Christmas is in the Air
Cary Morgan Frates
Danielle Lee Zwissler
Jennifer Conner
Karen Hall
Christmas is in the Air
A Books to Go Now Publication
Copyright © Cary Morgan Frates, Danielle Lee Zwissler Jennifer Conner, Karen Hall 2013
Books to Go Now
Also published on Smashwords
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First eBook Edition –November 2013
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Red Soles at Night Christmas Delight
Cary Morgan Frates
Chapter One
Could it possibly be a sin to be so in love with her Louboutins?
Audrey lifted a foot and twisted her ankle back and forth to better admire the red and black python-leather beauties with their trademark red soles. Oh, yeah, definitely a sin. She smiled.
She sat in the bar at Daniel’s Broiler in Bellevue with her life-long girlfriends, their chatter and her Cosmo all but forgotten. She enjoyed the way the sparkle of the Christmas decorations strung around the room reflected off her shoes’ glossy surface.
“Audrey.”
And their just-shy-of-five-inch heels boost me to nearly six feet tall, she happily mused, in love with the sense of power the extra height gave her.
“Audrey. Earth to Audrey.”
Startled, she looked up to see all four of her friends staring at her. “Oops, sorry. I just got them today. They’re my Christmas present to myself.”
Kristen rolled her eyes. “Dear Lord, they’re shoes! You looked as though you were about to whisper sweet nothings to the damned things.”
Audrey laughed. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad. I was just admiring—”
“Right,” Kristen interrupted with a grin. “I bet you take them to bed with you tonight—get all romantic with ’em. They’ll have lipstick marks on them tomorrow, for sure.”
“Well, wouldn’t you?” Audrey playfully whacked Kristen’s arm. “Maybe if I had someone warm and wonderful to cuddle up with, like the rest of you, I wouldn’t have to resort to a shoe fetish.”
“Poor baby,” Kristen countered. “How many times have we tried to hook you up in the last year? You’re impossible to please.”
“Oh, come on. They either wanted my bank account or my tush, or both. Not one of them could remember my name by the end of the evening, and some of them probably couldn’t even spell it if they did remember.”
Abby, always the referee, put a hand on Audrey’s arm and interrupted their friendly bickering. “We were thinking about getting out of here. Maybe go to Kirkland? Hector’s or something. What do you think?”
“Someplace a bit more low-key,” Grace agreed. “You up for it?”
Audrey heaved a sigh and shook her head. “I’d love to, but I still need to shop for provisions for tomorrow. If I bar-hop it’ll never get done. Plus, I have to be up early and without a hangover so I can get the decorations finished. Again, sorry. You guys go on without me.”
Meg, who always looked for something to be nervous about, scrunched up her face. “Are you sure you want us to come along? I mean, taking a sailboat out at night is kind of dangerous, and none of us knows what we’re doing.”
Audrey smiled and waved off Meg’s concerns. “Of course I want you to come! It’s my Christmas gift to all of you. It’ll be great, and the only thing you’ll have to do is manage the dock lines. Plus, we’re not sailing, just motoring, and I’ve done both solo most of my life, night and day, so no worries there.”
“But it’ll be so dark.”
“Meg, honey, we’ll be in the Christmas Ship parade,” Audrey reminded her friend. “Every boat will be bathed in Christmas lights. It’ll be like going out in the middle of the day it’ll be so lit up out there. Plus, the weather’s supposed to be very calm.”
“Tell us again when you want us out there?” practical Abby asked.
“We need to cast off by 3:00 p.m. to get to our place in the lineup by 3:30,” Audrey replied. “If you could all be there by 2:00, that’d give everyone time to get settled, ask questions, and start the drinks and food. Wear warm clothes. It’s not supposed to rain, but it’ll be cold.”
“No kidding!” Kristen muttered. “It’s only thirty-eight degrees out there now, and it’s supposed to get colder tomorrow.”
“Urgh. I mean, it will be fun, but we really need to find you somebody more like you for these sorts of outings,” Grace said as she got up and put on her coat. “Adventurous, outgoing, independent, self-made, and financially sound. Oh, and not afraid of night sails or freezing cold temperatures.”
“Mr. Superman-Wonderful,” Abby scoffed, as she grabbed her purse and coat. “In Bellevue? Pishtosh. There’s nothing around here but coffee-sucking techies, Birkenstock bean sprouts, and posers who want to make you believe they’re one or the other, depending on your preference. So, good luck with that search.”
“The truth hurts, for sure.” Audrey chuckled as she paid her bill, slipped into her coat, and followed her girlfriends out of the bar.
Chapter Two
With a sigh, Audrey shucked off her pretty shoes, slipped them into their individual cloth covers, and carefully placed them in the plastic shopping bag alongside the bottle of Macallan 18 scotch she’d bought as a special treat for her friends. She tied the handles closed and gently tucked it into the cart. She quickly shoved her bare feet into her very practical boat shoes, and then slammed the car door shut with a brisk hip thrust. After she checked to make sure the groceries and her overnight bags were well stowed in the wheelbarrow-type cart, she locked the car and headed for E Dock and her boat.
