Mr. Miracle

by Debbie Macomber

  “What’s wrong with microwave popcorn?”

  It shocked her that he was unaware of the most basic Christmas traditions. “It’s not the same. Real popcorn is popped on the stove.”

  “This is a joke, right?”

  She glared at him with a look that would have melted kryptonite.

  “Okay, okay, you’re serious,” he said and backed away. “I’m sorry I asked.”

  He returned to the other room and Addie was just as glad. While he was out of sight, she set her phone on the kitchen counter and went into her playlist for her favorite Christmas songs, everything from Bing Crosby to Bruno Mars.

  The popcorn smelled heavenly, and the scent of it soon swirled through the house. Addie filled a large bowl, brought it into the living room, and set it on the end table next to Erich.

  He glanced at her, then the popcorn, and announced, “I’m going to my room.”

  “Have it your way.” This disappointed Addie, but she refused to let him know it. The music played as she cheerfully strung the lights around the tree, stopping now and again to nibble on popcorn. It really tasted so much better popped the old-fashioned way.

  She finished the lights and had started hanging the ornaments when Erich returned. He slumped down into his chair as if he expected her to make a derogatory comment. Instead she came over to the chair, leaned over, and kissed him, letting her mouth linger playfully over his for several breathtaking seconds. Then, without a word, she returned to the task at hand, placing the ornaments on the tree.

  “You need a few more toward the left-hand side of the tree,” Erich instructed, sounding breathless following their kiss.

  Stepping back, Addie tilted her head to one side and then the other. “You’re right.”

  “Everyone’s a critic,” he said, almost regretfully.

  The last decoration was the angel for the top of the tree. Addie brought it out of the protective box and studied it. The angel’s white dress had faded over the years and her wings weren’t what they’d once been; still, she was beautiful to Addie because of all the memories associated with her.

  “Dad bought this for Mom the first year they were married,” she said, carefully cradling the figurine in her hands. “He always waited until Christmas Eve before he placed her on the tree. We’d attend church services and come home around nine or ten. Then Dad, with a great deal of ceremony, would put the angel on top of the tree.”

  “Traditions are important,” Erich surprised her by commenting.

  “They are. It’s those memories that stay with us, that bond us as family. It’s one of the reasons I made sure I was home nearly every Christmas. I couldn’t imagine not baking cookies with Mom, or decorating the tree with my father. We might have argued a good portion of the time, but it would be unthinkable to give up that special time together because of our differences.”

  She’d finished with everything except the angel, which she tucked back into the box. Pushing the empty containers out of the way, she stepped back and then slowly smiled. “I don’t care what you say, this is one truly beautiful Christmas tree.”

  He shrugged.

  “Oh come on, Erich, admit it, this tree is gorgeous.”

  “I’ll admit nothing of the sort.”

  “Twit.” That was a name he’d called her as a kid, when she’d get upset with his teasing.

  He grinned as if he, too, remembered the name-calling of their youth. “When do you intend to put up that mistletoe?”

  “Soon. But I seem to remember kissing you only a few minutes ago.”

  He smiled for the first time that afternoon. “And to think you didn’t even need to pay me,” he said, referring to her childhood attempt to buy a kiss.

  “Very funny. Consider that kiss a reward.”

  “What’d I do?”

  “You left your room and joined me.”

  “I did that because I was bored and the smell of the popcorn was too hard to ignore.”

  “I don’t care what brought you back; I’m simply glad you decided to be with me.”

  “I could leave and come back again,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

  Addie held on to his gaze before glancing about the room. “I’m going to need a bit of help deciding where to place the mistletoe. I’ve heard certain areas of the house offer advantages over others.”

  “I’m at your service.” He urged her toward the archway that led from the entry to the living room. “How about here?”

  “Yes, this location looks promising.”

  Erich brought her into his embrace. “Don’t be hasty. We should try it out first. This is an important decision, after all.” Before she could comment, he leaned down and kissed her. The kiss they’d exchanged earlier was a prelude to the potency of this one. His arms were heavy on her shoulders, but Addie barely noticed as she tilted back her head and opened to him. The kiss went on until they were both breathless. Erich broke away, his shoulders heaving. He kept his eyes closed.

  “Well?” she asked, her voice unsteady. “Should we place it here?”

  “It’s definitely in the running, but let’s not be too quick to make this all-important decision. What about the hallway?”

  Addie laughed softly and tightened her grip around his middle.

  “You don’t agree?”

  “Of course. Location is of great significance.”

  Erich kissed the tip of her nose. “I feel we should test several rooms. Give each area ample consideration.”

  Addie gazed up at him, marveling that this thing between them was real. “Can you believe this is happening, Erich?”

  “What?”

  “Us kissing. I never would have believed it.”

  “Me neither. I never liked you, you know?”

  She didn’t need the reminder, especially since the feeling was mutual. “And how do you feel now?”

  “And now,” he repeated in a whisper. “The truth is, Addie, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’ve changed, I’ve changed. You’re wise and funny, caring, nonjudgmental, and fun. When you’re away I wish you were with me, and I wonder how long it will be before I can see you again. I told myself it was the circumstances, my situation, and then I realized I don’t care what it is. I like you. I can’t help myself. I enjoy your company.”

