by Fern Michaels; Marie Bostwick; Janna McMahan; Rosalind Noonan
“The view is just spectacular,” I said as the last of the day’s color faded from the sky. I glanced back at Bax and he was staring at me in such an odd way that I blushed. The sommelier returned with a waiter trailing behind carrying a silver bucket on a stand. The sommelier presented the wine. Bax read the label and nodded.
I was startled when the bottle popped. The sommelier told us a little about the wine, relaying that it was indeed a champagne, from the Champagne region of France.
“Thank you, but I’ll pour,” Bax said.
“Very good, sir,” the sommelier said and backed away.
Bax said to me, “It’s one of my favorites.”
The wine bubbled to the tops of our glasses and came precariously close to running over. When the bubbles had settled, Bax filled them again and this time he raised his glass and said, “A toast.”
I raised my glass.
“To new beginnings,” he said.
I smiled. “What a wonderful thought. To new beginnings.”
We clinked our glasses and drank. The champagne tickled my nose with its fizzy sweetness.
“Now,” Bax said and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small box wrapped in golden foil. A delicate red ribbon bound the cube. I couldn’t help but let out a little gasp. This was the first real present Bax had given me.
“Go on. Open it,” he said.
I gingerly unwrapped the red ribbon and removed the gold foil. Inside was a sturdy black box and inside that box was a black velvet jewelry box. I lifted the lid and gasped a second time.
Inside was the most wonderful gold ring I had ever seen. Six medium-size diamonds sprinkled around a hammered dome that wrapped into a ring. It was sculpture for your finger.
“Oh, my God. This is beautiful. Did you make this?”
He smiled. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever made. Your finger is so small.”
I wanted to slide the ring onto my hand, but I hesitated. What did this mean? If I put it on my ring finger then I would be assuming that he was proposing. Was he?
“Here, let me,” he said and I sighed with relief.
He took the ring out and held it up. “I hope it fits,” he said and took my left hand in his.
“Michelle,” he said, his firey hazel eyes searching inside me. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
I didn’t know how to respond. I had never allowed myself the opportunity even to consider this option.
“Bax,” I whispered. “Oh, Bax. Are you sure?”
He laughed. “Of course I’m sure. I love you. I don’t ever want to be without you.”
I couldn’t believe it.
“So, what do you say?” He held the ring poised to slide onto my finger.
“I say yes! Yes! Of course, I’ll marry you!”
He slid the ring on. A perfect fit.
The restaurant broke into applause and I dabbed at my eyes, my mascara smearing on the pristine linen napkin.
He grinned that sly Baxter grin as I tried to contain my happiness. Everyone in the restaurant was watching us and finally, when Bax could see that I was overcome by emotion he stood and gathered me in his arms and we walked out onto the terrace until I could get myself under control.
“If you liked this just wait until tonight,” he said.
“What? Don’t tell me you have another surprise. I don’t think I can take any more surprises.”
“I booked us a room. Just for tonight. You’ll love it.”
Feeling calmer and a little playful I quipped, “Well, you were pretty sure of yourself. What if I’d said no? Then you’d be stuck staying in that expensive room all by yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I had a pretty good idea how things would turn out.”
Chapter 19
As the limousine threaded its way through the countryside, my heart ached with the sweetest longing. I had found a true love, not one that was convenient, not one that happened to be easy, but one that was chosen and one that was hard. We were different in so many ways, but we were both wounded. He had lost his first love. I had never had a child to love. He’d spent years lonely. I’d spent years in the wrong relationship.
My driver pulled up to the guard at the gate and we were allowed to enter. Across the expansive lawn, Biltmore burned with holiday lights. Christmas trees winked from the long windows, giant wreaths were heavy on the doors, poinsettias burst from the urns fronting the entrance. The car glided to a stop at the Grand Entrance and the driver came around to open my door. I touched my mother’s hand.
“Mom, are you ready?”
She nodded.
A slight smile touched her lips as she took in the spectacular site.
