A Heartfelt Christmas Promise

by Nancy Naigle

  “Thanks. I love decorating the windows. Not just Christmas. Valentine’s. Heck, I decorate for Flag Day. That’s the benefit of owning your own shop.”

  “Well, you’re certainly good at it.”

  “Thanks. I went to school in New York. Took a job doing windows in the city for a while. We did really elaborate stuff. I’m kind of competitive, so I really liked that.”

  “New York City? What brought you here?”

  “I first came down to do a special project for the Porter’s store window. It was a short-term project for a joint campaign they were doing with the company I was working for. My marriage was kind of a mess. My husband was a highly paid stockbroker who loved his job way more than he loved me. Well, I shouldn’t really say that. He gave me lots of pretty stuff, but no time and that’s all I wanted.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. We’re both better off now. After being in this town, I knew where I wanted to be. This building went up for sale and I snatched it right up, and here I am. I figured he at least deserved a nod, so I named the store playfully after his real love. The stock market.” Her laugh was light and unapologetic. “Get it? The Stalk Market? Now I’m livin’ the dream. End of story.”

  I now officially know more about Diane than some people I’ve known for a number of years. How did that just happen? “And the ex?”

  “He’s still doing what he always did. Alone. No hard feelings. I visit when I go up there, but I’m always ready to come right back.”

  “It’s nice that you figured out exactly what you wanted.” Vanessa had no idea how someone made the leap from window dressings in bustling NYC to a tiny flower shop in Fraser Hills. She surely couldn’t picture herself here. It had taken her a long time to even picture herself living out of the city in a neighborhood. “I was going to find some lunch. Do you have a recommendation?”

  “You may as well go straight down to the end of the street to the Blue Bicycle Bistro. It’s twice as far, but it’s twice as good.” She paused, pursing her lips. “Or maybe you just work up an appetite on the way, and it seems better because you’re hungrier.” She touched a finger to her lips. “I couldn’t really say for certain, but it’s my go-to. Best food in town.”

  “Then that’s settled. Thanks. I’m going to head that way now. It was nice meeting you.”

  “You too. Stop back by one day. We can grab a cup of coffee, and share some city talk, and argue who has the best pizza—Chicago or New York City.”

  “I might take you up on that.”

  Vanessa walked by a pizza shop that smelled pretty tempting after the mention of it by Diane, but then could anyone really do pizza like Chicago? Spoiled for life. Pass.

  Diane was right, it was a much longer walk to the end of Main Street than it appeared, but finally a long wooden building came into view. Fat, chunky wooden letters rose from the building rooftop, spelling out BLUE BICYCLE BISTRO. An old turquoise-blue ladies’ bike perched atop the letters, with a shiny bell and streamers, along with a basket overflowing with bread, veggies, and fruits. Bright and whimsical, it looked like a fun place to eat.

  An emphatic screech behind her caused her to nearly trip at the crosswalk. By the time she caught her balance, a giant theme-park-quality bird costume zipped by, flapping its huge furry wings and making the most awful squawk she’d ever heard.

  The blue and gold falcon costume had to be every bit of seven feet tall. That daunting mascot ran around her, then crouched and flapped its wings.

  “Squawk! Squawk! Falcons Rock!” the giant bird sounded off.

  What the heck? She couldn’t help but laugh. Seriously?

  A blur of giggling girls yelling “Go Falcons!” nearly knocked her off of her feet as they charged up the block toward the mascot.

  Vanessa watched them all hightail it down the street ahead of her. Did I have that kind of energy when I was that age?

  Memories of her own cheerleading days flooded back. Crisp autumn days like this, and jumping up and down to stay warm while sneaking sips of hot chocolate between cheers.

  It was perfect football weather. A HELP WANTED sign was taped to the front door of the diner next to a poster about tonight’s game.

