by Anna Schmidt
The man was grinning at her. “It could work. I mean if you really mean it.”
Was that a dare? His eyes were practically twinkling. “I don’t think it’s necessary to make fun of me,” she muttered and turned away from him, pretending to study a large abstract oil painting that dominated one wall.
“I’m not. I mean I wasn’t thinking. Of course you must have someone—someone special in your life and . . . Hey, forgive me. I’m a little out of practice when it comes to the social graces.”
“There’s no one special.” She turned to face him. “My work doesn’t leave a lot of time for . . .”
“Mine either. Sounds like we’re a perfect short-term match. What do you say? I mean, if you’re going to be in town for a few weeks.”
“I leave the day after Christmas for Syria.”
“And you told Gramma Karen that your folks are in Arizona, right?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Look, Sari, where’s the harm? It’s the holidays and no one likes to be alone and—”
“Who says I’m alone? I have friends—a lot of friends.” She had not missed the way he’d called her by the nickname he’d tagged her with when they were kids. Oh, he still had some of those social skills.
“I’m sure you do. You always were surrounded by a crowd of admirers. Why do you think it took me so long to ask you out?”
She laughed. “You are something else, Max. You always were.”
“It might be fun—hanging out for a few weeks.”
She was actually considering this. Well, why not? After all, it had been her idea. “Okay, here are my ground rules. . . .”
Max groaned.
“Grace told me you always set ground rules.”
“Yeah, but the key point there is that I set them—not somebody else. But go ahead.”
“We do not lie about what’s going on. We are friends who have decided to act as each other’s . . . companion for holiday occasions requiring a date.”
“Grace is never going to believe that.”
“That can’t be helped. The bottom line is that when we go our separate ways we can both honestly remind all concerned—including your grandmother—that we never pretended this was anything more than just friendship.”
“Agreed. What else?”
“That’s it, unless you have something.”
“Nope. Let’s keep things simple. So how about I get you home? You look exhausted.”
“I am perfectly capable of finding my way home, Max.”
“You’d actually leave me here stranded in a house filled with strangers—at least most of them are for me. What about our bargain?”
“You can leave any time—you don’t have to see me home.”
“Just say yes.”
She was tired. And it was getting later. As much as she loved her city, she was not about to tempt fate. “I’ll take a cab.”
“That relief mission gig of yours must pay pretty well the way you keep riding around town in taxis.”
He had a point—the cab ride would be expensive. “All right, if you insist, come take a subway ride with me.”
“I’ll get our coats—you go say good night to Grace and Gramma Karen.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” She gave him a mock salute.
“Sorry. Giving out orders is an occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”
“No harm, no foul,” she replied.
Max smiled. “Beautiful and a sports fan. This just keeps getting better.”
She couldn’t help feeling pleased that their encounter seemed to have lightened his mood considerably. He was sounding more and more like the Max she had known years earlier.
* * * * *
The train was so crowded that Max ended up standing while Sarah found a seat next to an elderly woman who looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. He watched as Sarah engaged the woman in conversation. He saw the woman’s expression shift from despair to hope, and when the train screeched to a stop and the woman edged toward the doors, he saw Sarah give her a parting hug.
“What was that all about?” he asked as he took the seat the woman had vacated.
“Oh, the poor dear. She was supposed to spend the day with her daughter, but that fell through, and then she got caught up in all the after-parade crowds and she was simply exhausted.”
“And what did you say to her? Because whatever it was seems to have been a game changer for her.”
Sarah shrugged. “Nothing really. I just told her that in spite of her disappointing day, I felt thankful to have had the chance to meet her and talk a little. That seemed to cheer her up some.”
Max thought about the way the woman had walked off the train, her head high, her shoulders squared, and with a definite spring in her step. “I’d say you made her day.”
“Way too much credit,” Sarah protested, and he noticed that she was blushing. “This is my stop,” she added as she pulled on her mittens.
They exited the train and climbed up to street level, emerging in a neighborhood of warehouses converted into art studios and lofts. They passed some restaurants and other businesses and then Sarah turned down a narrow alley. “This way,” she said when he hesitated. She stopped at a doorway lit by a single bulb and inserted a key then turned to him. She pulled off a mitten and thrust her hand into the pocket of her jeans, then handed him a crumpled business card. “Well, thanks for seeing me home, Max. Here’s my number—I mean if you really want to call. You don’t have to. I get it that the idea of . . .”
“I’ll call,” he said, taking the card from her. “And thanks. You may have made that old lady on the train have a better day, but that was nothing compared to what you did for me, Sarah Peterson.” Spontaneously he leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Good night.”
“Good night,” she murmured and then hurried inside, where she opened the heavy freight elevator gate. He was still standing in the doorway holding it open. “Does this thing lock automatically?”
“Yeah, you kind of have to let it close though.”
