A Heartwarming Christmas: A Boxed Set of Twelve Sweet Holiday Romances

by Melinda Curtis

  “Mike, you’re never going to believe who’s here!”

  “Is it Ben?” his dad called back. Ben imagined him watching a sporting event of some sort from the comfort of his faded blue recliner in the family room.

  With a playful scowl, she asked, “How does he do that?”

  As usual, the interior of the Fisher home overflowed with holiday cheer. Fat Christmas candles were glowing on the end tables, a wreath hung above the fireplace and a lighted village was displayed on the hutch. Five oversized stockings were tacked on the mantel. Snowmen, angels, and Santa figurines were abundant.

  “That’s nice, Mom.” He pointed at the coffee table where a giant snow globe stood in the center. “Also rather brave.”

  She shook her head. “I know. I get nervous every time I look at it. No wrestling in this house. There will be no 2005 disaster repeat in here this year.”

  He cringed at the reminder of the wrestling match that had resulted in a toppled tree and broken ornaments.

  Mike Fisher jogged into the room. Tall, broad-shouldered and tough-as-nails, he enfolded Ben in one of his signature bear hugs. His soapy, often-a-little-smoky scent caused a wave of love to wash over Ben.

  “It’s good to have you home, Son.” His dad clapped him on the shoulder and took a step back. “Can’t wait to get you down to the firehouse to see some of the guys. We’re getting a poker game together day after Christmas. Can you make it?”

  “Thanks, Dad. Yes, definitely count me in.” He wished he could package these good feelings and take them with him back to LA. He was a little jealous that his brothers experienced this all the time, especially Josh. Josh was married to his high school sweetheart Ivy. He hadn’t wasted any time trying to prove himself before settling down.

  “How long can you stay?” his mom asked hopefully.

  Ben scratched his cheek. “I need to talk to you guys about that.”

  His dad’s brows dipped with concern. “Everything okay with the business?”

  His mom’s fretful expression made him feel bad about teasing her this way.

  “I was hoping I could stay until after New Year’s, at least. Maybe longer.” Even as he said the words, anxiety clenched his stomach. He’d never been away from his business for longer than four days. He’d never visited Christmas Town for more than three days at a time. Now he was committing himself to nearly two weeks? Two weeks of hometown memories, good and bad.

  “Longer?” His mom’s face was a combination of surprise and tentative happiness, like she couldn’t quite believe the words.

  “I can always move over to Rick’s if I wear out my welcome.”

  A burst of laughter accompanied the smack his mom landed on his shoulder.

  “Ouch, Mom.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That did not hurt. You’re a brat. We’re thrilled to have all three of our boys home for the holiday. I can’t wait for Christmas Eve. It’s going to be so perfect this year.”

  Beaming, his dad said, “Do you want to see my new antique Gamewell fire alarm station box? It’s all original wood and glass. I just got it a week ago…”

  ~*~

  The following morning Ben and his mom somehow managed to squeeze their bodies into Cecilia Redfoot’s already jam-packed garage. “The Bookies,” his mom’s book club, and other volunteer basket-stuffers were already working at tables positioned around the room. Boxes and sacks overflowing with food and supplies were piled around them. The Bookies annual Christmas food drive had grown over the last few years. Ben hoped his letter-of-the-law firefighter brother Rick wouldn’t show up to see the fire hazard this setup must certainly be.

  His mom motioned for him to follow. He tried to ignore the hitch in his chest when he spotted Andrea. He reminded himself this wasn’t high school. He was no longer the math tutor with a crush on his homecoming queen classmate.

  “I’m going to put you at this table with Andrea. She’ll show you what to do. You remember Andrea. Didn’t you tutor her back in high school?”

  And he’d been worried Andrea would be the one to throw this in his face. Silence stretched out for a few long seconds. “Yes. We know each other,” he finally managed.

  Andrea stared at him blandly, even as something seemed to spark in her eyes, making him feel like an idiot.

