A Christmas Miracle

by Anna Adams

  * * *

  FLEMING WAS UNDER a Christmas tree, replacing the skirt because someone had bought the original ivory-and-gold one she’d set up. The shop door’s sleigh bells jingled at her back.

  “Hello,” she called. “Happy holidays. I’ll be right with you. Feel free to look around.”

  “We’ll do that,” Jason’s voice said.

  She straightened so abruptly she almost turned the tree over. The ornaments jangled, sounding like bells around her head. Something must have fallen off the other side, because there was the unmistakable sound of breaking glass as it hit the floor.

  “Careful,” Jason said.

  She backed out and scrambled to her feet. “What are you doing—” She stopped. A tall, older man stood at Jason’s side. Their resemblance was unmistakable. “This must be your father.”

  “My grandfather,” Jason said. He smiled at the other man. “Grandpa, this is Fleming Harris. She owns this shop. Fleming, this is my grandfather, Connor Macland.”

  “Fleming,” He shook her hand in greeting. “I remember your mother, Katherine. She was just a young thing when she worked over at the diner for a while. I’d heard she opened this place. How’s she doing?”

  “She’s fine. She and her husband, Hugh, live in Knoxville. He’s a cardiologist,” Fleming said, rattling on as usual when she felt awkward. “They’re coming home in a few days.”

  “I hope we’ll get a chance to see Katherine again. My grandson and I have come to stock up for our own holiday celebration.”

  “You’re staying at the Benjamins’ place, too? I’m glad Lyle could find room for you.” Maybe Jason had known his grandfather was coming. She looked at him, but he was giving nothing away.

  “We’ve rented a house on the mountain,” Mr. Macland said. “Which brings me to the reason we’ve stopped by. Jason and I are picking up a Christmas tree, and we need decorations. My grandson thought you could help us out.”

  “I’d be glad to,” she said, rubbing her head where she’d run into something hard in the tree. “We have quite a variety. Do you want a theme?”

  So many people preferred themes of color or types of ornaments these days. Like Jason, she preferred just pulling the ornaments out of their boxes and putting them on the tree as they appeared.

  “I think we’ll look around, choose what we like.”

  “Can I offer you coffee? Water?”

  “No.” Mr. Macland scanned the ornaments hanging from branches, and the others stacked on shelves. “We need to get this done. The other children will be home soon, and we want to have everything ready.”

  Fleming looked at Jason. The other children? His brother and sisters? He shrugged and joined his grandfather.

  Fleming checked with the other customers in the store and then went to the counter, biting her tongue to keep from interrogating both Macland men. Jason had brought his whole family home for Christmas? Or had they shown up because he was here?

  During the next hour, he and his grandfather mingled with the other customers, slowly collecting a wide selection of ornaments they brought to the counter. After they finished foraging, there was a pile that would have made Santa proud—if Santa made ornaments to put on trees, rather than toys to put beneath them.

  Such a large sale made her a little light-headed. If only every visitor in town needed to stock up like this.

  The two men argued a little over making the payment. Jason said the whole thing was down to his father. Mr. Macland pointed out that Jason’s father happened to be his son.

  Fleming didn’t understand, but she was happy to take their money.

  “You’re doing all right tonight,” Jason said.

  “Better since you all came in.” She grinned, basking in her good fortune.

  “You have an amazing selection,” Mr. Macland said, and somehow he lost the fight to present his credit card.

  She charged the purchase to Jason’s. “My mother built up the business all through my childhood,” she said.

  “I’d love to see your mother again. Maybe we can all get together for dinner before Christmas Eve.”

  “Maybe we could meet...” she glanced at Jason “...after caroling practice, unless you’re going to quit now that your family’s arrived.”

  His grandfather looked at him as if she’d suggested he fly the tree home.

  “I’m not quitting,” Jason said.

  “When did you join the carolers? How long are you planning to stay here, Jason?”

  “Until I finish the bank’s business,” he said. “Caroling isn’t a lifetime commitment.”

  Fleming looked up, meeting his gaze, not bothering to hide that his quick denial hurt her. He had other places to be. He didn’t need a family or friends. They got in the way of his business.

  But what if she asked him if it could be different? What if Jason, letting love into his life instead of fending it off, was a Christmas miracle?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  FLEMING STUMBLED INTO the kitchen on the Monday of Christmas week to find her mother stirring hot cocoa at the stove. Katherine turned, her smile slightly anxious. The smile of a mother who thought her daughter’s heart was broken.

  “Mom, what are you doing here? Is Hugh with you?” She glanced at the clock over the kitchen sink. It was barely past 7:00 a.m. “I didn’t hear you all come in.”

  “The house was so quiet we thought you must be asleep. We were exhausted so we just climbed into bed. Hugh’s still upstairs.” She began to stir again as Fleming hugged her. “I heard from some friends that Jason Macland’s family arrived in town.”

  “I met his grandfather. They came in and bought ornaments for a tree. They’re staying for Christmas in a chalet farther up the mountain.”

  Katherine still didn’t look up. “Is that all you know?”

