His Mistletoe Miracle

by Jenny B. Jones

  Cordelia padded down the hall, her pajama pants swishing with each step. She returned to the living room only to find her best friend still standing at the front door. “Ananya, who is it?”

  “Dreams do come true.” Her wide-eyed friend swiveled toward Cordelia. “It’s the rude, arrogant jerk.”

  Chapter 5

  “Hi.” Anaya’s single word came out in a wheezy breath.

  Will extended a hand. “I’m Will Sinclair.”

  "You sure are. I'm Anah-nah. I mean Namaya. I mean An-ya-ya.” She shook her head, her dreadlocks like chimes around her face. “ I don't really know who I am right now."

  Cordelia needed to intervene before someone started drooling. “This is my friend Ananya." She was probably stupefied by the man's arrogance.

  “It's nice to meet you.” Will looked past her runway-gorgeous friend. “Cordelia, can I come in and talk to you?

  “Yes,” Ananya said. “Yes, you can.”

  Cordelia held up a halting hand. “Not so fast. How did you find out where I live?”

  "I was an investigative reporter,” he said.

  “Was?” Cordelia asked.

  He didn’t acknowledge her question. “I once found the FBI's third most wanted in a remote cave in Burma. Locating you was easy."

  “He was looking for you," Ananya said dreamily. The cell phone in her pocket rang, and she took her eyes off Will only long enough to read the display. "Shoot. Duty calls. I need to go check on a family.” She turned her love-drunk attention back to their guest. “I'm a social worker. I help children. I save lives and mend families. You know, in case that's something you're into. I could give you my number."

  “Goodbye, Ananya.” Cordelia gently pushed her out the door. “We’ll talk about the Masons later.”

  At that reminder, her friend sobered. “Don’t take on too much, Cordelia. Steve and the kids will be fine. The important thing is they have each other.”

  “Come on in.” Cordelia stepped back and let Will inside, though she had no idea why he’d be at her house. “Did some of my workers leave their tools? Do you need help with the timer for the lights?”

  “No. I think I can manage it.” He stepped into her living room, his six-foot-something stature filling the narrow space.

  Her house was small, but she’d decorated it with a mix of refurbished flea market and garage sale finds and the occasional new piece. Cordelia’s latest furniture acquisition had been a crib.

  Will made a study of her space, probably taking in her own ode to Christmas with the vintage aluminum tree, the white lights on the mantel, and the peppermint scent lightly emanating from a diffuser. He stooped over a side table to inspect a German nativity set she’d inherited from her great-grandmother.

  “Is the baby asleep?” Will asked, breaking the stilted silence.

  “Yes.” For now. Until he woke up in a few hours to exercise his vocal chords and slam back another bottle.

  “Noah tells me you’re a single mom.”

  “Foster mom,” she corrected, wondering where this was going. “Can I get you something to drink? A snack? A few minutes to work out whatever it is you’re here to say?”

  Will laughed quietly at that. “Noah also said you were quite the pistol.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Cordelia took a seat on the couch, very aware of her baggy pajama pants, pointy elf house shoes, and sugar plum fairy sweatshirt.

  Will stood by the fireplace, warming his hands near the flame, but his attention remained fixed on her. “I have a proposition for you.”

  Oh, geez. “Is this one of those weird celebrity things? Whatever it is you’re about to suggest, I’m probably not into it.” Her eyes sparked with an idea. “Unless it’s a drive through town to see all the lights or It’s a Wonderful Life marathon?” From his sour face, she guessed Will Sinclair was not a kindred soul in her love of Christmas. “No?”

  He settled on the brick hearth. “Not really my thing. In fact, this whole season is not my thing, and I’d like a little help with it.”

  Cordelia sprang to attention, hearing destiny’s call for her display talents. “Tell me what you had in mind. Some automated light drips dangling from your trees? Perhaps carols piping from an outdoor speaker system? No, I know! What about—”

  “I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”

  Her lips closed on her suggestion of a flocked front door. “What’s that again? It almost sounded like you said—”

  “I know it’s weird, but I’d like you to pose as someone I’m dating.”

  Life was strange, wasn’t it? Two years ago nobody could’ve told her she’d be decorating for others, raising other people’s children, and getting a fake proposition from a man she’d regularly watched on television. “That’s gonna be a definite no from me.”

  “Hear me out.”

  “Oh, yeah, because surely there’s a logical explanation why a well-known, ridiculously handsome, stupidly rich man needs to ask humble Cordelia Daring to be his arm candy.” She stood, fueled by bewilderment and indignity. “The bumper of my Ford’s held on by camouflage duct tape and I have no idea what fork to use at fancy dinners.”

  Will’s full lips split into a grin. “You think I’m ridiculously handsome?”

  “Can you focus here? I’m not your type. I’m the two-for-a-dollar taco type at the drive-thru.” And on Tuesday nights, you bet that included free chips and salsa.