Though small, the marina at Carillon Point was a pain to reach from the parking area— especially at night, dressed for the office instead of for sailing, and loaded up for a full day and night of partying.
She owned a 33’ Caliber Sloop, built in 1989. Her father purchased the boat new, just shy of Audrey’s fourth birthday. It had been meant for special family getaways on Puget Sound, exploration of the San Juan Islands, and gunkholing along the inland passage of Canada’s south-western coastline.
Audrey frowned as she pushed the cart. She felt it horribly unfair that her mother got sick so soon after her dad’s purchase. They’d never once gone out as a family. After her mother’s sudden death, her father made it his mission that the two of them should never take another minute for granted. From that point on, they’d spent every spare moment aboard Spirit, newly renamed to honor her mother.
Poor old Spirit was a little long in the tooth these days, and always in need of bright work, plus, she needed a fabric overhaul that didn’t scream choco-plaid.
Ick.
All of that cost money, of course, and in the past couple of ye
ars since her father passed and the boat came to her, Audrey had spent all of her time and dollars on building her business and reputation in the world of high-end real estate.
Soon, she assured herself, soon I’ll start those projects. Now that her finances more than allowed for it, she’d get Spirit back into prime condition, as she deserved to be. After all, Spirit was a part of the family—the sibling she didn’t have, her getaway, her refuge, her quiet joy. Despite her high-powered, high-profile job with Sotheby Properties, where almost everyone considered Louboutins to be essential dress code, she was far more at home with her feet encased in sandy boat shoes and her wavy auburn hair flying with carefree abandon around her head, as Spirit’s sails snapped to full in a crisp autumn breeze.
With a grunt, Audrey dropped the cart beside her boat and fished in her pocket for the keys to open the hatch cover. It was quiet and very dark, but the dock lights gave her enough light to see, and to notice the handsome dog that wagged and smiled at her from the neighbor’s boat. The rest of the marina seemed empty of people, if not boats, which was not unusual for this time of year, although she noted the dog’s boat had a light on inside.
“Hey boy,” she smiled. The neighbor’s Island Packet sailboat arrived while she was at work the day before. A bit longer than her boat — she probably measured thirty-six to thirty-eight feet, and was certianly just as old. So far, the owners kept to themselves, but she decided to wish them a Merry Christmas and welcome them to Carillon Point, first thing in the morning.
Probably a live-aboard couple, she mused as she hauled bag after bag from the cart into Spirit’s cockpit. The Island Packet’s deck looked cluttered by daily use, instead of the usually cleaner deck of a boat used only on the weekend, or for occasional summer trips.
The dog seemed anxious to make her acquaintance and dashed up and down his deck as though trying to figure out a way to get to her.
Despite the cold, Audrey worked up a sweat as she maneuvered in her pencil skirt, silk blouse and tailored jacket, careful not to ruin them or drop any of her precious cargo overboard. She would change the moment she got below, and then put the food away.
With the groceries on deck, Audrey hauled her duffle bag full of sail clothes onboard, then jumped off to take the cart back to the end of the dock.
“Oh crap!” She scolded herself silently for overlooking her most precious cargo, the bag with the scotch and her shoes, still tucked away in a dark corner of the cart. With care, she placed it on the boat deck, laying the bottle and shoes flat so they wouldn’t topple over in case a rogue wave decided to crash across the sheltered lake and into the marina.
She patted them, smiled and said, “There you go, babies. I’ll be right back.”
She walked briskly and pushed the empty cart ahead of her, unconcerned by the racket she made. Who’d hear her, after all? Suddenly, the neighbor’s dog tore past her, tongue out, ears flapping, as though in a race he was determined to win. As she approached, he cavorted and wriggled for her entertainment, hopeful he’d found a new friend.
Audrey laughed and parked the cart, then leaned over to pet the mid-sized, spotted dog, but he scampered away and ran back toward his boat. Amused, she shook her head and followed more slowly. However, when the pooch turned in one slip early and made a mighty leap for Spirit’s deck instead of his own, adrenaline crashed through Audrey’s body.
“No!” she screamed and leapt forward. The dog slipped and scrambled, toenails unable to find traction on her fiberglass deck.
“No!” she screamed a second time as an out-of-control paw hooked the handle of the plastic scotch-and-shoe bag.
She turned into her slip at a full sprint and lunged, arms outstretched, just as the bag toppled overboard and sank like a rock.
She lay on the dock in shock, skinned up and dirty, as the joyful dog hopped about on the deck of her boat.
For several seconds, Audrey could only stare in horror at the widening rings on the water’s surface. Finally, she rose and stood frozen in place, gaze still fixed. Then she sucked in a deep breath and screamed in agony.
Rage. Helplessness. Loss. FRUSTRATION! She let her emotions pour out. Mindless words began to form. “Damn! Damn! Effing stupid dog! What the hell are you doing? Damned effing damned stupid effing mutt damned dog! Arrrrrrgh!”
