A Holiday to Remember

  Mitch grinned. “How do you know I’m not going to Allatoona for some fishing?”

  Jeb snorted. “You’re a smart man. Slow, but smart. You’re not gonna let Candy get away.”

  “I should have stopped her—” Mitch huffed out a breath.

  “Don’t waste time pissin’ and moanin’ about what you should’ve done. Just get your ass up north. And Mitch?”

  “Uh huh?” This ought to be good.

  “Prepare to grovel.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six – Memory of an Angel

  by Vonnie Davis

  Candy tossed her keys on the table in her foyer and struggled out of her boots. The snow in Manhattan, blackened by soot and car exhaust, was no longer pretty. No doubt what snow remained back in Georgia was still pristine with less traffic and pollution to soil it. She hung her coat and scarf and stepped into her professionally decorated living room.

  She gazed around the room, off-white carpet, ivory walls, white leather furniture and chrome and glass tables. Colorless. Flopping onto a club chair, depression pressed on her chest. One word described her life sans Mitch and Major. Colorless. She swiped at a falling tear. A major crying jag was brewing; she could feel the burning behind her eyes and the constriction in her chest. Deal with it. You’re the one who walked out.

  Five minutes later she stepped out of her bedroom in an old pair of flannel pajamas and padded into the kitchen to open a can of tomato soup for dinner. Cheddar slices and rye bread to make grilled cheese joined the accumulation on the counter. Given the mood she was in, the quart of Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream in her freezer would be dessert. Comfort food, and boy did she need comfort.

  Standing at the stove stirring the soup, she wondered what Mitch was having for dinner. In Georgia, the roads were cleared by now. Businesses were open. Maybe he would go out. Her hand tightened around the wooden spoon. Would he go on a date? Her forehead furrowed. Would his eyes soften when he looked at another woman? Would his kisses be as passionate?

  Stop acting like one of those besotted females in a romance novel. Who cares what he does. He lied.

  She carried her bowl of soup and sandwich to the table and sat. Did she want to eat? Her appetite was nonexistent since her return. If she was still in Georgia, she could share her sandwich with Major. She sipped a spoonful of soup. That mutt had wormed his way into her heart. She missed his affectionate personality, even his wet canine kisses.

  As for his master, she ached for him. Ached in a way she never imagined possible.

  Had she allowed pride and fear of loving someone to ruin what might have been an incredible relationship? Mitch had offered to explain, but feelings of betrayal had clouded her judgment. Why the secrecy? Why the lies? Why had he changed his name? So many questions. Too many.

  She gathered her dirty dishes and loaded the dishwasher. In an attempt to work off some stress, she wiped down her kitchen cabinets and mopped the floor. On a cleaning tirade, she dusted and vacuumed the rest of her apartment, singing Gonna Wash that Man Right Out of my Hair.

  It didn’t work.

  Mitch was still in her mind—and her heart.

  Okay, so maybe what she needed was time. After all, she’d only been back in Manhattan for a couple of days. While gone, she’d experienced the most amazing time of her life in close quarters with an attractive, charming male. In their isolation, it only made sense they’d be drawn to one another. After a few days ensconced in her established, busy routine, the memories and feelings would fade.

  Truth be told, had Mitch been five-foot-five with a receding hairline and a beer belly, she’d no doubt have fallen for Mr. Chubby, under those circumstances. She slapped the heel of her palm to her forehead. Oh, God, I’m delusional.

  She’d fallen in love with a man who didn’t exist—Mitch, the tow truck driver. She opened the door to her freezer and peered in at the quart of ice cream.

  “If Mom were here, she’d tell me chocolate was the cure-all for a case of the blues.”

  Thinking about the hours she’d have to work out to reduce the effects of the ice cream, she closed the door. She’d nuke a bag of popcorn and watch a movie, something lighthearted to counteract the heaviness inside her. Candy rolled her eyes.

  “I’ve turned maudlin. Thanks, Mitch…er Michael…for doing this to me.”