“Got it. What floor are you on?”
“Third.”
“I’ll just wait to see the lights come on . . . just to make sure . . .”
“Mary and Ned are probably there already so I’ll be fine.”
Max frowned. “They live with you? Your friends from the parade?”
“They live down the block, but they have a key and they like to check in.”
“I see.”
“You could come up if you like,” she suggested.
“No. It’s getting late.” He tapped the business card she’d given him. “I’ll call you,” he promised as he stepped away to let the exterior door close, then checked to be sure the lock had caught.
* * * * *
As she had suspected, Mary and Ned were waiting for her, anxious to hear all the details of her evening.
“So?” Mary demanded.
“It was a lovely evening. It’s been years since I saw Mrs. Wolzak and—”
“Blah, blah, blah. What about Sir Hunkiness?”
“He has a name—Max.”
“And?”
“And it’s late and I have a full day tomorrow.”
Ned sighed. “I will never understand the kick you seem to get out of waking up before the sun to hit the stores for Black Friday bargains.”
“Ah, Ned, where’s your Christmas spirit?” she teased as she herded her friends toward the door. “Besides, part of my shopping will be to find the perfect gift for the two of you.”
Her cell phone started to ring.
“He’s calling already?” Mary’s eyebrows shot up.
“Go,” Sarah instructed as she pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the caller ID. Unknown caller. She shooed her friends the rest of the way out the door as she answered the call and closed the door. “Hello?”
“Hi. It’s me.”
His voice was rich and deep, and she was surprised to hear it. “You’re going to have to do
better than that—I know a lot of ‘me’s’ in this world.”
“Max? Max Wolzak?” The confidence in his tone wavered slightly.
“Oh, that me.”
“I said I’d call.”
“So you did.”
Neither of them seemed to know what to say next, so after a minute they both started talking at once.
“I meant to tell you how much—” she began.
“I was thinking and wondering if—”
They both laughed and stopped talking. “You first,” she said.
“I was wondering if maybe you’d help me with some Christmas shopping tomorrow. I know the stores will be mobbed and all, but I haven’t a clue what to get for Molly or Grace or Gramma Karen. Jack’s easy—he’s a guy. But . . .”
“How about I meet you at Macy’s at seven?”
There was a pause. “As in seven AM?”
“Actually that’s late, but we’ll probably still qualify for the door-buster specials.”
“Stores actually open at seven,” he repeated. “In the morning.”
“I’ll bring coffee,” she promised.
“Black, and none of that frou-frou-latte-chino stuff.”
“Black it is . . . for Black Friday.”
“Perfect.”
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
“Well, if we’re going to get any sleep at all we’d best continue this conversation—fascinating as it is—tomorrow. Good night, Max.”
She clicked off her phone and laid it on the kitchen counter next to her keys. Then she settled cross-legged onto the daybed and began making her list. She might be an only child, but her extended family of cousins, aunts, uncles, and special friends and coworkers stretched into the dozens, and nothing would do but that she find the perfect gift—within budget of course—for every single one of them. That was a full day of shopping in and of itself. Adding Max’s list to hers . . . she’d better make that coffee doubly strong.
Chapter Four
• • • • • • • • • • • •
In spite of the fuss he’d made about a seven o’clock meeting time with Sarah, Max’s normal habit was to be up at five and out for his daily run through the park. It felt odd to be back in this country, doing the same things he’d done in the years before he’d enlisted. In junior high school, around the time they had moved away from the old Brooklyn neighborhood, he’d started a fitness routine of running five to seven miles every morning. He’d found it a good time to think, to work out problems he might be facing at school—or at home. He remembered the day after he’d dropped out of college and enlisted. He had spent those five miles trying to figure out how he was going to break the news to his family.
His parents were in Japan and trying to get home, so he had decided to start with his grandparents. He’d been right to assume that Gramma Karen would understand why he’d signed up, but his maternal grandparents were something else. They came from a long line of old money and a tradition of service at home, not on the battlefield. As he had anticipated, his mother’s parents were shocked at the news.
“Why?” his grandfather had asked.
“Because we have been attacked on our own soil—innocent Americans have died right here in New York City.” His logic made perfect sense to him. His grandfather had tried to pull strings in Washington to assure that Max would be assigned to a desk job stateside. But Max had refused and reported for combat training.
Each time his stint ended he had taken this same run, had considered all the pros and cons of signing up for a second—and then a third tour. The way he saw it, there was still work to be done. They might have finally gotten Bin Laden, but that was not the end of it—not by a long shot. And yes, on this chilly November morning, he was actually contemplating the possibility of returning to the Middle East to stand alongside his buddies still over there—still trying to make sense of a culture that was so very different from everything they knew back home.
