by Nancy Thayer
“I understand, Andy. And I don’t want you to talk to him.” Lifting her chin defiantly, Christina said, “I’m going to present my case to Oscar Bittlesman myself. I may be a small businesswoman, but I’m a good businesswoman.” Her IC, who’d been quiet all through the dinner, cheered. You go, girl!
Reaching out, Andy put his hand against Christina’s face and gently turned her so their eyes met. “Does that mean we can still see each other? Can I see you tomorrow night?”
Christina bowed her head. “Andy, you know I’m…attracted to you. But I don’t think I can let myself feel anything—” She paused, trying to think of another word for romantic. “I mean, I don’t want to get involved with you until I’ve at least tried to straighten things out with Oscar.”
Andy laughed wryly. “All my life women have tried to attract me because they know my father’s rich. You’re the first woman who won’t date me because my father’s rich.”
“It’s not that, Andy,” Christina said, moving away from his hand because it was very rapidly softening her heart and her brain and everything attached. “It’s that I want to keep things clear between you and me.”
“Okay, fine. Let’s take one step at a time. Let me bring you dinner tomorrow night.”
Christina studied Andy’s face. They weren’t even touching and she felt a profound connection to him that wasn’t merely sexual, although, wow, was it sexual.
“I don’t know,” she said, her mood lightening. “Can you cook?”
Andy grinned. “I’ll bring over my own special clam chowder.”
“You make clam chowder?”
“I do. Matt Patterson showed me how this summer. It’s got a few secret ingredients. I’ll bring wine, too. And I’ll pick up a baguette from the Wicked Island Bakery.”
“You know Matt Patterson?” Christina asked. Matt was an island guy whose family had been on Nantucket for generations. He was a huge, cheerful, good-looking guy who hid his handsome face behind a beard he couldn’t be bothered to cut and his body beneath Carhartt overalls that looked—and smelled—as if they’d never been washed. His hands were large and gnarly and scarred, and he’d lost the lobe of his left ear in a fight with a guy over a girl.
Andy grinned. “I do know Matt Patterson. Surprised, right? I’m not just another wealthy summer guy.”
“I don’t think you’re like anyone else in the world,” Christina told him. “Yes, please, bring me dinner tomorrow night.”
Andy held his coat over Christina’s head as they ran to her car. She hurriedly slid into the car’s protection from the rain, waved at Andy, and drove away. She checked her rearview mirror. Andy was standing in the driveway, waving back.
* * *
—
She hadn’t brought an umbrella with her, so when Christina reached her drive, she held her handbag over her head and raced to her door. By the time she got into the house, she was soaked.
Never before had she been so happy to see a Christmas tree in her living room, its small lights glowing on all the decorations. It was almost as good as having a friend there, welcoming her home, telling her to be of good cheer.
And that was a good thing, because her cat, curled up on the sofa, was totally unimpressed by Christina’s return. Mittens had made a cozy bed out of the Christmas afghan. She looked warm and comfortable and utterly uninterested in Christina. When she heard Christina enter the room, she merely opened one eye, took notice of Christina, and closed her eye, returning to her snooze.
“Nice to see you, too, Mittens,” Christina said sarcastically.
Christina shed her coat and shoes and dress in front of the door. She didn’t want to drip water all through her house. She hurried to her bedroom, slipped on her warmest robe, and pulled a pair of wool socks onto her cold feet. She made herself a cup of hot cocoa with a marshmallow on top, sat down on the sofa near Mittens, and called Louise.
“Dora has the flu!” Louise complained. “And Karl has it, too. Dora didn’t go to school and Karl didn’t go to work. I’ve been waiting on them both hand and foot all day. I’m exhausted. Lord, I hope you didn’t catch it from us.”
“Oh, Louise, how can I help?”
“Really? I’d love it if you could get us some groceries: 7Up and chicken noodle soup and saltines and several pints of Ben & Jerry’s for me.”
“I’ll go right now.”
