Love Finds You in the City at Christmas

by Anna Schmidt

  After that experience, Sarah had backed away from encouraging any man who seemed to have romance on his agenda. Soon after the breakup, she was able to get reassigned from overseeing missions in Africa to traveling to and from the Middle East for her work. George had been horrified and had warned her repeatedly that the Middle East was no place for a woman. That had only strengthened her determination to succeed in her new assignment.

  And she had—beyond anything she could have dreamed. There was even talk of putting her in charge of the whole Middle East—a position that she did not want and would turn down if offered. She was not one to sit in an office and give assignments to others. She wanted to be out among the people her work served—see their faces, hold their babies, help them restore their communities and their lives.

  “You’re very quiet,” Mary noted as they walked through the winding streets of Greenwich Village on their way to the small neighborhood café that traditionally hosted their Thanksgiving potluck. “You know I was only teasing you back there.”

  “I know,” she said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Holidays tend to bring out the ghosts of the past—memories.”

  Ned burst into the title song from the Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand classic film The Way We Were, and by the time they reached the restaurant all three of them were singing a little off-key but loud enough to turn the heads of normally seen-and-heard-it-all New Yorkers.

  The buffet was set and the restaurant was already packed. The owners of the café provided the dishes and cutlery and ran a cash bar for those attending, while everyone else brought a dish to share. Sarah had sent over her contribution for the meal earlier—a special lemonade gelatin salad that had become her tradition. It was easy to make, although she wasn’t much of a cook, and to her delight everyone came back for seconds and asked for the recipe. So it was pretty much a home run as potluck contributions went. The buffet setting made it easy for everyone to move around the room talking about the latest news or catching up on the lives of those they had not seen in a while.

  Before Sarah realized it, she saw that it was nearly seven. If she was going to stop in at Grace’s family gathering, she really needed to get going. “Coming?” she asked Mary and Ned as she shrugged into her down vest and pulled on her mittens.

  “No, you go on. It will be easier for you to catch up without having to constantly fill Ned and me in on the old stories.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  “We’re sure.” Mary gave her an air kiss and walked her to the door. “Oh, and Sarah? You just might want to consider taking a long second look at his hunkiness—something tells me the two of you have much in common.” She winked and then went back inside the restaurant before Sarah could come up with a response.

  “His hunkiness,” she muttered as she hailed a cab. She got in and settled back for the ride uptown. Mary was such a tease—and such a romantic. Of course she did have to admit that Max was not exactly hard to look at. He had the kind of shoulders that looked as if they could easily handle the weight of the world. And there was that smile—so rare but bordering on heart-stopping when it appeared.

  “Stop this,” she grumbled, and to her surprise the cabbie squealed the vehicle to a jolting stop at the next intersection. “Not you,” she protested, but the driver who spoke next to no English simply pointed to the meter.

  Sarah craned her neck to see where they were. In front of the Plaza Hotel at the south end of Central Park. She could walk from here. She dug into the pocket of her jeans for cash—she never carried a purse. “Thank you,” she said, speaking what she guessed to be the man’s native language of Farsi, and when his brusque manner softened she knew she had guessed right. Then she was stunned to see tears coursing down his weathered cheeks. He gave her instructions—also in Farsi, of which she really only understood please and thank you—accompanied by hand gestures entreating her to stay put as he practically leapt from the car. Dodging the ire of other cabs and cars as they careened around him, he made his way to her side of the cab and held the door open for her. When she got out and handed him the fare plus tip, he actually bowed repeatedly, mumbling his thanks again and again until Sarah was safely on her way.

  She glanced back once to see the driver getting into his cab even as he made a rude gesture to another cabbie honking his horn at him. And with a squeal of rubber on pavement, he was gone.

  As Sarah walked along the avenue next to the park, she saw crews cleaning up the last of the debris from the staging area for the parade. It had been a wonderful day so far—the parade and turkey with all the trimmings with her friends, and now she was going to end the day not only with her childhood friend but also with her beloved former neighbor and Grace’s grandmother, Karen Wolzak.

  “Oh yeah,” she whispered to herself with a giggle, “and let’s not forget ‘his hunkiness.’”

  Chapter Three

  • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Max was looking for an escape route. He loved his sister and his grandmother dearly, but the two of them never met a soul that they didn’t eventually consider part of the family. People were stashed in every nook and cranny of the house—perched on the stairs, standing in corners balancing a plate of food and a punch cup filled with apple cider, and even spilling out into the back garden since the evening was so mild. Max had completely lost track of the names thrown at him in a steady stream of introductions almost from the minute they had returned from the parade and guests began arriving. Neighbors, coworkers of Jack’s, parents of Molly’s friends, his grandmother’s church circle . . .

  He carried a relish tray to the kitchen, where Gramma Karen and Grace were busy refilling the platters and side dishes that Jack and Molly brought them from the buffet set out on the fully extended dining room table.