  She pressed the buttons on the microwave, waiting for the popcorn to do its thing. The man had secrets. Why? Why had he kept his identity hidden?

  Minutes later, she carried a bowl of popcorn into the living room and stood in front of the only thing she’d kept of her mother’s. A large curio cabinet filled with her mother’s cherished angel collection. She ate a handful of popcorn while her gaze swept over the many angels. Some were wooden, a few made of glass, many were porcelain, and a couple she’d made, herself, as a little girl. One was made from Popsicle sticks, another from strips of crafting foam.

  Her mother had been a thrifty woman of necessity, given her meager earning potential, but these angels had been her one indulgence. Beneath each was a slip of paper written in her mother’s precise handwriting with the date she’d acquired the angel and where.

  After her mother’s death, when she’d numbly gone about settling the estate, she’d decided to keep the angels and cabinet. At the time, she thought it odd that her mother had splurged on the cabinet, given her penny-pinching nature. When she’d wrapped each angel in tissue paper, she also tucked in its slip of paper, too raw with grief to read the angel’s history. She’d placed the notations beneath each angel. Tonight, when she needed the comfort of her mom, she’d read them.

  She reached for the one made from Popsicle sticks. Made by my darling Candy at day camp. The year and her age were noted in the corner. She trailed a fingertip over her mother’s handwriting, drawing a sense of peace.

  She lifted the foam angel and its paper. Made by Michael. Candy made an angel at the same time and gave it to him. So sweet to see how they care for each other. Her hand trembled when she set the foam angel back on its paper.

  A long ago memory surfaced; sitting at the table in the kitchen while her mother bustled back and forth, making hors d’oeuvres for the party the Crawfords were hosting that night. Michael, looking very gown up in his suit, walked into the kitchen. When he saw her at the table gluing together pieces of colorful foam, he pulled out a chair and joined her.

  “What are you making?”

  “Angels,” she whispered.

  She’d been too shy to talk. Slowly he brought her out of her shell as he asked her questions about what to do next. After he made this angel, he’d given it to her mother. Enamored with Michael—her first childhood crush—she’d hesitantly offered her angel to him. For weeks, she’d dreamed of his smile as he accepted her impromptu, awkward gift.

  Even then we had a connection. If only he’d told me who he was as soon as he figured out our shared past.

  She shook her head. So many secrets—and for what reason? Nothing added up, and in her orderly world, things had to make sense.

  The next angel she reached for brought a smile to her face. She knew the history of the jade figurine. Her mother’s face always lit up when she talked about it. Her Uncle Tim had bought it while on liberty in Viet Nam back in the ‘sixties and sent it to her mother for her sixteenth birthday. Beneath the angel were the words, Tim’s Vietnamese Angel.

  Her hand wrapped around an exquisite, gold trimmed porcelain angel. On its paper was written, Given to me by Michael. He claimed the angel caught his eye because it reminded him of Candy. Tears burned. When she read the note written below it in a different color of ink, she lost it. Michael bought me this curio cabinet with his first paycheck from Crawford Industries. He asked me to keep his present a secret.

  Michael had cared for her mother—and for her, too. Why all the secrecy? Didn’t she owe it to her mother to hear his explanation? Didn’t she owe it to herself? She set the angel back on its paper and closed the door to the cabinet.

  Wipi
ng tears from her eyes, she reached for the telephone and dialed. Mitch’s phone rang. Was she too late? Would he want to explain after she’d so rudely walked out of his house—out of his life? Her heart pounded in her ears as the phone rang and rang—and rang.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven – Prepare to Grovel

  by Jannine Gallant

  Mitch paid the cab driver and stepped out onto the slushy street. A cold wind blew down the back of his neck, and he shivered in his denim jacket. After ten years in Georgia, he’d forgotten how damn cold New York winters were.

  Not nearly as cold as I’ll be if Candy refuses to listen.

  Taking a breath, he pushed random buttons for the secure building, lighting up the board. Every button but Candy’s. He wanted to look into her eyes when he spoke to her, not beg for forgiveness through an intercom. Finally the door buzzed, and he pushed it open.

