One Kiss for Christmas (The Happy Holidays Series Book 4)

by Michele Brouder

  She didn’t hide her surprise. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Why does that surprise you?”

  She shrugged. “I just didn’t think a veteran of a tour of duty would be interested in ‘decorations.’” She added her own air quotes.

  He didn’t correct her and say that he had done a total of three tours of duty. The first back in ’91 and then two more in Iraq and Afghanistan after 9-11. Instead, he said, “Does decorating a canteen for Christmas in Afghanistan count?”

  She laughed, her smile reaching her eyes, and he relaxed.

  “It sure does,” she said. “I’ll take you on my team.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them. There were fine lines around her eyes and mouth, but to him, she was still beautiful. Her eyes were clear and bright. Before he could get too caught up in the old attraction to her again, he reminded himself that all that was over between them. That had been her decision. The final one.

  He said a quick goodnight and headed toward the parking lot.

  Jim knew he had no business getting involved with Donna again, no matter how attractive he found her. He’d had no luck with personal relationships; from Donna to his ex-wife, he had just been unlucky in love. It wasn’t him being down on himself, it was him just stating a fact.

  He reminded himself that Donna was his past and too much time had elapsed since then. What he’d wanted at eighteen or twenty wasn’t necessarily what he wanted now at fifty-three. Besides, her silence from all those years ago had told him everything he needed to know about what Donna wanted. Or didn’t want. Or more specifically, whom she didn’t want.

  Chapter 3

  December

  “Mom, are you okay?” Brent asked.

  Donna looked up quickly from her knitting at her only child. “I am. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re kind of quiet tonight,” he said. Brent had stopped by after work to bring up her boxes of decorations from the basement, as well as the seven-foot-tall artificial Christmas tree.

  She laughed. That was funny coming from him. There was no one quieter than her son. As a child he’d been painfully shy, and he’d grown into a reserved young man. Brent didn’t say too much, but he never wasted his words when he did speak.

  She smiled at him, reassuring him. “I’m fine. Just thinking about the run-up to the Snowball Festival and everything that needs to be done. The usual.”

  He nodded but his expression said he wasn’t totally convinced.

  Donna didn’t dare trouble him with her worries about Jim O’Hara. It wasn’t Brent’s job as her son to give her advice or provide a shoulder for her to cry on. But since the arrival of her former high-school sweetheart, she’d felt as if her world had turned upside down. More than once since October, she’d thought of selling her house and moving somewhere else in Orchard Falls. But why should she move? She’d been there first. She was just going to have to learn to live with it. Make peace with it. Now, if only she could stop staring out her kitchen window trying to get a glimpse of him going or coming into his home. She was a fifty-year-old woman acting like a sixteen-year-old girl.

  “Mom?” Brent said. Had he been speaking to her? She hadn’t noticed.

  “Hmmm, yes?” she asked, focusing all her attention on her son.

  With his height and blonde hair, he resembled her late husband. But he had green eyes like his mother.

  Brent nodded toward her needlework. “What are you knitting? I think we have enough afghans.”

  She peered over her cheaters. “Ha ha. One of the things we’re doing for this year’s festival is yarn bombing everything on Main Street.”

  “Won’t it get wet?” he asked with a frown. Brent was so practical and serious. Just like his father. She wished he’d enjoy his life more. All he did was work, work, work. Just like his father had done—and look what had happened to him.

  “Most likely,” she said, her needles slipping back into their familiar rhythm. “It will all be taken down after Christmas. But it’s something different to do.”

  He nodded but said nothing.

  “I’m going to ask the group if we can wash and donate the items after we take them down,” she said.

  Brent frowned. “But who could use it?”

  Donna’s needles halted and she appeared thoughtful. “Maybe you could use them at the clinic? For the cages?”

  “Maybe,” he said, mulling it over.

  Donna frowned and said to herself, “Let me think about this.” She resumed her knitting. She looked over at Brent and said, “There’s some candy cane ice cream in the freezer.”