“You go first,” I said and gently helped my mother step out to the driver. The driver handed her on to Bax’s father and they started up the steps. Miriam fluttered down the stairs in her silver bridesmaid’s dress with the wide red sash.
She climbed into the limo beside me. “You look beautiful. Let’s give your mother a chance to get in there and get seated and then we’ll go in.”
She held my hand in anticipation as we waited for the call.
Her mobile beeped and I heard one of Bax’s brothers. “We’re all ready,” the tiny voice said.
Miriam clicked her phone and chirped, “Okay. We’re coming in.”
She turned to me with pink cheeks, her eyes so wide she seemed like the one getting married. She had organized the entire event and was determined to see it went off smoothly. “Ready?” she asked.
I nodded. “I’m ready.”
A crowd had gathered at the front entrance and a smattering of applause met me when I emerged from the limousine. As I ascended the stairs, I heard a woman exclaim, “What a beautiful dress!”
I hadn’t wanted the traditional white, flowing gown. After-all, I had been married before. But Bax had insisted that I find a dress that made me feel like a princess. Miriam had scoured local stores, shopped online, and culled through a hundred magazines to find the perfect dress. And she had.
My gown was pale golden raw silk with seed pearls sprinkled along its sweetheart neckline. It had an empire waist and fell straight with just enough material to make a short train that trailed behind me. Miriam had pulled my unruly hair into a loose bun and attached white roses and strands of pearls. My bouquet of white roses and greenery cascaded to my knees. Miriam and I looked like Christmas decorations in our gold and silver dresses.
I glided into the Grand Entrance Hall and walked past the Winter Garden. My heels made a delightful click-click on the marble floor and the few visitors left on this holiday tour night stopped to watch me. I made a left at the Tapestry Gallery and walked along the archways that lead out to the dark loggia beyond. A night wedding had been Bax’s idea and I had loved it. The doors to the library were closed, the only time I had ever seen them this way. There was a stanchion swagged with red velvet ropes outside and a gilded sign that read TEMPORARILY CLOSED FOR PRIVATE FUNCTION.
Miriam clicked her phone again and said, “We’re here.” Behind the door I heard a shuffling. A violin and cello began.
Miriam turned to me and held my hands. “You’re my sister now.”
“Thank you,” I said and leaned to kiss her lightly on the cheek. “For everything.”
She smiled and I saw her push back tears. She turned in front of me, straightened her shoulders and opened the heavy wooden doors wide. She turned to wink at me and then she step-paused, step-paused away.
I was there by myself only moments, but it truly seemed like hours. My mind went in a dozen directions all at once and then I knew I had to move. I hesitated. I could stand there a moment. Be unmarried for a minute more. And I did.
And then I went into that library of ten thousand beautiful books. Bax stood waiting in a black tux, an expectant smile across his handsome face. And that day, in front of a blazing Christmas tree, in a mansion in the hills of North Carolina, I married the love of my life.
And that, my friend, is extraordinary.
Miracle on Main Street
ROSALIND NOONAN
For Mike,
one of the good guys.
Truly the Finest.
Chapter 1
“Snow.” The white stuff starts coming down as Officer Joe Cody turns onto Main Street. It floats in the air like confetti, skittering over the hood of the patrol car. “I’d love to know what genius decided snow was festive.”
“Looks like we might have a white Christmas.” His partner, a baby-faced black cop so tall he seems to be folded into the vehicle, opens his window and stretches his right hand out to catch some flakes. “You can take the kids sledding, Cody. Snow angels and snowmen. All that winter wonderland stuff.”
“Let’s hope not. Snow snarls traffic. Screws up street parking and throws a wrench in everybody’s plans.” Joe shakes his head, his dark gaze never leaving the road. It’s the day before Christmas and downtown Flushing, New York, is full of pedestrians, packed with cars, yellow cabs, and buses. Colored lights blink in storefronts and giant snowflakes hang over the center of the street, neon white etched in the pearl gray sky. The streets are a swarm of vendors’ carts and people, mostly shoppers and commuters streaming toward the subway station. Women with strollers and teens glad to be out of school. Joe scowls at the open window. “Would you close that? We’ll be out in it soon enough.”
