Thinking of Charles made her smile. He was an interesting character. If he hadn’t already told her, she would’ve guessed he was an academic. He fit the stereotype of the absentminded professor perfectly—a researcher who became so absorbed in his work, he needed someone to tell him when and where he needed to be.
He did have a heart, though. Otherwise she’d probably be hitchhiking back to California by now. As long as she made herself invisible, they would manage.
Once inside the store, she got a grocery cart and wandered aimlessly down the aisle, seeking inspiration for dinner. She decided on baked green peppers stuffed with a rice, tomato soup and ground beef mixture. The recipe was her mother’s but Faith rarely made it. Cooking for one was a chore and it was often easier to pick up something on the way home from school. Fresh cranberries were on sale, so she grabbed a package of those, although she hadn’t decided what to do with them. It seemed a Christmassy thing to buy. She’d find a use for them later.
She’d come up with menus for the rest of the week this afternoon, and write a more complete grocery list then.
On the walk home, Faith discovered the Kennedy kids and about half the town’s children sledding down the big hill in the park. If her arms hadn’t been full, she would’ve stopped and taken a trip down the hill herself.
The kids were so involved in their fun that they didn’t notice her. Breathless, Faith brought everything into the kitchen. She removed her hat and gloves and draped her coat over the back of a chair. Unpacking the groceries, she sang a Christmas song that was running through her mind.
The door to the den flew open and Charles stood in the doorway glaring at her.
Faith stopped midway to the refrigerator, a package of ground beef in her hand. “Was I making too much noise?” she asked guiltily. In her own opinion, she’d been quiet and subdued, but apparently not.
“I’m trying to work here,” he told her severely.
“Sorry,” she mouthed and tiptoed back to the kitchen counter.
“You aren’t planning to do anything like bake cookies, are you?” He wrinkled his nose as if to say he wasn’t interested.
“Uh, I hadn’t given it any thought.”
“In case you do, you should know I don’t want to be distracted by smells, either.”
“Smells?” With an effort, Faith managed not to groan out loud.
“The aroma of baking cookies makes my stomach growl.”
He wasn’t kidding, and Faith found that humorous, although she dared not show it. She was able to stay here only with his approval and couldn’t afford to jeopardize her position. “Then rest assured. I won’t do anything to make your stomach growl.”
“Good.” With that, Charles retreated into the den, closing the door decisively.
Faith rolled her eyes. What was she supposed to do all day? Sit in a corner and knit? Play solitaire? If that little bit of commotion had bothered His Highness, then she couldn’t see this arrangement working. And yet, what was the alternative?
The awful part was that she felt an almost overwhelming urge to bang lids together. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, she had to bite her lower lip to restrain herself from singing at the top of her lungs and stomping her feet.
This was crazy. Ludicrous. Still, it was all she could do not to behave in the most infantile manner. If she was going to behave like a child, then she might as well join the children. This close to Christmas, they had a lot of pent-up energy.
Dressed in hat, gloves and her coat once again, Faith went outside. The snow on the front lawn was untouched. A fresh layer had fallen overnight, and with time on her hands, she made an impulsive decision to build a snowman. She grinned as she looked at the specimen in the neighbor’s yard.
Starting with a small hand-size ball of snow, she rolled it across the lawn, letting it grow larger and fuller with each sweep.
“Do you want me to help?” Sarah asked, appearing at her side.
Sarah was a favorite of Emily’s, Faith knew. As the youngest in a big family, she’d learned to hold her own.
“I sure do.”
The little girl beamed as Faith resumed the snow-rolling task. “The bottom part of the snowman has to be the biggest,” Sarah pointed out, obviously taking on supervisory responsibilities.
“Right.”
“Dylan says it’s the most important part, too.”
Dylan, if Faith remembered correctly, lived down the street and was a good friend to one of the Kennedy boys.
“Are you building a fort?” Thomas shouted, hurrying across the street from the park. He abandoned his sled near the front porch.
“This is a nice friendly snowman,” Faith assured him.
Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Looks more like a snow fort to me.”
“It’s a ball,” Sarah primly informed her brother, hands on her hips. “Anyone can see that.”
“I don’t think so.” Thomas raced over to his own yard and started rolling snow. He was quickly joined by his brothers. The boys worked feverishly at constructing their fort.
Sarah and Faith hurried to catch up, changing their tactics. There were four boys against the two of them, but what they lacked in numbers they made up for in cunning. While Faith built their defensive wall, Sarah rolled snowballs, stacking them in neat piles out of sight of her brothers.
“Now, boys,” Faith said, standing up and strolling to the middle of the battleground between their two yards. “I’m telling you right now that it’s not a good thing to pick a fight with girls.”
“Yeah, because they tattle.”
“Do not,” Sarah screeched.
“Do, too.”
Faith stretched out her arms to silence both sides. “Sarah and I were innocently building a friendly snowman for Mrs. Springer’s front yard when we were accused of constructing a snow fort.”
“It is a snow fort,” Thomas insisted, pointing accusingly at the wall of snow.
