Love Finds You Under the Mistletoe

by Irene Brand

  The woman smiled. “We’re so honored to have Mr. Keaton here. There’s already a crowd waiting for him. If you’d like to follow me, we have a special place for you.”

  Special place? “Oh, that’s okay,” Holly said. “I don’t really need—”

  “That’s perfect.” Van smiled at Pauline. “Thank you for taking care of Holly.”

  Van placed his hand on the small of Holly’s back and moved her toward the center of the bookstore. There was indeed a gathering of people waiting for him, and behind a podium stood an entire wall of Van’s latest novel, Land of Dreams and Drawbridges.

  “Did someone place a bottle of water just inside the podium?” Van asked Pauline.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Van raised an eyebrow. “Bottled water only. Cold, right?”

  “Yes, just as you requested.”

  “And what about the introduction? My assistant e-mailed it to you weeks ago.”

  “Yes, Mr. Keaton, we have your intro.” Pauline raised her chin a mite. “In fact, I have it memorized.”

  Van gave Pauline a tiny salute. “Excellent. Thank you.”

  Holly’s face heated up as Pauline ushered her to the front of the room and offered her a chair that faced the audience. Would those in attendance think she was his wife?

  A hush settled over the audience as Pauline stood behind the podium and cleared her throat.

  After a long introduction, resplendent with Van’s many accomplishments, the crowd gave him a generous round of applause. Van then strode to the front of the crowd and took his place behind the podium.

  “Thank you for coming today.” Van’s gaze swept over the gathering. “I’m grateful to each and every one of you for your interest in my work. Whether it’s curiosity, ambivalence, or even disdain. I’ll take anything I can get.”

  Chuckles trickled through the audience.

  “Before I read an excerpt from Land of Dreams and Drawbridges, I’d like to make an announcement.”

  What kind of announcement? Holly ran her hand along the folds of her dress and waited. She felt a hiccup coming on but managed to stifle it.

  “I’m excited to say the release of my new book has been moved up. It’ll come out in September, just in time for next Christmas. The title will be”—Van paused, caught Holly’s gaze with a knowing smile, and then said to the audience—“Once Upon a Christmas Eve.”

  Van had kept the title such a secret that Holly was surprised he’d blurted it out among strangers. But it was impossible to question his disclosure, since he’d chosen such a lovely title.

  “Once Upon a Christmas Eve is the true story of Holly Goodnight, who was abandoned as an infant on the front step of The Little Bethlehem Shoppe in Noel, Missouri, on Christmas Eve. Albert Goodnight, the owner of the shop, adopted the baby. Holly grew up, and she’s with us today. May I introduce Holly Goodnight.” Van gave a grand flourish toward her as if she were a featured car on a showroom floor.

  Someone in the crowd whispered, “I’ve seen her on TV. Poor thing.”

  Holly smiled at the crowd but felt like crawling under the book table—for the rest of her life. But how could she complain or be embarrassed? She agreed to have a book written about her life.

  Van took a sip of water. “While writing Ms. Goodnight’s story—which I’m carrying through to the present—I myself became part of this work of creative nonfiction as I interacted with Ms. Goodnight and her father and friends in Noel. And then the most extraordinary and unexpected thing happened. Something—” Van’s voice broke. He paused and looked away, as if holding back his emotion. “The writer, Van Keaton, fell in love with the heroine, Holly Goodnight.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The store went silent. Everyone looked from Van to Holly and then back to Van, waiting for a reaction. Or further explanation. Or anything that would give them permission to breathe again.

  Van pulled out a black velvet box from his pocket, and happy noises erupted from the crowd.

  Oh, no. God, please, no. Not in front of everyone. Holly’s heart skipped a beat. She could hear the blood rushing back and forth in her ears.

  Van turned to her. “I wanted to ask you now, since I couldn’t wait another minute. You are and always will be the love of my life. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Van knelt down in front of her.

  “I do love you.” But. Before Holly could formulate the rest of her sentence Van cracked opened the little box, and a large marquise diamond sparkled in front of her. For a second she felt mesmerized by the adoring glow in Van’s eyes, the crowd’s excitement, and the swelling emotion of what was surely the most embarrassing and yet romantic moment of her life. But her decision had been made, and it included Van only as her biographer, not as her husband. She should have practiced her speech.

  Before she could utter one word of articulate protest, Van slipped the ring on her finger, and the audience broke out into a mind-numbing applause. Was she going to be physically ill? Dear Lord, have mercy on me. What have I done? She hiccuped.

  Some of the people on the front row shook Van’s hand while others yelled congratulations. After a few minutes everyone settled down enough that Van could read from his current novel.

  While Van spoke eloquently to the crowd, Holly dissolved into a pool of wretchedness. How would she ever squirm out of her predicament? She shouldn’t have said she loved him, but they were the first words that came to her. She did, in fact, care for Van, even loved him in a way, but it wasn’t enough—at least not enough for a lifetime. The dilemma they found themselves in, though, hadn’t been only of her making. Van had deliberately cornered her in front of a roomful of strangers, twisting her around his little finger. With that thought in mind, she got more and more irritated at him.

