Christmas Down Under: Six Sexy New Zealand & Australian Christmas Romances

by Rosalind James

  He blocked out the other voice that said, Carl was right. She was no professional and there was a lot riding on this event.

  “You know,” Carl said thoughtfully. “You haven’t been yourself since Greg died, and I don’t blame you. The pair of you went back a long way. But I’m beginning to wonder something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If this “thing” with Penny is some sort of distraction? Some sort of challenge you’re setting yourself?”

  Michael took a long sip of his wine. “There is no ‘thing,’ no distraction, and no challenge.”

  “Nothing wrong with a challenge. Anita finds them all the time.”

  Carl glanced up as his fiancé returned. Anita met Michael’s gaze as she took her seat. “I’m all about challenges. People just happen to be my challenge. They love it. I love it. I can’t lose.”

  Michael leant back further in his chair. A niggle of unease had churned its way down his spine. He liked Anita a lot. Admired her drive, and her ambition and her love for what she did. But on this, it made him uncomfortable.

  “I wouldn’t have thought charging women a fortune to make them look good for one night is exactly a challenge.”

  Anita checked her phone, then slipped it into her purse. “For a start, I have never charged a fortune, as you put it, and you know that a lot of my work is free with women’s groups across the city. And the second thing is that makeovers are not changes for one night. We’re teaching women how to make the best of what they already have so they start to have the life they want.”

  “But doesn’t that make you uneasy?” Michael leant forward, a sudden restlessness rippling through him at the conversation. It made him uncomfortable.

  “You’re playing into the whole ‘looks are everything’ game that the media and Hollywood and, let’s face it, society forces on women.”

  “That’s very astute coming from a man,” Anita commented with approval. But looks are not everything. I’ve never said that, ever. But since we’re on the subject.” She sat back, scrutinized Michael in a way that made him feel he was on display. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

  Michael set his glass down. “What have I got to do with it?”

  “Everything. You look the way you do because you work on yourself.”

  He shook his head, amused at the idea. “I don’t ‘work’ on myself.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Her eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Of course you do. You just don’t think of it in those terms.” She counted down on her fingers. “You work out, you wear clothes from designers, and your hairdresser is Auckland's top guy. You’ve got that sexy stubble thing happening now and then, which may or may not be planned.”

  Michael began to shake his head.

  “I admit,” Anita conceded, “that you are blessed with great bone structure and genes, but take away all that grooming and you would be a completely different man. One with potential, yes, but still, a different man.”

  Michael stared into his glass. He’d never thought of it like that. Yes, he wore good clothes and he worked out, and he projected an image in a conscious way. He was a lawyer. He ran a successful practice. He had a profile in legal circles.

  “And there are,” Anita went on, “some women who can be improved immensely by my help. It gives them confidence and in the end, it’s all about confidence. I’m thinking of people like-“ She snapped her fingers. “Like that frizzy friend of yours. The mousey one.”

  “Michael does not have mousey, frizzy friends,” Carl commented wryly. “Especially on the female side.”

  “Yes, he does. You know?” Anita persisted. “The glasses. The chubby one. The one from the cafe?”

  “You mean Penny?” She didn’t care about stuff like that. She was happy the way she was. “I hardly think Penny’s ever going to want to walk into your office and book an appointment."

  “Exactly.” Anita looked as if she had just made the point of the century. “The woman is a walking disaster.”

  “Anita,” Carl warned, ”Mike and Penny have been friends for years. They’re like brother and sister. In fact, we've just been discussing her. Mike wants to hire her to cater the Christmas function.”

  Her face dropped. “Penny? You’re kidding.”

  “It’s a good menu. Great, even,” Carl said, tapping the papers.

  Anita looked thoughtful “Well, if that’s the case, and she’s looking to do more catering and maybe get recommendations for future work, then surely you see that she could do with some help on the image front.”

  “That’s harsh. Too harsh.” Michael pushed the glass away and fought the urge to get up out of the chair walk out onto the street and just breathe. “And pretty bloody insulting.”

  Anita reached over and gripped his wrist. “Michael, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.” She looked as if he’d just slapped her across the face. “I’ve met her. She’s nice. But…” She hesitated as if weighing up her words. “Look. I know what I’m saying. I see it in women all the time. I see it in women at the refuge and the community centre, yes, but I see it all around me and I see the potential in people that is being lost all because of self-image. Because they lack self-acceptance.”

  “You just contradicted yourself. You’re saying they need to change their image. That they need to work out, and buy nice clothes, and that is not self-acceptance. That’s change.”

  “You’re wrong again.” She shook her head. “It’s taking steps to accept yourself and when you have that acceptance, confidence follows. It’s what helps you realise your potential and not only that, helps you cope with the setbacks, with the rejection, and let’s face it. We all get them. No one is immune. In business or in life.”

  “Not all successful people wear designer clothes and work out and need to project an image.”

  She stabbed the air. “And that, Michael McGuinn, is the point. That is exactly the point, because they already are confident. They’re confident in who they are and when they look in a mirror, they don’t see flaws. They see themselves, and they walk away and get on with it. It doesn’t define them. When people feel good about themselves, they are good at what they do. Does Penny feel good about herself?”

