A Very Merry Match--Includes a Bonus Novella

by Melinda Curtis

  Kevin drew a deep breath and opened the door.

  The state party representatives consisted of a man and a woman. Their names? Paul and Paula. They both wore blue suits and the assessing expressions of seasoned pollsters.

  Kevin needed something grounding, something to hold on to. He leaned back to catch Yolanda’s eye but she’d already read his mind and set a mug of coffee in front of him and then left, sniffing and closing the door behind her.

  “Kevin, we’re excited to be here.” Paul’s haircut and bearing hinted at a military past. He smiled just enough to be friendly, and not enough to concede power. “You’ve done wonderful things with Sunshine, and we think you can do wonderful things for the state of Colorado.”

  Kevin murmured his thanks and sipped his coffee. Calm. I’m as calm as a spring breeze on Sunday morning.

  Paula shifted in her seat. With shoulder-length brown hair and minimal makeup, she was pretty in a pleasant, non-threatening way. Yin to her partner’s yang. “As you know, in today’s climate, community servants are put under a microscope. You should be commended on the life you’ve led. Captain of football teams in high school and college. A history of service from an early age. Frankly, despite the divorce…you seem too good to be true.”

  And that would only solidify with Mary Margaret at his side.

  Paul’s smile didn’t change. “Do you have anything you want to tell us?”

  Both party representatives chuckled, as if it was beyond the realm of possibility that Kevin would have a skeleton in his closet.

  “Frankly, Paul and Paula…” Don’t say it. Don’t say it…“I’m a little boring.” Kevin clutched his coffee cup. Where was his polish?

  “Boring is nice.” Paula gave Kevin a clinical once-over. “Never apologize for boring.”

  Kevin didn’t want to apologize. He didn’t want to be boring.

  “Boring gets re-elected when your constituents are satisfied with you,” Paul echoed. “Of course, if you have any stories of personal triumphs, we can use that to unify voters around you.” He paused, waiting for Kevin to share a motivating story.

  Here’s your chance, said that odd little whisper in his head. Speak up. Sell yourself.

  With what? Kevin scratched a spot behind his ear. He drained his coffee. He wiped his palms on his slacks once more. “I’m afraid I have no motivational material for you.” That was the problem with being boring. “The closest thing to change in my life right now is…Well, I’m just about dating.” Dang, that was lame. “She’s a lovely woman. An elementary school teacher. Kindergarten. You know what a handful kids are at that age.” He couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. He stared at the bottom of his empty coffee cup. “She’s seen some hard times in her life. Abused by her father.” Stop there. Please, stop there. This is wrong on so many levels. “Lost her husband last year to a cancerous brain tumor.” He drew a deep breath before he told them about her husband’s debt. “Sorry. I’ve suddenly realized I’m a bit nervous.”

  A bit of an idiot, more like.

  “It’s all right.” Paula stopped writing, having taken notes on everything he’d said.

  Kevin’s shoulder twinged.

  “Does this woman you’re almost dating have a name?” Paul’s pen was poised above the page, poised to jot down Mary Margaret’s name.

  “I think we should wait on formalities until things are…more formal.” Idiot. Kevin wouldn’t be surprised if they packed their briefcases and vowed never to see him again. And he hadn’t even shared the real potential deal-breaker. “I feel the need to confess that we’re a community divided at the moment.” Kevin explained about JPM’s distribution center and the reluctance of residents to embrace change. “Maybe we should reschedule this meeting in January, after we see how it all shakes out.”

  “I’m not worried.” Paul smiled the way insurance agents did when they unexpectedly sold you full coverage. “It sounds like the right choice for Sunshine.”

  “You’ll unify your core base over the holiday.” Paula pumped her fist in the air. “That’s what good politicians do.”

  They spent a good deal of time explaining financial guidelines for a campaign, walking him through scaling up a campaign from the local level to his district boundaries. There were rules about bank accounts and fundraisers. Advice about transparency and messaging.

  “Do you have any questions for us?” Paula downshifted from pleasant to neutral.

