“Wow, that’s a tough one. There are so many.” He ran his hands through his hair. “She loved Christmas. She loved Christmas decorations, especially lights. She put up so many you’d think we had a decorations store. And they went up Thanksgiving Day. There were lights everywhere, but only on the inside. I asked her once why she didn’t decorate the outside. She said it was because she rarely saw the outside—only coming and going—so why waste the time and effort to decorate it? She would sit up at night after everyone went to bed and watch the tree twinkle.”
“That sounds beautiful.”
“One year, I was sitting with her—I thought it was terribly late but it was probably before nine o’clock because I was around eight years old, and suddenly the entire house went dark. Pitch black. She had blown a fuse!” Ian laughed so hard he could barely talk. “She had bought a whole bunch of extra light strings on sale at the dollar store and put them all up and blew a fuse. We couldn’t get it fixed until the next day, so we all piled into mom and dad’s room that night and had a slumber party.”
Hope chuckled along with him. If only she had such delightful memories. She shoved down her jealously in order to concentrate on Ian. “That’s a wonderful memory. Maybe you should write them down. When things get discouraging, you could look at the book.”
He tilted his head. “Sounds like something you would say.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“I saw all your books scattered around. You love to read. Probably like to write, too. What do you do, anyway?”
“I’m an editor.”
“Ha! I knew it.” He slapped his thigh. “What kind of editor?”
“I take work by engineers and scientists, and edit it. I take out all the science-speak, and fix all the grammar and punctuation.” She shrugged. “It’s not bad. Sometimes I even enjoy it.”
“So you’re not a writer?”
She shook her head.
“Well, I was close. It’s good you can do that from here.”
“Yeah, especially now.”
“Why now?”
She drew in a long breath. “I just finished a long project for a university with a partner. They loved our work. Trouble is, my partner purposely told me the wrong date for the presentation to them, so he went by himself. They raved about him to Teresa—our boss—and he got a promotion. I got nothing.”
“I’m sorry. That’s really underhanded.”
“So it’s a good thing I don’t have to be there and see him for a while.”
“I can understand that.” He stared at her until she looked away. “Hey, want some ice cream?” He pointed to the ice cream shop across the way.
“I don’t like soft serve.”
“They have milkshakes.” He said it in a singsong voice.
“I like my own.”
“How can you drink so many milkshakes, and not be ... um ... oh, dear ...” Color crept into his cheeks.
Hope laughed. “As big as a house?”
He nodded.
“I run most nights.”
“You’ll run at night but not with me in the morning.” He pouted.
She shrugged. “I like sunsets.”
“I’ll get you out in the morning yet.” He blew out a long breath. “Hey, thanks for asking about my mom. Most people don’t know what to say, so they don’t say anything.”
“My mom died when I was twelve. No one wanted to even mention her name. I know they meant well. I think they thought it would make me too sad. But I wanted to remember her, remember the good things. And it was just me and my dad then, so I had no one to talk to.” She winced as the isolation washed over her.
Ian grabbed her hand. “Let’s make a deal. Whenever you want to talk about your mom, or I want to talk about mine, we’ll be there for each other. OK?”
Did she really trust him enough for that yet? She might not talk about hers, but she’d listen to him any time. “Deal.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
IAN FOUND HIMSELF COMING UP with excuses to see Hope. If he had the nerve, he’d show up on the beach at sunset to run with her, but that would be a little too obvious. He had promised to take her shopping, though ...
He tugged his cell phone from his back pocket. One ring. Three ... four ... the voice mail kicked in. What should he say? “Ummm ... Hope, this is Ian. I promised I’d take you shopping, so if you’re still interested, call me back.” He pocketed the phone.
“Who was that?” Rob sauntered up behind him, a fresh cash drawer in hand.
“A girl.”
“The blonde.” He wiggled his brows.
“Maybe.”
Rob laughed. “You’re a terrible liar. Aren’t you supposed to be gone by now?”
“Yeah, but ...”
“Amy’s late.”
Ian sighed. “Yeah.”
“I know you feel bad for her, but we have to do something.”
“I know. But what you don’t know is, she is a huge support to her family. Her mother is alone, with three other kids besides Amy. Without this job, she’d have to drop out of college. And she can only afford community college at that. If she’s late, it’s because one of the others was sick or something.”
Ian straightened the display of potato chips at the end of the aisle. “She may be annoying as all get-out, but she knows what she’s doing, and she’s honest. Finding and training someone else would be a huge hassle.”
“Then you have to have a talk with her.” Rob moved to the register and switched out the drawers. Punching buttons, he started the report tape.
“I already did. Two weeks ago. Apparently didn’t do any good. She just kept asking me if it had anything to do with ‘the blonde.’”
Rob shook his head. “She has a crush on you, dude.”
“She’s nineteen!”
“Nineteen-year-olds don’t get crushes? That’s the perfect age. And she’s seriously jealous of Hope.”
“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”
“Sure there’s not.”
“Not yet anyway.”
