by JoAnn Ross
Nat really liked this woman. “I’m listening,” he said.
“I grew up on Nantucket,” she said. “I’ve been coming to Bayberry Island all my life. I’ve always known there’s something extraordinary about this place.” She raised her eyebrows. “I met my husband here.”
“No kidding?”
The doctor’s expression seemed to glaze over for a moment. “Yes. At a totally kick-ass beach party during the 1980 Mermaid Festival.”
“So I need a CT scan, huh?”
She chuckled and reached for a prescription pad. “I understand that your reason for being here is job related, but if I may ask, what were your holiday plans, Mr. Ravelle?”
He noticed she’d just used the past tense. “My whole family is in Boston for Christmas. My plan was to spend a couple days on this godforsaken piece of rock and take the first thing smokin’ back to Boston.”
The doctor smiled as she wrote out something on her pad. “Well, those plans have changed. I’ve just written you a note excusing you from your job for two weeks. Have them call me if they have any questions. And here’s a referral for a CT scan.”
“But . . .” Nat was bewildered.
“I want you to stay put for a while. For the next few days, don’t leave this bed unless it’s for meals, showers, and maybe some slow dancing in front of the fireplace, but only if you feel up to it. And I think you should consider inviting your family to Bayberry for Christmas, since it’s better that you don’t travel. You can get your CT scan on the Cape.” She tore off both slips of paper and handed them to him.
Nat knew his mouth was hanging open. He looked from the piece of paper to the doctor and back again. “What’s my diagnosis? Is it serious? What do you think is wrong with me?”
She grabbed her bag and stood by the side of the bed. “Nothing that a couple weeks on this island with Miss Parker won’t cure. Merry Christmas.”
• • •
Now it was official. There had never been so many people crammed into her tiny house at one time. And the walls had never tried to contain so much chatter, laughter, music, and the sound of kids playing. Annie loved it. She couldn’t stop smiling at the idea that all these people—the ones she’d just met yesterday and the ones she’d known all her life—had come together to celebrate Christmas Eve. And they were here in her house, which she had expected to be cold and empty over the holidays.
The only one who wasn’t enjoying himself was Ezra, now with a bow on his head and being carried around by Nat’s six-year-old niece.
“What an adorable place you have, Annie.” Nat’s mother had followed her into the kitchen. “Has this property been in your family a long time?”
“Only for about the last one hundred fifty years, give or take.” Annie smiled at her. She was a lovely woman who seemed enamored with the island and deliriously happy that her family could be together over the holidays. She also seemed just the teeniest bit curious about Annie and her life—and probably her shop’s dessert menu. It was obvious that Mrs. Ravelle hadn’t followed her into the kitchen only to help carry out more bacon-wrapped scallops.
“May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Mrs. Ravelle had donned a pair of mitts to remove another tray of appetizers from the oven. “Well, Nat has told us a bit about you, and I have to say I’m a little surprised by the situation.”
Annie turned to face her, puzzled. “You’re surprised he would be interested in me?”
“That’s not what I meant at all!” Mrs. Ravelle laughed. “There’s no surprise there. Any red-blooded man would be interested in you. You’re beautiful, smart, funny, and I’m just glad you seem as smitten with Nat as he is with you.”
“Scared me there for a minute,” Annie said.
“I’m sorry. What I meant was . . . well, dammit, I’m just going to come right out and say it.” She took a breath and rested the oven mitts on her hips. “Nat has never brought a girl home for us to meet, not once since he moved to California for college. He had a girlfriend in high school, and I really thought he was in love with her, but that was it. We were starting to think, well, you know. He’s in his thirties now. He lives in LA.”
Annie laughed out loud. “Nat is definitely not gay.”
“Oh, thank God! Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. We just weren’t sure, and it’s such a relief to know one way or the other.” With that, Mrs. Ravelle grabbed Annie and squeezed her tight. “Thank you, my dear girl.”
“That was your question?”
“Oh no. I just had to get that out of the way before I asked what I really wanted to ask.”
