Christmas and Cannolis

by Peggy Jaeger

  Profound? I don’t know, but I think it rings true.

  The manager opened a ceiling-tall set of double doors for us, and we wheeled the tray through them. The room was huge. Gargantuan-huge. Hundreds of poinsettia plants lined the floor around the room, stacked against the walls two deep, and a Christmas fir that had to be twenty feet or more was planted in a corner, decorated from top branch to trunk with bright white lights and the standard plethora of colored-glass-ball ornaments.

  Uniformed servers roamed about, finger foods and flutes of what looked like champagne nestled on their trays. From a raised stage taking up one wall, a six-piece band was belting out holiday tunes. About twenty round tables of ten chairs apiece circled the room around a dance floor already filled with people. Above the band was a banner with the logo for Pearl’s Place, a stuffed teddy bear with a band-aid covering one of its arms. Just a quick glance at it and a cauldron of heated emotions bubbled up inside me. I looked away and found Connor crossing the dance floor, aiming straight for me, a mile-wide smile crossing his face.

  He was wearing a tuxedo.

  Holy Mary, mother of God.

  In casual clothes, he’d been handsome; in a suit, gorgeous. But in a tuxedo that fit his door-wide shoulders to perfection, he was magnificent. Oversized marble statues of Roman gods couldn’t hold a candle to this flesh and blood man. Michelangelo’s David looked like a puny, doughy teenager compared to Connor Gilhooly decked out in what Pop calls wedding duds. His hair was slicked straight back from his forehead, those little salt and pepper flecks at his temples vibrant against the silver mane.

  The closer he came, the faster my heart pounded, the more my toes tingled, and the quicker my breathing got.

  His gaze never left mine the entire time he crossed the room.

  “You’re right on time,” he said when he finally reached us. With an ease as if he did it every day of his life, Connor pulled me to him, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed me full on the lips without a moment’s hesitation. He tasted of sweet champagne and Heaven. I think I got a little drunk from just that kiss.

  Or maybe it was just seeing him in all his hotness that got me tipsy. It’s a toss-up.

  It dawned on me that he was kissing me in a public place in full view of all the people attending the fundraiser—and my two nephews. From behind me, I heard a noise like a big dog growling. When I pulled away from Connor’s kiss and looked over my shoulder, my nephews looked remarkably like their fathers—my brothers—when they were gearing up for a fight. And by a fight, I don’t mean a verbal one.

  “Boys,” I said, “this is Mr. Gilhooly. Our customer.”

  I hoped—wished—they’d get the hint and realize they didn’t have to defend my honor or any other antiquated notion instilled in them by their fathers and grandfather about their aunt Regina.

  Connor was unaware of the tension radiating from these two testosterone-fueled twenty-somethings. Or if he was, he hid it well.

  “Guys.” He nodded to them, never dropping his smile.

  “Where do you want us to put the cake?” I asked, diverting his attention back to me.

  His gaze darted from the top of the structure, across the front of Santa’s workshop, and then stopped to inspect an elf holding an e-tablet. His lips pulled back into a grin filled with childish glee and mirth. When he turned to me, that boyish glee turned to full adult male, hot and so darn sexy I had to stop myself from panting.

  “You’re amazing,” he said. He pulled me back into a hug before I could stop him, the entire front of my body aligned with his. If we hadn’t been in a public forum, surrounded by people, including my two gossipy, tattletale nephews, I would have clung to him for the rest of the night and lost myself in all the hard, fabulous feel of him.

  The rest of the night? More like the rest of my life.

  “The sketch was good,” he said, letting me go, “but the actual structure is beyond perfect.”

  “Connor?”

  In unison, we turned to the sound of the voice. A strikingly beautiful woman a few years younger, several inches taller, and much less round than my mother walked toward us, her gaze flitting from Connor, to me, and then back to him. A stunning silver lamé dress fell from shoulders a handspan wide and down a lithe body I could only ever dream about possessing. My thigh was wider than this gorgeous woman’s hips. Hair the color of warm buttermilk fell to her shoulders, straight as an edge of paper, and swayed effortlessly across her skin with each step she took.

