Yule Be Mine

by Charlene Teglia

  An hour later, as she reached the last letter, her enthusiasm had dimmed considerably. So much for attracting a decent human being. A man in the same boat. A man with a sense of humor. She'd attracted men who thought it was a clever hook and wanted to date her. Men who wanted to unwrap her for Christmas. Men who wanted to show her their Dickens.

  Not one single reasonable rational reply in the whole batch.

  She couldn't believe it. Even in the mail, nobody took her seriously.

  Well, she might as well read the last one, she thought in disgust. What did she have to lose? Maybe this one could even spell. She pulled the single sheet of paper free of the envelope and started to read.

  Her brows shot up. “Well, well,” she murmured. “It seems we have a winner."

  'T'was the month before Christmas and all through the house

  Were relatives trying to find me a spouse.

  I got talked half to death by sickly-sweet chatter

  And fled for my life from her sugary patter.

  Then what to my weary eyes should appear

  But a singles ad asking for my help this year!

  Together we'd fend off the brothers and sisters,

  The dreadful mismatches of misses and misters.

  Together we would escape our sad plight

  And find Christmas Eve, for once, a good night.

  The mystery respondent had signed “Single Man” to his spoof and enclosed his address, inviting an answer.

  Amazing. She'd sifted through an awful lot of pebbles, but she'd struck gold at last. He could spell. He had a sense of humor. And he needed her as much as she needed him.

  So as long as he wasn't a felon on parole, Jordan thought she just might have found the solution to her dilemma. Now she just had to find out a little more about him.

  Maybe she should send him a survey, a questionnaire. The kind of thing that would reveal all sorts of little quirks. Like—did he prefer Larry or Moe? If he couldn't answer, he didn't like the Three Stooges.

  Jordan pinned the letter from “Single Man” to her corkboard. The rest of the letters went directly into the round file—the wicker garbage basket. Her notebook ready, she chewed thoughtfully on the cap of a pen and debated possibilities.

  For instance, did he like tactile experiences like using paper and pen or did he do everything on computer? The typed letter on a blank piece of regular paper told her very little. Or did that matter? She couldn't get off-track. She really needed to know if she could stand his company better than the dentist or the undertaker or any of the other past holiday horrors her brothers had come up with.

  Did he have an ego the size of a mountain? Did he consider commercial artists like herself hacks or sell-outs? Did he have the ability to think on his feet and, most important, the ability to play a pretend role convincingly?

  Her brothers knew her well enough to spot an obvious fake. He had to look enough like someone she'd actually consider marrying to make it work. So what would she consider marrying?

  Jordan pondered that, to the pen cap's detriment.

  A man who'd appreciate her creative abilities and personality. A man who found her little eccentricities amusing, instead of recommending a good therapist. A fun-loving, patient, sensitive, understanding man with a good sense of humor. A man who was successful enough not to mind her success. Sexy and devastatingly attractive. A man who could get along with her four impossible brothers.

  In short, a man who didn't exist, except in her vivid imagination.

  Fortunately Jordan was free to create her fiancé in her own dream image. Why not? If he could play a role, he could play the one she defined for him. Although, she conceded, it would be better if he were as close as possible to her fantasy man.

  Now she just had the problem of trying to roughly determine how close her “Single Man” came to her specifications, and whether or not she could tolerate hours of his company through the holidays.

  It took some time, and a great deal of thought, but Jordan got her reply finished and addressed to “Single Man.” She'd drop it in the mail along with the new concepts for her greeting card company. Fortunately she had the sort of job that wouldn't cause any of her brothers to question her frequent trips to the post office or rabid interest in the mail. She did most of her work by mail, and occasionally via the fax function on her computer if it was urgent.

  She might actually get away with it, Jordan thought in delight. She whirled around in a burst of sheer joy.

  Randall caught her giddy arabesque as he came out of the kitchen wiping his hands. “Jordan, what are you doing?” he inquired.