“It became one when you started building yours,” Faith said. “But before we go to war, I feel honor bound to look for some means of making peace.”
“No way!” Mark cried.
“Hear me out,” Faith urged. “First of all, it’s unfair. There are more of you than of us.”
“I ain’t going over to the girls’ side,” Mark protested.
“We don’t want any boys, anyway,” Sarah shouted back.
Again Faith silenced them. “You don’t want peace?”
“No!” Thomas tossed a snowball straight up and batted it down with his hand as if to prove his expertise.
“Forget it,” Mark seconded.
“Then we have to make it a fair fight.”
The boys were silent, apparently waiting for one of them to volunteer. No one did.
“I suggest that in order to even things up, the boys’ side is restricted to the use of one hand. Agreed?”
The boys grinned and nodded.
“Your left hand,” she added.
Their laughter and snickers quickly died out. “Ah, come on…”
Not giving the group a chance to argue, Faith tossed the first snowball, which landed just short of the snow fortification. Before the boys had time to react, she raced back to Sarah. The little girl was crouched behind the shelter and had accumulated a huge pile of snowballs.
Soon they were all laughing and pelting each other with snow. Faith managed to land several wildly thrown snowballs, but she was on the receiving end just as often. At one point she glanced toward the house and saw Charles looking out the living-room window.
Oh, no. Even a snowball fight was too much racket for him. Unfortunately, the distraction cost her. Thomas, who was fast becoming accustomed to pitching snowballs left-handed, scored a direct hit. The snowball struck her square in the chest. Snow sprayed up into her face, and Faith made a show of sputtering.
“Gotcha,” Thomas cried and did a jig of triumph, leaping up and down with his arms above his head.
Faith glanced at the house again and
saw Charles laughing. She did a double take. The man could actually laugh? This was news. Perhaps he wasn’t so stuffy, after all. Perhaps she’d misread him entirely.
Was that possible?
Chapter Fifteen
“This is the Old North Church?” Emily stood outside Christ Church, made famous in the Longfellow poem. “The ‘one if by land, two if by sea’ church?”
“The very one,” Ray assured her. “Boston’s oldest surviving religious structure.”
Emily tilted back her head and looked to the very top of the belfry. “If I remember my history correctly, a sexton…”
“Robert Newman.”
She nodded. “He warned Paul Revere and the patriots that the British were coming.”
“Correct. You may go to the head of the class.”
Emily had always been fascinated by history. “I loved school. I was a good student,” she said. A trait her daughter had inherited.
“I can believe it,” Ray said, guiding her inside the church.
They toured it briefly, and Emily marveled as Ray dramatically described that fateful night in America’s history.
“How do you know so much about this?”
Ray grinned. “You mean other than through Charles, who’s lived and breathed this stuff from the time he was a kid?”
“Yes.”
“The truth is that, years ago, I edited a book—a mystery novel, actually—in which the Old North Church played a major role in the plot.”
Emily was so enraptured by Boston’s history that she’d forgotten Ray was an important figure in New York publishing.
“As a matter of fact, I have plenty of trivia in the back of my mind from my years as a hands-on editor.”
As they walked, Ray described a number of books he’d edited and influential authors he’d worked with. Apparently he no longer did much of that. Instead he had a more administrative role.
Emily found it very easy to talk to Ray, and the hours melted away. It seemed they’d hardly left the condominium, but it was already growing dark. She admired the Christmas lights and festive displays, which weren’t like those in Leavenworth, but equally appealing.
They stopped for a seafood dinner and then walked around some more, taking in the sights and sounds of the season. As Emily told him about Leavenworth, Ray grew more amused with each anecdote. “I wish I could be there to see Charles’s reaction.”
Emily continued to feel guilty about Ray’s brother—and about Faith—but she couldn’t have known. Her one wish was that Faith and Charles would be as compatible as she and Ray.
Being with him these last few days before Christmas made all the difference in the world. If not for Ray, she’d probably be holed up in the condo baking dozens of cookies and feeling sorry for herself.
“Despite all the mix-ups, I’m glad I’m here,” she told him.
“I’m glad you’re here, too,” Ray said. “I’m enjoying your company so much. Do you want to know what else I’m enjoying?”
Emily could only guess. “Being in Boston again?”
“Well, that too. But what I mean is that I’m completely free of phone calls.”
The first thing Ray had done, once he’d contacted his office and informed his assistant that he wouldn’t be returning until after the holidays, was turn off his cell phone.
“You might have missed an important call,” she reminded him.
“Tough. Whoever’s in the office can handle it this time. I’m unavailable.” He laughed as he said it.
Emily laughed because he did, but from the little she’d learned about his work, it was a hectic series of meetings and continual phone calls. Ray must be under constant pressure, dealing with agents’ and authors’ demands, in addition to various vice presidents, sales and marketing personnel, advertising firms and more. Although he held a prominent position with the company and obviously interacted with many people, he seemed as lonely as she was. He’d told her that aside from his work and a few social commitments, he had no reason to rush back to New York. Indeed, he seemed eager to stay here in Boston.