  “Mom, come meet Regina.”

  Mom?

  “Ah, your baker.” Eyes the color of cultivated periwinkles zeroed in on me again. A warm, welcoming smile lit her face as she extended her hand. “Connor’s told me so much about you and your bakery,” she said. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

  I slipped my hand into hers, and the first thought that popped into my head was how similar her son’s hand was to his mother’s. Warm and smooth. Friendly and pleasant.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Gilhooly. These are two of my nephews.” I waved my free hand over to the boys. “Nunzio and Albert. They work for me at the bakery. They’re my delivery team.”

  The same smile she’d given me she extended to them. The boys, never known for being shy, reserved, or quiet, suddenly turned mute.

  “Connor’s told us that the flavor of this cake will put us off any other cake for the rest of our lives,” his mother said. “We’ll be so spoiled, we won’t want to eat any other kind but yours.”

  I squinched up my nose and, addressing him, said, “Thanks. No pressure, there,” to which mother and son laughed.

  “It’s the truth,” Connor said.

  “My son rarely gives praise, so if he says it’s the best cake we’ll ever taste, I’m sure it’s going to be.”

  “Ah, an’ there she is. The vision.”

  A huge smile broke on my face when Aiden Gilhooly, decked in a tuxedo similar to his nephew’s, trotted up to us, a glass in one hand, a plate in the other.

  “Take these, boyo, so I can greet the lovely Miss San Valentino properly.” He shoved both at Connor. When his hands were free, he pulled me into a full body hug and lifted me off the floor. “ ’Tis pleased I am to see you again, Reggie darlin’.”

  “Aiden, put the girl down,” Connor’s mother said, laughter ringing in her voice.

  He did as commanded, a pout protruding his lips.

  “Ah, Molly, me love, you spoil an old man’s fun.”

  “Old man, my ass,” Connor mumbled, loud enough to be heard. “Juvenile delinquent is more like it.”

  “Watch your manners, now, boyo. You’re not old enough that a tick on the old noggin’ wouldn’t be past me.”

  “My father still does that to my brothers,” I said. “The oldest is forty-nine, and I think he gets ticked the most.”

  “Deserving of it, I’m sure, just like this one,” Aiden said, cocking his chin at Connor.

  “Usually,” I replied.

  “Zia Regina?”

  I turned to Alby. The question in his wide eyes was obvious.

  I repeated my question to Connor before we’d been interrupted.

  “Over by the band,” he said, pointing to a spot across the dance floor. “I want everyone to be able to see it before it’s cut into.”

  I nodded and the boys maneuvered the cart around the dance floor, Connor’s mother and uncle leading the way.

  I was all set to follow them, but Connor grabbed my arm. “Regina.” His voice was thick with emotion, so much so I felt my feet root to the floor. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been watching for you since I arrived,” Connor said.

  Awww. That was so sweet.

  “You’ll stay, won’t you?” he asked. “I know I didn’t ask if you would before, but I’m really hoping you will.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t planned to, Connor. I usually don’t. Just deliver the cake and then…skedaddle.”

  He took a step closer, and I had to tip my head back to mainta
in eye contact.

  “Well, I’m not going to let you skedaddle”—he grinned so deep his eyes almost closed—“tonight. I want you to stay. Please?”

  “But I’m not dressed right for this.” I waved my hand around the room. “Everyone’s decked out for a fancy party.” I ran my hand down my uniform coat. “I stick out like a sore thumb.”

  He pulled me in even closer, so close our bodies bumped. In a low, sensual voice that had all the parts of me that made me a girl screaming on high alert, he said, “I think you look perfect. And beautiful. Did I mention perfect?”

  Mamma mia, this guy was too much. And by too much, I mean he was perfetto. Perfect.

  “Please stay. It’ll mean so much to me if you do. So much.”

