A Very Merry Match--Includes a Bonus Novella

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A Very Merry Match--Includes a Bonus Novella Page 12

by Melinda Curtis


  Kevin took her hand. “This has to do with Derek, doesn’t it? He passed away during the last holiday season.”

  Oh, holy gremlins. “Of course this is about him.” That was a no-brainer. “I loved him.” That came out like a defense attorney shouting an objection. “This is about him and his baggage and the way the Christmas tree skirt was yanked out from under me last year.”

  Kevin leaned forward, drawing her hand closer to him as he tried to bring her near. “It’s okay to resent Derek a little but eventually you have to let all that baggage go.”

  “I did let it go.” Mary Margaret tugged her hand free. “I forgave him those bills and those purchases last summer. And I knew coming into this holiday season I was going to feel sad. But knowing it’s coming and being in the moment are two different things.” She had more to say but this last came out on a hoarse gasp of air. “I’m the kindergarten teacher. I’m not supposed to be the Grinch.”

  Jami, the barista, was cleaning dishes in the sink. Running water covered their words but they shouldn’t be having this conversation. It was too raw, too personal, and gossip-worthy if the barista had fine young ears that heard every secret confessed in the bakery and she passed them along the grapevine.

  Once more, Mary Margaret considered shoving her scone into her mouth. But it was too late. Her secrets were out.

  “Since we’re sharing the ugly thoughts inside of us…” Kevin hadn’t sat back in his chair. He still leaned over the table toward her. “I freak out a little when I see married people.” He spoke in a whisper too but that didn’t lessen the shock of his admission. “Since my divorce, I look, and I see they’re so happy and then…”

  “You wonder if one of them is sneaking away to cheat.” Mary Margaret understood, having weathered a cheating spouse herself.

  He nodded. “And if I look around, doubting relationships I’m not a part of, how am I supposed to trust enough to love again?” Which would have been an innocent confession if not for the sly look he gave her, as if she might be the one person who could earn his trust.

  She needed to turn the conversational ship around to safer waters. “I’m a horrible person.” Disqualified as Kevin’s love interest. “I’m a kindergarten teacher devoid of holiday spirit.”

  “I’m worse.” Kevin nodded subtly toward a couple in the opposite corner who were arguing with each other. “I see bad relationships the way pregnant women see only pregnant women. They’re everywhere.”

  Mary Margaret chuckled. After a moment, Kevin joined her.

  They both sat back and drank their coffee, staring at each other as if they’d been friends for a long time and these admissions were no big deal, nothing to be shocked about. Certainly, it wasn’t flirting.

  And that’s when Mary Margaret realized she wasn’t done unburdening herself. “Derek kept thinking God owed him this huge jackpot for taking him in his prime. But even when he lost, that didn’t stop him from buying all the things he’d ever wanted, all the things he didn’t have enough time to enjoy. I shouldn’t resent him for that. He’s dead. My dad taught me how to forgive.”

  “Let’s not bring your dad into this.” Kevin waved a hand as if he were wiping that last comment off the board. “Barb didn’t love Randy,” he said flatly, referencing the man his wife had cheated with. “She just didn’t love me. It’s hard to look back on my marriage. Did she ever love me? Or was it the idea of Kevin Hadley, politician with a bright future, that she loved?”

  “Well.” Mary Margaret circled her coffee mug with both hands, blocking out whatever Christmas music was playing in the bakery. The iced scone with its Christmas tree sat untouched on her plate. “Christmas will eventually pass and I’ll close out Derek’s markers before the next holiday. There’s hope for me and the Christmas spirit. But you, my friend, you will still have to wonder…”

  “Nah.” A glimmer of a smile cut through the grimness of the man. “Don’t even go there. My first marriage was a fool-me-once episode. The next time I get married, it’ll be for real. She’ll be infinitely popular and highly trustworthy.”

  Mary Margaret ignored the ache in her chest. She wasn’t going to be his next time. “What will this paragon of virtue have to do to prove herself? File an annual affidavit declaring her undying love for you?”