  Kevin did have questions. “I understand some state representatives operate two households. We’re ninety minutes away from Denver in good weather. What if I chose to commute?”

  Matching flashes of disapproving frowns were quickly replaced with reassuring smiles.

  “You can commute,” Paula said slowly. “But you’ll miss out on networking at breakfast and after dinner. You have to be part of the political scene when in session to optimize your effectiveness.”

  “And move on to the next level.” Paul gave an odd chuckle. “You might want to stay in the almost-dating stage. You know what they say about long-distance romances. They don’t work.”

  Kevin didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t want to live in Denver half the time. Tad was here. Mary Margaret was here.

  But this is my dream.

  He thanked them for their time. Yolanda escorted them to the door, where Paula asked her a whispered question.

  Kevin sat back down at the conference room table, telling himself everything was okay. He’d done well.

  Yolanda came to claim his coffee cup. “Was it everything you hoped for?”

  Kevin smiled weakly. “You know, I think it was.” And if he told himself enough times, he might believe it.

  “Good. I just had to wonder…” Yolanda hesitated in the doorway. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “What?”

  “I thought it was odd.” She fingered one of her Christmas tree earrings. “They asked for the names of our local kindergarten teachers.”

  Kevin’s gut clenched. He’d babbled too much about Mary Margaret—invading her privacy, breaking her trust.

  What had he done?

  * * *

  “Thank you all for coming.” Kevin addressed his newly formed committee on town development.

  There was only one friendly face in the assembly—Mary Margaret’s. And she wouldn’t be so friendly when he told her his political party might be running a background check on her.

  He hadn’t seen her in several days. She wore a chunky pink sweater and blue jeans. Her hair was down, flowing over her shoulders the way he’d like it to flow over his. He had to tell her carefully, gently, to prove he wasn’t the wrong kind of dangerous.

  But first, Kevin got down to business. “You’ve all got a stake or an opinion in the distribution center, and before we hold a broader town hall meeting, I thought it’d be beneficial to hear everyone’s thoughts.”

  “No,” Kevin’s dad said. “That’s my thought. Just say no.”

  “Agreed.” Barney ran the convenience store in town.

  The table erupted with opinions, mostly negative. Mary Margaret didn’t say a thing.

  Kevin’s nerves jangled like he’d had too much caffeine.

  “One at a time.” Kevin stood, missing the calming presence of Everett, who’d come down with a stomach bug earlier in the afternoon. “One at a time. Please. I know there are objections. I want to find out what underlies your concerns.”

  People shifted in their seats and wouldn’t look at him. At this rate, his Sunshine political career was ending next November, if he wasn’t recalled in a special election first.

  Since he’d already heard his father’s dead-end opinion, Kevin started elsewhere. “Barney, talk to me.”

  Barney didn’t. He crossed his arms instead.

  “Sometimes…” Mary Margaret said in a small voice from the far end of the table, “it helps to play it out.”

  Several members of Kevin’s committee swung dubious glances her way. Of all the attendees,
she was the only person new to town hall.

  Undeterred, Mary Margaret gave the committee her non-threatening, schoolteacher smile. “What I mean to say is, what’s the worst thing that could happen if the distribution center opens?”

  “The worst thing?” Barney’s voice rose an octave. “Another convenience store could go in by the interstate. People driving home from there or from Greeley wouldn’t stop at my store.”

  There was a supportive chorus regarding the unfairness of commerce.

  “But Barney, you’d still be the only convenience store in town,” Kevin reassured him. “And the first store on the road down from Saddle Horn State Park.”

  Barney rolled his eyes. “I guess.”

  “I’m picturing the same scenario.” Emory owned the town’s only grocery store. “Houses will be built between downtown and the interstate. And with new homes come other stores that will cost me business.”

  “But won’t that mean more people will move to Sunshine, increasing your sales?” Kevin asked gently. “Maybe you won’t feel the pinch as much as you think you will.”

  Emory’s mouth frumped but at least he wasn’t yelling about defeating the distribution center.

