Wanted: Boyfriend for Christmas

by Kimberlee R. Mendoza

  * * *

  The Wild Rose Press

  www.thewildrosepress.com

  Copyright ©2008 by Kimberlee Ruth Mendoza

  * * *

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  CONTENTS

  Wanted: Boyfriend for Christmas

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

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  Heather tapped her painted fingernails against the keyboard on her desk, staring at the blinking cursor. The white document empty. Her mind blank. How many times had she helped clients write their personal ads? Daily. Almost hourly. She was in charge of the Classifieds for the West County Times. It's what she did and yet, she couldn't do her own.

  The phone rang.

  She hit receive on the console and spoke into her microphone. “Classifieds Department. Heather speaking, how may I help you?"

  The man cleared his throat before answering. “I'd like to place a personal ad."

  Heather grabbed a form from a tray on her desk and a pencil. “Your name?"

  "John Melton."

  "How old are you?"

  "I'm forty-six years old."

  "And what area do you live in?"

  "Point Loma."

  She wrote his answers on the form. “And what would you like your ad to say?"

  "Witty, intelligent, self-made man looking to hang out with a woman who has a good sense-of-humor and doesn't take herself too seriously. Who loves to travel and experience the great outdoors? Seeking a low-maintenance woman who isn't in a hurry to get married."

  She wrote down his ad, and then took his contact number and credit card information. When she was finished, she hung up and sighed. How hard can it be? I'm obviously trying too hard. Okay, if I was my client, how would I help me?

  She tapped the pencil on her chin.

  I'd ask first who I am and then what was important. She tossed the pencil on her desk and returned to the computer. Typing she wrote:

  Wanted: Boyfriend for Christmas...

  Wanted: Boyfriend for Christmas

  by

  Kimberlee R. Mendoza

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Wanted: Boyfriend for Christmas

  COPYRIGHT ©

  2008 by Kimberlee Ruth Mendoza

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First White Rose Edition, 2008

  Print ISBN

  Published in the United States of America

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Dedication

  To Lori Graham, thank you for believing in me.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Praise for Kimberlee R. Mendoza, winner of the 2006 San Diego Christian Writer's Sherwood Eliot Wirt Writer of the Year Award.

  Night Owl Romance Reviewer Top Pick for “Reveille of the Heart"

  "Kimberlee R Mendoza manages what many Christian writers can't, to use religion in a story without coming across preachy."

  (Dakota Rebel—Sensual Reads and Reviews)

  "Mendoza writes with the mind of a chess champion. She's always at least three moves ahead of her reader."

  (Paul McShane—Good News)

  "Ms. Mendoza shows the reality of life, with trials and heartache, through her characters giving them a highly believable quality that her readers will remember long after they read the last page."

  (Bluegrass Romance Reviews)

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  Heather lay on the couch watching a ridiculous reality show about revealing lies that could ruin lives. I really have to stop watching this junk. She flipped off the TV and stared around her small apartment. Everything was black. The futon, the coffee table, the lamp, the TV stand. Even her curtains were charcoal gray. So dreary and dark. Maybe it was time to remodel. Some green, maybe.

  Her stomach rumbled. She glanced at the clock on the DVD player. Given that it was almost time for dinner, she wasn't surprised. Maybe she'd order pizza. She reached for the phone book, when the sound of Beethoven sliced through the air. She picked up her cell, not checking the screen first, and said, “Hello?"

  "Heather!"

  "Mom!” She squeezed her eyes shut and mouthed, Shoot! For two weeks, she had avoided her mother successfully, now here it came. The lecture.

  "You're impossible to get a hold of. Why have you been dodging my calls?"

  Heather toyed with a button on her blouse, contemplating how to escape her mother's wrath. Nothing but lies came to mind, and since she couldn't go there, she'd dodge some more. “What makes you think I've been avoiding you? Ever think that maybe I've just been real busy?"

  "Too busy to call your mother back. What if something serious had happened?"

  "Then my brother would have phoned."

  She harrumphed. “You're unbelievable."

  One of my better qualities.

  "Then I take it you know why I'm calling?"

  Thus the reason we haven't talked. “Yes, you want me home for Christmas."

  "And?"

  "And I'll try. Like I said before, I've been real busy and..."

  "Heather, don't say you'll try. Promise me you'll be here,” her mother said with her usual frantic tone. “Your brother, his wife, and your sister are all coming. It just won't be the same without you."

  "Mom, Christmas is still a month away. I have plenty of time to figure things..."

  "No, darling. I know you too well. You'll put it off and then use the excuse that you're unable to get a ticket. Your tricks are wearing thin.” Heather pictured her mother twisting the phone cord tight around her finger until the circulation cut out. “Promise me you'll come. It would mean so much to me."

