The Christmas Keeper

by Jenn McKinlay

  Savy couldn’t breathe. He kissed her softly and then said, “I’m done with clinging to the past and being afraid of change. I have Luke and Lanie to help me run Shadow Pine and I can literally oversee it from anywhere, even here. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”

  Then he kissed her. The feel of his mouth against hers was everything. Suddenly kissing him was more than the erotic press of lips, although it was that, too. It was the magic of first snowfalls, the warmth of hot cider, the flirt of mistletoe, and the joy of coming home.

  Yes! Everything inside Savy cried her answer as she dug her fingers into his hair and kissed him back with every bit of longing she’d felt since they’d been apart.

  “Say you forgive me for being an idiot,” he whispered in her ear before kissing her again.

  “I forgive you,” she sighed as his lips moved to her throat.

  “Say you’ll give us another chance,” he said.

  The words snapped Savy out of the sensual fog that had descended over her like a cloud. She pushed away from him, sliding out of his embrace.

  “No.” She shook her head.

  Quino looked taken aback as if he hadn’t expected such a flat refusal. Savannah strode across the room and opened her office door. Archer, Amy, and Luce, another employee, all straightened up as if she hadn’t just caught them listening at her door.

  “Found it!” Archer declared, holding his index finger up. He looked past Savannah at Quino. “Contact lens. Pesky th—”

  Savannah shut the door on him.

  “Red, I don’t think you understand,” Quino said. “I’m trying to tell you I lo—”

  “Don’t!” she cried. She held up her hands in a stop gesture as if she could ward off the sentiment with her bare hands. “Don’t say it.”

  “Why not?” he asked. “It’s how I feel. I love you. I’m always going to love you and wherever you are, that’s home for me.”

  “But it won’t work,” she said. “And I can’t do this.”

  Quino didn’t move. He watched her as if trying to read between her words. “What can’t you do, Red? Love me?”

  She didn’t answer. She needed him to understand. She needed him to be even more flexible and she was afraid this might be the bend that broke him.

  “Do you know why I had to come back?” she asked.

  “Because this job is your dream.”

  She shook her head. “I thought it was. I thought getting my reputation back and proving myself indispensable was the only thing that mattered. Everything was driven by my ego and my need to be vindicated. And then I was—I pulled off the Destiny Swann signing and the truth came out about Linda—and it felt flat. None of it felt right. I had everything I thought I wanted, and it didn’t fit any longer. New York, as much as I love it, and my career, aren’t what I want anymore.”

  “What do you want?” Quino lifted one eyebrow in inquiry, but he didn’t move. She wondered if he was even breathing and she knew exactly how he felt. She couldn’t breathe without him, either.

  “You have to stop looking at me like that,” she said, teasing him.

  His smile when it came was slow and it uncurled across his lips as if it were a bow being untied. “And how would that look be?” he asked.

  “Like you want me to marry you,” she said. Her heart skipped three beats and she thought she might pass out. “Because I love you, too.”

  He laughed and his jacket parted and Savy saw he was wearing yet another horrible Christmas sweater. This one had a chorus line of dancing reindeer on it, and, oh, it made her laugh.

  “Well, when you put it like that,” he said. He reached out and tugged her into his arms. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  There was a ruckus outside the door, and Savy was vaguely aware that Archer was cheering and there was clapping, but she didn’t really register the noise because Quino was kissing her and there was absolutely no place she’d rather be than in his arms, getting smooched within an inch of her life, mistletoe or no.

  * * *

  * * *

  THE wedding took place six days later at Windemere Manor. Much to Quino and Savy’s surprise, when they called to invite Destiny to their wedding, she insisted on hosting the wedding at her house. Given that it was to be a small affair, with just their closest family and friends, they agreed.

  “I can’t believe you’re getting married,” Maisy said as she helped Savannah into her dress.

  “I know,” Savy said. She fluffed her skirt. “A month ago, if anyone had told me I’d be here today, I wouldn’t have believed them.”