  “Of course she does.” Michael loosened his tie, absently noting the sensation of warm moisture on his neck. He didn’t like discussing Penny like this. She wasn’t the type to be gazing in a mirror and smacking gloss on her lips, or fluffing around with hair that had always been a frizzy, curly mess. She was the type to just fit in to the background and take care of everyone.

  And she did it well. She’d had little choice a year ago.

  “You don’t really know Penny,” he told Anita finally. “If you did, you wouldn’t say that about her.”

  Anita said, "Ever thought of dating her?"

  Michael stalled. Dating Pen would be like dating a sister. And he had never, ever thought of Pen in those terms.

  “Would you?” Anita persisted.

  Michael reached for his glass again. Greg would have been the first to warn him off if he ever did find her attractive. He’d actually said it once, more in jest than anything. Love ‘em and leave ’em McGuinn and his sister? Not a chance, if Greg Portman had a say in it.

  He glanced absently across at a couple seated nearby. They’d forgotten their meals, were leaning across the table surface, hands clasped between them, lips close as they murmured to each other. He noticed the wedding bands on their fingers, felt an uncharacteristic pang of envy. Soon, that would be Carl and Anita.

  He felt something else. A deep, gutting thud in his chest.

  He turned away and slugged down more wine to get rid of it, and said, “Penny has no need to be fixed up. She’s perfectly happy as she is.”

  Anita looked unconvinced. “Is she dating anyone right now?”

  "I don’t know. Not everyone wants to be in a relationship”.

  “Rubbish.” Anita glanced at Carl, smiling the smile of a woman who knew she w
as adored and who was secure in that adoration. “Love is what we all want. Even you and the Penny Portmans of the world, whether you choose to admit it or not.”

  Hastily, Michael excused himself.

  In the rest room, he headed straight to the basins.

  Penny.

  He splashed cold water on his face and at the ice cold contact, he shuddered.

  Michael had been an only child and the Portmans had become family to him. Pen had been like a sister, the girl with her head buried in a book, the girl who baked and who took it seriously.

  She was a perfectionist when it came to that. She’d tie her hair up in any old rubber band she could find, and forget to wear an apron and mess up her clothes, but if the food wasn’t right, she would start from scratch. He and Greg would benefit from a batch of cookies that tasted amazing but to Pen, they were far from perfect.

  He grabbed a bunch of paper towels, and dried his face and hands. He’d also taken on the big brother role.

  He frowned. In some ways, he'd taken it on more than Greg.

  He binned the paper towels. He remembered the time they’d been at a concert. He and Greg, their girlfriends, and Pen with some guy she’d been dating. Pen’s boyfriend had wasted no time in chatting up the girl next to him. Pen had focussed on the concert but Michael knew, without even looking at her, that she was miserable. He could feel it coming off her, and at one point she’d been trembling. Whether it was rage or frustration he didn‘t know but it hadn’t been because of the cold.

  Michael was close to dragging that punk outside and dropping him. Instead he’d moved a little closer to Pen, made some comment on the lead singer in the band, and thought, no one is treating Pen like that. He’d kept an eye on her the rest of the night.

  Later, he’d asked Greg why he hadn’t done something, and Greg, as insensitive as he could be at times, had no clue what he’d meant.

  But Michael had figured Penny was in love or something with that guy, and when he’d dumped her a month later, she had locked herself away in her room. If Michael had seen her, she’d barely acknowledged him.

  The afternoon he'd stepped inside the Portman home and smelt the sweet goodness of chocolate and vanilla, he’d thought “Thank You, God” and he’d known she was going to be okay.

  He left the men’s room, headed back to their table, and as he pulled out his chair, Carl leant forward.

  “One last time. Can we trust Penny to make us look good because this is one hell of a gig to try her out on.”

  Michael tamped down on the lingering traces of doubt, guilty that they were still there. “Yeah, we can. She’ll handle it.”

  Carl’s mouth was set in a grim line. “She never struck me as the ‘handle it’ type.”

  “She’ll prove you wrong. She can handle it,” Michael repeated and this time there was conviction sitting on his heart. He was beginning to suspect there was a lot more to Pen than he’d given her credit for. Like how she’d handled Greg’s death and her mother’s breakdown. Like the way she was single-handedly running the family business.

  He suddenly had the urge to see her, to make sure she was okay, so that the promise he’d made Greg wasn’t just lip service.

  “I know we fly pretty close to the wind on a lot of things,” Carl reminded him, “but we can do without a screw-up on this. Getting some of those contracts will make for a darned good Christmas.”

  “Don’t worry. There’ll be no screw up.” Michael heard the resolution in his own voice. “I’ll call her tomorrow and confirm it.”

  “As I thought.” Carl shook his head as his mouth curled into a resigned smile. “I never had a say in this anyway.”

  Chapter Three

  The following morning, Penny sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a plate of toast. She reached for the entertainment section of the morning paper - her parents had kept their delivery while they were away - and noted that across the table, Michelle was staring with great determination at the sports section.

  Michelle did not do sports.