  His heart pounded in his chest as he climbed the stairs carrying his overnight bag, too keyed up to wait for the elevator. His feet echoed hollowly in the stairwell. Exiting on her floor, he stood in front of the door and raised his fist.

  Then lowered it.

  Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall. “Get it together, moron,” he muttered. If she tells me to drop dead… He shuddered.

  Rapping softly on the door, he waited with his heart in his throat. The door cracked open, chain attached, and one wary hazel eye regarded him. It widened before Candy shut the door in his face.

  All his blood drained straight to his feet, and he swayed. God, I’m not going to get a chance to explain. If only she’d listen…

  Raising his fist to launch a fresh attack, the door swung wide. He caught himself on the jam to avoid toppling inside. Embarrassment surged as he took a step back.

  Candy wore pink flannel pajamas, and her hair was hauled back in a sloppy ponytail. Face devoid of make-up, her eyes were red-rimmed and a little puffy. Had she been crying? His heart expanded. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  Mitch swallowed. “Hi.”

  One brow shot up. “Hi, that’s all you have to say?”

  “No, but I’d rather not say it in the hall.”

  She stepped back and gestured him inside. “I was thinking about—Major.”

  Leaving his bag in the foyer, he followed her across an acre of off-white carpet and sank into a butter-soft leather couch. Close enough to touch her if he stretched out a hand… He clenched his fingers together in his lap.

  “Major missed you. I missed you. Candy…” He cleared his throat.

  “I missed you, too.” Her voice cracked a little. “But nothing’s changed. You lied to me about—everything.”

  He let out a shuddering breath, shifted closer, and picked up her hand. Smoothing the back of it with his thumb, it took all his willpower not to grab her and kiss her. “I’m ready to explain about that.”

  “I’m listening.”

  He saw a flicker of hope in the clear hazel depths of her eyes, and smiled. “Jeb suggested groveling.”

  Her lips curved in response. “Jeb is a wise man. If you don’t start talking, I’m going to head back to Georgia and marry him.”

  Leaning against the couch cushions, he held her gaze. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

  Her grip tightened on his. “How about with why you changed your name and moved to the middle of nowhere. If I can understand your reasons, maybe I can forgive you for not telling me the truth.” Her nails dug into his palm. “Maybe.”

  He reminded himself this was Candy, the woman he loved. Suddenly, telling her everything didn’t seem like an impossible task. The tightness in his chest eased as he opened his mouth.

  “Ten years ago, Crawford Industries was located in the North Tower of the World Trade Center.” He heard her indrawn breath but didn’t pause. “On that day in September when everything changed, I was late to work, home nursing a hangover.” He squeezed his eyes closed, then forced them open. “I lived. Friends and co-workers didn’t. They call it survivor’s guilt.”

  “Oh, God, Mitch. I’m so sorry.” She bent her head and kissed their tightly clasped hands, her lips whisper soft. “I can’t imagine what you must have felt.”

  “I was worthless for months afterward, and my father…” He hesitated and stared at the floor. “He told me to be a man and move on.” Raising his head, he met her concerned gaze full on. “So, I did. I left New York and Crawford Industries and moved to Georgia. Michael Crawford III died with everyone else in the towers. I became Mitch Johnson, a man whose skin I could live in, a man I could respect.”

  “There was nothing wrong with Michael. Nothing at all.” She grasped his arms and gave them a shake. “You were the better man for caring. I’m sorry your father couldn’t see that.”

  He sighed. “You’re right, but I couldn’t stay in New York. I had to get away.”

  She drew her finger down the seam in the cushion, avoiding his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me who you- were? Didn’t you trust me to understand?”

  Mitch swallowed. He had to tell her the truth, even if she walked away. There’d been too many lies between them.

  Pulling her close, their thighs touched, sending a shot of desire straight to his groin. When she didn’t shove him away, he slipped his arm around her waist. Her head dropped onto his shoulder, fitting perfectly in the hollow of his neck.

