The Spirit of Christmas

by Liz Talley

  “Because,” she said, staring up at the ceiling. “Because.”

  “Marry me,” he said.

  Judy jerked her head toward him, her eyes growing wide. “What?”

  “Marry me, Judy,” he said again, angling his body toward her. “I know this isn’t moonlight, roses and a big engagement ring, but it’s all I’ve thought about over the past few days. I want you beside me every day and every night.”

  “You don’t have to marry me just because we slept together,” she said, sitting up but still clutching at the sheet like it was a life preserver.

  “I’m not. Why would I want to marry you because we had the most amazing sex last night?”

  “Malcolm,” she said, her cheeks blooming with color. “You say the most outrageous things.”

  “But true.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her cheek before nuzzling his nose into hair that smelled of lilacs, or what he thought were lilacs. He’d never been good with flowers. “Marry me.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I’d say as a heart attack, but that’s flirting with danger.” He smiled against her hair. “Thing is, I love you and I want you beside me for as long as I have left on this earth. You make me happy and make me want to be a better man. If that isn’t a recipe for marriage I don’t know what is…unless you don’t feel the same?” He eased away and studied her.

  Her eyes were soft, glistening with unshed tears. “I never thought I’d fall in love.”

  Leaning forward he caught her declaration with a kiss. “But…?”

  “I left the order, not because I wanted to marry, but because I knew I’d made a huge commitment when I was too young. Mother Regina Agnes sensed this in me after many years and when she approached me about my faith and purpose, I lashed out because I was scared to be out in the world without my family of faith around me.

  “But I did it. For the past few decades I’ve created a new family and, every evening, I ignored the loneliness that beset me. The first time I met you an excitement I’d never felt before filled me. I fell in love with you when you played basketball with the boys, letting Perry win when it became obvious he needed to win. I’ve never felt the way I feel when I’m with you.”

  He embraced her. “Oh, sweet woman, if you will stay with me forever, I’ll be the happiest, most fulfilled man on the face of this earth. Say you will be my bride. Tell me this will last forever.”

  She looked him in the eyes, and kissed him before saying, “I love you, Malcolm Henry, and I will stay with you and love you as long as you will have me.”

  He smiled and felt his entire body flood with sheer joy.

  Judy laughed and fell back onto the plush softness of his bed. “I can’t believe this.”

  He shed the robe he’d tugged on earlier and slipped beneath the covers. “I can think of a good way to celebrate.”

  Judy giggled but held out her arms. “You’ve corrupted me, Malcolm.”

  “You’ve saved me, angel.” He was so glad he’d taken a leap of faith and pursued sweet Judy Poche, so appreciative that he’d been given a second chance to find happiness.

  Finally, he’d found the love he’d lost so many years ago. His first love was no longer an option, but his last love lay in his arms, looking adoringly into his eyes, sliding her hands over shoulders once broad, loving him for the man he was.

  Not the man he’d been.

  Blessings so great for a man not deserving.

  But at that moment, he didn’t care. He only loved.

  * * *

  BRENNAN PARKED HIS Harley-Davidson at the curb to pick up Mary Paige. Rarely did he take the bike, but since they would spend the afternoon in the French Quarter, it seemed like good choice for weaving around carriages and taxis. Besides, he wanted Mary Paige straddling the hog with her arms around him.

  It would be like prolonged foreplay.

  Mary Paige emerged from her house wearing a tight pair of pants, some beautiful brown boots that stretched over her knees and a sweater the color of tobacco that fell below her hips. Her blond hair swung jauntily and, at that moment, Brennan felt a wave of longing so intense he had to adjust himself on the seat that was vibrating from the still-running engine.

  “A bike?” she called over the noise.

  He gave her a wolf’s smile. “If you don’t want to ride on it, we can take your car.”

  “No way. I love riding on a motorcycle.” She took the helmet he offered her, shoved it on her head and strapped the chin strap. Then she swung one of those long delicious legs over the back of the bike and slid into place, her thighs clasping his butt and her arms linking across his stomach.

