by Nancy Thayer
The woman’s ears flashed with diamonds beneath her fur hat. She was young, only a bit older than Christina, and very pretty, except for the disdainful expression on her face.
She held up a bag. “Did you give these things to my daughter?”
Christina hesitated. She’d never, ever, had a parent complain before. “I’m not sure,” she responded mildly. “Could I see what you have?”
The woman dumped the bag upside down on the counter. Out clattered a sweatshirt, a weather gauge, and the sticker book.
Stunned, Christina protested, “These were gifts for Wink.” And Wink, Christina felt certain, didn’t have a mother who went around in diamonds.
“I see. Well, that’s very sweet of you, but completely unnecessary. I’m returning them. You can give them to some child who needs them.”
A man entered the store, a sheepish expression on his handsome face. Like Wink and the angry woman, he had thick blond hair and blue eyes, thickly fringed with brown lashes. “Delia,” he said quietly. “Please.”
His wife—Christina assumed she was his wife—ignored him. Looking down her nose at Christina, she smiled condescendingly. “You see, my daughter, Winifred Bittlesman Lombard, is the granddaughter of Oscar Bittlesman!”
Even Christina, who paid little attention to such things, knew that Oscar Bittlesman was wealthy. Years ago, he’d been the talk of the town when he had bought a house on the cliff worth ten million dollars, and three years ago, unlike all the other millionaires, he starting living there year-round.
He had also bought the wharf property and all the buildings on it. Christina and the other Shedders were on tenterhooks, waiting to see if the new owner would raise the rent.
“So,” Delia continued, “we are more than capable of providing Winifred with plenty of gifts.”
“I’m sure you are,” Christina began. “I apologize if I somehow insulted you. I didn’t know Wink’s last name, and she indicated that her family couldn’t—” She stopped. She didn’t want to get the girl in trouble with this proud woman. “She was sad that her parents are getting divorced,” she concluded truthfully.
Wink’s mother rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh, dear. All you people love to gossip about us!”
“What?” Delia Bittlesman Lombard’s attitude was getting up Christina’s nose. “I really don’t think—”
“You don’t need to think. Just don’t give anything to my daughter again.” Tossing her head, elbowing the man in her hurry, she strode from the store, her fur coat sailing out behind her like the wings of a flying squirrel.
“I apologize for my sister,” the man said.
Christina blinked as her mind processed this information. So this tall, handsome, and seemingly rational man was not the crazy woman’s husband.
“She’s not usually like that,” the man continued. “The divorce is upsetting for her and she’s unsettled, spending Christmas on an island where she knows no one. Stress brings out the worst in her.”
Christina kept silent. She didn’t want to say, Oh, that’s all right. She was trembling from the encounter. She neatly folded up the tousled sweatshirt and smoothed the cover of the sticker book.
“Please forgive us,” the man said. Coming toward her, he held out his hand. “I’m Andy Bittlesman, by the way.” With a charming smile, he added wryly, “Oscar Bittlesman’s son, and I can’t do a thing about that.”
He’d made her smile. She took his hand. “Christina Antonioni.”
“Nice name.” He continued to hold her hand in his larger, warmer one.
Was he flirting with her? For all she knew, he was married. Or more likely enjoying a moment of noblesse oblige. Throw the peasant a bone and keep her happy.
“How’s Wink?” Christina asked, gently sliding her hand away from Andy’s.
“She’s been better,” Andy admitted. “Her parents’ divorce is difficult for her. I think it’s worse because she’s an only child. We thought it would be fun for her to spend Christmas on the island, but we didn’t count on the cold. She can’t play on the beach or go swimming. There’s no snow for a snowman. And she doesn’t know any other kids.”
“Have you taken her to the library?” Christina suggested. “There’s a marvelous children’s wing.”
“Well, no,” Andy said, “we haven’t thought of that. I’ll tell Delia.”
“Tell her about the Whaling Museum, too. It’s a fabulous place for kids Wink’s age. It’s got a real whale skeleton hanging from the ceiling.”
“That sounds great. I’d like to see it, too.”
“And when the weather’s decent,” Christina added, caught up in Andy’s enthusiastic response, “you can walk up to The Creeks at the end of the harbor. And along the wharves. Dolphins have been spotted there recently.”
“Really? Cool.” For a moment Andy stood daydreaming. Lowering his head, he peered up at her from beneath his long lashes. “I don’t suppose you’d like to come along, too?”
Christina couldn’t help herself—it was a stimulus-response kind of thing—her eyes flew to his left hand. No wedding ring.
“But you’re probably busy,” Andy continued, suddenly flustered. “Or married. Or at least engaged.” He was looking at her ring finger, too.
Christina laughed. “Not married. Not engaged. But overwhelmed. The month of December is crazy busy.”
“Oh, well, sure, I understand.” Andy cocked his head, studying Christina. “How about in the evenings? Could I take you out to dinner?”
“Oh,” Christina protested, suddenly embarrassed. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t have to, but I certainly would like to,” Andy told her.
“Well…” Christina paused. “Don’t you have to get back to the city?”
“Not until I’ve taken you out to dinner, Christina Antonioni,” Andy Bittlesman said.