  After Van finished his reading and his Q&A with the audience, it was time for him to sign books and chat with his readers.

  Holly backed out of the limelight. Van didn’t seem to notice, and that was best. She was relieved, since it would give her some time to think. What would she say to him now?

  An attractive young blonde stepped up to Van’s book table. “I just read Land of Dreams and Drawbridges and loved it. Would you sign my copy?”

  “Of course, and I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Van accepted the book and began signing his name on the title page.

  The woman pressed her hand over her bosom. “It was sooo romantic and beautifully written. But you gave it such a tragic ending. Do you think this new book you’re working on will have a happy ending?”

  Van smiled. “I’m doing my best to make certain it does.”

  The woman lit up in his presence, glistening like a disco ball.

  Holly had to admit she understood the woman’s attraction. Van looked handsome and scholarly in his camel-hair blazer. Perhaps she too had been awed by Van’s prestige and bravura and connection to a world that was anything but ordinary. Hmm. Had she even asked him enough questions about his life, his beliefs, his dreams? Even though Van had claimed to like Noel, would he have eventually asked her to move to Houston? Perhaps she really had been dazzled too much by the shimmer on the surface. Holly twirled the diamond ring on her finger and, without gazing at it, weighed her own character and found it wanting.

  The young blonde glided away from Van with a look of bliss. In fact, each customer in line who visited with Van shuffled off looking satisfied. It was obvious he had the gift of bringing joy to people through his charismatic personality and his stories. It was hard not to admire such talent. When Van had made it through the long line and signed every book the store set in front of him, he was left beaming at the table. Holly wasn’t sure if it was from all the adulation or the engagement. Probably both.

  Van rose from the table. “Darling, how about some Starbucks? It’s nearby.” He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. “By the way, you look charming in that navy dress. Like twilight, the blue hour—remember?”

  Holly smiled at him. “I remember.” Even thou
gh she was upset with Van for placing her in such an awkward situation, the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. She still had no speech, no perfect way to end their relationship. Perhaps she was just too human to be inside the pages of a book.

  Van escorted Holly out into the sunny day, but no amount of late autumn sunshine or crisp air could bolster his dwindling hope. What had he been thinking, putting Holly on the spot in front of so many people? Easy answer. He had so feared her refusal that he’d allowed himself to resort to underhanded and manipulative tactics. He had as much integrity as the sole of a shoe.

  As they approached Starbucks Van opened the door for Holly. He bought their usual beverages, and then they settled into cozy chairs in the back. The merry expression Holly usually wore had gone missing, and he knew why. “I’m sorry I did that to you.”

  She touched his arm. “I thought it was romantic. However.”

  “However, what I did to you was unforgivable.” Van took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  Holly’s chin quivered. “I forgive you.”

  Van stared into his cup but didn’t take a sip. “Do you know why I brought you here?”

  “Because you love good coffee?” She smiled.

  “I’ve always believed that no bad thing could ever happen in Starbucks. So I—”

  “Van.”

  “Yes?”

  “I want us to stop pretending. We need to—”

  “Holly, please.” Van’s eyes stung with tears. He put his glasses back on. Lovely. Now I’m crying. “I have no excuse for my behavior, except somehow I thought it would change your mind. I see now those were the sentiments of a fool. Or maybe just someone who was blinded by desperation. I’ve never fallen in love before. I’m totally smitten. But I can see there’s no amount of flute playing or clever language that will change your mind.”

  “You really did sweep me off my feet, you know.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “It was like being caught up in this beautiful hot air balloon, drifting along on some breathtaking ride. But up there I couldn’t see things clearly.”

  “And now you do?”

  Holly nodded.

  He stared at Holly’s hand, the one clasping his shoulder. He took comfort in her touch and yet grieved over it, since that intimate connection would be taken from him. “You know, my editor has read some of the first draft of this new book, and she says it will take me where I want to go as a writer. They expect my sales to double. And you did that for me, Holly. You turned my career around. What will I do without you? You’re my muse. My love.”

  Holly rested her head on his arm, and when she lifted it back up, her eyes were damp with tears.

  Van pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at her cheeks. Then he slipped his laptop out of his bag and turned it on.

  “Are you going to write all this into the book—now?”

  “All my life, I’ve sort of lived for myself. I’ve never been terribly courageous. I would like to do the right thing for once. So without being overly dramatic, I’m going to write myself out of your story, out of your life.”

  Van typed as he said the words. “Even as I dried Holly’s tears and she said her good-byes, I already saw her at a distance like the last rays of a sunset. I saw her years being played out in Noel.” Van paused to control his emotions. “As the seasons came and went, she would embrace every wonder. She would see blessing in sacrifice, joy in simplicity, and she would receive tender affections from every life she touched. And most of all, Holly would grow old with her dearest friend and greatest love—Owen.”

  Van couldn’t remember a time when the pain of being alive felt so acute.

  “That was beautifully said, Van. I wish it could have ended happily for everyone.” She leaned toward him. “How long have you known about Owen? That he was more than just a friend?”

  “I went to his house in hopes he might support my proposal. He may have told you.”

  “He did.”

