Three Christmas Wishes Read online

  “I don’t know what we saw, but he wasn’t the mall Santa.”

  “Not this again,” Mom groaned.

  Jo ran a hand over her baby’s head and frowned. “That’s kind of woo-woo.”

  “Oh, you girls,” Grammy said. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.”

  “I’d like to know what it is.” Riley looked at Jo. “What if he really was...?”

  Jo gave a cynical snort.

  Yeah, it was downright silly to think they’d met the real Santa, since Santa was nothing more than a work of fiction in a red suit.

  “I guess the only way we’ll find out if he was who he said he was will be if his predictions come true for you and Noel,” Jo teased. “You were certainly doing your part with all that flirting last night. While I was about to drop this baby on the pavement, I might add.”

  Riley felt a holiday glow spread across her cheeks.

  “Flirting?” Mom asked. “With whom? Have you met someone?”

  “Of course she hasn’t met someone,” Grammy said. “She just got rid of someone.”

  “You don’t want to rush into anything so soon after... I mean, so soon,” Mom cautioned.

  “I’m not.” But that was one sexy cop. And he’d seemed really nice. Still, it was ridiculous to think that a random meeting with a policeman had anything to do with a crazy prediction by a fake Santa.

  “What did Santa say about you? Oh, yeah. You were going to meet your perfect man in a memorable way.” Jo smiled and cocked an eyebrow. “I’d say last night was pretty memorable.”

  “You met someone last night?” Mom asked again.

  “The cop who gave us a police escort,” Jo replied. “I think he was into Riles.”

  “I saw him again just now,” Riley said. “Although I’m sure he’s decided I’m a complete psycho.”

  “Twice in twenty-four hours. That’s got to mean something,” Jo said with a grin.

  “Yes, it means she shouldn’t drive,” said Grammy.

  “This is all a lot of nonsense,” Mom told her, “and I forbid you to get in any more accidents.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose,” Riley said—not for the first time. Except it did seem to be a good way to meet Officer Knight.

  Hmm. Maybe she should try for another traffic violation (a minor one, of course, where no one got injured) and see what happened.

  Chapter Eight

  What should you serve someone you wanted to impress? It had to be good, because Noel needed to butter Ben Fordham up like a Thanksgiving dinner roll, convince him that he had to cut her a deal and let her have her house. That was a tall order since the man was in the business of flipping houses. That meant he wanted to make a profit. And that meant...

  She was in deep doo-doo. Noel stood at the meat counter in the Pineland Supermarket and considered her options. Certainly not hamburger. She loved hamburger, but nothing she could make with that would be impressive. Pork chops? What if he didn’t like pork? Chicken? No. Chicken was so...common. What about goulash? What man didn’t like goulash? Maybe Ben Fordham. Anyway, the last time she’d attempted to make Mom’s goulash, she’d burned the meat and forgotten the paprika.

  She could broil steaks. That was it! Every man liked steak, right? She picked up a package with two filet mignons. She’d never cooked filet mignon.

  Well, there was a first time for everything. Anyway, all you had to do was stick it under the broiler. No paprika necessary. She could handle that. She’d bake some potatoes and put together a salad and...what for dessert?

  Cheesecake, she decided. Everyone liked cheesecake. She swept through the bakery department and picked up an eggnog cheesecake. After that she returned to the wine shop and splurged on another bottle of red wine, and then she was good to go.

  Back home again, she cleaned the house—no point leaving it messy now—then took a shower and shaved her legs and slathered herself with lotion. After that, she put on Borrowed Outfit Number Two.

  Hmm. The boots Jo had suggested were a bit much for indoors. But if she didn’t wear those, what would she wear? Not her Hello Kitty slippers. They were cute but they weren’t exactly sexy. WWJWD? What would Jo Wilton do?

  The red stiletto heels called from a corner of her closet. Pick us. We’re ready to party.

  The shoes might have been ready but she wasn’t sure she was ready for them. Just tottering around in them at the store to check their fit had been a challenge. Probably not the best purchase she’d ever made. These babies were higher than anything she normally wore, which consisted primarily of flats and tennis shoes. But both Jo and Riley had convinced her that the power in a pair of red stilettos was matched only by Dorothy’s red slippers. If she wanted to make something happen in the romance department, these were the ticket to Orgasmo Land. No man could resist red heels.

  Not that she was planning on traveling there. No, she simply wanted to make a good impression.

  Yeah, right, sneered Marvella.

  All showered and lotioned up, and dressed in the white shirt, leggings and necklace, she then topped off her ensemble with a generous spritz of perfume. The shoes she would put on at the last minute. She didn’t need to be tottering around her kitchen in them, cramping her arches.

  While the potatoes were baking, she set the table using her plain white plates, accented with red napkins. Red taper candles on either side of a small vase of red silk roses looked festive and romantic.

  Romantic. Was she laying it on too thick? After all, this was just dinner and a conversation about home improvement.

  On the house that should’ve been hers. She frowned. Maybe Marvella had a point. She should just poison the house-flipper and be done with it.