  He leaned his elbows onto his knees, leveling her with that let’s talk serious issues look she’d seen on his show. He was apparently too studly and divine for a coat and wore the sleeves of his Oxford shirt rolled to his forearms, like a weatherman forecasting impending doom. Except these forearms bore the webbed scars of a fire that had nearly taken his life. “Here’s the deal, Miss Daring. I came to Sugar Creek to get some work done, away from the public eye and far from my family and friends. I have a book to finish, and I can’t do that with my family buzzing around me like angry bees. You would be my excuse to get out of some holiday events.”

  “That’s not all there is to this.” She wagged a finger in his direction. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his stubbled face. “Since my . . . rescue, I haven’t seen a lot of my family.”

  “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does if we’re joined at the heart.”

  Will looked like he was ready to take on their first fight. “Because they hover.”

  Cordelia thought of her mother, who appreciated her daughter more from a distance. “How could they be so cruel?”

  “I hear that sass, but I need some space right now. I’m bombarded with calls, texts, visits. I came here to find some solitude, and they think I’m two cups of eggnog away from climbing the water tower and leaping off.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  “That didn’t sound completely convincing.” She was pretty sure she saw an eye roll. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend so they’ll think you have a life.” A flit of a shadow traveled across his face, and she knew she’d hit her mark. “They think you’re miserable, don’t they?”

  “It’s simply a misunderstanding,” Will said. “I need you to hang out with me at a few family gatherings so my family can go back to Charleston and know I’m fine. And so the ladies of Sugar Creek will let me walk to the coffee shop without bringing me baked goods or a blatant advance.”

  She clucked her tongue sympathetically. “You poor, abused man. The burden of being pretty and in demand. How will you carry on?”

  Will was not amused. “I’ll make this worth your while.”

  “Oh, let me guess. I get the honor and prestige of dangling from your famous arm?”

  “No.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and produced a check. “For you.”

  Things suddenly weren’t so entertaining anymore. “What is this?” Numbers were a strength, but Cordelia had to read the check amount three
times. It was enough to pay off her last car repair bill and buy the Mason family a modest Christmas.

  “That’s the first half of your payment. I’ll hand the second installment to you when my family packs up their caravan of crazy and heads out of town.”

  She swallowed hard, mentally depositing the money. “And when is that, did you say?”

  “Christmas day.”

  Only twelve days, the check in her hand seemed to say. She could handle that.

  No, she couldn’t. This was insanity. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Your family’s never going to believe it.”

  “Funny story there,” he said without humor. “They already do.” He filled Cordelia in on Noah’s fabrication.

  “They can’t seriously believe I'm your girlfriend?

  “After you left, Noah took it three steps further. Thanks to him, my family now thinks you'll get an engagement ring in your stocking and my last name for New Year's.

  She couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity. "Why didn't you just correct him?

  "I thought I could convince my folks to be on the next flight out, which was part of Noah's endgame. But those people aren’t going anywhere. And my siblings are on the way in a few days.”

  “A big family gathering sounds nice.” Why couldn’t the man just appreciate he had a tribe of people who loved him?

  “Cordelia, it’s just for a few weeks. All you have to do is attend a handful of the planned events, concluding with a Christmas Eve dinner. You can invite your family, as well.”

  “No.” She gripped the check. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “We’ll keep it strictly platonic. You have nothing to fear from me. I’m not going to make any advances toward you.”

  “You're right you're not.”

  “But we do have to make it look realistic. That’s part of the deal.”

  “And what does that entail?” Was she nuts for even asking?

  Will reached for a handful of red and green M&Ms in a nearby bowl and popped one in his mouth. “For starters, it’d be swell if you wouldn’t look at me like you wanted to claw my face off.”

  “That sounds a bit extreme.” She’d merely wanted to bash him over the head with a box of tinsel.

  “For this to be believable we probably do need to have a Level One amount of physical contact."

  “What’s Level One?

  His grin had probably set female viewers’ hearts aflutter. “A little handholding, an arm around your shoulders. Rated G moves like that.”

  "I won't have to kiss you?”

  “My dear Miss Daring, I’ve never had to pay anybody to kiss me.” He rattled the candy in his hand like dice. “Though don't be surprised if you find yourself wanting to. Perfectly normal I hear.”

  Cordelia clamped her mouth shut before she said something she’d regret.

  She thought of the money and all it would allow her to do. She could stock Steve Mason’s refrigerator and pantry, buy the children presents, and think about a bigger, more reliable car for herself that would accommodate her new role as foster mother.

  What was the worst that could happen?

  “I accept your offer, Mr. Sinclair.” The words surprised even her ears. “But the deal ends December twenty-fifth. I intend to use that money to help out Isaiah’s siblings, so I’d advise you not to stiff me. Don’t think I don't have enough hillbilly connections in these Ozark woods to seek out a little vigilante justice and make you go missing one more time.”

  “I’m a man of my word,” he said. “Should we seal the agreement with a kiss?”

  “I was thinking more a high five.”

  “A little unimaginative, but I can work with it.” Will slapped her raised hand. “Your first assignment is to decorate the inside of my rent house. My parents informed me they’re coming over for dinner before a mandatory trek to the lighting of the Christmas tree on the square this Friday.”