  As soon as she opened the door, she was hit by an inviting mixture of aromas. Pots clanged beyond the dining area from the kitchen, but the place was cozy and inviting, with booths along the windows and blue wooden tables and chairs in the center. Seating assembled from reclaimed bike parts—leather bike seats mounted to poles on bicycle-wheel bases—made for a very interesting look at the counter, where bright blue pendant lights hung from old bicycle chains. She walked over to a booth next to the window and slid in.

  A rapid tap-tap-tap on the glass startled her.

  She yelped, then muttered under her breath. That darn Falcon is going to give me a heart attack! Shaking her finger in the big bird’s direction, she said, “Stop that!”

  It flapped and squawked, then swished its tail feathers at her.

  She shook her head and focused on the menu printed on the placemat, while trying to avoid eye contact with that bird, which was still in her peripheral.

  A loud snort came from behind her.

  “People take football serious around here.” The man’s voice was deep, gravelly even. “You going to the game tonight?”

  She twisted in her seat. A gray-haired man with a bushy mustache sat there grinning at her. Probably more of a soup strainer than a mustache. “I might. They any good?”

  “The team?” He nodded. “Excellent. That squawking mascot? A pain in the—”

  “I agree!” She wondered how he’d have finished that comment had she not interrupted.

  His twinkling blue eyes didn’t match the gravelly edge in his voice. A slight dimple convinced her he wasn’t dangerous.

  “Buck,” he said, followed by a head nod. “Welcome to town.”

  “It’s that obvious?”

  He shrugged. “You know what you know. It’s a small town.”

  “Yes. I suppose everyone knows everyone around here.”

  “Even the folks we don’t talk to. You should go to the game tonight. The whole town’ll be there. It’s a good time. Tradition round here.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Best chicken stew around.”

  “At the game? Or here?”

  “At the game. You haven’t visited this part of North Carolina before, have you?”

  “Flown through Charlotte a few times. That’s about it. Until this trip.”

  “Don’t miss out on the chicken stew. They don’t serve the good stuff at the Charlotte airport. Our chicken stew is something to write home about.”

  “Really.”

  “Oh yeah. If I do say so myself. It’s my recipe, but a whole team of us make a batch of it that size. We make it in a huge cast-iron kettle so big it takes a boat oar to stir it. Don’t worry, though. That oar is reserved for the chicken stew.” He got up and tossed a few bills down on the table. “I’ll see you there.”

  How was he so sure she’d go?

  He ambled out with a slight limp on his left side. His worn blue jeans were starched and stacked atop dusty boots.

  She scanned the menu for something light to hold her over until the ball game that she was apparently now going to.

  “Hey there. You must be the lady from Chicago.” The waitress raised an eyebrow. “I’m Lisa. Are you here to change things over at Porter’s? Folks don’t take kindly to changes around here. We like it the way it is.” The pretty redhead eyed her, lifting her chin with a slight tilt to her smile. “What can I get you?”

  “Something light. I thought I’d get a small salad, but those sweet potato fries sound so tempting.”

  “Best around. We make them fresh. Every single order.” Lisa pursed her lips together. “We have our own secret seasoning. Everyone who comes through here raves about them.”

  “Then that’s what I’ll have. And an iced tea, please.”

  L
isa scribbled on her pad and then went into the kitchen, hollering the order to the back. Vanessa heard the clank of metal bowls and then the sizzle of food being dropped into the hot oil. A moment later the waitress brought a huge plastic cup of tea out and set it in front of her.

  “Thank you.”

  “Your order will be up shortly. Sorry if I came off a little strong there earlier. We’ve seen too many of you corporate folks drop in here and try to disturb things over the years. They always think they know what’s best—what’ll make things better around here. They don’t have a clue how things work.”

  “No offense taken.” She sipped the tea, which was so sweet it made her back teeth ache.

  “Good. I know you’ve come here to do a job, but all anyone asks is for you people to get to know what this town has to offer. Hard workers. They’re dedicated and Porter’s is a huge part of the equation.”

