“Are you taking the job?”
She turned her head, her eyes lingering on Isaiah. “I don’t know.”
“How long do you have to decide?”
“One week.”
“I think you should turn him down.”
“You’re not making my house payment.”
Fair enough. “Don’t sell yourself short, Cordelia.”
“I don’t think the title of vice-president is anything too shabby.”
“No, it’s a huge accomplishment.” Will stood and extended a hand to help Cordelia to her feet. “But the best job can be the worst—if it’s not what you’re put here to do.”
“Remind me.” She patted his chest. “How’s that book of yours coming along?”
He tamped down the anger that wanted to push like a geyser to the surface. “It’s fine”
“Is it?” She angled her head, her hair swaying with sass. “What chapter did you say you’re on?”
He felt like he’d been caught cheating by his teacher. “I don’t know. Maybe chapter eight.”
“Weren’t you on chapter seven last week?”
“Writing a book isn’t as easy as you might think.”
“Neither is walking away from a solid paycheck.” Her smile was a swift dart of comeuppance. “I’m so grateful my fake boyfriend understands.”
Chapter 18
On December twenty-fourth, snowflakes fluttered in the air like kisses from the clouds.
To Cordelia, it was the perfect accent to Christmas, and if she’d staged the day, she would’ve ordered the snow herself. While Isaiah bounced and played in his Jumparoo beside her, Cordelia peeled the backing from her laser-cut letters and carefully stuck them in the display window of Frannie’s Cupcakes, her friend’s store set to open next month.
“What are you still doing here?” Frannie Nelson paused as she carried a stack of boxes to a shelf. “We agreed you’d work a couple of hours then get on home. Besides the bad weather coming, it’s Christmas Eve. Don’t you have a date with that handsome Will Sinclair?”
“I do.” Cordelia held a level over the letters, double checking their alignment. “But that’s later.” Why rush the day? The sooner she went to the Sinclair Christmas Eve dinner, the sooner it was all over.
Cordelia had tried not to think about it all week, but time had a funny way of moving on whether you wanted to or not. By the end of this evening, her deal with Will would expire, and their fake romance would be the stuff of diary pages and faded recollections. She told herself it was for the best, but nothing that beneficial should hurt this badly.
“The shop’s going to look dy-no-mite,” Frannie said. “When people walk by the windows, they’ll have to stop in.” She’d sold her cupcakes from a food trailer and turned into an overnight sensation. Now she was ready to go pro.
Cordelia watched Isaiah spit out his pacifier as he smacked a rattle with his hand. “I can’t wait to get started.”
“Well, waiting’s exactly what you’re gonna do.” Frannie’s head zig-zagged with attitude. “I don’t want to see you back in here until well after the holiday.”
Cordelia’s design involved a display of papier-mâché cupcakes in colors of turquoise, black, and white. The confections would stack to form the Eiffel Tower with cupcake flowers blooming along the border and gossamer sprinkles raining over the scene. She’d recruited some students from the local university’s art department, and their sample work had been exquisite.
“One of my customers said you got a big promotion last weekend at Fillmore and Associates,” Frannie said.
The town probably knew Cordelia’s bra size and what she’d had for breakfast. Sugar Creek allowed no secrets, and some days it grated to no end. “Yes, it’s an exciting prospect.”
Frannie chuckled and ran her fingers over her updo wig. “You said that as if referring to a walk before the firing squad. Girl, I know it’s scary to go out on your own and take the road less traveled. But you’re good at what you do, and you shouldn’t waste that gift on a desk job.”
Cordelia picked a burp cloth from the floor and slid it into her diaper bag. “But your cupcake business is your second career. If you go under, it’s not like you’re going to lose your retirement or social security. It’s not quite the same.”
