Christie Ridgway (30 page)

“It looks as if we both can be soft-hearted on occasion,” he said. “Unless you only dropped by our friend Angel’s place to debunk the Santa myth this time.”

All I can tell you is that you just gotta believe.

She’d told the little boy that, which meant she’d had to follow through with providing a small measure of Christmas magic, didn’t she? Gifts from a couple of near-perfect strangers should do that.

“The family isn’t home,” she told Finn, which she thought made the whole thing even better. Anonymous gifts were pretty darn close to Santa Claus, weren’t they? “But I left mine with the landlady and she promised to pass them along once they return later today.”

“I’ll do the same,” he said. “Thanks for the tip.” With a businesslike nod, he started to move past her. As if
they
were near-strangers.

“Finn.”

He paused. “Yeah?”

“Well…Um…” Bailey wiped her palms on her jeans and tried not to remember that this was the man who’d made love to her with such fierce tenderness that she could still feel the imprint of his mouth on the skin between her shoulder blades. She tried not to remember the heated scorn in his voice when he’d told her on the beach she was nothing to him. That he didn’t trust her.

She’d known from the beginning he was a man without patience for pretending.

“My mother wanted to invite you over for Christmas Eve dinner.” Bailey didn’t add that she’d immediately nixed the idea, but Tracy would be happy to add another plate to the table even now. “We’

re having turkey and all the trimmings around five.”

“You tell her thanks for me…but no.” He made to move off again.

Move out of her life. Okay, she was the one leaving, but just like…like this?

“Finn.”

He turned again.

And he was so beautiful to her, she didn’t think she could choke out a good-bye. Maybe she didn’t deserve one.

“GND?”

Bailey jerked the thoughts out of her head. Tried a smile. “Nothing. Just…nothing.”

And the last she saw of him was the shrug as he walked away.

The fog deepened as she traveled the half block to her car. Champagne bubble–sized drops of moisture clung to the ends of her hair. As if there was anything worth celebrating, she grumbled to herself, unlocking her door.

Except, of course, the fact that she would be back in L.A. tomorrow.

She slipped inside, then reached over to dump her purse on the passenger seat. It was already occupied.

On it sat a small package, wrapped in Christmas paper printed with mistletoe. As if it might bite, Bailey put out a finger and touched the cool top. There wasn’t any gift tag.

But it had to be for her. And she knew of only one person whose early career included breaking into cars.

There weren’t any instructions included either. Nothing that said, “Wait until Christmas” or “Open me now.”

There didn’t have to be. Even without any words, it was already shouting at Bailey.
Get out before
things get ugly.

When is that? Bailey thought, staring at the package. Maybe she should have asked her father the question ten years before. When is it too soon…and when is it too late to save what’s left of your heart?

Bailey Sullivan’s Vintage Christmas

Facts & Fun Calendar

December 25

Charlie Brown asks in
A Charlie Brown Christmas
: “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?”

“You’re sure you won’t stay for Christmas dinner?” her mother asked, as Bailey stowed her suitcases in the trunk of the Passat.

She shook her head. “If I leave now, I’ll get to L.A. before the holiday afternoon traffic heats up.

Anyway, we had the good stuff last night and for breakfast this morning. I think I’ll pass on the tuna noodle casserole.”

Tracy smiled, her gaze turning to the basketball game going on between her son and husband in the driveway. “I suppose I shouldn’t have promised dinner tonight would be Harry’s choice.”

Looking over, Bailey had to smile too. Her little brother had been inhaling food since the first moment he’

d walked in the door. Apparently Cheerios, Hot Pockets, Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, and rocky road ice cream were not available at UC Berkeley, or didn’t deliver quite the same punch of flavor.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get him to commit to the store.” She’d cornered him during his third piece of pumpkin pie and floated the notion that he might want to take over The Perfect Christmas after college.

“Oh, honey,” her mother said, reaching out to tuck a lock of Bailey’s hair behind her ear. “Don’t feel bad. Not only wasn’t that your job, but Harry’s too young to commit to
anything.
”

Bailey nodded. “You’re right. I remember myself at that age.” Running away from home and from Finn.