  Another of her mother’s sayings came to mind—you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. She hoped Mom was right.

  It didn’t take her long to prepare the salad, which was a good thing because she’d wanted to leave her makeup till the last minute. She was just finishing up with her mascara when the doorbell rang. Okay. Showtime.

  She started to hurry to the door then realized she was still wearing her Hello Kitty slippers. She kicked them off, grabbed her stilettos, raced down the stairs then put them on, hopping for the door...and turned her ankle in the process, falling in a heap in the hallway. Ow. Pain. Ow.

  “Coming!” she called through gritted teeth and scrambled back onto her feet. Telling herself to slow down, she hobbled the rest of the way to the door and opened it.

  There stood Ben Fordham. Shocking how good a human wrecking ball could look. He wore jeans and a black sweater over that hard, muscled, put-him-on-a-calendar body and the same jacket he’d worn when she first saw him.

  When he came to take your house, Marvella reminded her, pulling her out of her lust-induced fog.

  Yes, she was on a mission. No getting sidetracked by sexual attraction. She was in charge here and she was calling the shots. And...oh, he’d brought flowers.

  Heaven help us, groaned Marvella.

  “You shouldn’t have,” she said as he handed over a bouquet of red and white carnations.

  You got that right, Marvella sneered. We’re not swayed by a bunch of carnations. He was too cheap to buy roses.

  Still, it was a nice thought.

  “I wanted to,” he said as he stepped inside. “I don’t want you to think of me as the enemy.”

  He is. And don’t you forget it.

  Marvella was right. But now they were in the middle of peace negotiations. It wouldn’t help Noel’s cause to be adversarial. “Come on in,” she said. “I hope you like steak.”

  “Love it,” he said.

  She offered to take his coat, but since her hands were full of flowers he hung it up himself. Of course, he knew where the coat closet was. He knew where eve
rything in this house was. This house that would soon be his.

  Don’t get bitter and cranky, she warned herself as he followed her to the kitchen.

  “Doesn’t look like you needed flowers,” he said as they walked past the arrangement on her dining room table.

  “I always need flowers. They’re good for the soul,” she said and got busy putting his in water.

  “Did you put that arrangement together?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “It’s pretty.”

  “There’s not much to it.”

  “Sometimes keeping things simple is the best.”

  “We could keep things simple,” she said. “How about you let me rent from you with an option to buy?” Uh-oh. There went the smile.

  “I don’t usually do that.”

  “You could make an exception.”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Maybe coming over was a bad idea.”

  Okay, misstep. “No, it was a great idea. I’m sure we can find a way to work something out.” And now it was time to retreat and try an attack from a different direction.

  You’d better sleep with him, Marvella advised. That’s your only hope now.

  Would that be so awful? Just looking at the man revved up her hormones. Still, sex without love was never smart, Noel was certain of that.

  “Let’s call a truce,” she said.

  Marvella approved. Hee hee. Lull him into a false sense of security.

  His smile returned. “Okay.”

  So then, if they weren’t going to talk about the future of her house, what were they going to talk about? What to say, what to say?

  She set the flowers on the kitchen counter with hands that were suddenly sweaty. “Would you like a drink? I have wine.” And a brand-new corkscrew.

  “That sounds good,” he said. “You gonna join me?”

  “I’m not much of a drinker.” But... “I’ll try some wine if you’ll open the bottle,” she said, handing over the corkscrew.

  He obliged and she poured them each a glass, a nice big glassful for him, a small amount for her. Some wine might steady her nerves. She tried not to make a face but oh, that stuff was yucky. Why did people drink it?

  He was smiling. “Not into wine?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.” The wildest she ever got was a piña colada or some other fun drink loaded with sugar and cream when she went out with the girls.

  “That was a pretty nice one you brought me.”

  “I had help selecting it.”

  “So, what do you drink? Beer?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I tried it a few times but it’s just so...yeasty-tasting.”

  He smiled at that. “It’s an acquired taste.”

  “I think I’ll stick with soda and tea and hot chocolate.”

  “All excellent choices. I like tea.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “Rooibos. Very healthy, full of antioxidants.” He held up his glass. “I like wine, too, though. Thanks for getting me some.”

  “I like to be a good hostess.” Okay, that sounded stupid.

  “You like to entertain?”

  She enjoyed having girlfriends over to watch movies and binge on TV series. She’d bought pizza for her friends when they helped her move. Not exactly HGTV-level entertaining. “Yes. I’d like to do more.” Someday, when this house was hers and she had a man in her life, then she’d beef up her kitchen skills and have dinner parties complete with place cards and...whatever.

  “Why don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I’m busy.” Sitting around in my jammies writing, leading a life as exciting as stale bread.

  “Yeah?” He took a sip of his wine. “Busy doing what?”

  “I’m a writer.”

  “Yeah?” The level of interest had risen. He probably thought she wrote something exciting like mysteries or sexy romance novels. She got busy putting the steaks on a broiling sheet.

  Hey, there’s nothing wrong with writing children’s books, Marvella said.