“I’m not talking about cupcakes,” Frannie said. “When I joined the CIA there were few women in the bureau. Sylvie and I were on a secret elite team, and we didn’t know from one day to the next if we’d survive. You know what my friends were doing? Getting married and having babies, that’s what. And sometimes I thought I should quit because of what was expected of me. But I understood I had a gift and a calling. God gave me eyes in the back of my head, a brain that works overtime, and a nose for intrigue. So I stuck it out and stayed in the CIA. It wasn’t easy and I sacrificed a lot, but there’s nothing like operating in the flow of the divine—that high of doing what you love. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
She did. “I’m so afraid to fail, Frannie.” Cordelia thought of her mother. “I don’t want to hear ‘I told you so.’”
Frannie picked up the baby and kissed his chubby cheek. “Failure is what keeps us alive. It’s what tells the world we’re still trying. Cordelia, it looks to me like the good Lord has passed you the basketball for one glorious assist. You’re under the rim with a clear shot. Now, I suggest you take it. Regret is a bitter pill that never goes down.” She wiped the drool from her shirt. “Looks like you got company.”
Cordelia turned around to see Ananya waving from the sidewalk outside.
“I’ll just take this sweet baby in the kitchen and introduce him to some pots and pans,” Frannie said.
The bell on the door jingled as Ananya stepped inside.
One look at her face, and Cordelia’s stomach folded. “What’s wrong?”
Ananya unwrapped the scarf from her neck, her mouth set in a grim line. “Isaiah’s mom dropped out of the prison rehab program yesterday.”
“So she’ll either change her mind tomorrow or get another chance.” Cordelia had learned there were lots of do-overs when it came to bio parents on a plan to regain custody of their children.
“If she doesn’t do rehab, the minimum sentence for her drug charges is ten years,” Ananya said. “She’s made up her mind, and this isn’t something a local judge can fix.”
“So the kids are in foster care indefinitely?”
Ananya took a loud breath then shook her head. “Isaiah’s mother has terminated her rights.”
Cordelia heard a baby’s squeal from the back, and it echoed in her ears. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Sabra Mason has surrendered her children to the state.”
She needed to sit down. Cordelia reached a hand for the wall and eased to the floor, her legs forming a pretzel, just like her thoughts. “What’s going to happen?”
“Steve Mason will become a father of four.”
“And Isaiah?”
Her friend squatted beside her. “I know you’re a foster-only home, but I want you to give this some thought. Take a few days. A week. I can’t give you much more than that, but I want you to consider adopting Isaiah.”
“I’m not ready,” Cordelia said. “I’m not married. I don’t make six figures. I can’t even remember to floss on a daily basis. Isaiah needs more than that.”
“Here we are!” Frannie reappeared, holding a grinning Isaiah. “He fell in love with my rubber spatula, so Auntie Frannie gave him two.”
Cordelia took the outstretched baby into her arms, and he tucked his head beneath her chin.
“You’re wrong, Cordelia.” Ananya looked at the two and gave a watery smile. “From what I see, Isaiah has everything he needs.”
Chapter 19
Cordelia sat in her car in the Sullivan’s driveway and contemplated not going inside.
If she didn’t go in, then could Christmas Eve actually happen? What if she didn’t want the bargain with Will to be over? She didn’t need t
he rest of the money. Sure, her car had died twice on the way there, but maybe she just needed to buy a bicycle and give up her dream of reliable transportation. The money Will had already given her had purchased a king’s ransom in presents and necessities for Steve Mason and the kids. Wasn’t that enough?
Will could keep the other half of her payment, and she’d leave here and go on her not-so-merry way.
Knock. Knock.
She startled at the face peering in her window.
“Cordelia?” Chunky snowflakes dove and danced around Will’s shoulders. “Are you going to come in now or would you like more time for one of your neurotic meltdowns?”
If Will ended things with her tonight, her heart would leave a trail of shattered pieces all the way home. She’d just gotten news that her foster baby needed a forever mother. And she had two jobs, but like some tragically boring twist on The Bachelor, could only choose one. But yeah, this was just another neurotic meltdown. Don’t mind me!