  Heat spread to Vanesssa’s neck and cheeks. It’s all business. It’s not personal. But something kept her from saying that out loud. Lisa looked like she was not someone she wanted to be on the wrong side of.

  “Last goober that corporation sent here ended up getting himself locked inside a freezer. Who’s really to say whether he made the mistake or someone helped him? Either way he left and never came back.”

  Maybe that was why Micky was so quick to try to shuffle off this account for the warehouse deal. He’d never live it down if the team back at corporate heard about the freezer scenario.

  Vanessa tucked that little nugget in her back pocket for future tangles with Micky.

  Lisa brought her order and placed it on the table along with the check. “Not rushing you, honey, but on football night people scramble around like they are gonna miss something. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Vanessa tried one of the fries. Kind of sweet, kind of salty, and a little spicy all at the same time, they really were the best fries she’d ever had.

  The bistro filled up quickly, and excitement about the big game raised the sound level threefold.

  “How’re those fries?” Lisa asked.

  “Thank you for recommending them. You’re right. They’re amazing.”

  “Told you.” Lisa refilled Vanessa’s tea glass. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “I think that will be all. Buck said I have to try the chicken stew over at the ball game, so I’m going to walk over there.”

  “You know Buck, huh?”

  “Well, not really.” Why had she even mentioned the old guy by name?

  “He’s in here every day.” With a chuckle, Lisa patted the table. “It’s a Southern thing. If you don’t like the chicken stew, we’re open late on football game nights.”

  “Thank you.” Vanessa paid and then walked out to the curb. She hadn’t been to a high school game in years, but tonight the air was bristling with a familiar excitement. People were moving, from all directions, up the hill toward the high school. The band played, and chants echoed, filling the night air. Gimme an A. A!

  Even after more years than she cared to count, she remembered most of the cheers too. She fell in step with the rest of the people walking to the game. The band started playing “The Horse.” Her old high school fight song. In her mind she could still bounce, jump, and kick like she was sixteen all over again. I could probably still do that pom-pom routine.

  She replayed those moves in her mind as she shuffled along with the crowd. Even though she was in the middle of the crowd, it was as if she were on the outside looking in, because everyone else around her knew one another. A little eavesdropping went a long way. She’d quickly ascertained that the team the Fraser Hills Falcons were playing tonight was not only their biggest rival, but was undefeated.

  Inside the gate, there were plenty of seats on the visitor side, but she couldn’t bear to not root for the local team in blue and gold.

  An arrow at the bottom of the bleachers pointed to the right. A white tent with CHICKEN STEW in faded red letters had a line snaking out of it that wrapped around almost to the goalpost.

  She stepped into line. It took a while to get close enough to even see inside the tent. Men bantered with one another as they took turns stirring the pot. Buck hadn’t been kidding. What they were using looked just like one of the oars on the johnboat her dad used to take out on the lake when she was a kid.

  The black kettle sat above a cinder-block pit. Wood smoldered with cherry-red embers below. It smelled good, and holding a hot cup of soup would sure be nice to warm her up now that the sun had dipped behind the trees.

  “Hey there, young lady,” Buck called from next to that big black kettle of stew. “You got good taste.”

  Even having met him only once, she recognized that voice; it was unforgettable. “Hey, Buck. How could I miss out after your grand recommendation?”

  “You couldn’t.” He held up a finger. “You wait right there.”

  It wasn’t like she could go anywhere. She was hemmed up in the long line.

  A moment later he was at her side, handing her a large Styrofoam cup of steaming chicken stew.

  “You’re not trying to make everyone mad at me, are you?”

  Buck’s eyebrows wiggled. He tapped the man in front of her on the shoulder. “You mad about me giving her some chicken stew?”

  The man shook his head. “She’s right pretty. Can’t blame you.” The guy laughed and smiled. “Hello. First-timer?”

  “I am.”

  “Nobody’ll be mad,” the man said. “We’re pretty proud of our chicken stew. Enjoy.”