  There was no way I could leave now. Not after that.

  Nunzie and Alby had positioned the cake and were on their way back over to me.

  “Just give me a minute with my nephews.”

  Connor nodded, squeezed my arm, and then let me go.

  “All set,” Nunzie told me.

  “Great. I’m going to stick around for a while, so you two take the van and head back.”

  “How you gonna get home?” Alby asked, his thick brows pulling low over his eyes.

  “I’ll take a cab.”

  “One of us can come back and get you,” Nunzie said, nodding at his cousin. “You shouldn’t be taking cabs at night in the city.”

  “Yeah, it’s not safe. Creeps everywhere on the lookout for helpless females.”

  Dear God, please deliver me from the overprotective men in my family. I was almost twice their age, and they were acting like I was a kid. Or worse, a frail, elderly lady who needed help to cross the street.

  “Don’t worry. I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine. Now go. Go meet up with your girlfriends and enjoy yourselves. It’s almost Christmas.”

  They shot a look at one another, neither happy about leaving me alone. Really, what did they think was going to happen to me in a crowded ballroom while I served cake?

  Finally, they each shrugged with fatalistic acceptance and looked so much like their fathers and grandfather, I grinned. They each kissed my cheek telling me to stay safe.

  “All good?” Connor asked as he came up to me.

  Grinning, I shook my head and fisted my hands on my hips. “They’re so much like their fathers it’s spooky. But yeah, everything’s cool.”

  “Here.” He handed me a champagne flute.

  After a sip of the delicious dry bubbly, I licked my lips and almost stopped breathing when I heard Connor hiss in a breath. His eyes were zeroed in on my mouth, his open lips parted as he continued to stare down at me. Just as he began to lower his head to mine, his name was called. His gaze flicked back to my eyes, and there was such a deep well of want staring back at me, I almost dropped my flute.

  “The manager asked me something I don’t have a clue about,” his mother said. “Can you speak to him?”

  “Sure. Be right there, Mom.” He turned back to me. “Don’t leave. Don’t even move. Stay right here, okay? I’ll be right back. Stay.”

  “Connor, really. Stop speaking to the girl like she’s a dog,” his mother chided.

  When he winced, I laughed. “You kinda were,” I said.

  “Just…don’t move.”

  I saluted him.

  When we were alone, Connor’s mother regarded me through inquiring eyes, with a grin tugging at her lips. “You, young lady, have made quite an impression on my son. And Aiden. I think the man is half in love with you.”

  Was she speaking of her son or brother-in-law?

  I couldn’t help the blush that spread up my cheeks, but I could ignore it and hope she did as well. “I think your son is impressed with the flavor profile of the cake. He, like so many people, seems to favor chocolate.”

  “Oh, Lord, we’re a family of chocoholics.” She shook her head and grinned at me. “When Connor was little, the surest way to get him to behave was to threaten to take away any chocolate candy he was promised. He always acted like a little angel whenever my husband or I said no to after-dinner treats if he was naughty.”

  I laughed with her. “Was your other son the same way?”

  Her brows drew together, and she cocked her head at me, a look of confusion dancing across her eyes.

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  “Your other son. Was he a chocolate lover, too?”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have another son. Connor is my only child.”

  Now it was my face that must have looked confused. Hadn’t Connor told me that he had a younger brother who’d died of leukemia? Had I imagined that? Before I could explain my question, Connor trotted back to us.

  “All fixed now. Mom, Dad’s looking for you. He wants a dance.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course he does. Whenever he drinks champagne, he thinks he’s Fred Astaire. Say a prayer for my feet.”

  With a smile, he said, “Alone at last,” and clicked his flute to mine.

  I wanted to tell him what his mother had just said, but I didn’t. I don’t know why not. Maybe it was because of the way he was smiling down at me, like I was the only girl in the world. I’d never been looked at before with such…intention, and it made me stop in my mental tracks and just bask. Connor relieved me of my glass and placed it and his down on a table before he wrapped his hand around my elbow and propelled me toward the dance floor.