  “Nothing that complicated.” He leaned forward once more, the light in his dark eyes magnetic. “She’ll have to catch fire when I kiss her.”

  Mary Margaret couldn’t breathe, not even to reinforce that they were friends, because deep down in Lady Land something caught fire.

  Kevin held her gaze. He held her gaze with eyes that were the tinder to the answering flame inside her. “She’ll have to catch fire and melt in my arms.”

  Mary Margaret didn’t know if that was a promise or a threat.

  But just for a moment, she didn’t care.

  * * *

  Short on time to get to Victorian choir practice, Edith barreled out of the dentist’s office and into the chest of a very tall, very solid man.

  Strong arms came around her. “It must be my lucky day.”

  Edith vaguely recognized that deep voice, that hint of an accent, but she breathed in Old Spice and leather and imagined, for just a few moments, that the arms encircling her belonged to Charlie. No one but Mims and Mary Margaret ever hugged her anymore.

  A wave of melancholy struck. She gripped the leather lapels of the man’s jacket.

  “What’s the matter, sweet one?” Hands claimed her upper arms and gently moved her a step away.

  She had to tilt her head very far back to register that strong chin, those pale blue eyes, the shift of a crumpled red stir stick from one side of his mouth to the other.

  Oh, fudge nuggets.

  This was one of the men who’d vandalized Mary Margaret’s car the other night when she hadn’t given them money.

  “Did you slash my tires?” Edith’s boots slipped on a patch of ice, and she would have gone down if not for his strong hand on her arm once more. “I don’t have any money.”

  “I don’t recall asking for any of yours,” he said with a sly smile.

  Edith liked a man with a sense of humor. But—safety alert—she shouldn’t be attracted to this man. She shouldn’t even like him.

  “Would you recommend this dentist?” Still smiling, he cast a thumb in the direction of the office. “I was eating a pistachio, and one of my fillings popped out.”

  Edith was speechless. She was never speechless. This ruffian needed the mundane services of a dentist. “I…uh…I have to go.” Although at the moment she couldn’t remember why, so she didn’t move out of his grip.

  “I like your hair.” His faded blue eyes roved over her short auburn hair. “It’s as wild and unpredictable as you are.”

  Was she wild? Her clean teeth didn’t seem to belong to a wild woman.

  Was that a compliment or a tease? She didn’t know.

  David knew how to give out compliments. She always knew where she stood with him.

  David.

  Edith slipped out of the man’s arms. “I have to go. I’m going to be late.” She turned and started walking toward her car.

  “Merry Christmas,” he called after her.

  “Merry Christmas.” She didn’t look back. She had five minutes to get to the Victorian choir rehearsal at the retirement home. Five minutes to insert herself into David’s life and show him how well she fit. She’d read all that magazine advice. He was going to love her. They’d date for a year or two, long enough for Edith to serve a few terms on the Widows Club board. And then she’d say yes to a very simple dress, a civil ceremony, and they’d live happily ever after in the retirement home.

  Edith sped the two blocks down the street, turned into the parking lot, and found a space. Lipstick. Cheerful Christmas ornament hair clips over her not-wild hair (what was that man thinking?). And a check to make sure her blue eye shadow hadn’t faded during her dental cleaning.

  David wasn’t going to know
what hit him.

  Edith waved to Beatrice at the reception desk as she scurried past and into the rec room. “I’m sorry I’m late.” She tossed her purse and jacket on an empty chair.

  Thirteen heads turned her way, ten of them female, one of them David. His white hair and mustache were like a beacon. She veered toward him.

  “Can I help you?” Mr. Patrick, the high school music and drama teacher, quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “I want to join the choir.” Edith smiled for all she was worth, prepared to smile until they all saw she was one of them.

  “Have you performed with a choir before?” Mr. Patrick was a hard sell, probably because he dealt with teenagers all day. “What are your singing credits?”

  “I sing every day in my shower.” Take that image, David, and see if you can resist me. “I’m quite good.”