  “Honestly, I didn’t trust you at first. You were a city girl with attitude.” When she stiffened, he held on tight. “But that changed as I got to know you again. The Candy I cared about all those years ago emerged and won my heart.”

  “You had plenty of chances to confess, Mitch.” There was an edge to her voice that sent a quiver through him.

  “I tried more than once, but the words stuck in my throat. My past isn’t something I talk about to many people.”

  “So I’m the same as everyone else?”

  “No, of course you’re not.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “I’m making it worse, when all I want…”

  She spoke softly. “Tell me what you want, Mitch.”

  “I want you, Candy. No one else. Just you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight – Forgiveness

  by Jerri Hines

  Doubts flooded Candy. Could she forgive him? Survivor’s guilt. In one short phrase, Mitch had explained everything. Not in words, but his eyes spoke of the world of pain he concealed for not dying in the Tower. With his confession came an understanding of the demons he’d fought all these years. The fact that he sat next to her now meant he’d come to confront those demons. To face her. To grovel.

  She stared at him, didn’t dare blink for fear he’d disappear. For a brief moment she considered flinging herself into his arms and accepting his apology. Then the hurt flared to life once more along with the wall she’d let slip. He would leave. If there was one thing she’d learned from her past, it was that men left when the next obstacle emerged. And this time it just might kill her.

  “Mitch, I can’t.” The knot in her stomach tightened. “I hate that you came all this way, but it just won’t work.”

  “Why not?” he asked, edging closer.

  “Because...it just won’t. Okay. This love thing...I suck at it.”

  A smile flickered over his lips. “That makes two of us. Maybe it didn’t work in the past because it wasn’t right. It’s right now. I couldn’t stand it in Georgia without you. You shouldn’t mess with something that feels this good.”

  She’d always taken pride in knowing the right thing to say, the right move to make. Sitting so close to Mitch, she hadn’t a clue how to defend her emotions against him—and realized she didn’t want to. The memory of their time together burned within her. Maybe it was time to take a risk.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I want you, Candy. I have since the moment you stopped for gas in the middle of a freak snow storm. Fate threw us together. We don’t need to rationalize our relationship. Maybe we should just let ourselves feel.”

 
He kissed her sweetly, drawing her tight against his chest. “I’m not going to let you go.”

  She ached to believe him. Her heart pounded painfully as fear gripped her.

  “You say that now.” Her voice broke. “But if I do this…and it doesn’t work…”

  “Trust me, Candy,” he said simply. “I can’t promise you the road before us won’t have bumps. That’s life. But I can promise we’ll face them together. Honey, I didn’t run from you. I came back to New York because I can’t live without you.”

  He hadn’t left. She had. Speechless, she stared at him. He wasn’t fighting fair. She’d never expected him to break down her defensives so easily.

  He didn’t give her time to answer. Cupping her face between his hands, he touched his mouth to hers, wiping out any lingering doubts. His strong embrace and the press of his lips against hers mesmerized her.

  He pulled back and caressed her face with his thumbs. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I’ve never wanted something so badly. I want you, Candy. I need you. You gave me the courage to come back to New York. I never thought I would. Never realized I needed to return to start living again instead of just existing. But I can’t live without you.”

  When he kissed her, love filled her to bursting. She’d spent years protecting herself, but the wall around her heart was only an illusion. She wanted desperately to be loved...to be loved by this man.

  Candy gazed up at him. She pressed the palms of her hands against his solid chest but couldn’t say the words.

  "Tell me there’s something special between us. Tell me I’m not imagining it. Tell me you love me as much as I love you.”

  Her fears melted away and elation rose inside her. He loved her.

  "I love you, too, Mitch."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine – It's Always Been You

  by Claire Ashgrove

  As Mitch folded Candy into his embrace, a glimmer of gold in the warm light caught his attention. He squinted at the curio cabinet he’d given Marie. Back then, he’d been afraid his father would find out and dish out another serving of disapproval. Now, he hated that he’d been afraid, and later unable, to tell the woman who’d been more of a mother than his own what she meant to him.