“I owe you big-time. Just put the bags on the porch. I don’t want you breathing one atom from inside this house.”
“Do you need aspirin?”
“No, but thank heavens you asked, we’re almost out of Children’s Tylenol.”
“I’ll get that, too.”
“You’re an angel.”
Christina got dressed again, in sweatpants and a sweatshirt this time, and pulled on an ancient wool hat her mother had knitted her years ago.
The parking lot at the supermarket was crowded. Here were all the people who worked all day and had to do their shopping in the evening. As Christina pushed her rattling cart (why did she always get the cart with the squeaky, wonky wheel?) through the aisles, she stopped to chat with so many of her friends and acquaintances.
“Oh, poor Dora,” Susan Waters said. “I’ll make a big pan of lasagna and take it over to Louise tomorrow.”
“I’ve heard that flu is going around,” Tim Randolph said. “We bought some kid DVDs about a month ago and we’ve watched them so much we can say the words with the characters. I’ll put a pile together and drop them by their house tomorrow.”
“Half the school is out with the flu,” Anna Jane Butler told Christina. “It’s not a huge problem. We go on recess for Christmas at the end of next week.”
“Here,” Alison Price said as she dug around in her enormous leather bag. “I just finished this book and it’s fabulous! Fast plot, gorgeous men, and plenty of steam. When you take Dora the groceries, drop this off for Louise.”
When she returned to her Jeep, Christina scarcely noticed the cold air. The brightly lit displays of reindeer and snowmen and Santas in people’s yards cheered her, and she was warmed all through from seeing so many generous friends. She hoped someday she’d have a child with the flu. A short-lived, mild flu, of course. And a husband who had the flu, too. She could imagine Wink as her child, but she couldn’t fit Andy into the husband slot.
She carried the two bags of goodies to Louise’s front porch and talked to her on her cell as she drove home. (She knew she shouldn’t talk and drive, but her cell synced to her radio so she could drive with both hands.) She told Louise about the DVDs from Tim Randolph and the book from Alison Price and the lasagna Susan Waters would bring over the next day.
“Gosh, this is so nice it makes me want to cry,” Louise said. “And I haven’t even asked you how your day was.”
Christina didn’t want to download all her worries on Louise, not tonight when Louise had a house full of sick people. “Let’s just say it was complicated. I’ll give you the details when we can get together for a glass of wine. Or maybe a few shots of tequila.”
They laughed together, said goodbye, and Christina clicked off. Seeing her friends in the grocery store had lifted her mood, and she’d bought herself an entire box of Ferrero Rocher (she wouldn’t eat them all tonight) and some gourmet cat treats for Mittens. She shed her raincoat and wool cap and shoes at the front door, pulled on her pajamas and cozy robe, set the half-empty cup of hot chocolate in the sink, and her box of chocolates on the sofa. Before she sat down, she had to do one more thing.
“Here, Mittens,” she said in her sweetest voice. “I brought you a present.”
Mittens was sulking under the dining room table. She heard Christina rip open the foil package. Christina made a wavy path of cat treats across the floor and up onto the sofa where she settled with the TV remote in her hand. Mittens approached Christina warily, as if Christin
a were some kind of shape-shifter. The smell of duck liver must have been irresistible, because Mittens ate them all. The cat curled in Christina’s lap exactly when Christina clicked the remote to the Hallmark Channel, the one definite location where true love existed.
That night, on the mainland, in Boston and on the Cape, snow fell, icing the homes and stores and roads and bridges with sparkling white.
On Nantucket Island, thirty miles from the mainland, it rained.
And rained.
Christina phoned to tell Wink not to come to work today. It wouldn’t be busy, not with all the rain.
A few customers slogged through the wet streets to the shops, not bothering to carry umbrellas because the wind would turn them inside out. People hated the rain, and frankly, so did Christina. Every time her door opened, a minor tsunami blew into her shop. Her customers dripped water on the floor. When they picked up an object, water dribbled from their shoulders and rain hats onto the merchandise, the boxes of Legos, the fancy mermaids, the books, the puzzles, the whales.