  "Fine.” Heather rolled her eyes, knowing she would regret this. “I promise I'll be there."

  She exhaled, obviously relieved. “Thank you. You've made my day."

  "I'm glad."

  "How is work?"

  "Great. Nothing special."

  "That's good."

  There was a slight pause, and then her mother said, “Well, I'd better go. I'm making a cake for the youth group's dessert auction this Saturday and the timer has gone off twice while I've been gabbing with you."

  "Okay. Sounds good."

  "I love you, sweetheart."

  "Me, too. Bye, Mom.” Heather set the phone on the onyx coff
ee table and exhaled. Christmas at home again. She frowned. Last year had been horrible. For two excruciating hours, she listened to why a twenty-eight year old woman shouldn't be single. She endured advice and therapeutic solutions, none that would work in her situation.

  Then she asked that oh-so-dangerous question, “It's the twenty-first century, why can't I just be happy without a man?” That, of course, led to a whole other apple cart, including a few surprise, single suitors over for dinner. Lecture after lecture, all boiling down to her mother's insatiable need for grandchildren. Her sister-in-law was pregnant now; hopefully, that would soften the attacks. She could hope but Heather knew better. Her mother would take two-dozen grandchildren if it were remotely possible. Whatever the motive, Heather didn't want to go through torturous matchmaking exercises again.

  She dialed the pizza man and ordered a large pepperoni, with black olives and mushrooms. “And do you think you could include a side of ranch dressing?"

  "Sure. It'll be there in thirty minutes or less."

  "Thanks.” She hung up, just as someone knocked at the door. Heather answered it and smiled. “Hey."

  "Hey, yourself.” Her next-door neighbor and best friend, Daniel Alvarez, entered struggling with a handful of plastic grocery bags.

  Heather took a few from him and set them on the dinette. “I didn't know when you were going shopping this afternoon. I would have gone to help."

  Daniel shook his head and deposited the bags on the kitchen counter. “Don't even worry about it."

  "Is there more in the car?"

  "No, this is everything."

  She peeked in one of the bags. “Really? What did you end up getting?"

  "Let's see. Our favorite sodas, pot roast, potatoes, onions, tortillas, chips, salsa, rice and beans.” He dug in one of the bags and produced a carton of ice cream. “And mocha almond fudge for dessert."

  "The necessity of life.” Heather smiled, and then tilted her head to the side, offering him a weird look. “So, we're having Mexican food for Thanksgiving dinner? Isn't that a little odd?"

  "Maybe, but it's about all I know how to make. We didn't do the turkey thing back home.” He opened the freezer door and tossed the square ice cream box inside.

  "That's fine, as long as it's okay that I make sweet potato casserole. It's my favorite dish and I won't have a Thanksgiving without it, okay?"

  "Sounds wonderful. What is it?"

  "Sweet potatoes, pineapple, marshmallows, nuts, brown sugar ... you'll see. It's scrumptious."

  He nodded. “Cool."

  "Then we're all set.” She grinned. “You want to stay for pizza? I just ordered."

  "Yeah, sure.” He unloaded a bag, then balled the plastic and stuffed it in her garbage can. “Wait, did you order black olives?"

  "Pick them off, if you don't want them.” She opened the soda box and piled the sodas in the door of the refrigerator.

  They unpacked in silence for a moment, her mind still on her phone call with her mother.

  "I hope you know how much I appreciate you hosting Thanksgiving at your place, and especially for letting Claudia come over."

  She looked up. “Of course."

  "I hope you'll like her."

  "I'm sure I will."

  He rested his back against the fridge. “She's the one, Heather. I just know it."

  She grimaced. The one. How often her friends had said that lately. Daniel was her best and last single friend. Secretly, she didn't want him to find the one. Outwardly, she smiled. “I'm sure I'll like her."

  "Are you okay?” His brown eyes filled with worry as he reached out to touch her hand. “You look a little down."

  How did she answer him? Heather unloaded the roast from a grocery bag and slid it on the second shelf of the refrigerator. “My mom called right before you showed up. She wants me to come home for Christmas."

  He laughed, shaking his head. “Wow, I can't even think about that yet. It's still ninety degrees outside. Who's thinking about Christmas?"

  "My mother. And it may be ninety here in San Diego, but it's definitely not in Colorado.” Heather stuffed the potatoes and onions in the bottom crisper and sighed. “I so don't want to go. It was such a disaster last year."

  Daniel stared at her a moment. “I'm sure you told me a million times why, but refresh my memory."

  "Sheer harassment about why I should be married. Several single guys paraded in front of me like something out of the pirate days. I can't endure that again."

  "Pirate days?"

  "You know, where they line up the girls tied to a rope and then men barter for a date.” She exhaled. “Yeah, that'll be me."