See? Too young to get in too deep. Smart enough to realize that.

Tracy laughed. “Oh well,
you
on the other hand…”

Me on the other hand?
Better not go there. Bailey shut the lid of the trunk with a decisive click. “I should get on the road.”

“You always knew what you wanted the minute you saw it.”

Finn.

“Yes, well, I’m pretty good at knowing what I don’t want too.”

Finn.

Tracy’s expression turned sad, and she brushed at that errant piece of Bailey’s hair again. “I was miserable for a long time, and I’m afraid I made you miserable right along with me. I should have been your rock, and instead you were mine.”

Bailey’s calf itched and she used the toe of one sneaker to attack the phantom bite, hoping that easing the scratch would ease the memory of broken sobs echoing in an empty bathtub. “Mom—”

“I can’t help but think I taught you that trusting people could get you hurt.” There were tears in Tracy’s eyes.

Bailey turned away from them. “It’s okay, Mom.”

“It’s not. What I have with Dan…I wouldn’t want you to miss out on that.” She let out a watery laugh.

“Okay, okay, I see by the expression on your face that you’re not entirely convinced that Dan and I are on strong footing again.”

“Maybe I’m convinced of the strong
feelings
…but just not about how long they will last. Dan’s a good man, I know that. But Mom, are you sure you want to take the chance again?”

“I can only answer that the way I answered when you asked me why I let you date Finn. I don’t feel like I have any choice.” Her mouth curved as her gaze drifted toward her husband, crowing because he’d just beat Harry for the rebound.

Inside the house, the phone started ringing. Tracy grimaced. “I doubt the men will stop their game to answer that.”

“I’m on my way, Mom. Go ahead and get it. I’ll call you when I get home.”

Tracy flapped her hand. “Who would I want to talk to over you right now? The phone can wait.”

But Bailey couldn’t. Everyone knew good-byes weren’t her thing, and she was ready to get this one over with. She reached out to hug her mother. Ran over to give Dan and Harry quick embraces. Then she was back at her car and she jumped in before things could get any stickier.

The last thing she saw in her rearview mirror was her own gaze, which she resolutely ordered away. It fell on the mystery gift that she’d placed on the dashboard, still unopened. So then she had to order it from that too.

Look ahead.

Starting for the bridge that would take her to the freeway and then on up to L.A., she heard sirens. They sped closer and she pulled to the side of the road as emergency vehicles rushed past her and then took the next corner.

She grimaced. It looked as if somebody’s Christmas wasn’t going to be a happy one.

It made her think of little Angel, and that made her think of Finn, and
that
got her back onto the street, her foot on the accelerator. Those sirens were still wailing, though, and the sound seemed to collect inside her empty chest. She slowed as she crossed the intersection where the vehicles had gone right, and she peered in their direction, but could see nothing amiss.

Curiosity killed the cat, she reminded herself, but even as she felt guilty for her sudden nosiness, she flipped her right clicker and made her own turn.

Ambulance chasing wasn’t such a difficult art in a small town with wide streets on a quiet Christmas morning. Today was clear of fog too. She cruised slowly through each intersection, looking for signs of trouble, and didn’t find any even as she approached downtown.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she realized she was definitely getting closer to the siren sound. She unrolled her window an inch to get some fresh air in the suddenly close car.

It’s probably just a tourist gone apoplectic after getting a load of his hotel bill from the Del, she told herself. Or maybe the security alarm at the boutique next door to The Perfect Christmas had tripped accidentally again.

Then she smelled something burning.

Then she turned a corner and saw the emergency vehicles, lights flashing, gathered at a familiar block.

Then she got closer and realized they were parked outside The Perfect Christmas and that over the tall profiles of the bright red vehicles, there was smoke rising.

It took several hours for the emergency workers to put out the fire to their satisfaction. They figured that after old Mr. Baer finished his morning coffee in his patrol car outside the store, he’d mixed up the brake and the accelerator—Bailey had only mentally added
again
when they told her about it—and though they’d managed to extract him from the car that was lodged in the first floor before the fire started…well, then the fire had started.