  That got his interest. “Really? My favorite,” he said, stepping into the kitchen.

  Donna smiled to herself. She wasn’t much of a baker, but she always made sure she had plenty of candy cane ice cream on hand. She reminded herself to give Sally Pratt a call and put in her order for Christmas cookies.

  “Mom, do you want a bowl?” he called from the kitchen.

  “No thanks, Brent, I’ll have one later when I’m watching my show,” she said.

  He reappeared with a generous amount of ice cream in a cereal bowl. He plopped down on the sofa across from her. “What horror show are you watching now?” he asked.

  “Usual stuff,” she said with a laugh.

  “Honestly, Mom, I don’t know how you sleep at night,” he said, spooning ice cream into his mouth. “I take one look at your list on Netflix and I feel like I need to call an exorcist.”

  “Oh, Brent.” She laughed. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Yeah, Mom, it is,” he said.

  Changing the subject, she asked, “So, what are your plans for the weekend?”

  He shrugged, nonchalant. “The usual. Saturday’s a half day at the clinic and I’ll probably go to the gym after that. And on Sunday.”

  Donna worried about her son. Ever since Gloria had dumped him three years back, he seemed to have put his life on hold. When he’d opened his veterinary clinic in town last year, he’d thrown himself into his work. He’d purchased a small starter house and it only had furniture in three rooms. It looked as empty as his life. When she’d commented on the sparsity of it, he’d looked at her, shrugged and asked, “What else do I need?”

  Her wish for him was to find someone who was worthy of him. Someone to appreciate his quiet solidness and accept him as he was. He was never going to be the life of the party, but he had many admirable qualities that made her proud. He had so much to offer the right girl. Donna would love to see him settled down with a family of his own.

  “So I guess we’ll have Christmas dinner here, as usual?” Donna said.

  “Just the two of us?” Brent asked.

  Donna thought for a moment. “Does that bother you?”

  He shook his head and smiled.

  “I could invite some people if you’d like,” she suggested. At the same time, she racked her brain as to who they could ask over.

  Brent chuckled. “Mom, it’s fine. It’s been the two of us for a long time now.”

  “It has,” she agreed. Once she’d got over the initial shock of widowhood, she’d thrown herself into motherhood, her career, and carving out a life for herself as a single woman. She’d worked hard to raise her son.

  Brent went and got himself a second bowl of ice cream. They sat in companionable silence for the rest of the evening until he left. She waved from the driveway as he pulled out. They saw each other a couple times a week and they texted almost every day.

  As she headed back into her house, Jim called over from his driveway.

  “Donna!” he called out. He parked his wheelie bins, which he’d been taking out to the curb, and trotted over to her, his boots crunching in the snow.

  “Hi, Jim,” she said.

  “When will there be a meeting for the decorations committee?” he asked.

  “It’s tomorrow night here at my house at seven,” she replied.

  “When were you going to tell me? Friday morning?” he asked goo
d-naturedly.

  “I don’t have your number to include you in a group text,” she said.

  He whipped out his cell phone, pulled off his glove and began swiping. “Give me your number,” he said.

  She swallowed hard, thinking back to that day in her sophomore year before school let out for summer vacation, when he’d approached her at her locker and said, “Can I call you over the break? Will you give me your number?” She’d been shocked, but secretly pleased.

  Coming back from her reverie, she rattled off her number.

  When he was finished saving it, he said, “I’ve sent you mine.” And within a second, her phone beeped with an incoming notification.

  She nodded. “Okay, thanks.” The night air was brisk and Donna could feel her nose threatening to run. She had stepped outside without her jacket.

  “Now for tomorrow night, do I need to bring anything?” he asked.

  “Just yourself. We do have something to eat so if you wanted to bring a snack or a dessert to pass around, that would be appreciated,” she said.