The little sheds shuddered with the impact of the wind. When people asked if the place was safe, Christina assured them the sheds had stood for over a hundred years.
Still, it was cold in her shop in spite of her space heater turned to high. Customers didn’t linger. She didn’t blame them.
* * *
—
Lunch at Mimi’s was marginally better. Her shed trembled in the high wind, but she had three space heaters. The group gathered around the one in the back of the store and were thrilled to eat their food with their gloves off.
“Okay,” Harriet said, “we’re all here, and I’m calling this meeting to order. First item of business—Christina. Spill.”
Christina took a bite of her sandwich. Today she had peanut butter and jelly, an inexpensive and easy food, but the peanut butter stuck to her teeth. She looked over at beautiful Harriet in her cashmere shawl pinned at the shoulder with a ruby and gold sleigh.
“So I went to dinner,” she managed to say. She took a sip of water. “I met the great man himself, Oscar Bittlesman. The dining room was so elegant, and Janice Harris served filet mignons. Delia was there, and Wink and Andy, and it was all pleasant enough, even though Oscar called me Cheryl and went on to express the opinion that I probably had never traveled.”
Mimi leaned forward. “Was he trying to insult you by calling you Cheryl?”
Christina thought about it. “I don’t think so. I think it was just a slip of the tongue.”
“He’s over sixty-five,” Mimi reminded her. “Believe me, by then it’s often hard to remember your dog’s name.”
“Did you talk about the rent?” Jacob asked.
“No. He didn’t bring it up and neither did I. It wasn’t the appropriate time or place. But I will make an appointment to speak to him. I’m not as afraid of him as I was, probably because I can tell he’s got such a soft spot for Wink.”
“And does Andy have a soft spot for you?” Harriet inquired, a snide tone to her voice and a taunting look on her face.
Christina hadn’t planned on telling Harriet or anyone, but she couldn’t resist replying, “He might.”
“Lucky you,” Harriet said sadly. Rallying, she turned to Jacob. “And you, Jacob, spent a lot of time at Christina’s party talking to Delia Bittlesman. What were you talking about?”
Jacob shrugged. “I went to school with a friend of hers.”
“What school?” Harriet asked.
“Just high school.”
Harriet leaned forward, peering at him intensely. “What is it you aren’t telling us? I’ll bet it was a boarding school!”
Jacob raised his head. “You’re making too much of this. It was St. Mark’s, that’s all.”
Harriet sat back, surprised. After a moment, she asked, “Jacob, are you rich?”
“Harriet!” Mimi scolded. Like a teacher with a child, she instructed, “Jacob, you don’t have to answer that. Harriet, stop it.”
Harriet’s shoulders sagged. “I apologize. It’s just this rent hike that’s making me crazy.”
“We’re all crazy because of it,” Christina reminded her.
“Hey, heads up! Customers headed our way,” Mimi said.
“I’ll finish my lunch in my shop,” Christina said.
Jacob and Harriet agreed, and they all rushed back with rain pelting down on them.
* * *
—
The rest of the afternoon dragged. Few customers braved the torrential rain, and everyone commented that they wished it would snow. At six o’clock on the dot, Christina shut and locked her shop door and ran through the puddles to her car.
At home, Christina fed the cat, plugged in the lights of the Christmas tree, took a shower, and wondered what she should wear tonight. Something comfortable, cozy, and kind of sexy. Something to wear while eating clam chowder that subtly hinted: Kiss me. Nothing in her wardrobe fit that particular category, so she settled for skinny jeans and a loose cashmere pullover.
She set the table for two, prepared a green salad, and put a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator to chill. The rain had finally ended, but outside the night was dark and the air was chilly. She lit candles on the table and around the room.
Andy knocked. She hurried to open the door.