  He silently begged her to keep her arms high so she didn’t feel his erection.

  Because, damn, she’d made him rise to attention with her touch. Her smell. Her essence.

  He hit the throttle and sped away, eating up the pavement, dragging his focus to the road before him and away from the incredible feeling of Mary Paige clinging to him. He wove through the narrow streets bordering midtown, heading toward the heart of the city. The day was moderately cool but sunny, and caused Mary Paige to cuddle tight to him, which was another nice result of taking the bike.

  Minutes later, he pulled up at his town house off Conti in the center of the bustling French Quarter—aka Vieux Carré. Of course, it didn’t really look like a town house because the whole first floor was occupied by a daiquiri shop.

  “We’re getting drinks already?” Mary Paige asked climbing off the bike, removing her helmet and shaking her hair.

  “You want one?”

  “No.”

  He pointed above the already-hopping business toward the gray stucco walls from which a small black wrought-iron balcony extended. “My place is up there.”

  Her eyes followed the lines up the several-storied town house. “I guess I never thought about people living above all these businesses. Doesn’t the noise bother you?”

  He tucked his helmet under his arm. “Nah, the contractor put in state-of-the-art soundproofing. Now, let me toss these helmets inside and then we’ll get going.”

  She handed him the helmet and turned a full circle, looking at the world passing by on the street. “I’d love to see your place.”

  “Maybe later,” he said, sliding a glance her way. Her cheeks looked pink and she didn’t make eye contact. A good sign? Not a good sign?

  But then she caught his eye as he unlocked the wrought-iron door not five feet from the entrance to the shop. “If you’re lucky.”

  Suddenly, he wanted to be lucky. So very lucky.

  After stashing the helmets in the narrow foyer, he relocked the door and gestured down Conti.

  “I thought we were going to Commander’s Palace.”

  “If it’s okay, I thought we’d do brunch at the Court of Two Sisters. I have a friend who’s playing in the jazz quartet. Then maybe Commander’s later for dinner?”

  She nodded and they set off toward Royal Street, stopping so Mary Paige could admire the pricey antiques displayed in the storefronts. On Rue Royal all the antiques seemed overdone baroques, a bit like the city itself—lazy indifference to the rest of the world, lavish in its excess and not the least bit apologetic for it. Peppered throughout the antique joints were art galleries and the occasional specialty shop. It took longer than usual to walk the few blocks to Two Sisters, but Brennan didn’t mind. He enjoyed seeing Mary Paige admire the art, enjoyed seeing his city through her eyes.

  Ten minutes after she’d exclaimed, “We have to come back here,” regarding a kitchen specialty shop, they were seated near the fountain in the lush courtyard of a restaurant that had been serving jazz brunch on Sundays for as long as Brennan could remember.

  A waiter with a broad smile, a tidy white suit and a fondness for teasing brought them mimosas and invited them to help themselves at the buffet tables inside the restaurant.

  As they entered the area teeming with diners heaping crawfish and other Louisiana specialties on
their plates, he said, “Maybe we should have gone somewhere quieter.”

  “No way.” Mary Paige grabbed a plate then headed toward the omelet station. “I love a good buffet,” she said over her shoulder.

  Brennan didn’t so much, but he made do with the turtle and sherry soup and a cold salad plate. When he reached the table, Mary Paige sat with three dishes heaped with food.

  She made a face. “It all looked so good.”

  “It is good. I haven’t been here in years. My mother always loved brunch here. Said the lights above the awning, the sound of the fountain splashing and a rendition of ‘Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans’ in the background made her happy she met my father and moved to New Orleans.”

  Mary Paige took a bite of her omelet and sighed. “Yum. So you’re mother wasn’t from New Orleans?”

  “She was from Baton Rouge and met Dad at a game. He played ball for Louisiana State.”

  “Football?”

  “Baseball. He even played some minor-league ball for a few years. Before my mom insisted he come home to help Grandfather with the company. But Dad never gave up on baseball. He was one of the guys who worked to bring a Triple A team to the city. He loved baseball as much as he loved my mother. Or that’s what she said.”