  She held her pose and smiled innocently at her second to oldest brother. “I have a new batch of cards ready to go and they're really good.” Cheer radiated from her voice. “What are you doing here? I didn't even hear you come in."

  "You didn't hear me because you were writing when I came in. I stood in your doorway and called, but you didn't answer, so I just put your dinner in the refrigerator.” Randall gave her a faintly accusing look.

  Had she missed a dinner appointment? She didn't remember having one, but she usually took turns eating with one of her brothers’ families. Between the four of them, they kept her fed and also kept her from being “reclusive", as they called it.

  Honestly. Just because a person liked to live alone. Jordan shook her head. There was no reasoning with her brothers. But they meant well and she loved them.

  "Thanks!” She dropped her improvised joyful dance pose and skipped over to kiss him on the cheek. “You're a dear, and so is Teresa for sending you over to feed me. Did I forget to show up or something? Were you expecting me?"

  "No, I told you we'd be going out tonight. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't skip a meal."

  Randall's faintly reproving look censured her for having a sylphlike slenderness. The gray eyes and light hair that added to her otherworldly air made the rugged brothers feel like they had a fragile hold on someone who might slip out of their grasp at any time.

  Jordan hugged him reassuringly. “Come on, you know I'm as healthy as a horse. Strong as an ox. I also eat like a linebacker. When do I ever miss a meal?"

  He responded to her teasing with typical seriousness. Randall was a serious guy. But then he was a CPA, so what did she expect? “Last Thursday. You missed a meal last Thursday because you didn't show."

  The literal reply made Jordan want to laugh again, but she resisted the impulse with an effort. He'd be hurt and he was too kind and considerate to deserve that. “You're right,” she agreed solemnly. “I had a sudden attack of ... of something.” Jordan grasped at anything to explain her flight from Seymour the mortician. “Something that didn't agree with me. I couldn't eat."

  Her shudder was entirely unfeigned. With Seymour, who could eat? Even a cast-iron constitution like hers had its limits.

  "Listen, I have to drop these at the post office. I want them to go out first thing in the morning,” Jordan said with deliberate cheerfulness. She figured if she suddenly turned up engaged, it would look a lot less suspicious if Randall remembered her being excited and sparkly-eyed over something. And she was. Just the prospect of putting one over on the bunch of matchmakers—along with the possibility of actually relaxing and enjoying the season—was enough to have her doing cartwheels. “Can I walk you to your car?"

  He indicated for her to precede him and they walked outside together. “You won't forget next Sunday?” Randall insisted. Evidently she wasn't forgiven for not showing up on Thursday.

  Jordan leaned companionably against her brother's side. “I won't forget,” she assured him. “How could I forget dinner at your place with my favorite nephews?"

  "You say that about all your nephews. And all your nieces, too,” Randall pointed out. But he smiled, even if it was somewhat stiffly.

  She could usually get a little smile out of him, Jordan thought in satisfaction. Unlike Gary, the oldest. He was a tough nut. Lawrence, the next in age, was probably born laughin
g. Then there was Theodore, the youngest of her brothers. He was fairly laid-back in contrast to the rest, and could usually be counted on to appreciate her antics.

  He'd probably been the one to set her up with Seymour, now that she thought about it. Either Theodore or Lawrence. It was the sort of prank they'd pull. She really didn't think Randall was responsible for that one. Seymour would have given him the willies.

  "They're all my favorites,” Jordan answered his remark with a mischievous grin. “Give my love to your family, and I'll see you on Sunday.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him good-bye and waved as he drove away.

  Then she broke her previous land speed record for getting to the post office. She was one step closer to peace on earth. She could even spare some good will towards “Single Man."

  This year, with any luck at all, Christmas wasn't going to be a humbug.

  Chapter Two

  Monday Luke was on pins and needles. It was too soon to expect a reply, he told himself. She probably hadn't even got his letter yet. He couldn't expect to hear from her before Wednesday at the earliest. But that didn't stop him from waiting impatiently for the mail and digging through it eagerly when it arrived.