  “Oh, Max, dear, the doorbell—could you get that? I don’t know why whoever it is doesn’t just come on in.” Gramma Karen brushed back a wisp of her gray hair with the back of one hand.

  “Maybe it’s Santa Claus,” Molly suggested. “Gramma knows the real Santa,” she reminded Max, “and she told me he might just show up today.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Gramma says that if he comes, he won’t be wearing his red suit or bringing his reindeer. She said he’ll look just like anybody else because he’ll be checking to see who’s been naughty.”

  “Have you been a good little boy, Maxie?” Grace teased.

  “I’ll get the door,” he replied, ignoring her question and accepting the obvious fact that as an escape route, the kitchen was out.

  He threaded his way through clusters of people until he reached the front door. He swung it open and found Sarah Peterson standing on the front steps, her arms wrapped around her body like a shawl. “You look like you’re freezing,” he said as he stepped aside to allow her to pass.

  “I walked from the Plaza.”

  “Why?” It seemed a logical question, but he saw a hint of laughter in her eyes as she stepped inside the front hallway and he closed the door.

  “There was a miscommunication with the cabbie about the address.” She stuffed her mittens in the pockets of her purple vest then offered him a handshake. “It’s nice to see you again, Max. I enjoyed catching up some last night and . . .”

  “I’ll tell Grace you’re here. She’s in the kitchen.” Sarah was taller than he’d first realized. She only had to tip her head up slightly to meet his eyes. Ah, those eyes—large, curious without being intrusive, and an astonishing shade of light blue. Warning bells sounded in his brain. There was something about Sarah—there always had been. But Sarah all grown up was far more confusing than the girl who had been his sister’s friend. For one thing she exuded a kind of contentment with the world that he could not fathom. And when she looked at him—as she was now—he had the distinct impression that with very little effort she could get him to reveal every secret he’d ever held.

  Okay, over the top. He glanced out the open door before closing it. �
��You came alone?”

  “My friends couldn’t make it,” she said as she waited for him to close the front door and then lead the way down the hall past the curved staircase and on to the kitchen. He couldn’t help noticing how she seemed instantly comfortable in these surroundings that had to be new to her as they moved through the crowds of guests. He didn’t like crowds—they made him uneasy. As for strangers, they reminded him too much of the people he’d had to trust back at the front—people he could never really be sure of when it came to where their loyalties might truly lie.

  “You’re not much of a talker, are you?” she said when their way was blocked by a gathering of parents trying to corral their small children. “I get the impression that chatting with you is pretty much of the need-to-know variety. And yet as I recall, you used to be the one leading any conversation.” She was looking at him again, those eyes bright with interest as if he were some fascinating specimen she needed to understand. More likely she—like Grace—was just trying to lighten the moment.

  “Grace has always been the talker in our family,” he replied, and to his surprise Sarah laughed.

  “From what I’ve seen of Molly, it would appear the adage ‘like mother, like daughter’ might apply.”

  “Good observation.” He pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen and stepped aside. “Grace? Company,” he announced as Sarah stepped past him and went directly to his grandmother.

  “Mrs. Wolzak,” she said, taking both of Gramma Karen’s hands in hers. “It’s been far too long.”

  “Little Sarah Peterson,” Gramma Karen replied with a wide smile and a hug. “Can this be that same little girl who used to sit at my kitchen table solving the problems of the world in exchange for a couple of my chocolate chip cookies and a tall glass of milk?”

  “The very same,” Sarah replied. She glanced around the kitchen. “Got any cookies and milk?” she asked with a mischievous wink that made Gramma Karen laugh. “How can I help?”

  Max had meant to lead her to the kitchen and then make his escape. Instead he found himself rooted to the spot, half in and half out the door watching this exchange.

  Grace hugged Sarah and then handed her an extra apron, and within no more than a minute she was slicing bread and sharing memories of the old neighborhood with both women.

  “How are your parents?” Gramma Karen asked.

  “Dad sold his business a year ago, and the two of them bought one of those enormous recreational vehicles and set out to tour the country—determined to make it to every single state. They’re somewhere in Arizona now.”

  “And you? What do you do, Sarah?”

  “I work for the United Nations.”

  “Don’t be so modest,” Grace said. “She’s totally in charge of this huge relief program for the United Nations, Gramma, and she goes around the world saving lives.”

  Max’s grandmother smiled. “So you’re walking the talk as they say. All those hours spent solving the world’s problems now put to concrete use?”

  “Something like that. These days I work mostly in the Middle East.”

  “You know my grandson here has just returned from that part of the world. We can’t get two words out of him about being over there, but clearly you two must have a great deal in common.”

  Gramma Karen glanced his way with clear instructions to become part of the conversation. A five-star general with a chest full of medals could not top the power of his grandmother’s silent order. He stepped fully into the kitchen and let the door swing shut behind him.

  “What part of the Middle East?”

  Sarah shrugged as she continued slicing loaves of the thick multigrain bread. “Afghanistan, Syria . . . wherever the need is greatest.”

