pull myself together.
The casserole was a little brown around the edges, but still edible. I turned the oven temp down and prepared the ham. I'd just covered it with aluminum foil when footsteps came down the hall.
I looked up and blinked as I saw Jones with the young woman I'd bumped into at the Holiday Celebration. What the heck was she doing here on Christmas? "Um, hello?"
She stared at me a minute, and I noticed she held something. "Is that Aunt Cecily's recipe book? Where did you find it?"
She didn't respond. I looked up into her eyes, and that same displaced sense I'd felt the first time I'd seen her struck me, like déjà vu.
"I gave it to her." Aunt Cecily marched forward, shoulders back and head held high.
"What?" I looked from the girl to my Aunt, thoroughly lost. "Why would you do that?"
"Because," the girl said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm your daughter."
The stack of plates I'd been holding crashed to the floor.
"Andrea." Jones hurried forward before I could collapse on top of the broken shards. He scooped me up and carried me over the mess and down the hall. I loo
ked over his broad shoulder, my eyes glued to Kaylee, my thoughts coming too fast to make any sense.
Jones set me down in an arm chair and checked my pulse. It took some effort, but I finally found my voice. "Is she really here?"
"Yes."
I cleared my throat. "Could you do me a favor?"
"Anything," he said.
"Good. Call Kyle. He should be here, too." I looked over his shoulder as Kaylee came into the room. Pops and Aunt Cecily had made themselves scarce.
Assured that I wasn't hurt, at least physically, Jones stood up. "I'll give you ladies a minute."
I needed more than a minute. I couldn't stop myself from staring at her, afraid she'd vanish if I looked away for a single second. She seemed to be having the same trouble as she sat down across from me, just out of arm's reach.
"I saw you on TV," she said finally.
I made a face. Of course she had. "No one died, really."
She laughed. "I know. My mom, that is my other mom, she told me who you were after that. I kept bugging her because I wanted to meet you, and I heard you were at that pasta eating contest here, so I went to the shop, and that's where I met Great Aunt Cecily." Her words came out in a big rush.
"The pasta eating contest? That was nine months ago. Why did you wait until now?"
She scuffed her shoe against the rug. "It didn't seem like the right time. And I knew my other mom would be upset."
"Where are your parents?"
She reared back, and I reached forward. "Not that I'm not glad you're here. I am. I just don't want them to be worried about you."
"My mom brought me. She's staying at a motel over in Meadow Ridge."
"And your dad?"
She looked away. "He died last winter. Car accident."
Though I wasn't sure it was the right time, I rose and moved to kneel in front of her. "I'm so glad you're here. And your dad, your other dad, his name is Kyle, will be, too. Call your mom and ask her to come for dinner."
She wiped her eyes in that same aggressive way I had of clearing away the wetness when I didn't want anyone to know I was crying. "Really? You mean that?"
"No one should spend Christmas alone in a motel," I told her. "Besides, I owe her everything."
She hugged me, and this time I didn't bother to hide my tears.
EPILOGUE
"So where's the ring?" Donna asked as she set her green bean casserole on the dining room table.
"It wasn't for me. It was Lizzy's. Jones was picking it up after she had it refitted. Do you think we have enough chairs?"
"If not I'll send Steve home to snag some." Donna finished the place settings. "So you're not getting married?"
"Not today."
The Victorian on Grove Street was busting at the seams. Donna and her family had come for dinner, along with Kyle, Lizzy and even Kyle's parents who were too busy fussing over Kaylee to even give me the hairy eyeball. Mimi, who'd brought a giant Swiss roll, was in the kitchen adding the final touches to the Christmas Pasta under Aunt Cecily's hawkeyed supervision. Pops was chatting it up with Kaylee's mom, Barbara, and Jones.
There was only one person missing.
Donna took wine goblets from the china cabinet and shook her head. "I can't believe your Aunt Cecily snuck her into town under your nose like that. And that she took the recipe book and let you sweat it out, thinking someone had stolen it. I thought Mimi was going to expire from the stress of it all."
