Maggie Shayne: An Enchanted Season

“I haven’t been back here in twelve years,” she said, “but unless they’ve moved it, you’re pretty close.” She pointed. “Back the way you came, five miles, then take a right at the light. You won’t see it till you get around the big bend in the road.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” He slid his glasses back on, and she thought maybe he was giving her a more thorough look from behind them. It felt like it, anyway. Though she could be imagining it.

“Merry Christmas,” she called.

“Yeah.” He glanced at her, lips pulled tight, then pulled away.

She shrugged, and went up to the mailbox. The key was right where the Realtor had told her it would be. So she took it out, and let herself in, and didn’t even take time to look around. She knew herself well enough to realize she’d get lost in memories if she did, and it would be dark in a few hours, so she settled for a quick glance at the note Ms. Sullivan had left on the door.

Welcome home, Holly. It was short notice, but I did what I could to give you a comfortable stay. The electric and water are on, but the furnace isn’t. No time for that. So I had a face cord of firewood delivered for you—it’s stacked around the side. You can use the fireplace to keep warm. I stocked the place with lots of bottled water in case the tap tastes rusty. Hot water heater isn’t lit yet, but if you want to, go ahead. It’s been checked out, and while not efficient, it is safe. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call. Merry Christmas, Holly.”

Ms. Sullivan had been a friend to Holly’s mother. She wouldn’t want any sort of payment or thanks for all she’d done, but Holly would find some way. Either that, or she would pay it forward by doing something extra-nice for someone else.

She folded the note and tucked it into her pocket to keep, taking only enough time to start a small fire in the hearth before she headed back outside. She still needed to unload her personal things, groceries and supplies from the car. She’d bought the fixings for a very traditional holiday meal. And all the decorations she’d brought along. She had a ton of lights to string before dark. The long night ahead would give her plenty of time to reminisce and explore her childhood home.

THE “FOR SALE” SIGN IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE WHERE HE’Dstopped to ask for directions should have given him a clue, but Matthew had brushed it off as meaningless. The house he’d come to look over was unoccupied and had been owned by the bank for a dozen years. Its asking price had just been reduced by a bundle. That one had a Beetle-driving hippie type in residence. Tree hugger. He could spot them a mile away. Even leggy, blond tree huggers with eyes so blue you could spot them from twenty yards away.

Her looks had floored him. Her attitude had irritated him. He’d asked for directions, not a seminar on enjoying the journey. The nerve. And she’d capped it by tossing that useless, meaningless phrase “Merry Christmas” onto her farewell.

At any rate, he checked into the Best Western, which he’d been assured was the best hotel in the area—not that there were many. He was in a hurry, and starved to boot, so he didn’t even look at the room. Just checked in, got the key, and asked the desk clerk the best place to get a decent meal that wouldn’t take half the damn night.

She pointed to a chain restaurant across the parking lot. Matthew rolled his eyes, and headed there, walking because there was no point in driving that short distance, and the Carerra was probably safer where it was. He’d paid a premium to rent a Porsche for the two-hour drive up from the airport, and more for the insurance. He didn’t want to have to use it.

He ordered a meal, then killed the time waiting for the food to arrive by phoning the Realtor to set up a showing.

Her reaction surprised him. “Uh—Mr. Reid—I, uh—it’s the day before Christmas Eve.”

“Yes, I’m pretty clear on the date, Ms. Sullivan. Do you refuse to show houses during the holiday season or—?”

“Well, no, of course not, I just—I had no idea you were coming into town.”

“I didn’t think it would be a problem. You said the place was unoccupied. Look, if you’re too busy with your…holiday plans…I can swing by and pick up a key and some directions, and show myself around the place.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Well, what is it then?”

“I…I have a tenant there. Just for the holiday.”

“A tenant?”

“Well, not exactly a tenant. More like a guest.”

He blinked, completely puzzled.

“She lived there as a child, Mr. Reid. Her parents were friends of mine, and when she called asking if she could spend Christmas there, I thought there’d be no harm. It’s her first time back here in twelve years and I thought—”

“Her first time back in twelve years?” he asked. And he immediately thought of the hippie chick in the bright yellow Bug, dispensing pearls of wisdom to hapless strangers. For some reason the fact that it was her made him a little more irritated than he already was. And he ignored the other feeling. The little trickle of liquid heat that simmered through him at the thought of seeing her again. That made no sense whatsoever. So as he did with all things that made no sense, he ignored it.

At least he knew where the house was now. “So are you saying you’re going to give up a sale because you don’t want to inconvenience a freeloader for an hour or two?”

“She’s not a freeloader, Mr. Reid. And of course I don’t want to jeopardize a sale over this. I just want to give her fair warning first, before traipsing in there with a stranger in tow. This is probably a difficult—”

“I have cash, you know. No financing needed. If I buy it, I can pay you just as fast as you can draw up the contracts.”

“If the weather’s not too bad tomorrow—”

“Weather?” He looked out the window. “It’s as clear as a bell outside.”

“We’re supposed to get lake effect tonight. But once the roads are cleared tomorrow, I’ll take a run over there and talk to her. I’m sure she won’t have any problem letting you come in and see the place later in the day, again, weather permitting. All right?”

He rolled his eyes. His food arrived. At least the waitstaff in this town were fast. It didn’t look as if anyone else was. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promised. Then he snapped the phone closed, and looked up at the waitress. “You keep things rolling this fast, and you’re going to get a nice, fat tip.”

She frowned at him, maybe a little insulted, but pasted a smile over it and filled his coffee mug. As she walked away, she paused to speak to another waitress, and he caught a few words.

“What are we supposed to get tonight? One to three?”

“I heard three to five.”

He shrugged. It didn’t sound so bad to him. He focused on his meal, which wasn’t half bad, either.

HOLLY STOOD ALL THE WAY AT THE END OF THE DRIVEWAY,staring back at the decrepit house that was currently lit up like a—well, like a Christmas tree—and smiling from ear to ear. It was dark outside, so the lights glowed even more brilliantly. It had taken her three solid hours. It hadn’t been difficult at all, because her mom had everything down to a science where decorating was concerned. There were still little hooks all the way around the eaves of the house for hanging the lights. There were more around each window. She’d asked the Realtor ahead of time to leave a ladder in the storage shed, and she’d been delighted to see that Maureen Sullivan had taken the intiative to leave a few more things as well, including a bag full of extension cords, a hammer, and a box of nails.