  “We have a performance this Friday at the town tree lighting ceremony,” Mr. Patrick said, preparing to let her down easy. “I’m afraid it’s—”

  “The perfect time to join given you’ll be singing well-known Christmas carols.” Edith’s cheeks began to hurt from smiling. As a child, her mother had been late signing Edith up for everything. Edith had had to smile her way onto every club, team, and special project she’d ever wanted.

  Mr. Patrick hesitated.

  “You aren’t seriously considering letting her in.” That was Patti Potter. Thin nose in the air, she clung to David’s arm.

  A pox on her.

  Patti was in the Widows Club but she’d never gone to a board meeting and she wasn’t a vice president.

  “Technically, I have to give everyone a chance.” But the music teacher didn’t look happy about it.

  Edith wasn’t here to make him happy. She was here to show David how much they had in common. Mission accomplished. She thanked Mr. Patrick and surged forward to David’s side.

  “We’ll offer you a tryout with ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas.’” Mr. Patrick clapped his hands twice. “Places everyone.”

  The original twelve choir members formed ranks. Edith elbowed Patti aside.

  “Oh, darn. This lacks symmetry.” Mr. Patrick scurried to Edith. “We’re going to have to put you over here.” He took Edith by the arm and positioned her five bodies away from her man.

  I can work with this.

  Edith leaned over to smile at David. She had to smile past Alise, Karen, Maya, Kirk, and Patti, but smile she did.

  “Edith, eyes on me.” Mr. Patrick pointed two fingers at his eyes. “You’ll be singing the opening line—On the first day of Christmas—and then each soloist will sing the gift while you’re silent.” He made a pinching gesture in front of his mouth. “When we get to the second and subsequent days, you’ll sing the countdown—with the exception of the golden rings line. That’s Patti’s part.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Mr. Patrick blew into a little harmonica, and everyone hummed his note, even Edith.

  This is going to be fun.

  They chorused the introductory line, “On the first day of Christmas…”

  They led up to David singing, “A partridge in a pear tree.”

  Edith moved to the other side of Alise.

  They all belted out the second day of Christmas line.

  “Two turtledoves,” sang Alise.

  Then came the partridge part, and then as they chorused the third day line, Edith made her move, squirming past Karen.

  “Three French hens,” sang Henry from the back row.

  Mr. Patrick gave Edith a sideways look but she thought that might be because he was surprised by the quality of her singing. In any case, she got around Maya as the choir chorused about the fourth day of Christmas. She made her move past Kirk between French hens and turtledoves.

  Success!

  The only thing standing between Edith and her man was Patti.

  “On the fifth day of Christmas…”

  Patti had turned her head and was singing into Edith’s ear. And then she belted out, “Five golden rings!”

  It was Edith’s moment.

  Except Patti began flapping her elbows like she was a calling bird, a French hen, a turtledove, and a partridge in a pear tree.

  Edith flapped back, assuming it was part of the performance.

  Mr. Patrick clapped twice. Everyone stopped singing. “Edith. There are rules in our choir, the first of which is what I say goes.”

  “And I say she goes,” Patti said in a nasty voice.

  “I’m afraid so.” Mr. Patrick led Edith over to her things. “You can try out again after the holidays.”

  “What?” Edith’s insides tumbled. She hadn’t been refused admittance in anything, anywhere, since she hadn’t gotten into college, since Daddy had called her stupid and she’d believed him. She always outlasted every obstacle, every objection, every door slammed in her face.

  “You’re out,” Patti said in that snarky voice of hers.

  Snooty Patti was right. Edith was out. She was too short, too round, too brash. Edith’s throat burned with the truth. Why would David want someone like her when he could have Snooty Patti?

  “That’s rather harsh.” Mr. Patrick put his arm around Edith. “You have a lovely singing voice but it’s just not convenient at this time. We’ve rehearsed for weeks. I’ll let you know when we have tryouts for next year’s choir.”

  “Out.” Patti smirked.