  “Those are pretty dangerous places for a—”

  His sister’s head shot up. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Max Wolzak,” she ordered. Then she turned to Sarah. “My brother—the original male chauvinist—was about to say ‘for a woman.’” Grace rolled her eyes and went back to filling a platter with fresh vegetables and a bowl of spinach dip.

  “Those are dangerous places for all,” Sarah said quietly, “especially for children.”

  As if on cue Molly burst through the swinging door. “The Kelly twins just spilled a whole bunch of cranberry sauce on the carpet,” she announced.

  “I’ll go,” Grace said, grabbing a roll of paper towels as she followed Molly to the scene of the accident.

  Gramma Karen followed her, pausing to grab a bottle of club soda from the refrigerator. “Use some of this before the stain sets,” she called out as she hurried after them.

  And with the closing of the door blocking out the wails of the children apparently responsible for the accident and several adult voices trying to reassure them no real harm had been done, Max found himself alone with Sarah.

  “Good thing my mother isn’t here,” Max said. “She’d be more upset than those kids.” Nice banter, Wolzak.

  Sarah gave him a curious glance and then wiped her hands on a towel while at the same time looking around for anything else she might do to help. “Where are your parents? I thought I might have a chance to—”

  “Mom likes to make an annual trek to Paris at this time of year. She doesn’t really care for the crowds and clamor of the parade and the shopping season.” She had her back to him as she wiped bread crumbs from the counter so he couldn’t read her reaction.

  “And your father?”

  Max shrugged. “He used to love the parade. But he does what Mother wants—in this case, an extended trip so they can go to the Christmas markets in Germany. Why she thinks the shopping there would be any better than it is right here, in the most . . .”

  TMI, Wolzak. Way too much information.

  “Maybe he loves her more than he used to love the parade,” Sarah said softly. Then she turned and faced him. “Sorry. It’s just your statement triggered a memory. It always seemed to me that you were somehow at odds with your mother.”

  Her directness surprised him. There was no malice in her comment, and he certainly couldn’t deny the truth of it. “It works out to be a win-win for everyone. My parents get away and Gram gets the run of the house for one of her favorite holidays. My parents are good people,” he hastened to add. “They just . . .”

  Anyone else might have jumped in to finish his sentence, recognizing that he was searching for the right way to phrase things. Not Sarah. She simply waited. She had stopped wiping the counter and was watching him, listening—really listening to him in a way people rarely did these days.

  He decided to change conversational paths. “You never really had a chance to know my parents.”

  “But I remember your grandmother talking about them. She was so very proud of your dad. He went into business, didn’t he? Banking or something like that?”

  “Real estate.”

  “And speaking of real estate, this is a beautiful home.” She folded the dish towel and laid it across a towel rack. “Do I get the nickel tour?”

  Talking about his parents always seemed to make Max tense—as if somehow he needed to explain or apologize for their success and wealth. But there was something about Sarah that put him more at ease. “Nickel tour? Did you not get the memo about inflation?” he teased.

  “All right, a quarter, but that’s my final offer.” She hung the apron Grace had handed her on a hook and waited for him to lead her back into the main part of the lavish house.

  Max did not miss the way his sister’s eyes lit up, and she nudged Gramma Karen when she saw him with Sarah. Grace was an incurable romantic and no doubt already had devised an entire happily-ever-after scenario. Too bad he wasn’t a happily-ever-after kind of guy.

  * * * * *

  If there was one thing that Sarah remembered about Grace, it was that her friend was a dyed-in-the-wool romantic. Grace also loved her brother very much, and during the parade she had confided to Sarah how worried she and her grandmother were about him. “Gramma Ka
ren tells me that ever since he got back, he spends most of his time alone either holed up in his room or out for a long run or walk. He won’t say if he plans on reenlisting, and that makes me think he just might.”

  “But if the military is what he loves—if that’s where his heart lies . . .”

  “His heart lies with the long tradition of service that has been our family’s coat of arms for generations. With the single exception of our father, every Wolzak man has served as a policeman, fireman, or soldier.”

  “Well, there’s your answer.”

  “But it’s so dangerous over there,” Grace had protested.

  “It’s dangerous here.”

  “Yeah, but at least here Gramma Karen and I can be there to take care of him.”

  “Max must know how those who love him worry.” It had occurred to Sarah that nowhere in this conversation had there been mention of how his mother worried. She really wanted to ask Grace about that but felt it would be far too intrusive.

  Now as she followed Max into the large front room of the house, she saw Grace watching them. She knew that look—it was Grace’s matchmaking look.

  “Ignore them,” Max said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “My grandmother and my sister are convinced that what I need is a good woman to settle me down and keep me here at home. It appears that at least for the moment they have set their sights on you. Sorry about that.”

  “On the other hand it would definitely get you off the hook if they had reason to believe that you and I had . . . reconnected?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished she could take them back. What was she thinking? From the expression on Max’s face he clearly thought she had completely lost her mind—or more likely that she was some kind of desperate stalker. “Ignore me—I have no idea what—”