“Sorry, Mr. Scrooge,” Mack says in a fake British accent. “It’s just that…tomorrow’s Christmas and I’d really like another lump of coal for the furnace.”
Mack always does that; cracks Joe up just as his temper’s rising. It’s one reason Joe chose to work with the rookie cop. Maurice Womack, Mack to anyone on the job, is an observant cop, but he doesn’t take much seriously. And Joe knows you can’t survive in this job without a sense of humor.
“Shut up.” Joe fights back a grin as he inches the car down Main Street.
“Come on, now. Shake off that mood. It’s Christmas Eve, Cody. You gonna be a buzzkill straight through ’till New Year’s?”
“That’s the plan. When you’re strapped to the nuts with bills, Christmas is a non-issue.”
“Don’t you ‘bah, humbug’ me. You got two little kids at home who are counting on Santa Claus to deliver.”
Joe pulls the car onto the sidewalk, a half-assed parking job, but that’s the beauty of driving an NYPD vehicle. “We’re making your stop, picking up the ring and all, so keep the theatrics to a minimum.”
“God bless you, Ebenezer.”
“And we’re spending Christmas together?” Joe cuts the engine and swings out of the car. “How’d I get so lucky.”
“Just the day tour, man. My nights are reserved for Nayasia.” Mack hands him the radio and leads the way toward the jewelry store, his giant strides eating up the speckled sidewalk.
“Right. The bride-to-be.” Joe straightens his jacket and forces a smile as they pass by two girls clinging to Grandma’s hands—twins, from the look of them. “You sure you’re ready for this? It’s a big commitment.”
“What’s that mean?” Mack asks without breaking stride. “Don’t treat me like I’m eight years old and sleeping in Batman Underoos.”
Joe holds up his hands. “You said it, not me.”
“Besides, commitment isn’t the ‘C’ word it used to be. Astute men like myself know that the evolved human creature seeks a monogamous mate.”
“Monogamous? I’m proud of you Mack. Some of that college rubbed off.”
“Don’t go changing the subject. I’m ready for this, Cody. Besides, I never hear you complain about it.”
“Yeah, well, marriage suits me just fine. Got myself a great girl, beautiful smart kids. Life is good.”
“Really? Then why are you so cranky lately?”
Joe winces. “I’m not cranky; just honest.” It’s a bald-faced lie and he knows it, but that doesn’t mean he’s got to spill the details to Mack. Really. Mack may be his partner, but if the two of them get any more personal, they’ll have to take their story to one of those touchy-feely talk shows like Oprah or Ellen.
“You’re in denial, man.” Mack stabs a finger in the air, nearly poking a woman swinging through the door of Macy’s. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Whatevah.” She shifts her packages and darts around them.
Mack turns back to Joe. “I don’t know what’s eating at you, but you’d better deal with it and move on so you can enjoy some eggnog with Mrs. Claus under the tree. You know what I’m saying? You got to step up to Christmas or else you’ll open your eyes tonight and find three ghouls coming at you with flashbacks and predictions that’ll scare the bejeevers out of you.”
“The only thing waking me up in the middle of my night is my son cutting a tooth.” Joe stretches his neck, trying to get the kink out. “In fact, PJ was up again last night, two AM.”
“Poor kid.”
“Poor me. I took the shift.”
“Whatever, big daddy. See, that’s the kind of thing I’m looking forward to. A house and a family. I’m getting a dog, too.”
“Good luck with that. Sheila and I have enough trouble trying to get the kids housebroken.” Joe spots the jewelry store just beyond Macy’s. Thank God. “Does Nayasia know she’s getting a ring?”
“It’s a surprise, but I do know she wants a marquise-cut stone. She’s told me enough times.”