“Enough for a nineteen-year-old.”
Ian shrugged. “I can’t help that.”
“Maybe I should talk to her, then.” He took the used drawer and tape back to the office to lock it up.
“Go ahead.” His phone chimed. “Hello.”
“Ian?”
He smiled and leaned against the counter. “Hi.”
“You called about shopping?”
“Yeah. You still want to go?”
“You don’t have to do that. I can’t imagine that would be very much fun for a guy.”
“No problem. I’d enjoy it. We can go to the outlet malls, maybe get some dinner.”
“What if we get lunch first, then go shopping? I’m kind of hungry.”
“Sure. Whatever you want. When should I pick you up?”
“Whenever’s good for you. I’m open all day.”
“Great. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” He pushed the end button and slipped it back in his pocket. He looked up to see Rob smirking at him.
“Dude, if you could see your face.”
“What?”
“That smile. I’ve never seen it so wide. Not even with Katie.”
“Yeah, well, she just blew me off for dinner. Suggested lunch instead, so, like I said. Nothing to be jealous of.”
Rob smirked. “Smile’s gone.”
“Shut up. I gotta go. You wait for Amy.” He tossed his apron at Rob.
“She’s not expecting you for thirty minutes. Why the rush?”
“I might be stuck with you in the store now, but I can still kick you out of my apartment.” He left to the sound of Rob’s laughter.
After going home to wash up and change his shirt three times, Ian arrived at Hope’s. Her door was open.
She glanced at her watch. “Are you always so punctual?”
“What?”
“You said thirty minutes exactly twenty-eight minutes ago.”
; “Sorry. Perils of owning a store, I guess. Gotta open on time.”
“Well, it’s annoying.” She chuckled.
“Fine. Next time I’ll be late.”
“Next time, huh?”
He grinned. “What are you wanting to shop for? There are three outlet malls in Rehoboth.” He gave her a brochure.
“Aren’t you prepared.” She quirked a brow at him.
He shrugged. “We have a display in the store.”
“I need some new cushions for these couches, and the ones out on the porch. I have measurements.” She waved a paper at him. “So it’s good you’ll be there—I’ll need some muscle.” She squeezed his upper arm.
He sucked in a breath, and she caught his gaze for a moment, then quickly pulled her hand away.
She folded the paper in half, and in half again, then shoved it inner purse. “Well, ummm, we should go.”
“Any place in particular you want to eat?”
“I made a half sandwich, so we can wait for dinner if you like.” She gave him a smile that nearly stopped his heart.
He needed to be careful not to read anything into that.
“Anything you want.” He turned to the door and held it open for her. A whiff of citrus swirled around him as she passed. He closed the door and waited for her to lock it, enjoying her perfume.
After visiting several stores to find just what she needed, including some outside the mall, his stomach was rumbling. He’d skipped lunch after her comment about dinner, but he didn’t want to tell her that. He placed the last bag in the back of his Jeep. “So, where would you like to eat?”
“You like Mexican?”
“I love Mexican.”
“And you know exactly where there’s a great one.”
“Not in Rehoboth.”
“How about the one we passed when you missed the turn and we had to make a u-turn?” She pointed up the street.
“Funny. Keep it up and you’ll go home hungry.”
Her face blanched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it...”
“Hey, I’m kidding. Don’t worry.” Wow. She was really skittish. He reached for her arm. “It’s fine, really.”
She seemed to relax, so he walked her around to her side of the car.
During the meal and on the ride home, she seemed to become more comfortable around him. Most of her life she still kept a carefully guarded fortress though, one he desperately wanted to breach. But he’d happily wait until she was ready.
When they reached her house, he carried her packages to the porch.
“You can just leave them there on the chair.” She unlocked the door, then leaned against the frame. “Thanks for everything. I had a really great time.”
“So did I. Thanks for coming.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Are you sure you’re not mad?”
“About what?” He thought back though the day. “The u-turn comment?”
She nodded.
“Of course not. Although ...”
“What?”
“I think now you owe me.”
“Owe you what?” She giggled. Good, she’d learned to take his jokes.
“You owe me a run. In the morning.”
“Wow. You play dirty.”
“I hardly think so. It’s been weeks since I asked you.”
She grinned. “All right. You win. Tomorrow. Sun up.”
“I’ll be waiting. He resisted the urge to place his hand on her cheek. “Go on in and lock up.”
She smiled and walked in backwards, then closed the door.
Ian climbed in his Jeep and laid his head against the seat.
Had he made a crack in the wall?
CHAPTER NINE
HOPE LEANED AGAINST THE DOOR. When had she had as much fun as she had today? She couldn’t remember. Ian was sweet, funny, charming and impossibly good-looking.
Sooner or later, it would have to come crashing down.
The bad would come out—the need for control, the deceit, the manipulation everybody seemed to be so good at. At least everyone she’d met so far. Chris was perfect when they started dating. Even for the first couple months. Then he had to start going out with every woman in the office behind her back. If he didn’t want to be tied down, why didn’t he just break up with her? Did he have to lie?