By the time he got back to the brownstone, he was no closer to a decision, and he had decided that for today he would put such thoughts aside in favor of spending time with Sarah Peterson. It would be an early Christmas present to himself. There was something about her that made him feel calmer, less tense about the future, more inclined to consider his options beyond reenlisting. The truth was that watching her that night in the park and then again the day before, especially with the woman on the train, he envied her the certainty with which she seemed to approach life. There was no cynicism in her, no hesitancy to reach out to other people. Somewhere along the way he had lost that trust factor. Maybe it had been not knowing who he could truly rely upon during his missions overseas—never knowing when choosing the wrong person might result in one of his troops being injured or killed.
“You’re back from your run early.” Gramma Karen was dressed and preparing dough that she and Molly would turn into dozens of holidays cookies. Another tradition—one that he and Grace had looked forward to as children.
“Got things to do, places to be.” He kissed her cheek. “Nice party yesterday.” He dipped a finger into the batter, and Gramma Karen swatted his hand away.
“You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself . . . for once.” She continued stirring the batter then added, “Sarah Peterson is such a nice girl.”
“She’s a grown woman, Gramma, and if you think you’re being subtle, think again.” He stuck his finger in the batter once more and then laughed as he dodged his grandmother’s raised hand. “Got to shower,” he said.
“Do you want breakfast?” she called.
“I’ll take care of it. Got to meet somebody at seven.”
“Sarah?”
“Not subtle, Gramma.” He couldn’t help but smile when he heard his grandmother’s knowing chuckle follow him up the stairs.
* * * * *
Sarah was nothing if not organized. She had perused all the ads—printed and online—listing promotional deals for Black Friday, and she had mapped out a plan of attack. They would start at Macy’s, where she already had a list of suggestions for Max in terms of gifts for his sister and grandmother. The store had a terrific deal on the perfume that Grace had loved from the time they were teenagers. Back then her mother had vetoed her wearing the scent, saying that it was far too sophisticated for a girl of sixteen. But on Thanksgiving night, Sarah had caught the subtle fragrance of the expensive perfume when Grace welcomed her with a hug and then handed her an apron.
So perfume for Grace would be her suggestion. Of course Max might have something else in mind, and she certainly did not know his budget. Best to listen first and make suggestions later. She glanced at the clock. She was going to have to hurry if she was going to pick up coffee and make it to Macy’s by seven.
As she might have guessed, the line for coffee was long no matter where she stopped. By the time she reached the ornate entrance to the world-famous department store, Max was already there. He stood in an at-ease position, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He was wearing jeans, a heavy canvas jacket, and a bright red scarf.
“Sorry,” she said as she handed him his cup of coffee. “Apparently everyone got the same memo about starting the morning with coffee.”
He took a sip and sighed. “Perfect.” Then, to her surprise, he drank down the rest of the scalding liquid and tossed the cup in a nearby trash container. “So, what’s the plan of attack?”
Sarah juggled her coffee and her phone. “I started a list,” she said. “But then I realized that beyond your immediate family, I had no idea who you might need gifts for. I thought we could get your shopping done first and then you could go on with your day.”
“What about your list?”
“I’ll get to that, but there’s no reason that you—”
“I want to tag along with you, unless I’d be in the way.”
“You want to? Seriously?”
“Why not? Like I said, I’m out of practice and it seems to me you’re something of an expert
when it comes to this holiday cheer thing.” He indicated the front door, where people were flooding in. “Shall we join the masses?”
Sarah took a final swallow of her coffee and tossed the cup. Inside, she asked Max for his ideas on what to buy for his family members.
“Why do you think I asked to go shopping with you? I haven’t a clue.”
She suggested the perfume idea and led the way to the counter that sold Grace’s preferred brand. When the woman behind the counter seemed inclined to regale them with the full range of choices, Max pointed to a bottle of perfume cradled in a blue velvet gift box. “That one.”
“How much?” Sarah asked, wanting to make sure that Max understood that he had just selected the line’s most expensive product. The clerk murmured a price. Max’s eyebrows shot up.
“That includes the fancy box, right?”
“Of course, sir.”
Max shrugged and pulled out his wallet. He handed the clerk his credit card, and while she processed the sale he turned to Sarah. “Gift wrapped and everything. Now for Gramma Karen, what were you thinking?”
And so the morning went. Max saw no reason to go to any other store. He bought a pair of down gloves for Jack and a pale rose-colored shawl for his grandmother. He took some time deliberating over a leather carrying case for his father’s e-reader and a sterling silver cuff bracelet for his mother. “They can return these, right?” he asked the clerk three times.
So far, everything he’d purchased fit nicely in a single shopping bag.
“Finally we get to shop for someone who will truly appreciate whatever we choose—Molly loves presents. To the toy department,” he announced and headed for the escalator.
But Sarah had another idea. “When it comes to shopping for children Molly’s age in this city, there is no place like FAO Schwarz. Don’t get me wrong—I love Macy’s, but for toys . . .”