“Coffee?” he asked when they reached the Starbucks where she’d had her last encounter with Heather.
Emily hesitated, but then agreed. After all these hours of walking, she was exhausted and her feet hurt. Yet, at the same time, she was invigorated by everything she’d seen and done—and utterly charmed by Ray.
While he stepped up to the counter to order their drinks, she secured a table. As luck would have it, the only vacant one was the same table she’d occupied while waiting to meet her daughter. Her thoughts inevitably flashed to Heather, and Emily wondered where she was now and what she was doing. No, it was probably best not to know.
A few minutes later, Ray joined her with two tall cups of coffee. He slipped into the seat across from her. “Time like this is a luxury for me,” he said.
“I want you to know how much I appreciate—”
He took her hand, stopping her. “What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that I’ve avoided it.”
Emily frowned, uncertain she understood his meaning.
“I loved being with you today, talking and laughing with you. The truth is, I can’t remember any day I’ve enjoyed more in a very long while.”
“But I’m the one who’s indebted to you.”
“No,” he said emphatically. “I’m the one who owes you. I’d forgotten,” he said quietly, “what it’s like to give myself a free day. To do something that’s not related to work.” He paused. “There seems to be a great deal in my life that I’ve let slide. I needed this wake-up call.”
“In other words, I’m an alarm clock?”
He grinned. “You’re more than that.”
They were flirting with each other, she realized. Normally, conversations such as this terrified her. She’d married her high-school sweetheart and had rarely dated since Peter’s death. Her daughter, sad as it was to admit, had more experience with men than she did.
Despite her determination not to, she was worrying about Heather again. Tears filled her eyes.
“Are you okay?”
Embarrassed, she nodded. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she offered him a watery smile. “I was just thinking about my daughter.”
“She’s with friends, isn’t she?”
“So she says.” Emily rolled her eyes.
“Everyone has to grow up sooner or later, and among other things, that means learning how to judge other people’s intentions.” He shrugged. “Some lessons are more painful than others.”
Sniffling a little, Emily agreed. “I can’t think about Heather, otherwise I’ll get upset. It’s just that I had all these plans for the two of us over Christmas.”
“What kind of plans?”
It seemed a little silly to tell Ray about them now. “I packed our favorite Christmas ornaments, so we could decorate a tree the same way we do every year.”
“You and I could get a tree.”
“You’d be willing to do that?”
“It’s Christmas, isn’t it? I haven’t put up a tree in years.”
“No tree?”
He chuckled. “Too much bother to do it on my own, but I’d love to help you. First thing in the morning, we’ll buy a tree.”
Her spirits brightened instantly.
“Anything else?”
“I always roast the traditional turkey, but I felt that since we were in Boston we should cook lobster. I love lobster tail with lots of melted butter. I’ve never prepared a whole lobster, though. I thought it’d be fun to go to a fish market and pick one out.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea. Lobster for two.”
“This is great!” Emily crowed happily.
After finishing their coffee, they walked back to the condominium hand in hand. By the time they rode up in the elevator, Ray had his arm around her. Being this close to him felt…natural. She rested her head against his shoulder.
Ray unlocked the door and swung it open, but he d
idn’t immediately reach for the light switch. When Emily stepped into the living room, Ray turned her into his arms. He closed the front door with his foot, and they stood in near darkness, the only light seeping in through the blinds. She leaned against him, eyes drifting shut.
Ray’s palm cradled her cheek, his touch gentle. He rubbed his thumb across her lips and Emily sighed, wanting him to kiss her, afraid he wouldn’t—yet afraid he would.
Standing on her toes, she slipped her arms around his neck and whispered, “Thank you for the most wonderful day.”
“Thank you.” His lips found hers then, and it was sweet and sensual all at once.
He brought her full against him as their mouths met again and again, one unhurried kiss following another. Emily’s senses spun out of control but she pulled back, fearful of what might happen if they allowed this to continue.
Ray exhaled shakily. “I’m not sure that was a good idea, but I’m not sorry. Not at all…”
Emily kissed the side of his jaw. “Me, neither,” she whispered.
She felt his smile. “Don’t worry, Ray, I promise not to ravish you,” she teased.
“Damn.”
“Well…” Emily laughed softly. “I could reconsider.”
It was Ray’s turn to be amused. “You ready for the lights?”
“I suppose.”
When Ray touched the switch, the room instantly went from dark to bright. But he didn’t immediately release her.
When they separated and moved farther into the room, Emily noticed the flashing message light on the phone. Ray noticed it, too. Emily’s hopes soared—could it be Heather?—but then she remembered that her daughter didn’t know where she was staying.
Ray pushed the caller ID button and groaned. “Four calls,” he muttered, “and they’re all from my mother.”
Chapter Sixteen
Southern Florida in December was paradise. There was no other word for it. The beach was flawless, the water blue and clear and warm, the sunshine constant. It was as close to heaven as anyone who’d spent a winter in Boston could imagine.