  His mom asked, “Weren’t you two in the same class?”

  Andrea answered, “Yes, we were, Mrs. Fisher. Ben and I are friends.”

  Friends? Why couldn’t he have said that? Yes, they had definitely become friends over the past months. But back in high school? Not so much.

  “We didn’t exactly hang out in the same circles, Mom.”

  Ellen looked from Ben to Andrea and back again, a kind of baffled half-smile on her face. “You two can catch up while you work. There’s not much to it. Andrea will guide you through the process. Remember, we want the baskets to look nice and festive, not thrown together like nobody cares.”

  “Got it. Thanks, Mom.”

  Looking pointedly at Andrea, she added, “Don’t let him get sloppy. My boys can be so messy. You should have seen his room when he was a teenager. I rarely ever ventured into their rooms, but one time when the boys’ grandmother was coming for a visit, I went on this cleaning spree. I found a dead mouse under his bed, all petrified like a little mummy.” She added a disgusted head-shake.

  “Gosh, what a fun story that was,” Ben quipped. “Thanks so much for over-sharing it, Mom.”

  Andrea snickered. “I’ll keep an eye on him, Mrs. Fisher.”

  His mom waved to someone across the room and hustled away.

  “Okay.” Andrea placed a wicker basket on the table in front of them. “We want to make sure every basket has a complete meal. Our job is to add the canned and boxed items for side dishes.” She went on to outline how the simple system worked.

  Ben followed her instructions for a few minutes before commenting, “I think this would be more efficient if they placed the items in boxes instead of baskets. A square is so much more conducive to packing mostly square items.”

  “You heard your mom. Baskets look nice.”

  “I don’t know that I’d care about presentation if I was hungry.”

  She stopped and stared up at him, her blue eyes wide and earnest. “It’s about pride, too. Pride is important. Sometimes it’s more important.”

  He almost laughed. The richest, prettiest, most popular girl in school was lecturing the class geek about pride? Did she not remember the way she’d rejected him? After their last tutoring session, he’d asked her to a movie. He’d never forget how her expression had morphed from shock to horror before she’d mumbled an excuse and hurried off down the hall.

  Not a subject he wanted to broach considering their history on that front. Instead, he found himself blurting, “Your hair used to be so much lighter back in school.”

  Andrea winced and dipped her head to one side. “Highlights,” she explained. “I had this silly idea that I should be blonde. Now I’m just...me.”

  “It was silly. The brown shows off the blue of your eyes so much better. They are a lot bluer than I remember. And your hair color complements your skin tone.”

  “My skin tone?” she repeated teasingly.

  He grimaced. “Sorry. Too much design work lately. Colors and graphics and stuff.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say too much. A girl likes a compliment. Leaving off the half-inch of eyeliner and the globs of mascara probably helps, too.”

  “Whatever it is, I like it. You look so...genuine. Very pretty.”

  She looked startled, and he worried he’d offended her. Or worse, what if she thought he was revisiting that long-ago crush?

  He started to apologize, but she flashed him a dazzling smile that stopped his heart. And his brain. He looked into her eyes and realized that was a mistake, too, because those ocean-blue depths were stirring up feelings he probably shouldn’t feel for a friend.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, too, if you don’t mind?”<
br />
  “I meant it as one,” he managed to utter.

  “I gave up trying to be perfect a long time ago, much to my father’s dismay. It’s very liberating.” She chuckled wryly, but he thought he saw a flicker of sadness in her expression before she turned away. She grabbed a box of rice and placed it into another basket.

  Bradford Talbot had a reputation as a difficult man to work for in his cardboard distribution business, critical and demanding. Surely he wasn’t this hard on his daughters, too?

  “How could you possibly be disappointing to your parents?”

  “How much time do you have?” she joked.

  He opened his mouth to assure her he had all the time in the world, but she stopped and turned toward him, her gaze traveling over him in this assessing, captivating way that tightened his chest and stole his words. Again. In spite of how he reassured himself, there was definitely still a bit of that beauty-and-the-geek thing going on inside of him.