  There was a knock on the door and Perry, holding Savy’s bouquet, bustled into the room. Ruby-red roses decorated with sprigs of cedar, eucalyptus, and Queen Anne’s lace, the stems of which were all wrapped together with white ribbon. Perry was staring at the bouquet as if trying to puzzle something out.

  “What is it?” Maisy asked.

  “Uncle Quino added something to your bouquet,” Perry said. She handed the flowers to Savy.

  Savannah glanced at her flowers. There in the center was a sprig of mistletoe with five berries. She laughed.

  “It’s perfect,” she said.

  Maisy and Perry exchanged a look but before they could ask, Destiny swept into the room. She was resplendent in a cocktail dress of ice blue. She took one look at Savy and clasped her hands over her heart. Her eyes filled and she blinked several times.

  “You are stunning,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Savannah said. The compliment meant a lot coming from a woman who always looked on point. Savannah glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was half up and half down with pearl-tipped hairpins woven into her hair instead of a veil. She wore a simple pearl necklace and earrings that her sisters had brought with them when they arrived with their families yesterday, much to Savy’s surprise and delight. Her parents had declined to attend but she had expected as much.

  Her dress was creamy white, off the shoulders, fitted her curves perfectly, and flared out with a tea-length skirt that had a delicate embroidered hem. She’d bought it off the sale rack at Perryman’s, and it was perfect. Her shoes, also found at Perryman’s, were white leather Mary Janes with bows on the toes, which made her smile.

  “Your groom, who is positively swoon-worthy, is pacing a hole in my Aubusson rug in the parlor,” Destiny said. “Are you ready to put him out of his misery?”

  Savannah laughed. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  Destiny took her hands in hers and said, “I knew from the first moment I saw you two that you belonged together, and since romance is my business, I think I am an expert in these things.”

  Savy saw Maisy’s eyes widen. She had still not quite gotten over her awe of the famous author, but at least she hadn’t fainted.

  “If I can give you one piece of advice, my dear?” Destiny asked.

  “Yes, please,” Savy said.

  “As you start, so shall you go,” she said. Then she smiled, leaned forward, and kissed Savy’s cheek. She turned around and looked at Perry, who looked lovely in a dress of bright blue, which matched her eyes. “Let’s go take our seats.”

  Perry nodded. She gave Savy a thumbs-up and a finger wave as she hurried out the door after Destiny.

  “‘As you start, so shall you go.’ What does that even mean?” Savy asked Maisy. “You see? This is what happens when you let a writer into your life. And now I’m her publicist, running my own company out of the bookstore. Can you believe it?”

  “No, I really can’t. I’m trying not to be bitter that after all my months of trying to get you to stay in Fairdale, Destiny snaps her fingers and here you are.” Maisy shook her head.

  “Between you and me,” Savy said, “it had more to do with Quino.”

  “I know,” Maisy said, laughing. “He really is the perfect guy for you and I’m so happy you
found each other.”

  In her ruby-red maid of honor dress, she sparkled like a gemstone. Savannah hugged her friend and felt her throat get tight. This, this was family, and she understood now why Quino had held on to the memories of his so tightly.

  “Thanks for bringing me back to Fairdale, M,” she said. Her voice wobbled a bit but she pushed on. “You realize none of this would be happening if you hadn’t opened your bookstore.”

  Maisy tipped her head, considering. “Maybe. Or maybe you and Quino would have found each other somewhere else just like Ryder and I would have. I think people who are fated to be together find each other one way or another.”

  Savannah smiled. “I think that makes you an even bigger romantic than Destiny.”

  Maisy took Savy’s hand in hers and they walked to the door of the bedroom where they’d been holed up all morning.

  “I think there might be one person who is an even bigger romantic than me,” Maisy said.

  “Who’s that?”

  Maisy pointed at the mistletoe in Savy’s bouquet. “Quino.”

  Savy studied the small sprigs in her bouquet. He was a romantic. He was her romantic. And he would be for the rest of their lives.