  “This almost feels normal,” she said, taking a bite of a cold pasta salad with olives.

  “Why wouldn’t it be normal?”

  Her brown eyes narrowed. “Because…just because, I guess.”

  “Well, I am on my best behavior. Haven’t rolled my eyes or kicked a homeless person all day. I even hummed along with a Christmas carol while I showered.”

  “Wow, that could be, like, a Christmas miracle.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, taking another bite of soup and wondering if the bread pudding was as good as he remembered. Perhaps today was a day of total indulgence. Gym be damned.

  “What I meant is you’re intentionally being agreeable and it feels—”

  “Scary?”

  She frowned. “No, it feels nice.”

  “Well, I’m not the devil incarnate. I am capable of more than holing myself up to count all my gold and plot world domination.”

  “Oh, you mean you have a heart?” she teased, scooping a spoonful of soup from his bowl and popping it in her mouth.

  “Who said you could have some of my soup?”

  Her mouth fell open a little and she blinked twice. “Oh, I can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry.”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “I was teasing.”

  “But I didn’t realize I’d even done it. That’s so bizarre.”

  He wasn’t sure anyone had ever casually taken a bite off his plate before, but it didn’t bother him for some reason. It felt comfortable, as if it were something they’d done a dozen times. Seated at a table, teasing one another and scarfing samples off one another’s plate.

  He reached over and scooped some of the pasta with the olives and salami. “There. We’re even.”

  Mary Paige laughed and turned as the jazz quartet entered the courtyard, playing a Dixieland rag that made diners spontaneously tap their feet. He caught Jonathan Posey’s eye, a guy he’d gone to Newman with many moons ago, and gave him a wave. Jonathan hadn’t been in his crowd per se, but Brennan had always liked the kid who played trombone and drew funny caricatures of all their teachers.

  Brennan and Mary Paige leisurely finished their meal, interspersed with delicious mimosas, working up a nice buzz and enjoying the experience of dining with live music. He even managed to clap along once, which seemed to please the woman across from him. Her whole face was as readable as the eye-exam chart.... Well, for someone with twenty-twenty vision.

  By the time he’d paid the bill—over her protests, of course—he’d fallen half in love with Mary Paige…and didn’t really care that he headed in a direction he’d never wanted, needed or believed in.

  Maybe it was a Christmas miracle.

  * * *

  “DON’T TALK TO the guys who tell you they can guess where you bought your shoes. It’s a scam,” Brennan told Mary Paige as they walked past Jackson Brewery toward Woldenberg Park, which skirted the Mississippi River.

  “How is it a scam?” She was stuffed to the point of being uncomfortable. The food had been so delicious she’d kept eating…and eating. Good thing they were walking. Maybe she’d be able to work some of those calories off and manage to stay out of the Spanx.

  “Just trust me,” Brennan said, taking her hand and directing her toward the winding walk that paralleled the muddy churning waters of the Mississippi yards away. Big ships lined the banks.

  Mary Paige was fascinated with the cruise ships, craning her neck to look at them as she and Brennan passed. She’d always wanted to take a cruise, but growing up there’d never been money or time for a vacation.

  Of course, there was that check in her jewelry box. If she cashed it, there would be nothing stopping her from sailing whenever and wherever she wanted. So why didn’t she? She’d worked really hard through school and on her job—didn’t that entitle her to a little self-indulgence?

  Thoughts of the check and how that huge sum of money would change her life felt uncomfortable—worse than the Spanx—so she shied away from them.

  A young guy headed their way, his intent obvious—to work a tourist out of a few bucks. But Brennan’s stern frown had the youth swerving around them, searching behind them for some other sucker to hoodwink.

  “Well, you didn’t kick a homeless person, but you did shoot that kid with your eyes.”

  Brennan looked at her. “What?”

  “He didn’t try to guess our shoe size because you scared him.”

