by Melissa Hill
Soon after, the conversation turns to more pleasant topics, such as hobbies and interests, movie preferences and favorite authors. All of a sudden, her lunchtime is over before she knows it. Usually a stickler for punctuality, Charlotte can’t help but call into the office and ask for her afternoon meetings to be rescheduled for tomorrow. She asks Vincent what time he needs to be back, at which point he looks over at the cashier and calls out, “I dunno, Elise; what time do you think I should be back at work?”
The woman grins and shrugs, “You’re the boss.”
Which is how Charlotte discovers that the modest, handsome stranger she’s been talking to is the owner of the cutest Manhattan bakery she’s ever had the joy of visiting.
“Hey,” Vincent says winking, “You wanna get out of here? I think I’ve been on the clock long enough today.”
“And just where are you taking me?”
“You’ll have to see,” he grins. “You like Christmas, right?”
“I certainly used to,’ she replies, completely taken by this man she barely knows, yet with whom she feels an immediate kinship.
They end up walking about ten minutes or so, and though Charlotte’s high heeled feet are aching even in that short period of time, and her business suit certainly isn’t protecting her from the biting winter chill, she knows she hasn’t felt this comfortable in years. When they finally stop outside Rockefeller Center, her heart nearly melts when Vincent asks if she’d be interested in seeing a 2:30 showing of the Radio City Christmas Spectacular, one of her favourite Christmas traditions. Or used to be at least.
She feels positively giddy as they wait for the curtains to open. Vincent looks excited as well, as his eyes twinkling like a child who’s about to receive a present. When the show finally starts, it seems to swirl by in bursts of color, music, and movement, and Charlotte reminds herself to remember this moment for years to come.
By the time the show is nearing its end, Charlotte and Vincent are holding hands. He throws her a coy, questioning glance before brushing her fingertips, to which she gladly assents. Tonight, Charlotte doesn’t take a cab home. She lets Vincent walk her all the way to her studio apartment in the West Village. She even lets him kiss her goodnight, and she goes to bed feeling happier than she has in years.
4
Charlotte and Vincent continue spending time together every other night or so for the next three weeks.
They do all the traditional ‘date’ things, like going to the movies and out to dinner, but Vincent also invites her to go rock climbing at the indoor sports center he is a member of. Truthfully, Charlotte isn’t very good at it, but she enjoys watching Vincent climb to the ceiling on the indoor walls. He’s also an excellent chef, which she doesn’t find all that surprising since he owns a bakery, until she finds out that it was his departed wife’s love of all things sugar that led to the bakery ownership. He can whip up an amazing pasta dish, though.
Four days before Christmas, Charlotte is doing some last minute packing before hitting the road to her parents’ house in Albany the next morning when she receives a text message from Vincent that simply says: Go to the place where you shouldn’t get your hand caught.
Easy enough, Charlotte thinks with a smile. The Cookie Jar. Why does he want her to meet him there? To say goodbye perhaps.
She leaves a few items left to pack on her bed and heads out the door to catch a cab. Instead of searching for a taxi, however, she finds a horse-drawn carriage outside her building, with a curious sign on the side door. It simply says. “For Charlotte. Merry Christmas, Vincent.”
Wondering why he thinks she would ever want to take a carriage ride alone when she could be with him, Charlotte clambers aboard all the same. The driver seems to know where to go, so it seems her earlier clue-solving skills are in vain. When she reaches The Cookie Jar, she sees Vincent approach the carriage door with an umbrella. “It may not be raining,” he said, but snow can be a bother as well.”
“Thanks,” Charlotte laughs, “but what am I doing here?”
“That’s for me to know and you to figure out,’ he says coyly, his eyes twinkling. “What’s colourful yet evergreen?’ he asks then. ‘Go to a place where it’s closest to the sky.’
Delighted by the prospect of an impromptu scavenger hunt, Charlotte thinks for a moment. “The tree at Rockefeller Center?”
They arrive in time to see a large group of small children caroling beneath the towering Christmas tree. Vincent wraps his arms around Charlotte from behind, giving her quick kisses on the neck. In absolute bliss she asks “So is there another clue?”
“Of course. Now we go to a place where you are likely to fall, yet most likely to fly.’
She thinks again for a moment. “Hmm…this one’s a little trickier, but I think I got it.’ She smiles and looks down at the ice rink. “I’m thinking we’ll need some skates?”
“Wow, you’re good! Come on then.”
Vincent pulls her gently out onto the rink, and looks at her intently with his deep hazel eyes. Then he takes a small rectangular box out of his pocket, which Charlotte immediately recognizes. She gasps, not because of the Tiffany blue box or what’s inside, but because of what it represents.
“Merry Christmas,” Vincent says, gently opening the box and Charlotte’s eyes fill with bittersweet tears.
The pearl bracelet is finally hers. Their spouses might be lost, yet somehow this special bracelet has given her and this lovely man another chance at love.
Winter Wonderland
A CHRISTMAS STORY
1
Dakota Raine absentmindedly turned her taxicab down Sixth Avenue.