  Marvella was right. Noel was proud of what she did. “I write children’s books,” she said and shoved the steaks under the broiler.

  “Cool,” he said and took another drink of wine. “You must like kids.”

  “I do.” And at some point before menopause, she hoped to have one. But at the rate she was going, with no man in her life... “I might adopt.”

  A brochure for an organization that helped children in third-world countries was sitting on her counter by the phone, and it caught his eye. He picked it up. “Is that what this is?”

  All of a sudden, she felt self-conscious. She liked to keep her good deeds a secret. She plucked it out of his hand and stuffed it in a drawer. “No, that’s just something I donate to. But I would like to adopt a child. Sometime. Down the road.” She almost added, “When I have money,” but stopped herself. Reminding him about her not-so-plump pockets would hardly impress him.

  He nodded, taking that all in. “No guy in your life who wants to adopt with you?”

  No guy in her life who wanted to do anything with her. “Not now.” There had been. She should tell him that so he wouldn’t think she was some desperate, love-starved caricature. “There was.” Then, before he could ask about that man, she hurried on. “What about you?”

  “No one special,” he said with a shrug.

  “I thought maybe your secretary,” Noel ventured.

  “We’ve gone out a few times. We’re just buds.”

  He was buds. The secretary obviously wanted more.

  “Not sure I’m in the market,” he said.

  So the flowers were simply a polite gesture and he was only here because he felt bad that she was so upset. She was wearing these dangerous shoes for nothing. Well, darn him, anyway. Arriving with flowers. Flowers! And all when he wasn’t in the market, anyway.

  “Sometimes it gets awkward when things don’t work out,” he added.

  That was his reason? What a coward. “Hmm.”

  “Hmm. What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. Just that...” She stopped herself and shook her head. Tried another sip of wine. Ugh.

  “Go on,” he said. “What were you going to say?”

  “Only that, well, it seems funny that somebody who’s willing to put so much work into restoring houses would be afraid of working on a relationship.”

  “Houses are easier, believe me.”

  “Relationships can be complicated,” she admitted. “But if one’s worth working on...” If the man turns out to be nicer than you thought when you first met him. If it looks like maybe he has a heart, after all. If he brings you flowers...

  “Your oven’s smoking.”

  She whirled around—not too smart when you were wearing shoes with heels the size of stilts—lost her balance and went down. He bent to help her just as she was reaching to pull a hot pad off the counter and she socked him in the nose. Hard.

  “Oh, no. I’m so sorry,” she said, scrambling to her feet.

  “It’s okay,” he said, stepping away and coughing.

  The kitchen started to fill with smoke. Noel grabbed her hot pad, yanked open the oven door and jerked out the meat. More smoke. Now the smoke detector was going off.

  “A broom,” she cried and rushed for the water heater closet where she kept hers, twisted her ankle. Again. Yelped. Grabbed the broom, waved it around and whacked her guest upside the head. “I’m sorry!” she said. Again.

  He was holding his nose, but he held out his free hand. “No worries. Let me do this for you.”

  Please! She was dangerous.

  He fanned the broom in front of the screaming smoke detector while she turned off the oven. Once the smoke detector shut up,
it was time to set aside the broom and peer through the haze at dinner. It looked great if you liked burnt offerings.

  “Oh, no.” All that money she’d spent, down the drain.

  “That’s okay.” Cough, cough. “I like it well-done.”

  “Do you really?” Cough, cough.

  “No. But I thought it would make you feel better if I said that.”

  Aww, how sweet was that?

  He didn’t care how you felt when he bought your house out from under you, Marvella reminded her.

  Well, she’d had her petty revenge. She’d whacked the poor guy on the head and probably broken his nose. Which was bleeding. “Your nose.” She got a dish towel and offered it to him. “It’s bleeding.” Cough, cough.

  “I don’t want to bleed on your dish towel,” he protested. “Do you have a paper towel?” Cough, cough, cough.

  “Oh, yes, of course.” She pulled a handful off the paper towel dispenser, but she pulled so hard it came right out of the wall.” Could this dinner get any worse?

  “Don’t worry,” he said, putting the towel to his nose. “I can fix that.”

  “I hope I haven’t broken your nose,” she said.

  “It’s fine,” he assured her. “No worries.”

  She opened the back door to let out some of the smoke. Then, as both she and her guest were about to suffocate, she suggested they repair to the dining room.

  “This meal isn’t exactly going well, is it?” she said once her lungs were working again.

  He smiled at that and let out a final cough. “How about we order pizza?”

  “Sure,” she said and started for her purse. Carefully. No more ankle-twisting.

  “I’ve got this,” he said. “I’ll call That’s a Some Pizza. They make a great pizza supreme. Is that okay?”

  She nodded. At this point, anything.

  With their order called in, there was nothing left to do but settle on the living room sofa with their drinks. Which she fetched, bravely entering the smoky kitchen. “I smell like a fireman,” she said when she returned. So much for the perfume she’d put on.

  “At least we didn’t have to call the firemen,” he said. “And you look great.”