  “Meaning what?” Fleming took cups out of the cabinet. “What did you hear that made you rush home several days early?”

  “That maybe Jason’s family thought you weren’t good enough for the chosen son, so they staged an intervention with the goal of dragging him back to New York.”

  Fleming couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she laughed. “I’d love to think of myself as an addiction, but your sources have the situation totally wrong.”

  “How wrong?”

  “What are you talking about, Mom? His grandparents wanted to see their town again. His dad came with them, and Jason’s sisters and brother came, too. For Christmas. Not because I’m some femme fatale the firstborn can’t resist. It’s ridiculous.”

  Katherine sagged against the front of the stove. “I’m relieved to hear that, but I don’t think I’m wrong about your feelings for him. You do care. I give you credit for trying not to, and maybe you’re the last to know, but you are in love with that man.”

  Fleming wondered if she should pinch herself. “Is this a nightmare?”

  “It could be, but thankfully I hear he’s not like his father. Robert wanted to settle down with every pretty woman he had feelings for. Three wives later, the women are wising up, not him. But his son doesn’t stay in one place long enough to let himself think of getting serious in a relationship.”

  It wasn’t as funny now. Those were Fleming’s own thoughts. Her worst fears.

  “I don’t want to discuss this. I don’t know how I feel about Jason. How can I explain it to you?”

  “Because you need to face facts and decide how much you want to be with him before he leaves and your chance for happiness goes with him.”

  “Mother—”

  “I won’t say more. I was so incensed at the idea that those people might have come here with the idea of insulting you that Hugh and I rushed to defend you. But I realize that you have to sort this out on your own. If you love Jason, you should ask h
im to stay. So that you can give each other a chance.”

  “I feel sick.” Because her mother’s words rang true. With every passing day Fleming had been more aware of her growing sense of dread. She dreaded the day Jason turned his back on her for the last time.

  “Do you think you’ll see him tonight?” her mother asked.

  Fleming pushed her hands through her hair. “I don’t know.” The caroling. “If he comes out to sing.”

  “Have you told him how you feel? Have you asked him to stay?”

  “I haven’t made a great effort to hide that I’d like him to stay in Bliss, but how can I ask that, Mom? He wouldn’t be happy here. The town is too small for him, but it’s the perfect size for me, and I don’t want to live anywhere else.”

  “Think about that,” Katherine said. “Not that I regret keeping our home here, or letting you stay in your school and remain in the hometown you loved, but think of the lost years I took from Hugh and me.”

  “I still don’t see why you didn’t go live with Hugh. At the time I accepted it, but now I question why we didn’t just move to Knoxville to live with him as a family.”

  Katherine began to pour hot chocolate into the cups Fleming had set on the counter. “You know how it was with your father?”

  “I know how I imagine it was, and that’s bad enough.”

  “I loved him, Fleming. With all my heart. I wanted our life to be good. I wanted to make him happy, and I never knew how. I lost him. So when Hugh loved me, I couldn’t help being afraid I would do something that would make him leave.” She licked her lips, apparently made dry by the truth. “I was so afraid of losing my relationship with Hugh that I found excuses to avoid committing to him. I can tell you, I went to him in the nick of time. My husband-to-be back then was patient, but he wanted the kind of love he’d given me so freely. He deserved that kind of love.”

  Fleming could barely see her mother through a haze of tears. She tried to stand, but she wasn’t sure her legs would support her. “Mom, am I so wrong? I know Jason cares about me, but he’s never said anything to lead me on. I don’t think he loves me.”

  “I don’t think he trusts love. He’s never seen it except from his grandparents.”

  “But shouldn’t they be enough? They’ve been together for decades. Why isn’t their example the one he believes in?”

  “Ask him.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “With words.”

  Before Fleming could argue again, the front door blew open and Hugh came in, shivering in his robe and pajamas, brandishing a plastic-covered newspaper.

  “I found this down at the end of the driveway,” he said. “In a snowbank. If we’d slept in, we never would have found it. Have you given the paper carrier his Christmas gift yet?”

  Fleming composed herself while Hugh came down the hall. “Mom thought you were still in bed.”

  “No. Hungry for news and breakfast. Breakfast I was sure of. The paper I barely found in time.”

  “Well, I’m not going to stiff the paper guy at the holidays because he has a bad throwing arm.”

  “Sorry.” Hugh kissed Fleming’s forehead and then turned toward her mother. “I must be cranky, half frozen and hungry. How’s breakfast coming along, Katherine?”

  “I’m putting the cinnamon rolls in the oven right now. Will that be all right with you, Fleming?”

  “If they’re done by the time I have to leave for work.” She headed down the hall toward the stairs.

  “I’m going with you today.”

  Fleming froze, one foot on the first step. “Mom?”

  Oven sounds answered her, the door opening and closing. Hugh made a production of sniffing as he joined her mother. “I can’t wait until those are done. Are you making that cream cheese frosting?”

  “It’s already in the fridge.”

  “Mom,” Fleming said again.