  “You look different, too, you know?” she teased, sidestepping his question.

  “Yeah?” He wasn’t prone to conceit, but was well aware of the fact he’d been a late bloomer. He’d heard the comments for years.

  “Yep, you got super ugly. Sorry, but yikes, I can barely stand to look at you.”

  He laughed. Andrea’s knowledge of antiques blew him away. Combined with her focus, tenacity and work ethic, it was no surprise she was so good at her business. What had surprised him over the last several months was this, her warmth, quick wit, and interest in his life. Even though he couldn’t quite squelch the nagging question of how much of that interest would exist if it wasn’t for the bell?

  “Andrea, there you are.”

  Ben recognized Andrea’s younger sister Allison who, as he recalled, had striven for perfection in every area where her horses were concerned. Even now, she looked like she’d stepped out of an ad for equestrian gear. Her hair was draped over one shoulder in a thick blonde braid. She wore a crisp white blouse under a wool pea coat in navy blue. Form-fitting riding pants were tucked into dark leather boots that reached up to her knees.

  “Allison, what are you doing here?” Andrea’s voice shot up a couple octaves into the anxious range. “You’re supposed to open the shop this morning, remember? Can’t make any money if the shop’s not open.”

  “Looking for you. And of course I remember. I still have twenty minutes before the store opens. I dropped off a donation and I wanted to talk to you for a sec.”

  She turned toward Ben instead and he caught a whiff of horse and leather. Her eyebrows scooted up onto her forehead as she gave him an assessing once-over.

  “You remember my sister Allison? She was two years behind us in school? Allison, this is Ben Fisher.”

  “Of course. You were in Rick’s class. How are you?”

  Stepping closer, Allison offered a hand for him to shake and then remained standing before him, eyes narrowed, fisted hands on her hips.

  “Ben Fisher,” she said flatly. “Huh.”

  “Yep, that’s me.”

  “Wow, I just have to say, I wouldn’t have recognized you. When Andrea told me you two had struck up a, um...friendship, I had this picture of you in my mind from school. You were such a dork.”

  “Allison!” Andrea snapped.

  “What? I’m giving him a compliment. Right, Ben? That’s a compliment.”

  He chuckled. “Uh, I don’t know. I’m still the same person actually. Maybe a little different on the outside, but same dorky interior.” He gestured at himself. “Still like computers, still stare at the stars, still play chess.”

  Allison’s blonde braid shifted over her shoulder as she tilted her head. She opened her mouth to comment and that’s when Andrea rapped her knuckles on the table.

  They both turned toward the sound.

  “What can I do for you, Allison?”

  “Oh, right. Mom wanted me to ask you what time you wanted dinner on Christmas Eve?”

  Andrea sighed. “It makes no difference to me what time Mom schedules dinner or anything else. You know that and so does she.”

  Allison folded her arms across her chest. “Are you seriously not—”

  “We’ve already discussed this. Nothing has changed. Right now we are swamped. In fact, can you please take these baskets to Lynn Kramer on your way out?”

  Allison glanced at the pile of baskets left to stuff, performed a perfect sisterly eye-roll, scooped up some completed baskets and moved away.

  “Sorry about that. Her way of rebelling is to say inappropriate things. She’s trying to break away from our parents, too, but their hold is strong. And money makes the world go around, right? Especially in her world of championship horses.”

  “It’s fine,” he said reassuringly, even as he wondered about that money comment. Like him, Andrea had changed on the outside. Clearly, she was no longer preoccupied with her appearance, and she was here volunteering her time. But he couldn’t help but wonder how much she had really changed on the inside? Deep down, was she the still same person from school, too?

  Chapter 4

  Andrea sat on a stool behind the counter of Timeless Antiques & Collectibles. Fittingly, her shop was located in one of the oldest buildings in Christmas Town. It was constructed of stately red brick and mortar with tall, leaded glass windows fronting the street. Antique furniture spanning all time periods was arranged around the shop. Hutches, cabinets, and tables displayed every type of vintage collectible imaginable from cutesy salt and pepper sets and elegant glassware to tools and rusted farm equipment.