  “So you would have taken the bait? Parted with some money?”

  She shrugged. “What would it hurt?”

  “You really are the strangest woman I’ve ever met.”

  His words made her stiffen because she’d been called strange too many times to name, and that moniker had never sat well with her. “I’m not strange. Just different.”

  “Definitely different. But in a good way.”

  “My mother’s words,” she muttered.

  “Tell me about your family, about the place you grew up,” he said suddenly.

  They paused to look out over the river, spanned by the Crescent City Connection Bridge. A boat’s horn sounded and people passed them carrying shopping bags.

  “Nothing spectacular. My mother never married because she never wanted to. Her parents spent their entire lives chained to one another, hating one another until, in a drunken rage, my grandfather drove off a bridge and killed both himself and my grandmother. My mother, luckily, was home with a babysitter. Gave her a bad impression of love and marriage. And that didn’t get better being raised by a maiden aunt—we called her Granny Wyatt and she was lovely, but definitely not a fan of marriage.

  “When Mom turned seventeen, she abandoned the family farm to run off to California with a guy who played bass in a crappy band. Later she came back pregnant with me, and single-handedly started an organic farm ten years before people cared anything about eating naturally or before it was financially feasible. Mom got pregnant with my brother, Caleb, when I was seven, and I really don’t know how.”

  Brennan smirked.

  “Well, I know how. What I meant is I don’t know how she found the time and with whom. To this day she’s never admitted to who his father is. She’s extremely stubborn, proud and could care a flying fig whether anyone likes her. She’s who she is, and very proud that she didn’t need a man for all she accomplished. Except for the actual procreation, I guess.”

  “And you call that uninteresting?”

  “I didn’t say uninteresting. I said nothing spectacular.”

  “Right.” The bright sun had him pulling a pair of Ray-Ban Aviators from his pocket. When he put them on, she was immediately reminded of Tom Cruise in all those ’80s movies. In fact, there was something Tom Cruise-ish about Bre
nnan—dark hair, sexy grin and together look…not to mention he was a control freak. He’d probably look good skidding across the floor in his underwear, too.

  The sounds of traditional Christmas hymns grew louder as they approached a pavilion nestled in between the benches and sculptures of the park. As they rounded the corner, they saw a choir wearing robes and holding hymnals gathered beneath the shelter.

  “Oh, wow,” she said, moving in time to “The Little Drummer Boy.”

  “Oh, no,” Brennan breathed, but allowed her to tug him behind her. “Christmas music.”

  “Don’t even say it.”

  His mouth had started to form the B sound and he snapped it closed and smiled. “Okay. Best behavior today.”

  Mary Paige moved closer to the mixed crowd. Likely they were from a nearby church, bringing fellowship and fun to the December afternoon…an early Christmas present.

  Brennan tugged her hand and jerked his head toward an empty bench to their left, beneath a small nearly bare tree.

  She followed him to the bench, sitting then leaning back as he curled an arm around her shoulders. Something about the simplicity of the carol, the wind off the river blowing her bangs into her eyes and the warmth of a man holding her created such peace within her. It didn’t seem to matter right now how different she and Brennan were in their philosophies or that their future was unknown. It merely felt good to spend the afternoon with no agenda, no constraints and no expectations.

  Of course there was one niggle of an expectation inside her she didn’t want to give credence to—the expectation of a kiss, of passion, of seeing what color sheets Brennan had on his bed.

  “Why did you decide on accounting?” Brennan asked, rubbing her shoulder through the hand-knitted angora wool, unintentionally stirring moths around the flame of desire igniting in her belly. She tried to ignore the way the fluttering caused warmth to pool in her pelvis and instead concentrated on his question.

  “Numbers make sense. They’re concrete, finite and there’s always a solution. My life with my mother and my younger brother felt like walking in a minefield. Nothing in my house went smoothly despite my mother’s intentions. There were always broken dishwashers, burst pipes, new medications for Caleb and bills left unpaid. Drama, drama, drama. But with numbers, everything works, you know?”