And Steven. Taking credit for all her work just so he could get the promotion. Lying to her about the presentation. Even Teresa letting him get away with it so she could get her own promotion, using Steve as the perfect employee for her reference.
And let’s not forget about Marcos...
She was not going to let that happen again. No one would use her, lie to her. She’d keep her guard up. Stick to her plans.
The clock on the wall reminded her the mail would be in by now. She’d have to walk down to the post office and pick it up from her box there. Apparently no mailboxes were allowed in Brandon Beach. Whatever.
She bounded up the stairs, jumped in the shower, changed her clothes and jogged to New York Street. The after-work crowd was easing, but she still had to wait a few moments to get to hers. She unlocked her box, grabbed the stack of letters and circulars and dropped them into the tote slung over her shoulder.
The evening air was warm, with just a slight breeze, so she ambled up Main Street. Most of the shops on the boardwalk were closed, but most of those on Main stayed open all year. A souvenir shop boasted a season-end sale, though that sign had been up since she arrived. She stopped in to browse and discovered beach towels on clearance. The bath towels she’d brought from Bethesda were thread-bare. Some extra-long, fluffy towels would be nice. After sorting through what was left—most of which were kind of ugly—she found three that were basic stripes and purchased them.
Back at the intersection of New York and Main, she kissed her fingertips and touched the ragged metal hem of the sailor’s coat for luck before she turned left. Old habits, even ones you wanted to forget—buried so deeply you could never find them again—died hard. The bronze statue of the mariner, fists on the ship’s wheel and a pipe in his mouth, had stood at this end of town for nearly forty years. Twenty feet tall, it was a landmark for locals and visitors alike. How many times had she met a high school date there?
At home she kicked off her shoes on the porch and put her new towels and swim suit in the wash. She dropped to the couch to sort the mail she’d picked up at the post office. Junk mail, junk mail, junk mail ... a letter from Earnst, Peebles & Devons, Attorneys at Law, Chicago, Illinois.
She ran her fingers over the gold embossed return address, the textured paper of the envelope. They would spend a ridiculous amount on stationery, but would they give someone like her a break? Squeezing her eyes shut a moment first, she ripped open the letter, skimmed through it, and released a long sigh. They’d given her only one more month. Not the three she’d asked for, even after she had explained the situation. She glanced at the signature. Charles Allen Hartford. Another in a long line of people who never stayed in that office long enough to learn her name or care about her situation.
$12,000. Where was she supposed to come up with twelve thousand dollars in one month? If they’d only waited until she could fix up the house and sell it. She’d explained all that in her letter. This wasn’t even her fault. She was just cleaning up after him.
Again.
Maybe she could use the house to get a short-term loan. The bank here would understand the value of the property and might trust her with the financing.
Fat chance?
She had no job here, no references. Only debt.
The hole just kept getting deeper.
CHAPTER TEN
IAN PACED THE BOARDWALK AT 7:30. Yes, he was early. He’d tried hard not to be. He couldn’t help it. And she’d said no promises. Why was he so attracted to her when he didn’t really even know her?
He’d give her ten more minutes.
At 7:35, Hope ran up Main Street.
He stepped to the edge of the walk to me
et her. “Didn’t get lost, did you?” He could feel the grin on his face. The smile on hers was his reward.
“I haven’t been gone that long. Even if I’d never been here I couldn’t get lost.”
“Hey, don’t be making fun of my town, now. Small isn’t always bad.”
“I suppose not.”
“Sand or street?”
“You run on the sand?” Her eyes grew wide as she gazed at the surf.
“Sure. Ever tried it?”
She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the waves.
Now she had him worried. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Are you OK?”
She set her jaw. “Let’s do it.”
They hurried down the wood steps and toward the water.
“All right, lean forward, and keep your knees high. It will be a little slower going, but other than that, it’s pretty much the same.”
They jogged north in the tawny sand for about twenty minutes, then turned back. The beach was almost deserted this time of day. She was obviously a runner, and her stride seemed effortless, even on sand. Her hair, caught up in a ponytail, flew behind her, bouncing rhythmically against her teal t-shirt. He usually preferred running alone, but for some reason he loved running next to her.
Back across from Main Street, he slowed, and was surprised when she glanced over her shoulder and grinned, then sped up. He took the hint, and chased her. The thought of grabbing her around her slender waist and tackling her to the ground crossed his mind, but instead, he passed her, turned and ran backwards, gloating.
“Fine, fine, you win.” She held her hands up and laughed, slowing to a walk.
“You asked for it.” He chuckled as he returned to her side.
“Yes, I did.”
“Don’t be surprised if your ankles are sore tomorrow, or your calves. Or both.”
Hope laughed. “Oh, now you tell me.”
“I could come and massage them if they hurt too much.”
“I doubt that will be necessary.”
“You may get used to running on sand. Have to do it every day. Or at least a few times a week.” He raised a brow.
“I don’t think that will happen.”
Just Until Christmas Page 3