  “Until tryouts.” Edith smirked back, recovering some of her confidence. It wasn’t a complete save. But she couldn’t give up David completely. She caught his eye and made the call me sign.

  He smiled back, a pearly white, genuine kind of smile without crowns or silver fillings. Her tummy stopped spinning with failure. And then David held up his cell phone and began tapping.

  His message came through before Edith left the building.

  Drinks someday soon?

  Heck to the yeah!

  Who needed the Victorian choir when she had a date with David?

  * * *

  “Thanks for letting me hire you as Mrs. Claus on such short notice.” Rosalie placed a red velvet beret on the white wig Mary Margaret wore.

  “Isn’t that what you do in a small town?” Mary Margaret had agreed despite her admission to Kevin that she had no holiday spirit. She’d been going through the motions this year. What was one more motion? “You pitch in.”

  She and Rosalie stood in the cramped restroom of the pet store, preparing for the Santa & Friends Photo Experience that preceded the town’s annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony. Rosalie’s dogs, a Saint Bernard and a scrappy little terrier, patiently watched Mary Margaret’s transformation.

  “Yep.” Rosalie took in Mary Margaret’s appearance with a critical eye. “The Mr. and Mrs. Claus I booked from Greeley came down with that stomach flu that’s going around. This is the second year in a row I’ve scrambled for a Santa.”

  “I’m glad to help.” Mary Margaret had been recommended for the job by Kevin and had seen it as something of a challenge to accept. Besides, every little bit of money helped. “How do I look?” Mary Margaret turned to look in the small mirror over the sink. “Oh.”

  Her red velvet dress was made for a much plumper Mrs. Claus. It gathered and hung limply. Her wig of white curls needed a trip to the salon. She looked down at her hemline, which hit her mid-ankle, and realized her wire spectacles were actually prescription bifocals. Her head gave a little spin.

  Compared to Mrs. Claus, Rosalie was stylin’ in slimming green trousers, a red cropped sweater, a green Santa hat and green pointed sneakers. Her short dark hair curled playfully at her neck.

  “I think you look more like a suffragette after a march to obtain the vote than Mrs. Claus.” Rosalie was spot on. “But it was the best costume I could come up with in one afternoon. Mims had these outfits in her closet.” She sighed. “What would we do without the Widows Club?”

  Mary Margaret nodded. “Be prepared. That’s their motto.” It wouldn’t be the end of the world to join thei
r ranks.

  Rosalie fluffed Mary Margaret’s velvet skirt. “The kids won’t care how you look. They’ll be more interested in the baby animals and the big man on the throne, making sure they tell him exactly what they want for Christmas. Are you sure you’ll be okay ushering them on and off stage?”

  “I teach twenty-six kindergartners every day. I’ll be fine as long as my students don’t recognize me.” And as long as the fashion police didn’t storm the pet store. She lowered her glasses to the end of her nose so she could see over the rims without falling sideways. “Let’s do this.”

  They stepped out of the ladies’ room and into chaos. The line to have a picture with Old Saint Nick was out the door and the crowd noise ear-stuffing. Most had brought pets to be included in the photo. Cats meowed in carriers. Bunnies twitched nervous noses at dogs of every breed, shape, and size. Rosalie’s Saint Bernard and terrier trotted toward the sales counter, plopping on a large red and green dog bed that was situated to one side.

  Kids pointed at Mary Margaret and called out, “Mrs. Claus!”

  She waved back, tension easing because none of the children called her Mrs. Sneed. The parents smiled indulgently. No one seemed to care that her dress barely reached her ankles or that she was nearly six feet tall.

  Rosalie knocked on the storage room door. “Santa? Are you decent?”

  A masculine voice behind the door told them to come in. At the same time, a young woman’s voice called to Rosalie.

  “I’ve got to help my cashier.” Rosalie craned her neck to see what the problem was. “Are you okay helping Kevin?”

  “But…I thought your husband, Everett, was Santa,” Mary Margaret whispered furtively, suddenly as dizzy as if she’d been looking through her glasses.

 

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