  They stepped out into the hallway and music floated up from downstairs. Savy took a deep, steadying breath.

  “Are you ready?” Maisy asked.

  Savy nodded.

  Maisy led the way down the sweeping staircase. Halfway down she paused and glanced back over her shoulder at Savy. From here she could see into the room where the guests were all in attendance. She lifted an eyebrow in inquiry and Savannah nodded. She was ready.

  Maisy continued down the steps and Savy saw everyone stand when Maisy crossed the threshold into the room. This was it. She felt her hands tremble. She stepped off the stairs and crossed over the marble foyer. Destiny had pulled out all the stops and the room was decked out in flowers and pine boughs and swaths of cream-colored tulle. And there at the end of the aisle that ran between all of the rented folding chairs stood Quino.

  Her heart practically stopped, so handsome was her groom in his black suit with his bold ruby-red tie. Their gazes met and as he took her in, he visibly caught his breath. It was all the encouragement Savy needed. She didn’t sashay or meander down the aisle. Heck no. She practically sprinted.

  The faces she passed, Jeri and her family, Perry, Hannah and her brother, John Michael, Sawyer, Savy’s two sisters and their families, Desi and her new boss, Archer and his partner, Destiny, Genevieve, and the household staff, were just a blur of smiles and tears in her peripheral vision. When she arrived at his side, Quino grabbed her free hand in his and twined his fingers with hers. Then he leaned close and whispered in her ear, “You are beautiful, Red.”

  She blushed and glanced down at her bouquet. The mistletoe caught her eye and she looked back up at him. With a quick side-eye at the pastor, who was smiling at them, Savy rose up on her toes and kissed him right on the mouth.

  It was supposed to be just a peck, but of course with Quino, it never was. Suddenly he was cupping her face and kissing her deeply as if he’d die if he didn’t. From far away, Savy heard the chuckles which rolled into laughter. She didn’t care.

  When they broke apart, the pastor cleared his throat and said, good-naturedly, “Ahem, we’re not quite at that part yet.”

  Savy and Quino exchanged a glance of perfect understanding. They were at that part. They had been since the day they’d met—she’d just been slower to realize it.

  As they turned to face the pastor, to pledge their lives together, Savy knew that she had found what she hadn’t even known she was looking for: a best friend, a lover, a keeper. And she knew she would keep him, her Christmas-loving cowboy, for the rest of their lives. Ugly Christmas sweaters and all.

  Turn the page to read an excerpt from Jenn McKinlay’s new novel

  PARIS IS ALWAYS A GOOD IDEA

  coming soon from Berkley.

  I’M getting married.”

  “Huh?”

  “We’ve already picked our colors, pink and gray.”

  “Um . . . pink and what?”

  “Gray. What do you think, Chelsea? I want your honest opinion. Is that too retro?”

  I stared at my middle-aged widowed father. We were standing in a bridal store in central Boston on the corner of Boylston and Berkeley streets and he was talking to me about wedding colors. His wedding colors.

  “I’m sorry, I need a sec,” I said. I held up my hand and blinked hard while trying to figure out just what the hell was happening.

  I had raced here from my apartment in Cambridge after a text from my dad had popped up on my phone, asking me to meet him at this address because it was an emergency. I was prepared for heart surgery, not wedding colors!

  Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. I wrestled the constricting wool scarf from around my neck, yanked the beanie off my head, and stuffed them in my pockets. I scrubbed my scalp with my fingers in an attempt to make the blood flow to my brain. It didn’t help. Come on, Martin, I coached myself, pull it together. Lastly, I unzipped my puffy winter jacket to let some air in, then I focused on my father.

  “What did you say?” I asked.

  “Pink and gray, too retro?” Glen Martin, aka Dad, asked. He pushed his wire frame glasses up on his nose and looked at me as if he was asking a perfectly reasonable question.

  “No, before that.” I waved my hand in a circular motion to indicate he needed to back it all the way up.

  “I’m getting married!” His voice went up when he said it and I decided my normally staid fifty-five-year-old dad was somehow currently possessed by a twentysomething bridezilla.