As she ranted, Audrey became vaguely aware of two things. The damned effing dog now looked more confused and bewildered than happy — go figure — and his damned effing master just burst out of the Island Packet like the thing was on fire. About time.
“What the hell!” he yelled, and rushed toward the scene of unmitigated horror and tragedy. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Another stray thought crossed her mind as she stomped in rage and waved her arms in distress. Mr. Island Packet looked…drop dead gorgeous.
And then she let him have it.
“Your damned effing dog just kicked my shoes overboard!” she screamed, and gestured toward the rings on the water. “You have to save them! What the hell is he doing on my boat? He lost my shoes! My new shoes!”
Mr. Gorgeous just stared at her, mouth agape, and then replied in a tone meant to sooth, “Uh, I’m sorry. Really. Winston’s just friendly, and young. I’m sure he didn’t mean to.”
“Well no shit he didn’t mean to – he’s a damned dog.” Audrey groaned and stared at the water as her rage dissipated, the emptiness it left filled by grief and disbelief. “They were my Christmas presents to me. Who the hell else is going to get me anything? Huh? Like I have a family to exchange gifts with. Damned dog. And my Macallan 18—oh, damn, my scotch is down there, too.”
Her shoulders slumped and she didn’t care that tears ran down her cheeks. She brushed at them without focus and turned to get onboard. “Call your dog. He’s not welcome.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” Mr. Island Packet Gorgeous said quietly.
He reached out to touch her shoulder in an effort to comfort, but she shrugged him off.
“Look, I’ll replace them. Everything. It’s no problem,” he said with conviction.
What? Doesn’t this guy get it? They were her presents. Her anger resurged, and, fists clenched at her sides, she unloaded on him again. “You’ll replace them?”
“Well, sure,” he said, and took a step back from her anger. He looked confused. “I mean, I can get the scotch right now from the grocery store.”
She stepped closer, nose to nose, and poked his chest with her finger. “First, it’s a bottle of Macallan 18, which a measly grocery store won’t carry, and my shoes were a Christmas gift.”
“Yeah, I got that. A gift from yourself,” he said with a note of impatience. “And I’ll get you a new pair, I promise.”
“They were Louboutins! “So Kate” style, Rouge et Noire python Louboutins!” she shouted, and flung out her arms to punctuate her disbelief. “Do you really think you want to replace Louboutins? Huh?”
Doubt crossed his face, and he took another step back, away from her continued poking. “Well . . . I mean . . . how much can a pair of shoes possibly be?”
“Cheap Louboutins start at around $650!” Audrey hollered, her anger on a rampage once again. “And mine weren’t cheap!”
“Holy shit,” he muttered.
Gorgeous abruptly sprang into action, ran for his boat and jumped onboard, hauled open a locker and tossed things into the cockpit. Audrey watched in disbelief as he rammed a scuba mask onto his head, then hopped around as he shucked his shoes and grabbed a diving flashlight. He rushed back to her, unzipped his jeans and dropped them at his feet.
“Where’d they go in?” he asked.
“What?” Audrey asked, her mind taken over by the sight of Gorgeous standing before her in the chill night air in only a T-shirt and Michael Jordan-style black briefs. Crazy toned and no issues with shrinkage were the only words that formed in her mind.
“Wh-where’d they go in? I-I’m going in after them,” he stuttered. “It’s cold. Tell me where they went in.
No way am I gonna shell out money like that for freaking shoes, unless I absolutely h-have to.”
It was all Audrey could do to point at the sight where the ripples last gave evidence of her Louboutins’s demise. She watched, incredulous, as Mr. Gorgeous settled the mask in place, hopped on the dock once or twice while he gained courage, and then jumped into the inky-dark unknown with barely a glup as he sank out of sight.
The water was only about twelve feet deep, and she could see the beam from his flashlight as she peered over the edge of the dock.
“Crazy guy,” she mumbled. “Crazy cute.”
Her shoes would be easy to find, right? But what took so long? She squinted into the depths, and wondered when hypothermia might set it in. Oh, God, why is he taking so long? Suddenly, she no longer cared about the shoes. She dropped onto her hands and knees and leaned out as she watched the light flicker. “Hey!” she shouted. “Come back! Please, it’s okay! Leave them! I don’t care, I really don’t care!” Oh, God, oh, God, please make him be okay.
Suddenly his soaking head broke the surface. “N-no s-shoes.”
“They’re in a plastic grocery bag!”
He glared at her, and she realized that detail might have been wise to share before he first went in.
She opened her mouth to tell him to give it up, but his head again disappeared beneath the surface.
Then, before she could agonize any further, one hand tossed the grocery bag onto the dock with a clunk. His head came up next, and a second hand, but his movements were slow and awkward.
“I . . . can’t grip . . . n-need help . . . haul me up, now,” he said through a locked jaw and teeth that chattered.
Audrey grabbed his wrists, planted her feet against the toe rail along the dock’s edge, and put everything she had into bringing him up. His torso landed on the dock, but his muscles were so stiff he felt worse than dead weight, and in no shape to help. She dropped across his back to hold him in place, ready to grab a belt loop, but there was nowhere to take hold but his crotch.
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