  Ideas and designs swooped into place in Cordelia’s head. “I know just where to start. We’ll need to go buy you some decorations.”

  Will’s sigh could’ve blown snow off the rooftops. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six.”

  She walked him to the door. “I’ll be here with bells on.”

  He stepped onto her porch and gave her sugarplum fairy shirt one last grimace. “I hope you don’t mean that literally.”

  Chapter 6

  Will picked Cordelia up at six on the dot.

  She appreciated his punctuality, but would’ve preferred a little more time to change Isaiah’s diaper and finish the rest of her panic attack.

  What was she doing? How could she possibly convince anyone she was the girlfriend of this news celebrity? Cordelia was certainly no actress. In tenth grade, she’d auditioned for the lead in Sound of Music and gotten the role of Mute Nun Number Three.

  Mute Nun Number One probably could’ve handled this, but not Cordelia.

  “I think a tree is taking this too far.”

  These words greeted her as she answered the ring of her doorbell. He stood on her front porch, a stocking cap on his head that should’ve looked silly, but instead made him look like a calendar pinup for Mr. December. He wore a gray ski jacket that hinted at travel experience and a name brand that Cordelia would never be able to afford.

  “If you want the interior of your house to look festive, you have to get a Christmas tree.” Cordelia handed Will her diaper backpack, held a bundled Isaiah in her arms, and locked up her home. “

  “Trees are a stupid tradition.”

  “Maybe your Congressman brother can change that. Eliminate all Christmas tree frivolity. I’m sure it would make a solid platform for his reelection. But until you get the whole holiday banned, you’re going to love the Wonderland Tree Farm.”

  “I doubt it.”

  The baby fussed in her arms. “Isaiah’s offended by your seasonal cynicism.”

  “I’m pretty sure he was agreeing with me.”

  She held Isaiah close as they walked to Will’s car, adjusting the thick blanket around the baby’s head. “Pay no attention to anything you see or hear tonight,” she whispered in Isaiah’s little ear. “I promise it’s for the greater good.” Reaching into her coat pocket, she dug for her car keys and clicked twice.

  “Are you already bailing on me?” Will stopped in the driveway.

  “I need to get the car seat. It’s kind of the legal thing to do.”

  “No need.” Will’s shaggy hair had been trimmed within reason at some point today, and he ran his fingers through his near-perfect tousled waves. “I bought one for Isaiah today.”

  She blinked, wondering if her snowflake earmuffs had garbled Will’s words. “Did you say you bought a car seat?”

  He held open the passenger car door. “That’s what a man in a committed relationship does.”

  Oh, heavens.

  He certainly knew how to impress.

  “But maybe you could show me how to use the thing,” Will said.

  Still a little off balance, Cordelia could only nod.

  While Cordelia secured the baby in the back, explaining as she went, Will stood close, leaning inside the car to see. They were inches apart, and so near she inhaled his cologne. Cordelia hadn’t dated in a few years, so Will smelled like temptation and a big red danger sign. His proximity should’ve been uncomfortable—he was a stranger. Yet, it wasn’t. She felt the wild impulse to lean against him, press her head to his chest and say, “Don’t mind me, but I’m going to close my eyes for five minutes and imagine this is all real and everything in my life’s going to be okay.”

  But she couldn’t.

  Because only crazy people did that.

  “And that’s how you buckle a baby in a car seat.” Cordelia jumped back a little too suddenly, bumping into Will, who smacked his head against the door. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She awkwardly patted his hair. Which felt very nice. Soft. How did he achieve that with no product? Why was he such a genetic wonder? “Very sorry.”

&n
bsp; He walked around to the driver’s side. “You’re not nervous are you, Cordelia?”

  “Nope.” She dove into the passenger seat, clutching the diaper backpack. “Not nervous at all. Let’s go.”

  Will started the car, but made no move to throw it in drive.

  She worked up a reassuring smile. “Here we go.” She gestured to the road. “Look out, Sugar Creek. Fake Couple on the move.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yep. Totally. Zen as a yogi master.”

  “Great. Then go ahead and shut your car door.” He turned the heat to max. “It might get a little drafty if you don’t.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake.

  Will made the rest of the drive surprisingly enjoyable. He was a big music fan with a wide range of genre preferences. They both liked 80s television reruns and classic spy movies. She argued Pierce Brosnan was an undervalued James Bond, while Will’s devout loyalty to Connery couldn’t be shaken or stirred. They stood on opposite ends politically, but had a lively debate on an issue Congress had newly addressed. Will admitted to being a voracious reader of nonfiction and historical tomes, while Cordelia invited him to her romance novel book club and preferred fluff over depressing, intellectual drags.

  “Speaking of books,” she said as he drove past a red and white blinking sign that declared they were near their destination. “How’s your memoir coming along?”

  His car hit a craterous pothole, nearly shooting her airborne. “It’s fine.”

  “You’re an award-winning journalist and fine is the word you’re going with?”