  “You okay, Dad?” I asked gently, not wanting to set him off. “Have you recently slipped on some ice and whacked your head? I ask because you don’t seem to be yourself.”

  “Sorry,” he said. He reached out and wrapped me in an impulsive hug, another indicator that he was not his usual buttoned-down mathematician self. “I’m just . . . I’m just so happy. What do you think about being a flower girl?”

  “Um . . . I’m almost thirty.” I tipped my head to the side and squinted at him.

  “Yes, but we already have a full wedding party, and you and your sister would be really cute in matching dresses, maybe something sparkly.”

  “Matching dresses? Sparkly?” I repeated. I struggled for air. It was clear. My father had lost his ever-lovin’ mind. I should probably call my sister. Dad needed medical attention, possibly an intervention. Oh, man, would we have to have him committed?

  I studied his face, trying to determine just how crazy he was. The same brown-green hazel eyes I saw in my own mirror every morning held mine, but where my eyes frequently looked flat with a matte finish, his positively sparkled. He really looked happy.

  “You’re serious,” I gasped. I glanced around the bridal store that was stuffed to the rafters with big white fluffy dresses. None of this made any sense and yet here I was. “You’re not pranking me?”

  “Nope.” He grinned again. “Congratulate me, peanut, I’m getting married.”

  I felt as if my chest was collapsing into itself. Never, not once, in the past seven years had I ever considered the possibility that my father would remarry.

  “To who?” I asked. It couldn’t be . . . nah. That would be insane.

  “Really, Chels?” Dad straightened up. The smile slid from his face and he cocked his head to the side, which was his go-to disappointed parent look.

  I had not been on the receiving end of this look very often in life. Not like my younger sister, Annabelle, who seemed to thrive on “the look.” Usually it made me fall right in line, but not today.

  “Sheri. You’re marrying Sheri.” I tried to keep my voice neutral. Major failure, as I stepped backward, tripped on the trailing end of my scarf, and gracelessly sprawled onto
one of the cream-colored velvet chairs that were scattered around the ultrafeminine store. From the look on my father’s face, I thought it was a good thing I was sitting, because if he answered in the affirmative I might faint.

  “Yes, I asked her to marry me and to my delight she accepted,” he said. Another happy stupid grin spread across his lips as if he just couldn’t help it.

  “But . . . but . . . she won you in a bachelor auction two weeks ago!” I cried. “This is completely mental!”

  The store seamstress, who was assisting a bride up on the dais in front of a huge trifold mirror, turned to look at us. Her dark hair was scraped up into a knot on top of her head and her face was contoured to perfection. She made me feel like a frump in my Sunday no-makeup face. Which, in my defense, was not my fault because when I’d left the house to meet Dad, I’d had no idea the address he’d sent was for Bella’s Bridal. I’d been expecting an urgent care; in fact, I wasn’t sure yet that we didn’t need one.

  Glen Martin, Harvard mathematician and all-around nerd dad, had been coerced into participating in a silver fox bachelor auction for prominent Bostonians by my sister, Annabelle, to help raise funds for the Boston Children’s Hospital. I had gone, of course, to support my sister and my dad, and it had mostly been a total snoozefest.

  The highlight of the event had been when two socialites got into a bidding war over a surgeon, and the loser slapped the winner across the face with her cardboard paddle. Good thing the guy was a cosmetic surgeon, because there was most definitely some repair work needed on that paper cut.

  But my father had not been anywhere near that popular with the ladies. No one wanted a mathematician. No one. After several minutes of excruciating silence, following the MC trying to sell the lonely gals on my dad’s attempts to solve the Riemann hypothesis, I had been about to bid on him myself when Sheri, a petite brunette, had raised her paddle with an initial bid. The smile of gratitude Dad had sent Sheri had been blinding, and the next thing we knew, a flurry of bids happened, but Sheri stuck in there and landed the winning bid for four hundred-thirty-five dollars and fifty cents.