Christie Ridgway: Must Love Mistletoe

Finn didn’t appear aware of their approach. Without looking at her, he dug his hand in his jacket pocket. “I don’t know if this will help,” he said, holding out the gift he’d left in her car. “But I noticed you haven’t opened it yet.”

Bailey stared down at the present. “I…I was afraid to,” she said, surprised by her own honesty.

Finn smiled. “It’s a gift, not a weapon.”

“I have nothing for you.” She still didn’t touch it.

“Maybe not, but that’s okay too. It’s for you, GND, no strings attached.”

Her hand was slow to take it from him. Even slower to tear through the paper. Her nervous pulse pounded in her ears as she lifted the lid. Inside the box was another, smaller box, and-

“It’s my vintage ornament. The one I dropped,” she said, holding it up. The old, ruby-colored glass swirled and dipped. Somehow the fractures barely showed. She glanced up. “You unbroke the heart.”

“You made something more of me, a long time ago, so I’m happy I could return the favor-even in a small way.”

Holding the glass in the palm of her hand settled her nerves somehow, and made it easier to open the second box. Shocked, her pulse jolted back into high gear.

Finn cleared his throat. “I brought it with me that last summer when you were gone. I designed it myself, had it made. It’s a promise ring.”

Gold and silver, a B entwined around an F. Tears stung the corners of her eyes.

“Bailey, it’s still my promise to you.” He held out his left hand. The heavy ring he’d worn on his little finger was gone and on that bared knuckle was the same insignia. A B entwining an F. The only tattoo he’d never removed.

She couldn’t look away from it. “No.” No!

“Yes. I was in love with you then. I’m in love with you now. It didn’t go away. It’s not going away. If nothing else, well, I can promise that lasts.”

“On the beach-”

“I wasn’t ready to admit the truth.”

“Finn…” Her voice trailed off as she realized they were surrounded by the parade of kids she’d seen tooling toward them before. They took no notice of the adults, just pushed back their brand-new helmets to survey the ruins across the street.

One of the little kids, she saw now, was preschooler Angel, balancing on a spangled banana seat while a pair of training wheels kept him steady. The miniframe was red with black handlebars, and a flashy water bottle was clipped to the side.

She caught Finn’s eye, nodded to the boy. “Bicycle?” she whispered.

He smiled, shrugged, then rose to his feet. “Anyway, GND, happy life.”

“You’re…you’re leaving?” She looked down at the ring, and then back at his impassive face. Had she dreamed him saying he was in love with her?

“I told you,” he said, gesturing to the items she cradled in her lap. “Those are gifts. Not weapons, not strings. Maybe they’ll bring you some warm memories as you’re expediting those divorces up in L.A.”

At her glass and steel building where she spent so many overtime hours that she was too tired to realize the matching soullessness of her condominium. Sure there were communities in L.A., but where she lived and the way she worked didn’t encourage them.

She had never encouraged them in her life. It had always been easier to avoid disappointment by keeping her distance.

Finn turned and started off down the sidewalk. She stared after him. He was walking away from her as he’d done outside Angel’s apartment building. Walking away and taking all his gifts with him.

Except for…

She looked down at the repaired heart. The promise ring. B and F entwined forever.

He was in love with her?

“Wait!” she heard herself call out.

He paused, slowly turned. The kids’ helmets swiveled too, all of them looking at her, expectant.

The church bells were ringing louder with peal after bright peal, or maybe it was really the shattered shards of her heart, tinkling, clattering, finally coming together after having been broken that day she heard her father say, “Get out before things get ugly.”

Finn was in love with her. How could that ever get ugly?

And how could she let him walk away when she was in love with him too? But it would mean she would have to take off her metaphorical helmet, and…and…

If nothing else, I can promise that lasts.

She’d have to believe.

Jumping to her feet, she snatched up the water bottle clipped to Angel’s bike frame. “Hey!” he protested.

Glad to find it full, she squeezed it hard, shooting the water into Finn’s wary, then surprised, then annoyed face.

“Hey!” he said, in the exact same tone as the little bad boy on the banana seat beside her. “What the hell?”

Bailey laughed. Now that she was whole, she felt as if she could fly. “You looked like you were sulking again.”

He flicked water off his face with one hand, his gaze wary. “That’s how I get when I can’t have everything I want.”

“Oh, Finn.” Her feet took off and she did fly, like a reindeer, like an angel, like a woman who wanted to be pressed against the man she loved. “I think it’s about time you were rewarded for all your good behavior.

“I love you,” Bailey said against his mouth. His arms held her tight. She believed in him, them, magic. How else, to paraphrase Finn, would the girl next door get the bad boy of her dreams?

She’d been called home to save the season, but in the end, she realized, it had saved her. “Merry Christmas.”

Coronado is a lovely place to visit any time of year. While I tried to give the flavor of the “island” in the story, with very few exceptions I made up street names and other details. (Don’t go looking for Christmas Central on Walnut Street!)

Please visit www.christieridgway.com for more Christmas trivia, recipes, and fun. Wherever you are this season, I wish for you hope and light.

CHRISTIE RIDGWAY has never lived east of the Pacific Ocean, north of San Francisco, or south of San Diego. To put it simply, she’s a California native who loves to travel but is happy to make the Golden State her home.

She began her writing career in fifth grade when she penned a volume of love stories featuring herself and a teen idol who will probably be thrilled to remain nameless. Later, though, after marrying her college sweetheart, Christie again took up writing romances, this time with imaginary heroes and heroines.

In a house full of males-one terrific husband, two school-age sons, a yellow dog, and tankfuls of fish, reptiles, and amphibians-Christie makes her own place (and peace) writing the kinds of stories she loves best.

Christie enjoys hearing from readers. You may write to her at PO Box 3803, La Mesa, CA 91944, or visit her website at www.christieridgway.com.