Annie crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the counter. “Fire away.”
“Would you consider—and you don’t have to if you are sick of doing it at this point—but would you consider telling us the story of the mermaid legend after dinner? I think the girls would love to hear it. They’re in that phase, you know.”
“Which phase is that?”
“The true love stuff. Fairy tales and princesses. Magical powers. Knights in shining armor.”
“Ah, that phase,” Annie said, grinning. “I think I remember it.”
Many hours later, Annie’s friends and neighbors had returned to their homes and the Ravelles had settled in at the Safe Haven B and B. She and Nat were in the kitchen washing dishes and listening to Christmas music.
“Let’s take a break,” Nat said.
“Is your back bothering you?”
“Nope, but this is my favorite carol.” He grabbed Annie by the hand and led her into the sitting room. He flipped off all the lights, leaving only the Christmas tree and the fire to cast a warm glow.
“What are you—?”
“Shh. This requires ambience.”
She giggled as he pulled her to the front of his body and began to sway to a slow and jazzy version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Since the room had already been rearranged for maximum party space, there was plenty of room for dancing.
Nat gazed down at her, his eyes sparkling with the lights. “Annie Parker, before this night ends, I wanted to be sure to thank you.”
“For?”
“Saving me. Bringing me to shore.”
7
Six months later . . .
“Fifteen minutes to Bayberry Island, Mr. Ravelle.”
Nat looked up from his shooting budget and smiled. “Thank you very much, John.”
“Beautiful June day out here. Water is as smooth as glass.”
“Yes, it is.” Nat began to gather his things, tapping his shirt pocket to make sure he had his sunglasses.
“Staying on for good? I think you told me last time that you hoped to be. Will you be here for the whole summer? Will you be here for the Mermaid Festival?”
“I will, John.”
“Will your family be coming?”
“Yes. They’ll all be here in August for festival week.”
“That’s lovely. Very nice people, your family.”
“Thank you.”
“How’s Annie doing? I got to chat with her the last time she was on her way to Boston to catch a plane to see you. She tells me that Los Angeles is more than six hours away by jet! I’ve never been much of a flyer myself. I prefer to travel by sea, you know.”
Nat smiled again. Yes, he did know. In fact, by now the only thing about John that remained a mystery was his preferred brand of underwear, and the ferry conductor seemed dangerously close to revealing even that before they reached the public dock.
Just then, a little boy and his mother ran for exit, the kid clearly suffering from seasickness.
John puffed out his chest and pulled on his belt. “Tourists,” he whispered to Nat, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, welcome home, Mr. Ravelle. Nice chatting with you, as always. Give Annie my regards.”
“I certainly will. Take care of yourself, John.”
Nat grabbed his carry-on and tugged the strap of his laptop case
across his chest. He’d shipped the last of the remaining boxes from LA before he caught his flight. His Truly Weird coworkers, neighbors, and friends had thrown him a going-away party two nights before. He wouldn’t lie to himself. He would miss some things about LA, and he’d definitely miss his friends. But he’d already hired a few of them to work with him on the mermaid documentary, and they’d be joining him later in the summer. The rest of them were so charmed by Annie, and by tales from Bayberry Island, that they were all planning to visit.
Nat stepped out onto the passenger deck, the sea spray hitting his face as the sun beat down on his skin. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with salt and wind. He heard the cry of seagulls and the beat of the ferry against the ocean. As the engine slowed, he opened his eyes. He saw her right away, and his heart somersaulted in his chest. Each time he returned, he was happier to see her. Each time, he loved her more. And very soon now, everything would change.
As he waved to Annie, his cell phone rang. He ran back inside so he could hear.
“Everything’s ready,” Rowan said. “We’ve got the champagne. We’ll be hiding in the bushes on the other side of the fountain. Is the ferry on time?”
“Yep. Just pulling in now.”
“Great. See you in about ten minutes. Hey, Nat?”
“Yes?”
“I—” She sniffed. “Never mind.”
“Ah, man, Row. You’re not crying, are you? Nothing’s even happened yet!”