  Even though he'd told himself not to expect anything, the sudden disappointment when no reply appeared in the stack of business correspondence was surprisingly sharp. He was counting on her help, that was all. He wasn't obsessed with a woman he hadn't even met. Above all, the voice of Jake Marlow was not ringing in his head with dire warnings about leaving things too late.

  He simply dreaded the coming onslaught of parties with the inevitable questions about his still being a bachelor and being seated next to women whose only potential suitability as a future mate consisted of their having been born with the proper chromosomes. Luke reflected grimly that even that could change if he stayed single much longer. He'd be fending off advances from men named Maurice or Gavin, who'd wink at him and encourage him to embrace his sexual identity.

  Luke shuddered.

  His family was more than capable of it, too, if they decided he'd never married because he wasn't interested in heterosexual monogamy. He hoped again that the mystery woman got his letter. He hoped she'd found it amusing. Witty. At least intriguing enough to warrant an answer.

  He'd hoped she'd answer it. And soon.

  By Wednesday morning, he wasn't even pretending to be working anymore. He'd stared at the same report for so long he should have had it memorized, yet he couldn't even concentrate on work, the one thing guaranteed to absorb his attention and divert his morbid thoughts.

  When a knock interrupted his musings, his only thought was that Abby, his secretary, was bringing in his mail. Luke shot out of his chair and took a step towards the door.

  It wasn't Abby.

  Disappointment drove him to speak without thinking. “Oh. It's you."

  Wendy raised a fair brow at his surly tone. “My, what a charming welcome! No wonder you get so many visitors. Dare I come in?"

  Luke retreated to his desk and waved at the chair in front of it in a grudging, silent invitation.

  "Expecting someone?” She arched an inquiring look at her brother and took in the unusual sight of the normally intense, focused, all-business man staring blankly at the report in front of him as if wondering where it had come from.

  He looked up at her with the same unseeing expression. “What?"

  She was suspicious, Luke realized. He was acting strangely. With an effort, he snapped his attention back to the present and pushed the mystery woman and Jake Marlow to the back of his mind.

  "Yes,” he agreed, since obviously it was the truth. Only he was expecting her to write, not appear in person. Besides, he figured this could work to his advantage. If he suddenly turned up engaged, he wanted Wendy to be able to remember his distraction. His family knew him too well to buy the charade without laying some groundwork.

  Abby chose that moment to appear with his morning mail, and Luke shot out of his chair again.

  "Expecting a letter from Ed McMahon?” Abby teased.

  He gave her a disgruntled look and all but snatched the mail from her. “Thank you, Abby. I am expecting an important letter."

  "That would be the lavender envelope with all the perfume on it..."

  That startled him. “Perfume?” It had to be her. He smiled and the abrupt transformation didn't go unnoticed by either woman. They exchanged thoughtful glances as he turned back to his desk, and both eagerly waited for an explanation. “Uh ... thanks, Abby ... that will be all."

  Abby's smile looked a bit disappointed, but she acquiesced and left his office. No such luck with Wendy, who just crossed her legs and settled back comfortably. A sister's special prerogative, he supposed.

  Luke dropped the stack and sorted through until he found the envelope that was obviously not business. It clearly had no purpose but pleasure, from the feminine stationary to the musky fragrance it exuded. Fine handwriting graced the outside. She'd written by hand. Personally. That had to be a good sign.

  Encouraged, Luke swiftly tucked the envelope inside the pocket of his discreet gray suit and squared his shoulders to face Wendy's curiosity. He planted both hands on the cherry desk, leaned forward and asked with studied casualness, “Is there something I can do for you?"

  Wendy smiled winningly back at him. “Who's that from?"

  He put on his coldest business persona and stared back. “Who is what from?” His tone dared her to question him further.

  Unfortunately, Wendy was fond of dares. The chic blonde leaned back in her seat and swung one foot idly. “The letter,” she drawled. “The perfumed one. The one you're keeping so romantically over your heart."