  Buck shrugged. “See? On the house.”

  She called out a thank-you as he walked away.

  Balancing her chicken-stew cup in one hand, she merged into the crowd climbing the bleachers on the home-team side. Not one for heights, she took a seat in the third row.

  She twitched as three kids raced up to the top and then dipped under the railing and climbed down the side to the ground. That looked like an invitation to fall and break a bone if she’d ever seen one.

  Her phone rang. She answered quickly to quiet the ring tone.

  “How are you?”

  Should have checked caller ID first. The last voice she’d expected to hear was Robert’s.

  Why is he calling? “Working. Fine.”

  “I thought once you cooled down, we could talk like adults. My offer is still open to come for the holidays.”

  Like adults? Seriously? “No thank you.”

  “You’re going to just spend it alone?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s for me to figure out.”

  “If you don’t figure it out soon, you’re going to die a lonely woman.”

  “And if that was supposed to make me run back into your arms, you’re sadly mistaken. Merry Christmas, Robert.” She ended the call and blocked his number.

  Die alone? This is my choice.

  * * *

  She scooted to the center of the aluminum bench seat. She tugged the scarf from around her neck and folded it before sitting down, but the metal was still cold through her pants. She hugged the cup. The soup didn’t look so special. In fact, it appeared to be more like a really, really thin New England clam chowder than any kind of stew. At least it was warm. She lifted a spoonful to her mouth and blew on it.

  Around her almost everyone else had a cup of the steaming stew in their hands too.

  When she took the first swallow, she took back every negative thought. “This is so good,” she said out loud to a woman coming up the stairs.

  “Oh yeah. The best.” The stranger lifted her cup as if to say Cheers! and continued on.

  The band played back-to-back songs until the cheerleaders ran out onto the field carrying a huge banner. A drumroll filled the air.

  “WE ARE THE FALCONS,” the cheerleaders shouted.

  A thunder of boys wearing blue and gold burst through the paper declaration of war against their opponents.

  Vanessa bounced to her feet and cheered. The game started and ever
yone in the stands was participating. Enthusiastic waves of excitement were followed by monumental groans when the ref didn’t call it as they saw it.

  In between plays, the band played and the cheerleaders danced on the asphalt track below. The mascot did his part too. Vanessa chair-danced to the music—able to recognize almost every single song from her days as a cheerleader.

  A broad-shouldered man with dark hair jogged up the stairs wearing jeans and a half-zip emerald-green sweater, with a jacket clutched in one hand. He joined the group of parents seated in front of her.

  As he settled in the bleachers, his arm brushed her leg. “Sorry.”

  “No worries,” she responded, realizing he looked like the man with the horses. Were his eyes really as green as that sweater?

  “Where do I know you from?” His smile was easy, his brows furrowing as he tried to remember. “You look familiar.”

  “Do you have horses?” she asked.

  The guy sitting next to him laughed. “Does he have horses? Oh yeah, he has horses.”

  She ignored the comment. “I think I saw you on Main Street yesterday.”

  He clicked his fingers. “In front of Porter’s. I remember now.”

  “That was me.”

  “I’m Mike.” He extended his hand.

  She shook his hand, but he didn’t let go immediately.

  “Passing through?” he asked. “Or do you have family here?”

  “Kind of both. I’m spending the holidays with my cousin. She lives in Atlanta. She’s meeting me here. I’m Vanessa.”

  “How’d you pick Fraser Hills?”

  “Long story, but we’re hoping for a picture-perfect white Christmas.”

  “We’ve had a white Christmas in this town the last ten years running. I think you’re in luck.”

  “That’s wonderful news.”

  “Are you going to talk to the pretty lady the whole game?” His buddy nudged him. “You could probably just sit back there.”

  He flushed. “Sorry.” He turned in his seat farther from his nosy friend, then stage-whispered, “Nice to meet you.” Then faced the field.

  She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Nice meeting you too.”