  Her mother came to the kitchen doorway. “What’s up?”

  “Why are you coming to work with me today? What do you think I’m doing wrong?”

  “What?”

  Fleming tugged at her hair, trying to smooth the waves that always did just what they wanted, anyway. She was a grown woman. “It’s my responsibility from now on. If you want to come visit, you’re more than welcome, but if you’re only coming because you don’t think I know what I’m doing...”

  “What do you mean?” Katherine put her hand on the doorjamb. “I’ve never treated you like that.”

  Fleming sighed with remorse and ran her moist palms down her pajama legs. “I’m sorry. I just feel responsible, and I don’t want you to feel obligated to jump in and rescue me.”

  “I want to spend the day with my daughter, in the shop where we used to spend our days.” Grinning, her mom turned from the doorway. “I need that cocoa now, Hugh. See if Fleming has marshmallows.”

  “Better yet, want me to add some brandy?”

  “Tempting, but if I’m going in to the shop with her, homemade cocoa will be restorative enough.”

  Her mother’s hot chocolate was positively gourmet. If they ever had to sell the shop, they could make a fortune with her recipe. How many people had stopped in for it each holiday and then bought something while they drank?

  “I made snickerdoodles last night,” Fleming called. “If you put some in bags we could take them along.”

  “Perfect,” Katherine agreed. “Hurry now. Breakfast will be ready by the time you’re dressed.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Walking into the store a few hours later was strange, with her mother at her side again, but it also felt like Christmas. Soon they were busy with folks buying their last-minute gifts, a first ornament for a new baby, a special ornament for a child in a family where the parents collected them as Fleming’s mom had.

  They were also apparently one of the last places in town that still had strings of lights. Fleming had thought she’d be sending them back to the supplier in January, but they all but walked out the door on their own.

  “Who could have guessed?” Katherine asked after they sold the sixth set.

  “Two to go,” Fleming said. “By Christmas they’ll be gone.”

  “Only three days. We just have to sell one per day.” Katherine glanced out the window. “Speaking of which, how much longer do you think he’ll be in town?”

  Fleming turned. Jason, bundled in his wool overcoat, was hurrying past the shop He turned his head for a brief nod. Fleming ignored the way her breathing seemed to catch. Every day she expected him to be gone. “Wonder if they’ll all go back to New York together after Christmas?”

  “Do you have a gift for him?”

  “I bought him action figures.”

  “Action what?”

  “I ordered them. They were on a cartoon television show he used to watch. I could only afford the hero and heroine, and a cat the hero rode that was apparently also his best friend.”

  “A cat he rode. I don’t remember this. And why would a grown man want them?”

  “He’s got one from the set—it was something he always wanted. I found the others.”

  “That’s thoughtful. They can’t have been inexpensive. How do you plan to get them to him? Are you meeting to exchange gifts?”

  Fleming attempted a silencing glance. “I thought I could ask Lyle Benjamin to put them in his hotel room, but now I don’t know if he’s staying over at the chalet with the rest of his family. I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

  “Maybe you can take them to the chalet. You could give them to him in person.”

  The possibility shook her. “Not in front of his family. He might think I’m a snoop—intruding.” She decided to flee this conversation. “I’m going over to the coffee shop. Want me to bring you anything?”

&
nbsp; “We’re running out of milk in the back. Why don’t you pick up a gallon?”

  On the way to the little convenience store that huddled between a church and a trendy boutique, Fleming stopped at a shop called Remembrance of Things Past. She spied a train running in the window, through their version of the obligatory Bliss-based shop’s miniature snowy village. She couldn’t help remembering Jason admiring the trains in her store.

  Maybe a train was a better idea. Something he could give his own family one day.

  She eased inside, not wanting to draw attention to herself with the small, tinkling bell that announced visitors.

  She walked straight to a shelf of vintage trains. She really thought Jason might enjoy one of his own. Next Christmas, he could set it up and remember his time in Bliss.

  Even if he set it up under a tree he shared with some other woman? A woman he loved enough to stay for? And later, the children they had together?

  Fleming’s heart broke a little at the thought.

  But it wasn’t her business. She had too much imagination. Good for writing. Not so great for living.

  Nevertheless, she wandered the cluttered aisles of the little store. It wasn’t as elegantly laid out as most of the antiques shops in town, but it was filled with treasures. In the past she’d found yo-yos and vintage games and nutcrackers that she’d used to decorate Mainly Merry Christmas.

  In the fourth aisle she perused, she found another train, this one in a ragged box. It had been made before she was born, and it only had three of the four cars that were pictured on the lid, but it was just what she’d imagined for Jason.

  Maybe it would be what he’d love.

  “Adding to your collection?” a voice asked at her side.

  Sam Leslie, the proprietor, had walked up so silently she hadn’t heard him. “Hi,” she said. “Does it work?”

  “Sure does.” He took the box and tilted the lid to peer inside. “Anyway, it did last time I set it up. Want to me to do it again for you?”

  “No. If you think it works, that’s good enough for me. I’ll take it home and try it out.”