“I know. I know. I’ll pull it together. It’s just that I’m so happy for Annie! For you! It’s just such a happy day! She’s going to be so surprised!”
“I sure hope so. Thank you, Rowan. See you in a few.”
Nat put the phone away and checked his pants pocket for the velvet box. It was there. And this was it.
Moments later, Nat stepped onto the dock, and Annie threw herself into his arms. He lifted her up and held her against him for a long time, so tightly that he was afraid he would hurt her.
“I’ve missed you so much, Annie.” Nat buried his nose in her fragrant hair, kissing her neck again and again. He let her slide to her feet so he could kiss her properly. Her lips were sweet and soft against his. When she moaned into his mouth, he felt himself being pulled into a vortex of love and happiness powerful enough to drown a weaker man.
“Let’s take a walk to the square,” Nat said. “I hear the mermaid is pretty spectacular when the fountain is up and running.”
Annie smiled at him. “She positively glistens.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan Donovan’s novels have won accolades for being witty, sexy, and entertaining—“brain candy for smart women,” as she puts it. She’s a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author whose novels have been translated into a dozen languages. Susan is a two-time RITA Award finalist and her novel Take a Chance on Me was named “Best Contemporary Romance of 2003” by RT Book Reviews. She earned bachelor’s and master’s degrees from Northwestern University’s Medill School of Journalism and worked as a newspaper reporter in Chicago, Albuquerque, and Indianapolis. These days, she lives in Maryland with her family and dogs.
CONNECT ONLINE
www.susandonovan.com
MISTLETOE ON MAIN STREET
LuAnn McLane
1
Santa Claus Is Coming to Town
“Oh no!” Ava Whimsy gripped the handle of her big wicker basket tightly as she dodged past dancing elves and then cut through a Girl Scout troop decked out in cookie costumes. The line for the Cricket Creek Christmas parade was organized chaos at best, and this was no time to be running late.
“Santa, where are you . . . ?” Ava stopped and twirled around so fast that the red velvet skirt of her Mrs. Claus dress billowed out like an umbrella before settling down around her calves. The basket tilted, sending a few candy canes sliding to the concrete, but she didn’t have time to pick them up. Ava knew the Santa’s sleigh float brought up the rear, but seriously, the end of the line was nowhere in sight.
“Where in the world is Santa’s sleigh?” Ava shouted to Noah Falcon, owner of the Cricket Creek professional baseball team and grand marshal of the parade. Even though the weather had a threat of snow flurries, the top of the flashy red convertible was down, allowing Noah and his wife, Olivia, to wave and toss Cougar baseball caps to the eager crowd.
“Back . . .” Noah began, but the high school marching band started playing “Jingle Bells,” which drowned out his answer. Ava looked in the direction of Noah’s thumb jammed over his head. Finally she spotted the flying reindeer jutting up in the air all the way over at the other end of the parking lot.
The jolly old man might have to ride in the sleigh solo this year. But after taking a deep breath to ready herself, Ava lifted her red velvet skirt with one hand, put one dainty laced-up boot in front of the other, and then hurried as fast as she could past floats and other Christmas-themed participants. It didn’t help that this was one of the only times of the year that she wore a dress. Ava preferred her jeans and favorite cowboy boots. Her basket, laden with tiny toys and candy canes, swung back and forth, making her gait resemble that of a penguin.
A last-minute customer at Ava’s toy store, just a few blocks away on Main Street, had her running behind, and then to make matters worse, her dog had decided to shred her white wig to pieces. Apparently, Rosie, her usually sweet little rescue mutt, didn’t take kindly to Ava’s recent long hours stocking A Touch of Whimsy in preparation for the holiday rush. In a panic, Ava had pulled her chestnut brown hair into a bun and sprayed it with the fake snow she’d been using for the front window display. Judging by the white crusty flakes falling from her head, it wasn’t her best idea. Although she considered herself a creative person, she kept her makeup to a minimum and wasn’t really equipped for situations like this. The label at least said the contents were nontoxic, so she hoped that meant her hair wouldn’t fall out.