His smile was like an arrow straight into her heart.
Christina felt herself blush. She’d never been so instantly attracted to anyone since…well, she’d never been so instantly attracted to anyone. It was terrifying.
“How about tomorrow night?” Andy asked. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a delicious meal after a hard day’s work in a toy shop?”
Christina checked to see if he was being sarcastic about the “hard day’s work” bit, but his smile was genuine.
“All right,” she conceded. “Yes, it would be lovely to go out to dinner.”
“Great! Should I pick you up here?”
“Um, no. I’ll need to go home to drop off some things.” And, she thought, take a shower, change clothes, put on lipstick, eyeliner, perfume…
“What’s your address?”
“Five Milk Street. It’s in town, just off Main Street, actually, although the streets are awfully curvy and not always well marked so it can be easy to miss. Do you know where the Maria Mitchell museum is? It’s on Vestal Street, just after my house—” You’re babbling! her IC—her Inner Christina—shrieked. Shut up!
Andy smiled. “I know where Milk Street is. I’ve been walking around the town a lot recently.”
“Oh. How nice.” Could you sound any more insipid?
“How about seven o’clock? Is that a good time for you?”
“Yes. Perfect. I’ll see you at seven tomorrow night.” Now go away, her IC thought, because I’m about to giggle like a schoolgirl. But don’t go away, because I want to stand here and just look at you. Obviously, her Inner Christina was as dazzled as she was.
“See you then.” With a wave, Andy opened the door and left the shop.
“You have a date with Andy Bittlesman?” Harriet was about to pop a vein. “How did you manage that?”
The Shedders were gathered in Mimi’s eating lunch.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Mimi told Harriet. “Christina’
s not exactly a dog.”
“No, she is not,” Jacob seconded quietly.
“How did you meet him?” Harriet demanded. “Why did he come in your store? Why didn’t he come in mine? Mine is much more his class.”
“His class?” Mimi rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, Harriet. You’re a merchant. He’s a zillionaire.”
Christina took a bite of her turkey and cranberry sandwich and listened happily as her friends squabbled. Life was normal. Outside, the day was sunny. She’d done a good amount of business already today.
“He came in with his sister,” Christina explained. “Who, I might add, is a patronizing snob. She threw the presents we gave Wink at me and pretty much said her daughter’s too good to accept gifts from a peasant like me. This isn’t a real date. Andy’s trying to make up for his sister’s behavior.”
“Is he as handsome as he looks in the pictures?” Harriet demanded.
“What pictures?” Christina asked.
“You know, N Magazine and Mahon About Town. At art openings and the opera and so on.”
Christina took a sip of her bottled water. “I’ve never seen pictures of him. He’s handsome, I guess, and really nice. I don’t know why his sister is such a snot. Poor little Wink.”
“Poor little Wink?” Harriet almost elevated off her chair. “Her grandfather is Oscar Bittlesman! He’s hardly poor. Anyway, how can you even think of a kid when you have a date with Andy Bittlesman?” Harriet narrowed her glittering cat eyes. “Where is he picking you up? If he comes to your shop, maybe I can wait with you. I could meet him, too.”
“To try to steal him away from Christina?” Mimi laughed heartily. “Nice, Harriet.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Christina protested, wadding up her sandwich wrapper. “First of all, this is not a real date. Second, Harriet, you’re welcome to him. He’s not my type. Third, I’d better get back to my shop.”
“Actually,” Harriet murmured thoughtfully, eyes half-closed in plotting thought, “I gave Wink part of those presents. Andy might want to thank me, too.”
* * *
—
Christina’s grandparents had owned the large summer house on Milk Street in the middle of town. Her parents had inherited it, and now it was Christina’s. She was an only child, and last year, her father had died from Parkinson’s, and this year, in early February, Christina’s mother had died of a heart attack. Christina knew the painful truth—her mother had been glad to leave this earth. Christina’s parents had been deeply in love and her mother had been lost without her husband.
Christina inherited the house, and she understood how fortunate she was, to own a house, mortgage-free, on Nantucket. But she would have gladly lived in an attic if it could bring her parents back. She had been very close to both parents—the family had really been the Three Musketeers. Without them, she was lonely, and this Christmas she was sad. She and her parents had had a ritual of picking out an evergreen tree, wrestling it into its stand, untangling the lights, and hanging the ornaments. They’d played Christmas music on their old-fashioned CD player and enjoyed hot chocolate as they worked.
This year, Christina didn’t have a Christmas tree. Somehow she just couldn’t do it, not alone, not this year.
She did hang a wreath on the front door, a simple evergreen circle with one large red velvet bow.
“What a great old place!” Andy said when he came to pick Christina up.
“I know,” Christina agreed. “Comfortable, practical, and homey. Not designer-certified at all.” She pulled on her coat. “I get a bit bored with all the perfect blue and white décor I see everywhere now.”
Andy grinned wryly. “Then I’ll have to think of something to entertain you when you come to our house.”
She paused, confused.
“I mean,” Andy explained, “Delia had the house redecorated two years ago. All blue and white.”
“Oops,” Christina said, adding, “I’m sure it’s charming.”