  He laughed.

  "I'm just frustrated with my folks. Don't my parents get that there is a strong possibility I may just end up an old maid? Case closed, leave me alone.” Her eyes watered, which angered her. She rubbed at them and moved to sit on the living room couch.

  He joined her. “I don't believe that for a second. You're the hottest catch on the west coast."

  She laughed. “Thanks."

  He touched her hair and a chill ran up her spine. He was always messing with her.

  "You have the most amazing gray-blue eyes and blonde hair; you're thin, tan—the essential California girl. You have an awesome personality; you're funny, giving and sweet. Trust me, any guy would be lucky to have you."

  Heather sniffed. “Yeah, whatever. If I'm so hot and fun to be with, why can't I find Mr. Right?"

  "Um, that's simple."

  Her eyes narrowed. “Watch it, buddy, or you'll be taking your pizza to go."

  Daniel crossed his arms. “When was the last time you dated anyone?"

  "I don't know.” She bit her lip, sheepishly. “A couple years ago."

  "You can't get full if you don't even open the menu."

  She giggled. “What?"

  "I'm just saying that maybe you need to get out there more. Start dating. I see you. A guy looks your way and you take off running."

  She laughed. “I do not."

  "Full sprint. Knocking over old ladies, hurdling trashcans. You're dangerous."

  She batted at his arm. “Funny."

  "Seriously?"

  "Okay, so I tend to shy away a bit. Can I help it if dating makes me nervous?” She pushed her lip out and sighed. “Honestly, though, what guys are there my age, who aren't taken or carrying some serious baggage?"

  "Hmm?” Daniel ran a hand through his thick, black hair. “Good question."

  Heather sighed. “If I go home without a boyfriend, I'm toast."

  "Then we need to find you one."

  "Yeah, okay. Right. Let's just go find me one.” Heather stood, laughing. She put her hands on her hips. “And how do you propose we do that?"

  "Your job."

  "My job?"

  "You write personals for people, right?"

  "Uh oh.” She shook her head. “I'm terribly afraid of what you're thinking."

  "Why? It makes perfect sense. List a personal ad for yourself. It's the perfect set-up.” He waved a hand in his face, as if reading a billboard. “Let's see, how about this? ‘Wanted: Boyfriend for Christmas to keep my mom from badgering me.’ Guys will eat it up."

  A rush of adrenaline shot through Heather's chest and she started to cough.

  "You okay?"

  "You can't possibly be serious,” she rasped. “I can't do that."

  "I didn't mean the last part."

  "I can't do any part."

  "Why not?"

  She started to pace, wringing her hands. “Because I'm a good, Christian girl who doesn't do this sort of thing. I mean, think about it. What if I end up with some psycho pervert?"

  Daniel shrugged. “Then write in the ad ‘must be a Christian.’ Big deal."

  She threw her hands in the air. “Oh, yeah, because that would save me."

  He walked in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Look, Heather, I went to college with you and have lived next to you for almost
three years. I know how miserable you are."

  "Huh! I don't need a guy to make me happy.” She plopped down on the couch and crossed her arms in defiance. “I'm fine just the way I am."

  "You keep saying it, but the only one believing that nonsense is you."

  Her cheeks heated. She jumped to her feet again. “What! Are you saying I can't be happy without a man? Do you think that little of me?"

  He rubbed his dark goatee and faced her. “No, I think you could be happy without a man. I'm sure many women are, but I don't think you are."

  She bit the side of her lip, blinking, willing the tears to go away. Yeah, he knew her well. She was once the little girl who planned her wedding with Barbie and Ken. Who stared at Bridal magazines in high-school for fun? Who spent every Friday night since grade-school watching chick flicks? A few months ago, she'd even started writing a romance novel. She loved the idea of love and finding her happily-ever-after. The problem was that she had a phobia of dating. There were reasons, but none she liked to think about.

  "What are you thinking?"

  She sighed. “You don't even want to know."

  "I know you're afraid, but it's time to take charge of your own life.” He reached in the kitchen drawer and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Write the ad."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Two

  Heather tapped her painted fingernails against the keyboard on her desk, staring at the blinking cursor. The white document empty. Her mind blank. How many times had she helped clients write their personal ads? Daily. Almost hourly. She was in charge of the Classifieds for the West County Times. It's what she did and yet, she couldn't do her own.

  The phone rang.

  She hit receive on the console and spoke into her microphone. “Classifieds Department. Heather speaking, how may I help you?"

  The man cleared his throat before answering. “I'd like to place a personal ad."

  Heather grabbed a form from a tray on her desk and a pencil. “Your name?"

  "John Melton."

  "How old are you?"

  "I'm forty-six years old."

  "And what area do you live in?"