The Mistletoe Promise

  “I don’t think they’ll be serving jalapeño poppers and Budweiser,” I said.

  “And the party will be the worse for it,” he replied.

  “May I take your coat?” a young man asked.

  “Yes, please,” Nicholas said. He helped me off with the stole Zoey had also brought me and handed it to the man.

  Just then a mature, silver-haired man wearing a beautiful burgundy suit walked up to us. He was accompanied by an elegant woman I guessed to be his wife. “Nicholas,” he said. “You made it.”

  “And this time you brought someone,” the woman said. “And she’s lovely.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Elise, this is Alan McKay, our senior partner, and his better half, Careen.”

  “Thank you for having us,” I said. “Your home is beautiful.”

  “Thank you, dear. We enjoy it.”

  “Food and drink is that way,” Alan said, pointing to a side room. “Please, enjoy yourselves.”

  “Thanks, Alan,” Nicholas said. “Careen.”

  Our hosts flitted away like butterflies.

  “They were nice,” I said.

  “They’re good people,” Nicholas said. “Alan is the firm’s founder and senior partner. He’s also the one who brought me over from the prosecutor’s office.”

  The party was considerably smaller than the one at La Caille, with maybe thirty guests in all. As we walked around I recognized some of the lawyers from a couple weeks earlier.

  “Will Scott and Sharon be here?” I asked.

  “No. Scott’s not a partner. At least not yet.”

  “How many partners are there?”

  “Eleven.”

  “And how many lawyers does your firm have?”

  “Ninety-seven.”

  “How come you’re the one with your name on the door?”

  “They like me.”

  There were two food tables in the dining room, one savory, one sweet. At the head of the savory table was a man in a white chef’s coat and hat, carving roast beef. There were also various hors d’oeuvres: bacon-wrapped scallops, crab puffs, jumbo prawns, caviar, carpaccio, and sushi.

  The sweet table had three chocolate fountains with dark, white, and milk chocolates, the bases of the fountains surrounded by fruit. There were miniature key lime pies and cheesecakes, sweet croissants, puff pastries, baklava, millefoglie, and dipped chocolates.

  “This is amazing,” I said. “I think I’m going to gain weight.”

  “I’ll help,” Nicholas said.

  We filled up our plates and sat down near the musicians. A few people came by to talk to Nicholas. They were all very warm and welcoming.

  When I had finished my plate, Nicholas said, “Would you like to see the house?”

  “I’d love to. Will they mind?”

  “No,” Nicholas said. “Alan loves to show it off.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” I said.

  Nicholas led me up the circular stairs to a long hallway, both sides of which were lined with doors. The hallway led to another hallway and ended at a loft and another set of stairs.

  “I could get lost in here,” I said.

  “Lots of people do,” he said. “Come look at this.” We walked into a spacious room lined with bookshelves, many filled with leather books. It had a fireplace with an antique model of a ship on its mantel, and in the center of the room was a beautiful antique desk. The ceiling was high and multifaceted with a wooden beam stretching the length of the room.

  “This is Alan’s den,” Nicholas said.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Alan likes nice things.”

  I turned back to him. “Are Alan and Careen happy?”

  Nicholas pondered the question. “They’ve been married almost forty years, so I hope so. Alan’s not an especially affectionate man, so their relationship is very partner-like, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

  “But he’s not cheating on her.”

  Nicholas shook his head. “Oh no. He’s a man of strong ethics and a very conservative Catholic. He once told one of the lawyers, ‘If you’re going through a midlife crisis, don’t cheat. Buy yourself a Ferrari instead. It’s cheaper.’ ” Nicholas smiled. “Want to see something cool?”

  “Yes.”

  He pushed on one of the shelves, and it opened into a room. I clapped. “That’s like in the movies.”

  “Every man wants a bookshelf that opens into a secret room.”

  “Where does it go?”

  “Come inside,” he said.

  We stepped into the room. Like the outer room it had bookshelves, though the books weren’t legal tomes but novels and personal reading, including a few Grisham, Patterson, and Vince Flynn thrillers. There were also several framed photographs of Alan with famous people, including President Bill Clinton, Bob Hope, and Maureen O’Hara.

  “Actually, it’s a safe room,” Nicholas said. “In case terrorists or someone crazy breaks into his house. They can hide in here until the police arrive.”

  “Sometimes I’d like a safe room to hide in,” I said.

  “To hide from what?” Nicholas asked.

  “Life.”

  Nicholas looked at me, then nodded as if he understood. “My father served in Vietnam. When I was young he told me that everyone needs an emotional foxhole. A place to hide when life’s storms hit.”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course,” he said. “There’s a quote widely misattributed to Plato that says, ‘Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.’ It’s true. Everyone has struggles. Everyone has suffered more than you know. That includes you and me.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.

  We walked back downstairs. The string quartet had resumed playing. Nicholas introduced me to a few more people, and then we went back and sat down next to the musicians.