  “And what about you, Dad?” Kevin leveled his gaze on his father. “How will the distribution center impact your furniture business?” Your. He chose the pronoun on purpose. He hadn’t worked in the family furniture shop since he’d been elected after college.

  His father’s arms were locked tight across his chest. He stared at the conference room wall behind Kevin and said nothing.

  Kevin’s chest felt as if someone had filled it with a smoldering cord of firewood. Whatever was going on with his father, whatever opinion he’d formed about the distribution center, it was causing a rift between them. A rift that might never heal.

  Later, after most fences had been mended—thanks in large part to Mary Margaret—and the meeting adjourned, Kevin asked his father to stay behind. “Talk to me, Dad. Please.”

  His father ran a hand through the white hair at his temples. “You don’t understand.”

  “Maybe I would if you put it into words.”

  Dad tossed his hands up, and when he spoke it made no sense. “Hadley Furniture has no future if the distribution center opens.”

  “How can you say that? You don’t compete with them.”

  “Oh but we do.” Dad’s gaze landed firmly on Kevin. What wasn’t firm was the mournful look in his eyes. “We compete for resources.”

  “Wood?”

  “Human resources.” Dad took Kevin by the shoulders. “If that distribution center is a success, you’ll move on—the county board of supervisors, the state house of representatives. And maybe beyond that.” He squeezed his fingers into Kevin’s shoulders, unaware that Kevin was already actively planning to run. “You won’t be around for me to pass on the mantle of Hadley Furniture.”

  Kevin’s shoulders bunched. “Dad, I’ve…Well, I’ve already been approached about running at the state level.”

  The oxygen was sucked out of the room, along with any pride Kevin felt in the honor.

  “How long?” Dad demanded. “How long have you known?”

  “October.” It shamed Kevin to admit it. “I only just had my preliminary meeting.”

  “Well, that’s that.” His father turned and walked away. But he didn’t rush. His steps were slow and ponderous, the pace of a man facing certain defeat.

  Kevin sank into a chair. His goal had always been to finish his grandfather’s work. He’d never thought about running the family business or carrying on the Hadley furniture legacy.

  He thought about it now.

  Chapter Seven

  Mary Margaret left the town hall and walked toward the Sewing Emporium to pick up a bag of material scraps they were donating for her next arts and crafts project with her students.

  A painter was decorating the craft store’s plate glass windows with elves sewing Santa’s costume, knitting Frosty’s scarf, and embroidering names on Christmas stockings. He wished her a Merry Christmas. The Sewing Emporium was playing Christmas music, and every end cap had a display of holiday crafts. If anything was going to fill her with holiday spirit, it should be this.

  With the exception of the men and women on the special panel regarding the town’s development project, everyone she encountered was lighthearted and hopeful. Every song she heard was about the celebration of the season. Mary Margaret felt very little joy, very little hope, very little reason to celebrate.

  No. That wasn’t entirely true. She felt happy when she danced. And the money she earned gave her hope, a tiny glimmer of light at the end of a long dark tunnel. But those moments were fleeting in comparison to what she should be feeling.

  A few minutes later, bag of fabric scraps in hand, Mary Margaret headed toward the Olde Time Bakery and an afternoon latte. It was the wrong thing to do. She should have gone home and napped for a few hours before driving to her second job in Greeley. But Christmas expectations were overloading her. She needed a pick-me-up. She needed to find some holiday cheer. And what better place than a bakery filled with bright holiday decorations, warm holiday smells, and festive holiday music?

  The Bodine twins sat at a table near the front window, their math books open, not a pretty teenage girl in sight.

  Mary Margaret paused inside the door, exchanging looks with the pair—hers with raised eyebrows, theirs with stoic expressions that gave nothing away.

  One of them glanced toward the girl behind the counter. “Ms. Sneed needs a latte.”

  “Skinny, please.” Mary Margaret moved toward the cash register.

  “And a vanilla scone,” said the other twin. “Give her one iced with a Christmas tree. She’s not allowed to order a Grinch cookie.”

  Mary Margaret turned around and gave the twins a disapproving stare.