Will opened the car door and blocked the wind from whooshing inside. “Hey.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek, where she knew there were remnants of mascara she’d cried off at some point on the way over. “Those people inside that house adore you. There’s nothing to get stressed about.”
Did Will adore her? “I’ve had a really bad day.”
He glanced down and took in her red sweater. “Does that Christmas tree light up?”
Normally this outfit was her holiday piece de resistance. “The star on top flashes in ten different colors and the tinsel glows in the dark.”
“I like how the tree skirt is a real. . .skirt.”
She knew it was awful. That’s what made it so wonderful. “What are we doing, Will?”
“Contemplating how many batteries you go through a week.”
Cordelia was just going to come out and say it. “I mean us.”
He reached for her hand and helped her out of the car. “First, we’re going to have dinner. Then we’re headed to the church for a candlelight service. Then we’re gonna talk.”
“Let’s talk now.” Because if he was breaking up with her, she wanted to leave her pie in the car so she’d have something to binge eat later.
Will kissed her, a feather-light touch of his lips. “I’m gonna need more time than we’ve got.”
“Will, I—”
Isaiah chose that moment to hit a perfect high C, screaming the song of a hungry boy.
“How about we take Isaiah inside and get you both fed.” Will reached for her hand and pressed his lips to her cheek. “But later—we will have that talk.”
* * *
One hour into the evening, and Cordelia was coming apart like a rose bush in a hurricane.
The family gathered at a large harvest table in a dining room big enough to swallow her entire home. They passed the desserts around, laughing over memories of holidays gone by. Donna Sinclair held Isaiah and didn’t even flinch when he grabbed her hair. She just kissed his curly head, gave him a bite of his pureed squash, and sang softly near his ear. Like the grandmother that he deserved.
To add to her emotional claustrophobia, Will had sat so close to Cordelia in dinner, she elbowed him in the ribs every time she took a bite. He’d draped his arm over the back of her chair, and twice during the meal he leaned over and kissed her. Either the green bean casserole really revved him up or he truly did hold her in some affection.
But it was all too much. Cordelia had barely been able to choke down the turkey, and the potatoes had tasted like Elmer’s glue on her tongue.
“Excuse me. I’m going to get a refill.” She tossed her napkin to the table, grabbed her water glass, and escaped to the kitchen. Needing to keep her hands busy lest they perform “I love you” in sign language, Cordelia ran some water in the sink and squeezed a figure-eight of dish soap into the depths.
“I’m stuffed. I won’t want to eat for a week.” Lucy Sinclair walked in with an empty plate in one hand while her pregnant belly protruded beneath her other. “Or at least for another hour. I’m going to need the recipe for your coconut cream pie.”
“It was my grandmother’s,” Cordelia said, scrubbing at a bowl with a rag and wishing she could be alone.
If Lucy thought it strange their guest was doing dishes, she didn’t say a word. But she did grab a tea towel, roll up her sleeves, and offer to help. “I can dry.” She took the bowl from Cordelia and buffed all the water away. “You know, I’ve only known Will since his return, but I’ve never seen him smile as much as he has tonight.”
Glad someone was happy. Cordelia could barely function.
“You two look good together,” Lucy said. “Did you say you’ve only known one another a few months?”
“Uh-huh.” She scraped at a platter, desperate to prevail over its dried-on grease.
Lucy dried a glass with a sweep of the towel. “Things appear to be moving fast.”
“Maybe it’s just the romance of the holidays,” Cordelia said.
“Is it?” Lucy smiled. “You seem to care for my brother-in-law.”
“Of course I do. What’s not to love? I mean like. Like is what I mean. What’s not to like?” She should’ve eaten some dessert.
“How was it you met again?”
Cordelia reviewed the script tattooed in her head. “A party at Noah and Emma Kincaid’s.”
“Ah.”
What did that mean?