  As I looked around the ornately furnished room, I wondered what Nicholas’s house must be like. “Where do you live?” I asked.

  “Not far from here, actually.” He suddenly smiled. “Would you like to see my house?”

  “Yes.”

  His smile turned to a conspicuous grin.

  “What?” I asked.

  “When I first offered the contract you asked if this ended up back at my place. I bet you didn’t think you’d be asking me to go.”

  I grinned back. “A lot has changed since then,” I said.

  Nicholas lived less than ten minutes away. His home was new, a Cape Cod–style house with shutters and a large front porch. He pulled his car into the garage. The door from the garage opened into the kitchen, where he flipped on the lights. The room was bright and immaculate, with not even a dish in the sink.

  “This is really cute,” I said.

  “Wasn’t really going for cute,” he replied.

  “It’s big,” I said.

  “For one person it is.”

  “It’s big for a lot of people,” I said.

  “Hopefully I won’t always be living here alone,” he replied.

  There were pictures on the wall. “Is this your family?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “This is you with the long hair?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “How old were you?”

  He leaned forward for a closer look. “I think I was fifteen in that one.” In none of the pictures was Nicholas older than fifteen or sixteen.

  “These are your parents?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Have they ever been here?”

  “No. My mother died before I built the home. My father wouldn’t come.”

  “You know, you might be the cleanest bachelor in the country. You must have a cleaner.”

  “Rosa,” he sa
id. “She comes once a week. But actually, I’m pretty OCD. I don’t like a messy house.”

  “I would drive you crazy.”

  I looked over a long row of porcelain figurines he had displayed on a shelf. He had three female nudes with angel wings, a larger piece of a mother breast-feeding her baby, and a glossy figurine of Don Quixote sitting in a chair holding an open book on his lap and a sword in his hand. “Tell me about these,” I said.

  “I collect Lladró. I just think they’re beautiful. There’s one piece I’m coveting, but I haven’t gotten up the nerve to buy it yet. It’s Cinderella in her pumpkin carriage with her horses and groomsmen. It’s more than thirty thousand dollars.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I can’t imagine spending that much on art. Do you think you’ll buy it?”

  “I’ll buy it someday,” he said.

  “I hope you let me see it when you do.”

  “Of course. You like Cinderella?”

  “Who doesn’t like Cinderella?”

  He just looked at me thoughtfully, then changed the subject. “So are you ready for New York?”

  “I haven’t finished packing, but I’m very excited.” I looked at him. “May I ask you a delicate question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are we sharing a room in New York?”

  For a moment he just looked at me, and I had no idea how he was taking the question. Had I embarrassed him by implying that I didn’t want to be with him, or had I embarrassed myself by presuming that he would? “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

  “No, we’re not,” he said. “I booked you a separate room. It’s in the contract.” The moment settled into silence. Then he said, “It’s late. I better get you home.”

  We were mostly quiet on the drive back to my apartment. He pulled up front and walked me to my door.

  “Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he said. “I’ve never enjoyed the partners’ party more.”

  “Best partners’ party I’ve ever been to,” I said, smiling. “Thank you for letting me into your world.”

  We just stood there looking at each other. I suppose that I was still afraid I had offended him with my question about rooms in New York. But even greater than my fear was my desire that he would kiss me—not just on the cheek as he did in public, but really kiss me, passionately. Finally he leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “Good night, Elise.”

  “Good night, Nicholas,” I said softly, hiding my disappointment. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”

  He turned and walked away. I walked alone into my dark apartment. The night had been magical. Why didn’t he kiss me? Was I reading this all wrong?

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-three

  I’m a long way from Montezuma Creek.

  Elise Dutton’s Diary

  Monday morning, Nicholas arrived at my apartment a little after eight-thirty. I came to the door dragging my suitcase, which he looked at in wonder. “That’s what you’re bringing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did I tell you we’d be gone for five days or five weeks?”

  “A woman needs more things.”

  “Playing the gender card,” he said, smiling. “Let me get that.” He lugged my massive bag down the stairs, opened his car trunk by remote, and dropped it inside while I climbed into the passenger seat.

  He turned to me and said, “Ready for an adventure?”

  “I’m always ready for an adventure,” I said.

  On the way to the airport Nicholas asked, “When was the last time you flew?”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “How long’s a while?”

  “About eleven years. It was my honeymoon.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Orange County. We went to Disneyland.”

  The airport was thick with travelers. I didn’t know if it was busier than usual since I hadn’t flown for so long.

  “I can’t believe all the people,” I said. “Is it always this crowded?”

  “It’s the season. The airports are always crazy during the holidays.” He looked at me. “Are you afraid of flying?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m afraid of . . . not flying.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As long as you’re in the air there’s no problem, right? It’s coming back to earth that’s the problem.”