  “Will do,” he said, and turned to go. Over his shoulder, he called, “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Donna.”

  She watched him as he finished wheeling his bins to the end of his driveway, whistling.

  She didn’t know what to make of his presence in her life again after all this time. Maybe it didn’t have to mean anything, she told herself. And really, after all that had happened, it couldn’t mean anything. It wouldn’t mean anything, she decided. But then why did she feel as if her life was already altering and she had no control over it?

  Donna did some last-minute cleaning after work before the arrival of the decorations committee. She turned on the potpourri warmer with a bayberry melt. This wasn’t the first time she’d had a meeting at her house. But it would be the first time Jim would get a glimpse of how her life had evolved since they broke up. She looked around the place, wondering how it would look through his eyes.

  She did not adhere to any one type of decorating. Her style was a mishmash of her life. Every piece had a story. The 1950s Formica kitchen set with the turquoise vinyl chairs that had belonged to her grandparents. The cuckoo clock on the living-room wall from her husband’s parents—they’d been lovely people—after their trip to Switzerland. The blonde Scandinavian dining-room set she’d picked up at an estate sale. The record player in the corner and the case of LPs she’d collected down through the years before vinyl was retro or cool. On her walls was a mix of contemporary and traditional art. A still-life of fruit over the dining-room cabinet. An abstract work of art in the living room. Whatever caught her fancy or had meaning in her life, she’d bought, never giving a second thought to whether it would match or go with what she already had.

  It made her think that she was satisfied with her life. She’d learned after Brad’s unexpected death not to take anything for granted. Not to put off to tomorrow what could be done today. And at fifty years of age, she had a happy life: Brent, a nice family, lovely friends, and she was involved in her community. She’d gone on some amazing trips. Yes, she was content. And she had no intention of disrupting that feeling.

  Donna was putting fresh towels and a new bottle of liquid hand soap in the downstairs bathroom when her doorbell rang.

  Jim stood in her driveway, holding a platter in his hands.

  She turned on the outside light.

  “Come on in, Jim,” she said. Her stomach felt oddly queasy at the thought of him in her house. Her youthful past encroached on her settled adulthood.

  He stepped into her kitchen and set down the platter on her table. A broad grin broke out on his face. “Is this the same table that was in your grandmother’s kitchen?”

  She nodded and took the platter, which was full of cheese, pepperoni, and olives, and placed it on a shelf in her fridge. It was a little weird that a kitchen table could connect them to the past and to people who were no longer alive.

  “It is,” she said.

  He nodded. “Your grandmother made the best blueberry pie.”

  “Yes, she did,” Donna agreed.

  “She didn’t leave you the recipe by any chance, did she?” he asked.

  Donna nodded. “She did, actually.” He seemed to be waiting. Donna hoped he wasn’t expecting her to make him one like she used to do when she was a lovestruck teenager. That was never going to happen.

  Jim raised one eyebrow, and one corner of his mouth lifted slightly. A silence fell that felt heavy around them. Donna turned her attention to the coffee pot and filled the reservoir with water.

  “Have they been gone long?” he asked, hands in his pockets, looking in her direction.

  She stopped and turned to look at him. “Gosh, yes. Right after I had Brent. Gramps had a major stroke and Gram insisted on taking care of him, No one could talk her out of it—”

  He laughed, bent his head and shook it. “You were so much like her.”

  She tilted her head and asked with a tight smile, “Are you saying I was stubborn?”

  He lifted his head and his bright blue eyes twinkled. “Not at all. Determined is a better word.”

  “Oh, right,” she said softly, pulling a coffee filter from the box. “Anyway, Gram took care of Gramps and unbeknownst to anyone at the time, she had a lump growing in her breast and did nothing about it. Six months after he came home, he had another massive stroke and died in his bed. Gram followed three weeks later. It was awful.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded. Despite their deaths, the memories of her grandparents made her happy. She couldn’t wait to be a grandmother. A great example had been given to her. Now, if only Brent could find a nice girl to settle down with and have some children.