  She stared at the figures she’d scrawled on the pad in front of her and tried not to panic. Bless those holiday shoppers, but the numbers still weren’t adding up to quite what she needed them to be. She needed cash. It was time to make some decisions. She abhorred the thought of wholesaling items or selling at a loss. Of losing future profits in order to pay today’s expenses.

  The bell above the door chimed as a voice shouted, “Andrea?”

  Her sister had a way of charging through the door like a horse and jockey out of the gate.

  “I’m right here, Allison.”

  Allison’s gaze landed on her. “Hey. How’s business today?”

  “Today has been good.” She didn’t add that she needed better than good days right now. Why had she thought buying the bell with her own funds and surprising Ben was a good idea? Because, she immediately answered herself, she wanted to show him that she had changed. She wanted him to see that she wasn’t that pretentious, insensitive girl who hadn’t seen him for who he really was back in high school. She couldn’t have known that two other big deals would go south shortly after.

  She also wanted to show him, show everyone, that she was good at this business. If only the bell and Christmas Eve would hurry up and get here, she could conceivably succeed on both of these fronts.

  “Are you okay? You look kind of weird.”

  “I’m fine. How is Nash?” That question was the most effective way to distract her sister.

  Nash, A Nashville Shooting Star, was the name of Allison’s Andalusian mare. That was what Allison did; she showed horses, expensive horses. She competed in equestrian dressage competitions where she was truly brilliant and earned thousands of dollars in prizes. Problem was, her earnings didn’t even begin to cover the expense of maintaining and showing horses at this caliber. The stables, her private arena, transportation, trainers, vets, equipment—it all added up to the venture making absolutely no economic sense whatsoever. Except that it kept Allison within the Talbot fold.

  Her father had done the same with Andrea. Not with horses, but with his company.

  Immediately upon graduating from college with a history degree, her father had told her she was needed at Talbot’s Cardboard Distribution. She’d been given a job and title in management that she gradually realized he had invented—a job with no responsibilities beyond event-planning and charming her father’s business associates, where she’d collected an exorbitant
salary for work that made her miserable.

  Two years ago, there had been an incident at work due to a serious safety violation. Andrea had nothing to do with the episode. Her father informed her that he was putting corporate responsibility for the incident in her file to save a valued employee the embarrassment and the risk of being passed over for a promotion. When she’d pointed out that the blemish on her record would have the same effect on her future, her father had gently, condescendingly informed her that he believed she “didn’t have a head for business” anyway. It was that day she realized her father had no intention of allowing her to advance any further than his girl Friday.

  She’d quit, refused to take another penny, and decided to reach for her own dream of making a living doing what she truly loved— buying and selling antiques. While living her dream might not currently be as dreamy as she’d hoped, owning Timeless was still better than being Bradford Talbot’s puppet. Even when that “head for business” comment surfaced and eroded her confidence.

  “She’s amazing. We’re ready for the show in January. It’s the Demson Cup in Virginia. Will you be able to make it?”

  “I would love to be there to support you and Nash. You know that. I can’t afford it.”

  “But, Dad would—” Allison lifted her hands palms down and made a cutting motion, halting the rest of her own statement before Andrea had a chance to. “Never mind. I know you won’t take anything from him.” She tapped a finger thoughtfully against her pursed lips.

  “Go ahead and say what you’re thinking.”

  “Okay, you know I admire what you’ve done, going out on your own and all. You know how much I’d like to follow in your footsteps. I like working here, too, and helping you out. But what are you going to do if your business doesn’t make it?”

  What would she do? She had a history degree. Graduate school? No, this was what she wanted—rummaging through old barns and abandoned houses, scouring estate sales, searching for the seemingly impossible-to-find. Timeless was what she wanted.