"Apparently she wanted to test Mimi's knowledge of the recipes. Like her version of a pop quiz. She wasn't about to hand over the business to me if Mimi wasn't up to snuff, which of course she was. And she wanted to see if I cracked under the pressure, which I nearly did."
"That's nuts," Donna muttered.
I shrugged helplessly. "They say the Lord works in mysterious ways. So does Aunt Cecily."
Mimi, looking happier than she had in days, carried the huge dish with the Christmas Pasta. "Everything is ready."
"Thanks, Mimi. Could you call everyone in here while I go grab the wine?
Mimi nodded, and Donna scurried off to yell at her twins who were attempting to slide down the banister, dresses be damned.
I was hunting for a corkscrew when I heard a soft tap on the back door. I smiled at the newest edition to our party. "Hi, Peter. How's your Mom doing?"
"The doctor says she's going to pull through." He smiled nervously and handed me a small Christmas cactus. "Thanks for inviting me."
I took the plant and gestured inside. "Please come in. We're just about to sit down."
He bit his lip. "Did you mean what you said in your note? That you could find someone to help her?"
I nodded. "A friend of a friend actually. She specializes in helping people who hoard. She has her own television show and everything."
Peter's eyes went wide. "Mom wouldn't like to be on TV."
"No worries," I said quickly. "She won't film anything. I can call her as soon as you think your mom is up to it. Stuff is stressful, and getting rid of some of it will only help her. Just say the word, and I'll make the call."
"Thanks, Andy." Peter smiled, his shoulders relaxing for the first time. "I really appreciate it."
On his way to the living room, he passed Jones, who came into the kitchen. "What can I do?"
I wrapped my arms around him. "Just keep on being you. That's the best gift of all."
"Why Andrea, I had no idea you were so sentimental."
I shrugged. "What can I say, it's Christmas. Mangiamo."
"What does that mean?" Jones asked.
"Only the most important phrase in Italian. Let's eat."
* * * * *
Christmas Pasta
You'll need:
2 pounds penne, cooked al dente
2 tablespoons extra virgin garlic infused olive oil
4 cloves garlic, crushed
1/2 pound pancetta, chopped into small bits
1/2 pound mild Italian sausage
1/2 pound ground beef
1 stalk celery, chopped
1 medium carrot, diced
1 red onion, chopped
1 cup dry red wine
1 cup beef broth
2 pints grape tomatoes, quartered
1 jar roasted red peppers
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
Handful of chopped fresh parsley
Heat a deep pot over medium high heat. Add oil, garlic, and pancetta bits and brown for one minute. Add meats and brown and crumble them for five minutes.
Chop carrot, celery, tomatoes, and onion and add to the pot as you work. Cook vegetables with meat for five minutes then add the wine and red peppers. Cook for one minute before adding broth to the pot.
Stir in parsley, nutmeg, and cinnamon and season sauce with salt and pepper, to taste. Bring sauce to a boil, reduce heat to medium low, and cook 10 to 15 minutes before serving.
**Andy's note: This is even better as leftovers as the flavors in the sauce continue to combine. Reheat and serve for a very Merry Christmas! **
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Former navy wife turned author Jennifer L. Hart loves a good mystery as well as a good laugh and a happily ever after is a must. When she's not playing with her imaginary friends or losing countless hours on social media, she spends her free time experimenting with both food and drink recipes and wishing someone else would clean up. Since she lives with three guys and a beagle, that's usually not the case. Her works include The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag series and the Southern Pasta Shop Mysteries.
Visit Jennifer L. Hart online at: www.jenniferlhart.com
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BOOKS BY JENNIFER L. HART
Southern Pasta Shop Mysteries:
Murder Al Dente
Christmas Al Dente (holiday short story)
Murder À La Flambé
Murder Al Fresco
Misadventures of the Laundry Hag Mysteries:
Skeletons in the Closet
Swept Under the Rug
All Washed Up
Damaged Goods Mysteries
Final Notice
Other Works
Who Needs a Hero?
River Rats
Stellar Timing
Daisy Dominatrix
Redeeming Characters
Christmas Al Dente Page 5