  “Well, after our brief talk I finally concluded that either Owen disapproved of me in general or else he’d fallen in love with you.” Van turned his computer off and slipped it back into his bag.

  “And how did you figure out which one was the truth?”

  “Maybe it was the impassioned way he said your name.”

  Holly smiled. “I see.”

  “There’s just no way to ask you this without sounding petty, but what is it that made Owen the one? I know you and I don’t have a special handshake. We didn’t grow up together or have a history. And I know I’m a high-maintenance, paranoid germophobe who’s—well, you know my foibles.”

  She took a slow sip of her latté. “Maybe love is sort of like the wind. Who can really know where it comes from?”

  “Are you sure you’re not the writer?”

  Holly chuckled.

  He wished that something so well said wasn’t so painful to hear. “I wish you both well.”

  “And I pray you’ll find joy. Van, you’re very resourceful. And you’re charming and dear. Someone is out there—just waiting to love you.” Holly chuckled. “That sounds cheesy, but I don’t mean it to be.”

  “I know.” Van tried to drink his coffee, but he was more weary than thirsty. “You’re right. I’ll eventually move on—if I don’t I’ll end up on the street, pilfering through Dumpsters. Well, maybe not that. Too many germs.” He knew his grin wasn’t very convincing. “Just let me look at you for a moment, Holly Rose. Guess that should be the last time I call you Holly Rose. Wouldn’t be right otherwise.” He straightened his shoulders and brightened, determined not to bring her any more grief.

  Holly rested her head on his shoulder.

  Van circled his arm around her. To hold her felt so good. Even now, with no hope for a future.

  “I wanted to thank you for your help.”

  “My help?”

  Holly eased away. “Even though you didn’t intend for it to happen, you brought me to a crossroads with Owen. If it hadn’t been for you we may never have moved forward. I wouldn’t have seen the course that had already been set for my life. And while I’m pleased that you’re writing my story, it’s meant so much more than that. All those interviews and talks—they genuinely helped me come to terms with my past. It has all meant so much to me, Van. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He shook his head and smiled. “I hope it’s all right if I send you occasional e-mail updates about the book.”

  “I’ll always be here for you—in that way.”

  Van knew well what she meant. They would never again be together in such a familiar manner. From now on, all contact would need to be in the name of business or friendship.

  She slipped the engagement ring off her finger, handed it to him, and kissed him on the cheek. “I don’t want to leave you here like this.”

  “I’ll be okay.” He nodded. “We both will.”

  Holly rose to leave, and he watched her go, allowing himself to take in the finality of the scene. The glass door slowly closed behind her. She didn’t look back, but then he hadn’t expected her to.

  Van leaned his head on the table. Tears came. He didn’t care who was watching him. What did it matter?

  After a few minutes, his cell phone came to life. He glanced at the caller—Lindy. She was probably disappointed about Owen not calling and wanted to cry on his shoulder. Feeling a sudden bond with her, he answered the phone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Holly opened the car door as she breathed a prayer for Van—that he would recover more quickly than he ever thought possible and that he would find a great love of his own.

  On the long drive home, thoughts of Owen could no longer be kept at bay. The look of affliction on his face when she’d walked away the night before caused her even more pain. Her best friend was out there somewhere, still waiting for her answer. She couldn’t ease Van’s suffering, but she could put one man out of his misery. She could make one happy ending. And she knew just how she would do i
t.

  Owen. How she loved him—not because it was safe, but because it was real. Why had she waited so long to discover what was already there? God had been listening all along. She was the one who hadn’t been paying attention to the resounding trumpet of love! No more denial and nonsense. The time was now.

  Holly pulled into Noel knowing just where to find Owen. On a Sunday afternoon he was always at home reading a good book. But after ringing the bell, pounding on the door, and then peeking in the window, she realized her certainty about his whereabouts was faulty. Where had he gone? Disappointment trickled into her spirit along with panic. Had he changed his mind about her? Was he so wounded from her response to his proposal that he’d left town for a while? Didn’t sound like Owen. Could he have gone to the shop? It was closed on Sunday, but then again, he did have a key. It was worth a try.

  Holly drove into town, parked on Main, and ran up to The Little Bethlehem Shoppe. Even though the sign read CLOSED, she tried the door. It was open. The moment she stood inside the entry she saw legs coming out from under the bottom of a tree—Owen’s legs. Relief washed over her.

  “We’re closed,” Owen hollered.

  She walked toward him, her shoes clomping softly on the wooden floor.

  “Holly?”

  “Yes.” She opened up the branches and looked down at her dear Owen. “How did you know it was me?”

  “Something about the way you walked across the room. Neighborly footsteps, but maybe a little sneaky too.”

  Holly smiled at him. She hoped—oh, she hoped—Owen hadn’t changed his mind, but as she searched his eyes, she could see the love all over his face. “What are you doing here on a Sunday?”

  “I was at home trying to read, but I couldn’t concentrate, so I thought I’d come in the shop for a while. It’s peaceful here, you know, puttering around. And this place is so filled with memories—so full of you—that, well, being here makes me feel closer to you. And that’s always a good thing.”

  “Mmm. Words don’t get any sweeter than that.”