  As she scooped coffee into the filter, she asked, “What about your parents?” After Jim had left, his parents had followed him as he was their only child. And after that, Donna had lost touch with them.

  He nodded and said solemnly, “They’re gone. Mom passed about twenty years ago and Dad just went five years ago. Your parents?”

  “Gone as well,” she said. She sighed. “Hard to believe they’re no longer around to act as a buffer between us and mortality.”

  Jim snorted. “Tell me about it. We’re the buffer now. And it’s as unexciting as it gets.”

  Not wanting to delve into a deep subject, Donna changed the subject. “Are you already bored with retirement?” The Jim she’d known in high school had had a short attention span. He always had to be doing something.

  Before he could answer, the doorbell chimed.

  “Excuse me,” she said, relieved at the arrival of a third party. She could see the top of Sarge’s permed head and Ralph’s square glasses through the side-door window. She ran down the steps to let them in.

  As they followed her into the kitchen, Sarge grumbled about Donna’s icy driveway but pulled up short when she spotted Jim standing there in the kitchen.

  “Well, Jim, this is a surprise,” Sarge said, unsmiling.

  “I bet it is,” Jim said with a good-natured laugh.

  Before Sarge could reply with a sharp retort, Donna asked for help transferring snacks to the dining room.

  Under Donna’s direction, they carried dishes to the sideboard in the dining room. Sarge took a look at the snacks laid out and sniffed, “Same old, same old.” She must have just done her home perm, because there was a strong smell of ammonia around her and her gray curls were tighter than usual. Ralph said quick hellos to everyone and was first in line to get a plate and start piling it up with food.

  “Do you always have to be first, Ralph?” Sarge said. “Can you at least wait until everyone gets here?”

  Ralph looked sheepish and said, “Sorry, Donna, I worked late tonight and I haven’t had any dinner.”

  “Will I make you a sandwich, Ralph?” Donna asked.

  Ralph opened his mouth to answer Donna when Sarge boomed, “No!”

  He lowered his head and said, “Maybe not, then.”

/>   Donna glanced at Sarge and then thought better of contradicting her. As she walked past Ralph, she whispered, “Just fill up your plate with snacks, Ralph.”

  “Will do, Donna,” he said and gave her a quick salute and a smile.

  They had just sat down and Donna was beginning to take notes on a legal pad when she heard the side door open and Christine appeared. They’d been friends long enough that they just walked into each other’s houses without knocking. Donna felt everyone should have a friend like that.

  Christine was coming from her work as a real-estate agent. She pulled off her coat and laid it on the arm of the sofa. She wore business casual. She held up a platter.

  “I’ve brought seaweed pesto and crackers,” she said. “Where will I put them?”

  Donna nodded toward the sideboard.

  “Seaweed?” Sarge grimaced. “Are you for real, Christine? Who would want to eat anything that people have been wading through with their dirty feet? And you want me to just toss it on a cracker? I don’t think so.”

  “Hey, Sarge, you don’t have to eat it,” Christine said loudly, and she set the platter down with a thud in the middle of the table. “More for the rest of us.” There had been antagonism between the two since 1987 when Christine had been hired as a cashier at the grocery store and Sarge had been the one to train her. There were rumors about a tussle between the two of them in aisle four next to the flour and cake mixes but to this day, Christine would neither confirm nor deny. And no one dared asked Sarge.

  “I’ll give it a try,” Jim said with a little too much enthusiasm. He was rewarded for his efforts with a scowl from Sarge.

  “I’ll try some, too,” Ralph said. But Sarge gave him a little kick beneath the table and Ralph emitted a soft “oomph.” He added quickly, “On second thought, I’ll pass, Christine.”

  Frustrated, Donna said, “Does everyone have something to eat? Can we get started?”

  Hurriedly, the group filled their plates with snacks and their glasses with beverages.