They hurried through the cold wind out to his Range Rover. He held the door for her to step into the luxurious, leathery warmth.
“Well,” Andy continued as he steered along the narrow streets, “after Mother died, Delia needed a project to cheer her up. Delia is a whirlwind of OCD. But I’m glad I have a sister and a niece. Tell me, do you have any siblings?”
“No. I wish I did. Both my parents died within the past year, and I miss having family around at Christmas.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Christina nodded. “Thank you.” She didn’t want to let sadness set the mood this evening. More lightly, she said, “But I have several wonderful friends. And the entire town is almost like family.”
At this time of year, when all the summer people were gone, traffic was easy. It didn’t take long for them to arrive at their destination, a small but first-class restaurant, Fifty-Six Union. The hostess knew Christina and winked at her as she ushered them to an intimate table at the back.
“Are you a Nantucket native, Christina?” Andy asked.
“I was born here,” Christina told him. “So that makes me a native. But I was born prematurely, when my mother and father were visiting my mother’s parents. My grandparents lived here year-round. He was the principal of the school. She worked in a shop. I’ve always loved it here, but I grew up in McLean, Virginia. My father worked for the government. My mother and I came to stay with my grandparents every summer. My father flew up when he could.” She paused to smile a thank-you at the waiter who brought them glasses of wine.
Andy raised his eyebrow. “Was your father CIA?”
Christina laughed. “No, actually, he was an architect. He worked with a section of the government that specializes in renovating large institutional buildings.”
“And your mother?”
“My mother taught kindergarten. She loved Christmas. My father had Parkinson’s and went quickly. My mother followed a few months later. I don’t think she wanted to live without him.”
Andy was silent. “I’m sorry. You must miss them.”
“I do.”
“And you don’t have any siblings, you said?”
“I don’t. Mother never told me why. But I want a bunch of children!”
Christina felt herself blush. Too much wine, she thought, but she knew it was Andy’s warm gaze.
“It must be nice for kids to live here. The beach in the summer, and they can bike everywhere. Christina, I think you are the only adult I know who bikes to work.”
Christina laughed. “Lots of people here bike. My shop is such a short distance from my house.”
“You love Nantucket.”
Christina nodded. “That’s true. That doesn’t mean I haven’t traveled. I went to Wheaton College in Massachusetts. After college, I spent a summer touring Europe with a couple of girlfriends. Now that I have the shop, I try to go into New York at least once a year to see a play and stroll through the museums. But in our high season, the busiest season, from May through October, and during the holiday season, I’m at my shop. I’ve run it for five years now.”
“Because you like children?”
“Probably. It might be a genetic thing. I caught liking little kids from my mother. It’s a pleasure, seeing children’s faces, and adults, too, when they first enter my shop. It’s an experience for them, it’s like entering a new world. So different from simply looking through a catalog or online and cold ordering.”
As she spoke, Christina watched Andy and silently approved. He was an easy companion, flattering her with his regard, paying attention to what she said, asking pertinent questions, gazing at her with what seemed like genuine admiration.
“And now you,” Christina prompted. Her wine had eased her nerves. She hadn’t slept well the night before. Her own personal video of Andy in her store, his smile, the lovely deep s
ound of his voice, all played over and over again, as if her mind just didn’t want to let it go. Her Inner Christina told her she absolutely could not count on this evening amounting to anything at all, but here with him now, so close that they could reach out and touch, all common sense floated away. “Tell me about you.”
They ate mussels in garlic and buttery broth as Andy told her briefly about his past. He’d grown up in New York, gone to boarding school and college in Massachusetts, and worked for his father’s brokerage firm. He was thirty; he’d never married, although he’d been engaged. He went to Colorado and Switzerland in the winter to ski, but his brownstone townhouse in Brooklyn was his home.
“Although, to tell the truth, Brooklyn doesn’t feel like home anymore.” Andy took a sip of wine and leaned back in his chair.
Christina waited. She sensed he was debating with himself over how much he wanted to tell her. She sat back in her chair, too, quiet and ready to listen.
Andy hesitated. “Dad had a minor stroke three years ago. He came to Nantucket that spring to rest and recuperate. He’d owned the cliff house for years, for summer vacations, but for some reason, he now says he intends to live here year-round for the rest of his life. He’s tired, he says. When our mother died six years ago, his zest for life seemed to leave him, too. Not that he wasn’t always a cantankerous, critical, coldhearted workaholic. But Mother softened him. She made him have fun, whatever that could possibly be in his cranky life. And with computers, he can work from home.”
“Where do you fit into the company?”
“I’m my father’s right-hand man. I’ll inherit the company. Delia will get an equal share in stocks.” Looking down, he said, “I’ve always lock-stepped right along the path my father pointed me toward.” Andy paused. “I’ve tried to be the man he wants me to be, and I’ve succeeded. But at a cost…” Lifting his eyes to Christina’s, he suddenly smiled. “Have you ever done something you were certain you’d hate doing, only to find that you enjoyed it?”
“Sure I have.” Christina answered briefly, not wanting to break the flow of his conversation. Well done, her Inner Christina praised her.