The Avenue of the Americas as it was officially named was bustling as always, even more so now that it was noon and many of the business executives who inhabited the sparkling glass buildings were spilling into the street in search of lunch.
Dakota turned to her co-pilot, sprawled out on the passenger seat. Scratching behind his long, fuzzy ears, she said with a sigh, "Here we go again, Thor, 'another day, another dime'."
Thor looked up at the petite blonde with his eternally sad eyes and wagged his tail.
"Here, let’s adjust those silly reindeer antlers," she said in the soothing voice she reserved for her favorite Basset hound. "I know that goofy head gear is slightly emasculating but I do think that the big red bow tied around your collar really brings out the highlights in your fur."
Thor yawned.
"The important thing is that the tourists love you. We are the epitome of all that is good and right about New York City, my friend. Where else can shoppers wind down after a long day at Macy's with a ride in a festive, holiday taxicab complete with a musically talented Basset?"
She offered him a piece of the string cheese she was nibbling on.
"Honestly, singing carols along with our passengers was one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. Can you believe the tips we're getting? People are actually disappointed when we get them to their destinations quickly," she said, smiling down at the dog.
Her cell phone began playing the opening notes of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony. She groaned and said, "And that would be my mother calling, no doubt to remind me that I am far from home and without marital prospects as yet another Christmas season shifts into high gear."
She paused mid-rant as she angled the taxi toward a man standing on the curb, hailing her cab with a raised hand.
"I've told her a hundred times that you are the only boy for me, Thor. Who else would put up with a broke, guitar-wielding, organically grown flower child?” she went on as she allowed voicemail to answer her mother’s call.
The dog thumped his tail on the seat in agreement as their latest fare opened the cab door. Dakota glanced at the preoccupied man through the steel grate that separated the front and back seats. He was good looking with a muscular build that filled out his Armani suit nicely.
This job definitely has its perks, she thought to herself.
"Where to?"' she asked, al
oud.
"Katz's Deli on East Houston," he answered as he placed his briefcase on the seat beside him. He looked up and found himself face-to-face with the hound that had hoisted his antlered head onto the back of the seat and let it rest, smashed against the grate.
The man’s sudden start and subsequent burst of laughter frightened Thor who bayed loudly and jumped back down into the front seat.
"Hey, quit harassing my ferocious guard dog,” Dakota said in mock sternness. "Now that you've frightened him, he probably won't sing Christmas songs with you."
For the first time, the man looked about the festively decorated cab, heard the holiday soundtrack and looked into the rear-view mirror at the smiling, violet-blue eyes of the cab driver.
He smiled, "I regret to inform your dog that I don't sing."
"It's required of everyone who rides in this cab, mister," she chided, "Now pick a song or Thor will do it for you."
"You didn't let me finish,” he responded. “I was going to say that I don't sing with strangers."
He then bowed slightly and said, "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Nick Marshall."
Dakota caught his eye in the mirror, grinned and replied, "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Marshall. I am Dakota Raine. And yes, that is my legal name,” she said before he could ask. “It's a slightly awkward reference to the location and weather conditions at the time of my conception. If you guessed that my parents were into protests, pot and free love, you would be correct."
She turned up the volume on the all-Christmas-music-all-the-time radio station.
"OK, now that we are properly acquainted, let's hear it," Dakota said encouragingly.
"I have to warn you that I possess a limited vocal range," he hedged. "In fact, some people might even say my voice is uncommonly flat."
"I'll be the judge of that," she told him as she further cranked up the volume.
Together the cab's occupants joined Andy Williams who was crooning, Sleigh bells ring, are you listening.
Dakota pulled the cab to the curb in front of Katz's as the trio howled and sang their way through the song's final notes, "...walkin' in a winter wonderland!"
Dakota was laughing as she told him, "Whoever suggested that you lack musical talent obviously knew what he was talking about."
"You can't say I didn't warn you," he declared as he opened the door and stepped out. He held out his fare and a generous tip through her open window. Fat, heavy snowflakes had started to fall from the gray December sky.
"Thanks for the lift. You and your dog are definitely two in a million," said a grinning Nick Marshall. Although he couldn't sing, his voice gave her goose bumps just the same.
Trying not to blush, Dakota responded, "You'd better hurry inside, your hair is turning white."
He brushed the snow off of his head and said, "Hey, if you're looking for a fare around seven-thirty tonight, I could use a lift home."
"I'm sorry,” she told him. “Honestly, I'd love to but I have a date ....”
He smiled in an effort to hide his disappointment. “I should have known that a lady as lovely as yourself would have a full social calendar."
She shook her head and smiled back. “Not that kind of date. I’ll be playing my own crazy mix of indie-soul music over at Think Coffee in the West Village," she told him just as a car horn started blaring behind her. "Oops, gotta go! I'm double parked. It was great carolling with you," she hollered out the window as she reluctantly pulled away.
2
Later near midnight, Dakota was saying goodnight to an appreciative coffee house audience. As she turned to grab her guitar case stashed behind the stage, a deep voice from behind her asked, "What? No back-up singer tonight?"