  Luke dealt with that the only way he could think of. He ignored it. He repeated, “Is there something I can do for you?"

  Wendy smiled triumphantly. “As a matter of fact, there is. You can bring her along Friday."

  "Friday?” Luke frowned and tried to remember what was happening Friday. He hoped she didn't mean this coming Friday. That was a little soon. He'd only just heard from his mysterious single woman. He needed time.

  "Next Friday,” Wendy expounded, but Luke was still in the dark. “You remember—a little thing at Aaron's. Your only brother. The day after Thanksgiving."

  "Right,” Luke agreed, although he didn't remember any such thing. There were always far too many of these “little things” scheduled from November to January. He had high hopes that he and his fabulous fake fiancée could manage to avoid several of them, using each other's families as an excuse.

  A truly cheerful thought.

  Luke managed to weather the rest of the low-level debriefing before Wendy finally accepted that she wasn't going to get anything more out of him and mercifully left. Alone at last, he heaved a sigh of relief and pulled out his letter.

  Single Man:

  Poetry? I'm impressed! As my number-one contender for the position of temporary fiancé, I'm sending you, absolutely free of obligation, the enclosed questionnaire. There is absolutely no cost to you (other than postage) and all answers will be held in strict confidence. Really. (Although I have to remind you that you're trusting a person who was desperate enough to place a singles ad in the first place.)

  Please complete and return the questionnaire, and feel free to ask any questions of your own. Within reason. Although I reserve the right to plead the Fifth.

  Question One: I'm unmarried because...

  a. I hate women b. I have no social graces whatsoever and bathe only as an annual ritual c. I just got out on parole d. I have a commitment issue. Also a dependency issue. Also a trust/intimacy issue.

  e. I haven't yet met Ms. So Right I Can't Believe It. Or even Ms. Close Enough.

  Question Two: I'm willing to lie to my family because...

  a. I hate them all and they deserve it b. my neighbor's dog told me to c. why not?

  d. it sounds like fun e. I don't know of any other way to save my sanity and survive the holidays.


  Question Three: I'm willing to spend my time filling out this ridiculous questionnaire because...

  a. my therapist recommended that I stay busy, especially during the holiday season b. I don't have a job c. I don't have a life d. I don't know e. Single Woman, you fascinate me and I'd do a lot more than fill out a silly questionnaire for you

  Question Four: What I really like to do for fun is...

  a. go bowling b. play the accordion c. attend Star Trek conventions dressed as my favorite character d. wax my car e. shower single women with flowers and poetry

  I'll bet you've noticed a distinct pattern here, haven't you? I eagerly await your reply.

  Yours Most Untruly,

  Single Woman

  Luke smiled more than once reading her pert answers that revealed as much about her as she claimed to ask about him. The e's definitely had it, in this case. The obviously slanted responses disqualified the first four and left the last as her less than subtle preference.

  She didn't like bowling, women haters or psychobabblers. She all but admitted to preferring bribery and flattery. Too bad her post office box wouldn't accommodate a floral delivery. Otherwise he could earn some extra points with her and speed up the process that way.

  Thanksgiving was coming. And that “little thing” at his brother's. If he didn't have someone to fend off his family by then, Candy would start to look like a real candidate for Ms. Right.

  There had to be a way to get through the letter-writing stage and meet her in person. Maybe, Luke mused, he should be as blatant in his preferences as she was. Maybe he should come right out and ask her to cut to the chase.

  Single Woman:

  I would have sent flowers, but the florist wouldn't deliver to a post office box. I don't talk to my neighbor's dog, hate my family, or use the wrong fork at dinner. I'm convinced I'm the right one for you, but how can I convince you only through anonymous letters?

  Since you might have some real concerns about meeting me for the first time, I suggest that you choose the time and a public place you'd feel comfortable in. Also, I'm revealing my identity so you can investigate me for any criminal history I might potentially be hiding.