The whole town had shown up at one time or another to watch the action until the fire trucks had pulled away. A little something to do between Christmas breakfast and the hour the ham had to go in. Tracy, Dan, and Harry, who had arrived on scene short minutes after Bailey, had expressed appreciation for the community support, but now they were gone too, off to the hospital to visit Mr. Baer. He was checked in for observation but expected to make a full recovery.

The same could not be said for The Perfect Christmas.

The police had strung yellow tape around the destruction—what Mr. Baer’s patrol car hadn’t gutted, the ensuing fire had finished off. All that was left were remnants of the outside frame. Most of the roof had collapsed.

Bailey sat alone on the curb across the street and watched ashes flutter up, then drift back down in the afternoon breeze, a little like snowflakes. A stiffer wind drove a flurry of them all the way across the pavement, where they floated in the air around her.

She’d done it, a semihysterical voice said inside her head. Though she might not have saved the store, she’d brought snow to Vermont.

A couple of blocks away, the Methodist church was playing carols from its bell tower. It seemed almost too plain—one simple melody at a time—after night after night of the unlikely and sometimes boggling carol collaborations at Christmas Central.

Bailey didn’t look away from the blackened shell that had once been the family business when a body sat down beside her. Her peripheral vision took in battered jeans and motorcycle boots.

Finn.

“I talked to your mother,” he said. “I promised I’d stop by and see how you’re doing since she said you’

re not answering your cell.”

How nice of him. Neighborly. Being her mother’s friend.

“You look cold,” he continued. “Do you want my jacket?”

She didn’t feel the temperature. Her hand waved absently. “I have something in my car.”

“I’ll get it.”

He was back in moments, and he draped her short parka over her shoulders, then dropped back down beside her. “Maybe you should head over to Walnut Street. Take a shower to get that smoky smell off you.”

“I really need to get on to L.A.,” Bailey said. She sounded numb. She felt numb. “They’ll be expecting me back at the office in the morning.”

“The day after Christmas?”

Bailey shrugged. “In retail, it’s December. It’s like March is for tax accountants. For divorce attorneys, the busy time is right after the New Year. Folks who’ve vowed not to spend one more Christmas with their spouse du jour.”

He didn’t have a response to that. Maybe because the idea depressed him as much as it suddenly did her.

The breeze picked up, another gust fluttering the yellow police tape. More ash swirled. Through the store

’s blackened exoskeleton, Bailey saw a charred beam finally lose its battle with gravity, crumbling as it dropped.

Her spine crumbled with it.

She curled into her knees, pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes. Though she couldn’t move away, she couldn’t watch any more of this.

“Bailey?” She felt Finn’s hand hovering over the back of her head, but then it was gone.

She wished he’d touched her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t know. “Nothing should be, right? This is all I’ve ever wished for, isn’t it? I called the store an albatross and now it’s gone. No one would blame me for not wanting to take over the nothing that’s left, would they?”

“I guess not.”

“Yes. So…so, it’s happy holidays to me.”

But instead of being relieved, she was all at once angry. “I hate it,” burst out of her mouth and she jerked straight, her hands curling into fists.

Suddenly she wanted to have every tantrum she’d swallowed, she wanted to cry every tear she’d held back, she wanted to scream with all the frustration of a five-year-old who had lost her trust that a family would last forever. “
I hate it
.”

Her nose started to run and she swiped her hand underneath it, smelling the smoke on her own skin.

Another puff of air tried cooling the heat of her face, but it only burned hotter as a piece of charred paper fluttered by. The remains of a Perfect Christmas shopping bag.

She snatched it out of the air and squeezed it in her fist. “Here’s my secret,” she said, learning it herself as each word exited her mouth. “It was never Christmas I hated, but December 26. We’d go back into the store and it wasn’t pretty anymore. You’d see all that was left was damaged or broken, just like what happened to my family.”