  “Caffeine and carbs,” said Twin One, oblivious to her annoyance. “It cures the blues.”

  “We should know,” said Twin Two, tapping his pencil on his notebook. “We used to work here.”

  “We used to work everywhere,” admitted Twin One.

  “We don’t tend to work in one place too long,” explained Twin Two. “Just long enough to satisfy our curiosity.”

  The teenage cashier called Mary Margaret over to pay. Her name was Jami. One of those twins had promised to take her to a dance next month. Mary Margaret sighed.

  When she had her latte and scone, Mary Margaret sat near the twins. “You’re the reason I got fired from Bull Puckey Breeding. You didn’t show up for work.”

  “It got boring.” The name on top of his paper said Steve, while Twin Two’s said Phillip.

  Not that Mary Margaret could tell them apart. “To be clear, I’m not tutoring you.”

  “Nah.” Steve stared at a Venn diagram. “We’re bringing our grades up on our own.”

  Phillip looked up from his quadratic equation. “Well, Dad still thinks you’re tutoring us. And if we cost you a job with Iggy, we owe you.”

  The twins exchanged looks and nods. And those looks seemed to say they were going to encourage their father’s misconception.

  “I’m not going to let your father pay me.” It wouldn’t be right.

  “Because it’s not true?” Steve closed his math book. “Dad believes a lot of things that aren’t true. Lots of people do.”

  “Like Santa Claus,” Mary Margaret murmured. Her kindergarten students were so excited about the myth.

  Phillip nodded. His gaze diverted to the window. “There’s the old man now.”

  Tom pulled into an empty parking space and honked as snow began to fall.

  While the twins closed up their books, Kevin appeared on the sidewalk, wearing khakis and a heavy blue ski jacket. He paused to greet Tom and then entered the bakery, brushing snow out of his hair. His warm gaze found hers. “I guess my reference paid off.”

  “Sure did.” Steve darted out the door.

  “Ms. Sneed is the greates
t tutor.” Phillip followed him. “Merry Christmas.”

  Kevin ordered an Americano and joined Mary Margaret, shedding his coat and pushing up the long sleeves of his black turtleneck sweater. He had strong arms, the kind a woman would feel safe encircled by, and broad shoulders, the kind a woman could lean on. If she’d been the kind of woman worthy of either. She shouldn’t encourage him. But there was that dark stubble on his chin and the mischievous look in his eyes that promised long, hot kisses on cold winter nights.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” he murmured, half-smiling before taking a sip of his coffee.

  She dragged her gaze away from his lips. “I’m not tutoring the Bodines.” She had to tell Kevin the truth, on this point at least. Where he was concerned, the rest of her life was shrouded in half-truths, deception, and longing for long, hot kisses on cold winter nights. “Those boys do fine on their own.”

  “Sure.” Kevin sipped his coffee, unabashedly studying her. “How’d you think the committee meeting went?”

  “You had people thinking.” Mary Margaret stared at the wreath hanging on the bakery door. It was a beautiful circle of boughs, but she had no desire to have one like it. Her holiday cheer was as fake as the plastic wreath on her door.

  “The panel had me thinking too. There’s something I need to tell you but…” Kevin set his coffee down. “What’s bothering you?”

  “I have no Christmas spirit,” Mary Margaret blurted, which was a bad idea to say out loud. The last time she’d sat here, she’d revealed some of the truth about her father. She stared at her scone and considered shoving the entire thing in her mouth to stop divulging her secrets.

  “The holidays can be overwhelming,” Kevin said kindly.

  “I’m not in the mindset for frivolous traditions.” Last year at this time she’d been artificially cheerful for Derek’s sake, and look where that got her. “I’m not in the mood for…for…” She tried to hold in the negative words but her hand started waving like she was winding it up for a snap, and that seemed to crank open the hatch on her stress. “I’m not in the mood for carols. For snowmen. For sledding and snowball fights. For shopping. And not even shopping but for thinking about making a list of who to buy for.” Her in-laws, for one. “I’m not in the mood for Christmas pageants and Christmas parties. And I feel so fake when I say Merry Christmas.”