  In fact, she never read the paper at all. Neither, Penny admitted, did she, unless it was a quick scroll through the online version.

  Pen said, “What's the matter now?”

  Michelle looked up, her eyes narrowed, her mouth tightened. She looked back down at the paper, turned the page. Turned another page. “Nothing is the matter.”

  “Then why do I detect an atmosphere?”

  Michelle inhaled sharply. Her nostrils flared, and Penny pounced. “There, right there. What’s the matter?”

  Michelle’s lips almost disappeared.

  “Oh, come on," Pen groaned.

  Michelle put the paper down on the table. “Alright then. He phoned.”

  “Who? My dad?”

  “No. McGuinn called. While you were in the shower.”

  Penny’s heart beat a little faster. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What do you think I’m doing now?”

  “I’ve been out of the shower for half an hour.”

  "He wants you to call him when you can.”

  “Did he say what it was about?”

  “No, he did not, and it’s none of my business, and I did not care to ask.” Michelle gestured to the sideboard out in the hall. “I wrote his mobile number down.”

  Penny flipped through the possibilities mentally. It could be anything. Or it could be something bad. Like he’d changed his mind about the catering, and he’d gone with someone else. She bit down on her bottom lip. The function was a month away yet but he could still hire somebody different, and she hadn’t signed anything. Maybe Carl had put the kibosh on it. Said she was too inexperienced, not good enough for their posh lawyer do.

  Her spirits plunged.

  Which all went to prove just how much she’d set her heart on doing this job and somehow, she had to make Michael see she was more than a “toast the paninis and make espresso” kind of girl.

  Michelle suddenly stood up, and a moment later was back with a note pad and the cordless phone. “Just ring him. I’m going out so I’ll leave you in peace. I foolishly offered to help Daisy stocktake down at the store. And,” she pre-empted Penny, “you can spare the “I’m not interested act,” because anyone with half decent vision can see you so are.”

  Michelle grabbed her car keys from the hook in the hall, the front door banged behind her, and a minute later, her small hatchback spluttered into life. When the sound had faded away, Penny checked her watch. It was nearly nine. Michael was making phone calls early for a weekend and surely he wouldn’t deliver bad news on a Saturday morning.

  She punched in the numbers before she had a chance to change her mind.

  The phone answered on the second ring.

  “Hi, she said. “It’s me.” She winced, added, “Pen. Penny. Penelope.”

  He laughed. “You’re the only Penny I know. I wasn’t sure if you were working at the cafe today.”

  “I take every alternate Saturday off.”

  “Sounds like a wise scheme. Any plans for the day?”

  Was this turning into an actual, chatty conversation? “I was planning to head out around mid-day. A book shop opened in Mt Eden last week.” Suddenly, jittery, she got up out of the chair and walked over to the window. She pulled back the curtains. “It’s selling food and wine books and I’ve been wanting to take a look so I thought I'd go over and check it out.”

  “Sounds like fun. Mind if I come along with you?”

  Pen nearly tripped over the coffee table. “What? I mean...” What? “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than traipse around after me looking at recipe books.” She ran her finger along the painted window sill. “You must have other plans?”

  “What better plan could there be than taking my best friend’s sister out?”

  His best friend’s sister. Of course.

  He said, “We can grab coffee somewhere. I’ll pick you up.”

  “Sure. That sounds great.” Outside, the sun was
trying to break through thick clouds. It was going to be a beautiful day.

  “And Pen,” he said. “The reason I rang you? I talked with Carl last night and it’s written in stone. You’ve got the job.”

  MICHAEL CAME by, and they drove steadily through the suburbs to reach Mt Eden. He drove a black, late model European car. He’d come from money and appreciated fine things, but he'd never been ostentatious with it. And the car, she realized, suited him. Solid and classy, but not flashy.

  Her gaze slipped to Michael’s knee where one hand rested. She’d always admired his hands. In her teen years, he’d sat next to her at the piano in her parents’ lounge, and showed her, note by note, how to play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”. She was so useless at music, could barely hold a tune, and she’d ended up laughing at her own inadequacy. Then he’d launched into a classic hymn followed by some garage band she’d never heard of, and she’d been captivated. They’d sat jammed up close together and right then, she’d begun to fall under a spell he had no idea he was weaving.

  A minute later Michael found a park down a tree-lined side street, and they walked back up to the main shops.

  The entrance to Cooking the Books was bright with green and blue colours, balloons, streamers, and Opening Special signs.

  His hand rested on the small of her back as they entered but when they were inside, it dropped away. He picked up a book on barbeque cooking, and Pen made her way further in.

  It was heaven, she sighed as she picked up book after book. Each Christmas and birthday, her mother gave her a gift card and Pen without fail added a new title to her collection. Sometimes she made their recipes, carefully written down on index cards so she never had to ruin the pages. She could spend hours sitting on the couch with a pile spread out, planning menus. It was almost as much fun as the cooking.

  She pulled a book off a table, written by a local chef, and consulted the index.

  “Any good?” Michael murmured in her ear.

  She jumped a little and turned.

  He was looking over her shoulder, then his gaze landed on her. Her heart thudded.