  He grinned. “I think you just said something profound about life.”

  Our flight was direct from Salt Lake to JFK. Nicholas had booked two first-class tickets, which secretly thrilled me. I had never flown first-class before. We boarded first, before the throng of passengers that surrounded the gate.

  “So this is how the other half lives,” I said, sitting back in the wide, padded seat.

  “When you fly as much as I do, it’s more of a necessity than a luxury.”

  “It’s still luxury,” I said.

  I must have looked a little nervous as the plane took off because he reached over and took my hand. Or maybe he just wanted to hold my hand. I hoped for the latter.

  “Is our hotel in the city?” I asked.

  “We’re staying at the Parker Meridien on Fifty-Sixth,” he said. “It’s a nice hotel. French. And it’s close to things. It’s only six blocks from Rockefeller Center.”

  “That’s where the big Christmas tree is,” I said.

  He nodded. “And we’re only one block from Fifth Avenue.”

  “What’s on Fifth Avenue?”

  “Shopping,” he said.

  The flight was just a little over four hours. Nicholas fell asleep shortly after they served us lunch. As hard as he worked, I wasn’t surprised. Even though I hadn’t slept well the night before, I couldn’t sleep on the plane. I was too excited. I felt like a girl on her first school field trip. Nicholas didn’t wake until we began our descent. He rubbed his eyes, looked around, then checked his watch. “I slept for two hours. Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “You needed the sleep,” I said.

  After we had disembarked, Nicholas stopped in a terminal store for some melatonin, then I followed him through the labyrinth of JFK to get our luggage. Downstairs, next to the baggage carousel, was a man in a black suit and cap holding a sign with my name on it.

  ELISE DUTTON

  “Is that for me?” I asked, which I realized was a foolish question.

  “Of course,” Nicholas said.

  “I’ve never had someone holding a sign for me.”

  The man took our bags, and we followed him out into the cold to a black Lincoln Town Car. The ride took us across the Triborough Bridge into Manhattan, which gave us a clear view of the city’s famous skyline. “Is that the Empire State Building?” I asked, pointing at a tall building lit red and green.

  Nicholas nodded. “They light it for the season. The last time I was here it was purple to honor our soldiers with the Purple Heart.”

  The Parker Meridien was just off Sixth Avenue. The lobby was spacious with modern European design and a wry sense of humor. The elevators had televisions that played old Charlie Chaplin movies or Tom and Jerry cartoons, and the room’s Do Not Disturb sign was a long hanger that read FUGGETABOUTIT, congruent with the hotel’s slogan, “Uptown. Not Uptight.”

  After Nicholas checked us in, a bellman brought our bags to our rooms on the eleventh floor, just two doors from each other.

  For dinner we ate Thai food at a tiny restaurant near the hotel. We said goodnight to each other outside my hotel room.

  “I need to do some prep work for tomorrow,” Nicholas said. “So I’ll see you in the morning. My meetings begin at nine. If you’d like to have breakfast together, there’s Norma’s on the main floor. Or, you can sleep in and order room service. Whatever you want.”

  “I want to be with you,” I said.

/>   He looked pleased with my reply. “I’ll knock on your door at seven-forty-five. Don’t forget to turn your watch ahead two hours. I’ll see you in the morning.” He kissed me on the cheek.

  He started to go, but I stopped him. “Nicholas.”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Elise. Sleep tight.”

  I shut my door and lay down on top of the bed thinking about how happy I was. I had never had so much fun.

  There was only one week left on our contract.

  I didn’t fall asleep until after two, so I was tired when Nicholas knocked on my door at a quarter to eight. He looked sharp in his suit and tie.

  “You look nice,” I said. “Very professional.” I didn’t. I had just pulled on some jeans and a sweater.

  “Shall we go?”

  Norma’s was a hip restaurant located in the hotel’s lobby. I looked over the orange and black menu. “So many choices. Everything looks good.”

  “They’re famous for their breakfasts.”

  “Oh my,” I said, laughing. “Look at this. The Zillion Dollar Lobster Frittata. It’s a thousand dollars.”

  “That’s with ten ounces of sevruga caviar,” he said. “Read what it says underneath the price.”

  “Norma dares you to expense this.” I looked up. “What would you do if I ordered that?”

  “Cancel tonight’s dinner.”

  “I’ll get something else,” I said quickly. “Who are you meeting with this morning?”

  “It’s a software company called Revelar. They’re buying up a competitor, and I’m here to make sure that they cross their t’s and dot their i’s. What are you going to do today?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Well, unfortunately, it’s New York, so there’s not much to do,” he said. “Especially at Christmastime.”

  I grinned. “I thought I’d walk around and see the sights.”

  “You could take the ferry to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Or you could take a tour of the Empire State Building. Also, you’re not far from Fifth Avenue, where all the good shopping is—Saks, Tiffany’s, Cartier, Prada, the good stuff.”