Lucy folded the tea towel in half and leaned her hip against the counter. “Noah’s wife Emma happens to be a good friend of mine.”
A plate slipped from Cordelia’s hands and splashed into the sudsy water.
“She speaks highly of you,” Lucy said. “Strangely enough, she didn’t recall a dinner party that Will had ever attended. Or you.”
“She . . .she must be mistaken. Will and I were at her house. Eating dinner. And in a party-like fashion. There were people there. Lots of them. I tend to fade in crowds, and she probably didn’t see me. I have social camouflage.” She laughed a little too loudly. “I can usually be found talking to the host’s dogs and standing near the house plants.” Was it hot in here or just too much lying? “But that’s where we met.”
Lucy smiled, but her eyes sparked with something more than humor. “Emma can be a little scatterbrained. I’m sure she just forgot.”
“Right. It happens. I should probably go back in the dining room. Rejoin the fun.”
“My own meet-cute was a little more dramatic,” Lucy said as she reached for another dish to dry. “Four years ago I was in serious need of money for my girl’s shelter, and this cocky, former NFL player found himself in desperate need of an image makeover for his run for Congress. So we pretended to be engaged and then accidentally . . .fell in love.”
Cordelia replayed the confession in head twice. “You did?”
“Yep. Craziest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” She quirked one brow. “But also the most fun I’ve ever had with another human being.”
“And quite the story to tell your children one day,” Cordelia said.
“Maybe.” Lucy regarded Cordelia with a tilt of her head. “Actually, I’ve never shared that story outside the family. You’ll keep that between us, won’t you?”
“Yes. Sure.” Cordelia decided as nice as Lucy was, she wouldn’t bet against her in a game of poker. “So why did you tell me?”
“I liked you immediately, Cordelia. And I think we might have a lot in common.” She walked away, only to hesitate in the doorway. “It’s funny, but I believe sometimes the best love stories . . .are the ones we write ourselves.”
Chapter 20
The snow had gone from quaint Norman Rockwell to an Ozark white out.
While Cordelia and the family sat in the living room playing dominoes and drinking coffee, Will stood at the window in a spare bedroom, held the phone to his ear, and watched the weather rapidly deteriorate. He knew Cordelia would want to get on the road and get Isaiah home. She’d planned on taking her gifts to the Mason childr
en in the morning, but with a band of ice moving through later, he doubted that would happen.
“I know this isn’t your normal fare,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. “But we think you’d be a good fit.”
When Will saw Anderson Blackwell’s number on his display only minutes ago, he’d slipped away to take the call. He’d been dealing directly with the executive producer, and he knew the man was ready to finalize a deal.
“It’s definitely unlike anything I’ve done,” Will said. “But I think this could be a good first step back to the news. And you’re right. A morning show will be a . . .” Smiley, fluff-fest of surface-level chit-chat. “A new challenge.” His head throbbed at the producer’s next question. “The autobiography? The book won’t get in the way. I canceled the project yesterday and returned the advance.” He tapped his finger against the windowsill. “I can be in New York in two weeks. Is that enough time? I’ve got some loose ends to tie up here and—”
Hearing a noise behind him, Will turned.
Cordelia stood in the doorway, her body tense and her eyes a condemnation.
“Cordelia—”
She turned and left, a blur of escape.
He had to talk to her. “Um, yeah, Anderson, sounds good. I’ll call you Monday, okay?” Will slipped the phone in his pocket and went in pursuit of Cordelia, cursing himself for assuming it wouldn’t matter to her. Once again, he’d handled everything all wrong. “Cordelia?”
He took a detour through the living room, then beelined for the kitchen. “Anyone seen Cordelia?”
His brother inclined his head toward the front door. “Just walked outside.”
“You know it’s snowing, right?” his mother asked. “She refused our offer to take her home.”
He didn’t bother to respond, but raced out of the house, running into the driveway as Cordelia slammed her car door shut. “Wait.”
His Mistletoe Miracle Page 12