  “Really?” Addie was far too tongue-tied to say anything more.

  “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

  “Crazy and wonderful,” she agreed. “Now tell me you’re happy about the Christmas tree.”

  The warmth in his gaze faded ever so slightly. “Can’t do it, sorry, but I am extremely happy that you’re here. The last thing I intend to do when I’m holding you is argue. Now let’s test out that mistletoe in another room.”

  Addie pressed her finger against his lips. “Before we do, I need to ask you something.”

  He frowned. “Okay, ask, just as long as it doesn’t have anything to do with Christmas.”

  “No, my literature class.”

  “Ask me later,” he murmured, and lowered his head to claim another kiss. All too soon any thoughts or questions were gone from her mind.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harry was nervous and uncomfortable. This was an unfamiliar emotion for angels. He wanted to talk to Celeste and share his concerns, but once he did, he was afraid she’d deem it necessary to send him scooting back to heaven. Heaven was wonderful. He wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression. It was just that he’d worked so long and hard to earn this position on Earth.

  Thankfully, class had gone well, even with the summons to Dr. Conceito’s office resting on his desktop. The entire period, Harry had done his best to ignore the request.

  Meet me in my office following your class.

  President Conceito

  Southshore Community College

  Harry didn’t need to speculate as to the reason he’d been asked to visit the college president’s office. He assumed Brady Whitall, the security guard, had gone directly to Dr. Conceito f
ollowing the disaster the afternoon it’d snowed.

  Harry dismissed class. The papers his students had written on the Dickens novel were scattered about his desktop. He lifted a handful and straightened the pile while he mulled over the confrontation awaiting him.

  Danny Wade stood in front of the desk. Harry liked the young man. Danny tended to speak his mind and had no qualms about sharing the fact that he’d served time in prison. He seemed to believe his public record earned him a certain amount of respect with his peers.

  “Hey, Mr. Mills.”

  “Yes, Danny?”

  Danny was a big guy, tall, with broad shoulders. The tattoo ran halfway down one side of his thick neck. As large as he was, Danny would have excelled if he had turned out for football in high school. Being in sports—part of a team—would have helped him avoid trouble.

  “Are you going to take points off for spelling on those papers you had us write? ’Cause I don’t spell so good.”

  “No worries, Danny. Content is more important to me than spelling,” he assured him.

  “Content? What’s content?”

  “What you wrote. The meaning behind the words.”

  Danny rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Then why didn’t you just say so in the first place? I like this book. It’s nothing I would normally read, though.”

  “So you enjoy reading?”

  Danny shrugged. “We got books when I was in prison. I read a few and they were okay, but this Dickens guy … he’s deep, man. Real deep. He made me think about the stuff I’ve done and how it’s affected others, and it makes me wonder, you know?”

  “That’s good, Danny.”

  “I went to see my mama. She’s messed up, but I told her I was taking a college class and I could see she was impressed. She didn’t ever think one of her kids would go to college. I told her I was gonna make something of myself, and I will.”

  “I know you will,” Harry said, as he collected the remaining papers. “You’re doing just fine in this class.”

  “I never did good in school before, but when Mr. Anderson, he’s my parole officer, suggested I take a class, I came to the college. This was the only class that had space available, and I wasn’t going to take a class that made me read, but then Mr. Anderson said that it would help me get a job. I’m going to need a job to stay out of trouble, so that was when I decided I was going to do it, so now I’m here.”

  “That was a good decision. Just keep doing the next right thing, Danny, and you’ll be fine.”

  “I’m doing okay in this class?” His look was almost childlike, his eyes wide and hopeful.

  “I’d say you’re doing better than okay.”

  Danny’s wide smile was immediate, showing his teeth. “Some in class say I talk too much. You think that, too, Mr. Mills?”

  “Not too much,” Harry said, carefully choosing his words, unwilling to squelch Danny’s enthusiasm. The young man wasn’t the least bit shy about sharing his opinions, that was a given. “But it might be a good idea to give others a chance to share once in a while,” Harry added.

  Danny was completely readable, and some of the excitement left his eyes.

  “But I wouldn’t want you to stop contributing in class. Your thoughts are impressive and add another layer to our discussion.”

  The spark returned in Danny’s eyes, and Harry was relieved.

  “Mr. Mills, being in your class makes me want to open up. It’s weird, no teacher’s ever done that before.” Harry could barely hide his surprise and delight at this comment.

  “I was thinking I would bring my mama to the potluck we’re having,” Danny continued. “She isn’t much of a cook, though.”

  “You bring her, Danny. I’d be happy to meet her, and don’t you worry about contributing anything. There’s going to be lots of food.”

  Harry didn’t have time to dally long. Keeping Dr. Conceito waiting wasn’t a good idea. “Looking forward to meeting her,” Harry said, as he reached for his briefcase.

  Danny’s grin was huge. “Good talking to you, Mr. Mills.” Danny tucked the Dickens novel into his coat pocket and headed out the door.