  “There’s no way I’ll ever mistake myself for Fred Astaire,” he said with a chuckle, “but dancing sounds pretty good right now. It gives me total permission”—he slid a hand around my waist—“to hold you in my arms again.”

  Had I said this guy had charm exploding in his DNA? Charm was too calm a word. Pure, unadulterated magnetism would be more the appropriate term.

  Settled in his arms, my head resting against his chest, I felt more content than I had in years. The solid, steady beat of Connor’s heart against my ear filled me with a sense of comfort and protection. Why? I hadn’t a clue. But being held by him, encircled in strong arms that held me as if I were something fragile and cherished, made me feel just that way. Fragile was a word I’d never used to describe myself. Being cherished, though, was something I’d longed for.

  I’d met this man less than five times in my life, and yet there was such an intense connection between us, it was as if we’d always been searching for, and had finally found, one another.

  Incredible? Yes. Impossible? Probably. But I knew, knew deep down in what my parish priest calls mia anima—my soul—that Connor Gilhooly was destined to be an important part of my life.

  In the middle of a dance floor, ten days before Christmas, with a man I knew next to nothing about, my heart unlocked itself from its self-imposed prison after being battered and broken by loss and desertion and was set free.

  I wasn’t scared, which believe me I should have been. No. If I was anything, I was hopeful. Hopeful that once I let my heart open again, it would fill with love, replacing the sadness that had locked it away.

  “You’ve been busy since the last time I saw you,” Connor said. The deep reverberations of his voice bounced through his chest.

  “Ridiculously so.” I lifted my head and slanted him a look. “I had a last-minute order from a very demanding customer who insisted on a custom cake. He wanted it delivered personally and then had the audacity to make me stick around to cut it.”

  “Well, since you’d probably be the best one to do that, that makes sense, but it’s not the reason I asked you to stay.”

  “Oh?”

  The music changed to a livelier Christmas pop song. Connor sighed and took my hand. “Come on.”

  He pulled me along with him, sliding past the other dancers and off the dance floor, back to the table he’d placed our glasses on.

  “Regina?”

  We both looked up as a tall, beautiful African American woman wound her way through tables and chairs. “I thought that was you.”

  A fac
e from the past smiled at me.

  “Sharla.”

  She pulled me into a full body hug, which I returned without thinking. Her arms stretched around me, and just like the last time she’d held me this way, the aroma of fresh picked peaches drifted around me.

  “Let me look at you, girl.” She held me at arm’s length, a broad smile crossing her face. “Still as beautiful as ever. What’s it been? Five years?”

  “Six. The anniversary was just a few days ago.”

  The smile that graced her face slipped a little. “Oh, sweet child.” She hugged me again. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sharla?”

  “Over here, Mary. Come see who I found.”

  “Regina-bellina. Oh, my goodness. How are you?”

  I was passed from one set of arms to another, like a bocce ball being tossed between two team players. These arms belonged to Sharla’s twin in every way except skin color. They were the same age, had the same hair style, even wore dresses along the same lines. But where Sharla’s skin bespoke her African ancestry, Mary’s skin was snow white, as was her hair, both gifts from her Scandinavian DNA.

  “Girl, it’s been too long,” she said.

  “I just told her the same thing.”

  “What are you doing here?” Mary asked, her gaze sliding over to Connor. “Are you with our angel, here?”

  “Ladies.” Connor bussed both their cheeks. “I’m glad you could come tonight.”

  “Are you kidding?” Sharla asked. “Like we’d ever miss one of your fundraisers.”

  “Especially when we get to take the final check home with us.” Mary laughed.

  “How do you know Regina?” he asked.

  “The better question is how do you?”

  Connor’s ears went that adorable pink color at her question, her implication clear. “She made that fantastic cake over by the band for tonight.”

  Both woman turned to the dais.

  “Child, you did that?” Sharla asked. “I don’t remember you being a baker.”