Dakota looked up into Nick Marshall’s smiling face. She feigned indignation and responded, "No dogs allowed. Something about 'health code violations'. Can you believe it?"
"Most distressing," he agreed and continued, "I'd offer to buy you a cup of coffee but this place appears to be closing. Care to join me for a sandwich at the bar down the street?"
“Perfect timing,” she answered, grabbing her guitar case. “I’m starving.”
They walked unhurried down the street. The late-night date continued on into the early morning as they sat across from each other at a window booth, enjoying wine and conversation.
“So, you still haven’t told me, Ms Raine, what brought you all the way from Iowa to the Big Apple?" Nick asked.
Dakota shrugged and looked at snow falling outside the window, glittering in the dim bar light.
"This probably sounds corny," she said turning her violet-blue eyes to meet his gaze. "I came here to make a difference with my music. I've been writing and singing ever since I can remember and there's nothing that can describe the feeling I get when I make a connection with another person through a song. The right lyrics at the right time can strip people down to their bare souls, you know?"
She looked at him earnestly, wondering if she had bared too much of her own soul to this man she had met only hours ago.
He reached for her hand. "Dakota Raine, you do have a gift for moving people with your music," he told her. "Look, I am not a spontaneous man. I start each day with a plan of action which I always execute fully before I allow myself to sleep at night. I have a phone stuck to my ear 24/7 because I like to think I am important and in demand.” He continued, still holding her gaze, “I do not sing of snowmen and Parson Brown with cabbies and their hounds. And I most definitely do not hang out in coffee houses hoping to get a date with the girl with the guitar even if she does happen to be gorgeous."
She held her breath as he stopped to catch his.
"But here I am just the same, shirking responsibilities to sit in a semi-seedy joint in the wee hours of the morning hoping a little of your magic will rub off on me."
Dakota stood as she reached across the table to take his face in her hands. She closed her eyes and gave him a long, sweet kiss. He smelled of Vintage Black cologne and tasted of the fruity Merlot they had been sharing.
She pulled away reluctantly and sat back down.
"So now what, Mr Marshall?" she asked.
He took a deep breath and answered, "Now I drive you home so I can go and contrive a means to sweep you off your feet tomorrow night," he replied firmly.
"I can't wait to see what to see what tomorrow brings," she smiled.
3
Less than 24 hours later, during the final notes of her last set, Dakota once again anxiously scanned the faces in the crowded coffee shop. But the one person she hoped to see remained disappointingly absent.
Suddenly, she knew the whole thing had been too much like one of those silly chick flicks that she loved to watch but would never admit to enjoying.
She looked down at her cream colored peasant blouse and her embroidered, flowing skirt as she flushed with anger and embarrassment. Had she really believed that a high society, Armani suit-wearing businessman would leave behind the skyscraper world for a caroling cab driver?
"You're working in a coffee house, Dakota," she reminded herself between clenched teeth, "Time to wake up and smell it. The sophisticated Nick Marshalls of this world are but briefly amused by the earthy Dakota Raines."
She shut her guitar case. "What were you thinking?" she said aloud as she picked up the case. Then she quickly grabbed her coat and stuffed it under her free arm, unconcerned about protecting herself from the snowy wind that had been gusting all day between the tall buildings.
Dakota hurried past the small crowd of fans who had gathered to thank her for the night's music. She pushed open the coffee shop door and slammed directly into a broad chest.
"I'll spare you the, 'we've got to stop running into each other like this' line," Nick said steadying her gently with his hands on her shoulders. "I'm so disappointed that I couldn't be here earlier to listen to your beautiful voice, but I was delayed while attempting to persuade a white stallion to work past his quitting time."
Dakota's m
ind was swirling. Two minutes ago she had been dismissing him and now here he was, as promised, taking her breath away with his good looks, his Vintage Black smell and his warm, strong hands holding her.
Nick flourished his arm grandly as he stepped aside. She saw behind him now, the white horse tethered to a white carriage. A small, elderly woman dressed in a tuxedo, tipped her black top hat to Dakota as she held open the door.
Dakota, who felt as if her mouth had been hanging open for too long, started laughing in disbelief. "You did not just show up in a horse drawn carriage!"
“Ladies first,” he responded as he helped her in.
4
They sat close to one another, legs tucked under a thick blanket as the carriage rolled slowly through Central Park. The city lights reflected off the buildings and snow-covered landscape.
"I feel as if we’re riding through a postcard," Dakota said dreamily, as she gazed out the window. She had her head on Nick’s shoulder.
“It’s a real winter wonderland, isn’t it?” he asked her.
She smiled at his reference to the song that had drawn them together yesterday, “There’s certainly no lack of sleigh bells or glistening snow,” she agreed. “Thanks so much for the grand tour. I'd say you earned an A+ in "Sweeping Her Off Her Feet 101."
He shifted to face her as she lifted her head. "Look, Dakota, as long as we are speaking in Christmas carol-ese, let me just take it to the next level of corniness, and tell you I've been conspiring with people in my line of work today."