For the past ten years, she and Pete Sully had played Santa and Mrs. Claus during the three-day celebration filled with food and festivities along Main Street in Cricket Creek. Pete also made Santa appearances at her store throughout the holiday season. With his real beard, round belly, and booming voice, Pete played the part well. Although perhaps more suited to play a cute elf, Ava dressed up and portrayed Mrs. Claus at Sully’s Tavern when he hosted Toys for Tots and Teens, a charity event to benefit local children in need. Ava just couldn’t fathom any child not having a toy on Christmas morning.
“Finally!” Ava muttered when she reached the row of plastic reindeer. Sure, they had seen better days, but the worn, rosy cheeks and chipped paint somehow added a nostalgic appeal that Ava found endearing. Rudolph’s red nose blinked as if in welcome, and Ava sighed in relief. She’d made it.
“Hey there!” Ava waved to Braden Greenfield sitting on the big green tractor that was going to pull the float. A huge red bow adorned the front grille. When Braden tipped his cowboy hat at Ava, she grinned and tossed him a candy cane, which he deftly caught.
“You took your sweet time getting here, Ava,” Braden called over to her.
“Long story,” she shouted back. The Greenfield farm butted up to her family’s farm, and Braden was like a little brother to her. “Catch ya later!” Ava turned and accepted Santa’s white-gloved hand as she took the big step up and slid onto the black leather seat.
“Sorry I’m late,” Ava apologized a little breathlessly and set her basket down on the floor. She leaned over to pick up a few candy canes that had tumbled around her feet. “I had a customer who couldn’t decide whether to purchase trains or airplanes.” Sitting back up, she arranged her velvet skirt just so and brushed away a mist of white flakes that continued to flutter from her head when she moved. “And then a wardrobe situation complicated matters.” She pointed to her head. “So, how’s it going, Pete?”
“Pretty good, but um . . . I’m not Pete.”
Ava chuckled as she tugged at her tight gloves. “Right. Sorry. . . . You’re Santa. I fo
rgot that you like to stay in character.” After flicking another powdery flake from her skirt, she reached down for a handful of candy canes and finally glanced his way. “Would you like one?”
“Thanks,” Santa said, reaching for the treat. But when their fingers brushed, for some odd reason, Ava felt a little tingle.
“You’re welcome.” Ava smiled. Whoa, wait a minute.
She peered at Santa over the top of her granny glasses, and her heart started to thud. “W-why do you have a fake beard?”
“Shhh. I’m not the real Santa,” he replied in a stage whisper. “Only a helper. I’m a very big elf.”
Ava looked into light blue eyes accentuated by tan cheeks visible above the beard and felt another tingle of awareness. She swallowed hard.
No, it couldn’t be.
The candy canes slid from her hand and into her lap. Clint? The name slammed into her brain but got caught in her throat and stayed there.
“Dad couldn’t make it, so I’m filling in,” he explained, confirming her suspicions.
“Clint?” The single word that was a tangle of so many emotions tumbled out of her mouth. Of course it was Clint. Pete had only one son.
And she hadn’t spoken to him since he’d broken her teenage heart fifteen years ago.
“Yeah, it’s Clint.” His full lips curved slightly between the white mustache and beard. “Good to see you, Ava. Or should I say, Mrs. Claus?”
Ava blinked at him, not knowing how to respond. She finally managed a rather choked, “Yeah . . . um, you too.” In the years since Clint left Cricket Creek, Ava often wondered if she’d run into him when he came home from California to visit his father. Early on after their breakup, she’d fantasized about having Clint coming home and throwing pebbles up to her bedroom window and then serenading her like a scene from a movie. Perhaps they’d kiss in a rainstorm like in Sweet Home Alabama or see each other from across the street and end up in each other’s arms. Sometimes, though, she imagined she’d remain aloof and distant and give Clint a mere lift of an eyebrow only to have him run after her, spin her around, and kiss her senseless.