“I’ve brought dinner,” Andy told her, nodding toward the large covered pot he held, a Wicked Island Bakery baguette carefully balanced along the top.
“Bring it in!” Christina led him to the kitchen.
Andy set the pot on the stove, turned the heat to low, and lifted the lid. A mouthwatering aroma filled the air.
“That smells amazing,” Christina told Andy.
And then she looked at him, really looked at him, with his blue eyes and his sweet mouth.
She said, “Hello.”
“Hello,” he said.
Leaning over, he kissed her softly, briefly on her lips.
Stepping back, Andy said, “The chowder’s almost ready. I need to add this pint of cream and then we just have to warm it up.”
“Want a glass of white wine while you work?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve made a salad,” Christina said.
“Perfect.”
Andy stirred the chowder, Christina added the finishing touches to their dinner, and Mittens came sauntering in, waving her tail and weaving around Andy’s ankles.
“Hang on, beauty queen. I’ll fish out a few clams for you in a minute.”
Mittens purred, as if she understood.
When Mittens was satisfied and the room was warm and fragrant, Christina and Andy settled at the kitchen table, their chowder steaming from deep bowls. For a while, they only ate, and the chowder was so rich and delicious, Christina nearly purred herself.
She sat back in her chair and sipped her wine. “How’s Wink? I called and told her not to come in today because business would be so slow.”
“Good thing. Delia thinks she’s coming down with a cold and kept her in bed all day. She even allowed her to watch TV and videos on her phone. I think Oscar played a game of checkers with her.”
“I’m glad your father’s such a good grandfather.”
“At this time in her life, she needs all the good males around her she can get. She’s been pretty much abandoned by her father. She can’t afford to dislike her grandfather.”
“I understand.”
“I think you’ve been a good influence on her, Christina,” Andy said.
“I hope so. She learns fast. She’s become a real help in the shop. But more than that, she’s just a darling little girl.” Her heart swelled with love for Wink. Silly Christina, she thought, quickly looking down.
Andy continued, “I wonder if she isn’t also influenced…to be honest, I think I mean enchanted by
this island. I mean, this town is absolutely the size for a child to grasp. It’s like a story. The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker. The Christmas trees and the lights turn this into a fairy tale. I think Wink is happier than she’s been in her young life.”
“I’m glad. I agree, the town can often enchant people. But, Andy, what’s going to happen when she returns to New York?”
“She’ll be able to come here for summers and holidays. Delia and Wink can stay at our father’s house.”
As they finished their meals, Christina said, “The rain has really stopped.”
“Good. I’d like to take a walk. I think I ate too much.”
“It’s your own fault. That clam chowder was crazy good.” She’d enjoy walking in the clear, cold air, too, Christina thought. “Andy, want to go somewhere fun? I mean, the Brant Point lighthouse, the short, fat lighthouse right on the curve of beach entering into the harbor. Have you been there before? Has Wink?”
Andy laughed at her enthusiasm. “I don’t know about Wink, but I haven’t.”
“Good. Get your coat. We’re going for a little adventure.”
They quickly stacked the dishes in the dishwasher and tidied the kitchen in case Mittens felt like exploring. They pulled on their warm coats, wool hats, thick gloves.
“We’ll take my car,” Christina said. “I know where we’re going.”
“Fine,” Andy agreed, sliding into the passenger seat.
Christina drove her car down the quiet streets from town, past the yacht club and the White Elephant hotel and a row of waterfront mansions until they came to the end of the road and the beginning of the beach.
“Take off your shoes and socks,” Christina said. “You don’t want sand in your shoes.”
“Well, I don’t want cold feet!” Andy responded.
“Silly, it’s not that cold.” She whisked off her shoes and jumped out of the car. “Hurry!”
She ran. For a few steps, her feet touched tarmac, and then she was on the beach, running toward the Brant Point lighthouse. She veered around it and raced down to the edge of the water. When Andy caught up with her, she tugged his arm and pointed.