Joe touches his chin, reminded that he doesn’t have a gift for his wife. Christmas Eve and he’s got nothing. Sucked so dry by a mortgage that he can’t scrape together a few extra dollars. You try to do the right thing, work overtime, and put a roof over the kids’ heads, and still there’s nothing left at the end of the day.
Mack tugs open the jeweler’s door. “You coming in?”
“This is one job you need to do on your own. Besides, if I see the prices in there I might lapse into a coma or something.”
Cocking one eyebrow, Mack ducks inside. Big, sentimental lug. Joe doesn’t know Nayasia well, but he figures her for a lucky woman.
The dispatcher calls for a unit in Sector Adam to assist an ambulance. Joe turns the volume down on the radio and moves back toward Macy’s. In front of the store he presses his back to the wall to keep an eye on the street activity. This is a good spot to soak it all up: the colors, the energy, the twinkle of Christmas. A lacy carol piped over the store’s PA system mixes with staccato horns and groaning city buses. Yeah, the city makes an effort at Christmastime. Plenty of sparkle and even the surliest New Yorkers soften a bit.
But this year all reminders of the holidays are like a punch in the gut.
It’s the mortgage. An albatross. Noose around his neck.
These days, money is a hot button issue between Sheila and him. Yeah, they both wanted to live in Bayside, a good neighborhood, excellent schools and all that. They bought the house this year, plunked all their savings into the skinny row house with a stone age kitchen and a driveway as a front yard. Now they are saddled with a mortgage payment that has them eating Ramen noodles.
No dinners out. No sitters. No cable. No fun. Sheila’s talking about serving potato soup for Christmas dinner.
“We’ll get by,” Sheila always says. And then she goes and puts something on a card.
It didn’t take long to max out the Visa. They were well on their way to hitting the limit on American Express when Joe called Sheila off. “If we keep spending like this, we’ll never bail ourselves out,” he told her.
So she agreed to give up her card. No more credit. Clothes and gifts and such would come from cash leftover after the bills were paid.
Which isn’t much. Certainly not enough for the two of them to exchange gifts this year. Last time he checked, there was a twenty and a few singles in the cookie jar. So they came up with a no-gift policy between the two of them, but knowing his wife, he doesn’t trust her.
He glances to the display window on his right. Three mannequins posed in a snow scene draped with fat gold ribbon.
The dummy in the center wears a quilted red jacket. A thick jacket, tapered at the waist.
It’s the perfect gift.
Sheila needs a jacket. How many times has he told her that, and she just shrugs it off. “I’ll just be out for a second,” she says. Or “I’ll get by without it.” And then she loads on a sweater and scarf and goes pushing PJ’s stroller to the pharmacy or walking Katie to school, out there in the freezing cold.
She would love that red quilted one. Joe knows that, even though he’s no shopper. Red goes well with her whiskey brown eyes and dark hair, brings out the pink in her cheeks. And that’s the shame of it. He finally finds the perfect gift, something she would love and use, and he doesn’t have the money to buy it.
He sets his jaw and turns away from the window display. He could work all the overtime in the world and still be broke. The store’s music is nauseatingly cheerful; cherubic voices singing, “Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o’er the plains…”
Mack emerges from the jewelry store with a blue velvet box and a huge grin. “I got it.”
“Great. Can we go now?”
“Wait. Aren’t you going to ask me how it looks?”
“It’s a diamond ring. How the hell is it supposed to look?” Joe motions Mack toward the car. “Come on, Mack. Next you’ll be wanting me to try it on.”
“Would you mind?”
Joe scowls. “Get the hell out of here.”
“You are in one foul mood, my friend. Least you could do is be happy for me.”
“I’m ecstatic. I’m just really good at hiding my emotions.”
As they pass Macy’s, Mack sings along with the Christmas song, a long extension of o’s that ultimately forms the word “Gloria.”
“Please,” Joe says under his breath, “you’re embarrassing yourself.”
But Mack keeps singing. “In excelsis Deo…”
People are looking now, heads snapping toward the big black singing cop. Joe does not make eye contact with them; this is the sort of spectacle he can do without. “Cut it out.”