  “Good talking to you, too,” Harry whispered, as the young man disappeared down the hallway. Danny showed a great deal of promise, and Harry sincerely hoped that God would choose him to guide Danny Wade when the time was right.

  Harry draped his coat over his forearm and was ready to leave when he was stopped yet again.

  Michelle Heath stood framed in the doorway, holding on to a slip of paper identical to the one Harry had received earlier in the day.

  “Oh Harry,” she whispered, her face a mask of concern. “This is all my fault. I am so sorry.”

  “Dr. Conceito wanted to see you, too?” This was bad news. Harry was certain he’d been the only one targeted, no thanks to Brady Whitall. It went without saying that the security guard had taken delight in informing the college president of their infraction against school policy. The janitor might have ratted on her as well.

  “I should never have brought the champagne here,” Michelle continued. “Dr. Conceito has a real thing against any form of alcoholic beverage on campus grounds. I assumed that since classes were dismissed, we’d be alone and …”

  “We’ll explain what happened,” Harry said, doing his best to disguise his own concern.

  “I would have invited you to my house … I should have, but I didn’t think you’d come and so I planned this little surprise, not realizing. Oh dear, I feel dreadful, just dreadful.”

  “We aren’t children being called to task,” Harry said, and pushed his eyeglasses further up his nose. Although that was exactly the way he felt—like a child sent to the principal’s office for misbehavior.

  “We should go together, don’t you think?” Michelle asked. “And explain.”

  “Good idea.”

  Michelle wrapped her arm around his elbow and briefly leaned her head against his shoulder. “I feel better already, just talking to you.”

  “Me, too.”

  She looked up at him with the roundest, most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. Her gaze was filled with hope and something else he couldn’t read. Admiration? Infatuation? Harry couldn’t tell, but whatever it was stirred his blood and the desire to protect her.

  “You forgive me, don’t you, Harry?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” When he first met Michelle, Harry found himself flummoxed by her attention. After that first meeting he recognized that this woman could easily distract him from his mission. On Celeste’s advice, he’d avoided Michelle as best he could. The problem was, they saw each other nearly every day, passing in the hallway. Lately it’d become his habit to stop and chat with her a few minutes here and there between classes. In the process, he’d become comfortable with her. Way too comfortable.

  Celeste had warned him to avoid anything hinting at romance with a human. It would complicate his mission, possibly compromise it. Harry couldn’t allow that to happen, and he wouldn’t. Still, he found he’d grown fond of Michelle. He liked the way she tucked her arm around his and leaned her head against his shoulder. It was those human emotions again, warring with his earthly mission.

  When Harry and Michelle arrived, Dr. Conceito was waiting inside his office. They were ushered in and thoroughly lectured. They remained for thirty or more minutes and explained the circumstances. Thankfully, the meeting didn’t go as badly as Harry feared. They were reprimanded and then sent on their merry way. Harry realized he would need to tread carefully from this point forward or he might find himself without a job. Then Celeste would have no option but to send him back.

  Michelle and Harry parted outside the office. She had things she needed to do, and for that matter, so did he.

  Now that the meeting was over, Harry felt he should talk to Celeste. He found her at the coffee stand in the Hub. She wasn’t busy when he sidled up to the counter, and while he avoided making eye contact, she focused her attention squarely on
him.

  Right away, Celeste asked, “How’d the meeting go with Dr. Conceito?”

  Harry shrugged. “All right, I guess.”

  “The news of the two of you is circulating the campus.”

  “What are people saying?”

  “What do you think, Harry?” she asked, sounding concerned. “Word has it that you have a thing for the French teacher and that both of you’ve been called out. And you already know who started that rumor.”

  Harry didn’t need two guesses. “Brady?”

  “Most likely,” Celeste concurred. “I wish you’d talked to me before the meeting with Dr. Conceito.”

  Harry felt her disappointment.

  “You don’t ever need to be afraid to tell me something,” his mentor continued. “I’m here to help with your adjustment in the same way that you’re helping your students.”

  Celeste was right. He should rely on her more.

  “So tell me,” Celeste said, as she set an Americano on the counter for Harry, “how do you feel after dealing with Dr. Conceito?”

  “Better.”

  Celeste pinned him with a look that had the potential to cut him in half. “Because Michelle went with you?” she asked.

  He probably shouldn’t admit the truth, but that was unavoidable. “Yes.”

  “You seem to be falling for her. Are you?” Celeste was nothing if not direct.

  Again, lying wasn’t an option. “Is that bad?”

  “Not really. We are blessed with feelings and emotions. It’s all part of being human, even if only for a short time when we’re on Earth. The key is learning to adjust. We have to remember that while we might live as humans, we aren’t actually human.” She paused and studied him for a few moments. “I hope that makes sense.”

  More and more it did.

  “But for Michelle’s sake and yours, do not become romantically involved,” Celeste warned.

  “Duly noted.” Harry was more determined than ever to keep his distance from the French teacher, lest he succumb to her charms.

  “Now tell me about the potluck,” Celeste said.