SUSAN MEIER - The Twelve Dates of Christmas

He knocked on her door. She opened it with a smile and immediately handed him her black wool cape.

Sliding it on her shoulders, he said, “You look great.”

She did. Even in a simple black dress and pearls, she was a knockout. His eyes might be heavy from lack of sleep, and his brain dead from conversations about patents and corporate spies, but he still could see she was gorgeous.

She turned and smiled at him. “You look great, too.”

He glanced down at his black suit with a white shirt and thin black tie. “Think I’m okay for a dinner party?”

“You have squarely hit semiformal. You’ll be fine.”

She headed for the door and all but ran down the four flights of stairs to the building lobby. Tired, he could barely keep up with her. He wondered again about the wisdom of not canceling this party. He hadn’t had any sleep, and her running was odd, as if she were trying to get this night over with. That wouldn’t be good at all for their charade. She raced outside to the limo and, after Norman opened the door for her, slid in.

Two steps behind her, Ricky got in beside her. “You’re in a hurry tonight.”

“I’m just nervous.”

“Don’t be. Tim and Jennifer are very casual.” He stifled a yawn.

* * *

Relief swooshed through her. Not just because he’d eased her fears about the dinner party, but because he’d almost yawned. He wasn’t nervous around her anymore. If anything, he seemed bored, which had to mean she was successfully hiding her attraction to him. As long as she played it cool, the deal would not be in jeopardy.

She straightened on the seat and smiled at him. “I’ll be fine.”

Ricky’s cell phone rang and he sighed. “I have to take this.”

She waved her hand in dismissal, grateful for any chance to look like a woman who wasn’t interested in him. “No problem.” She smiled. “Take the call.”

He clicked the button to answer his phone, and she glanced out the window at the city, which was beginning to dress up for the holiday. Tall Christmas trees had been erected in the lobbies of office buildings, their lights twinkling in the darkness. Shop windows featured elaborate Christmas displays. Salvation Army bell ringers stood beside street vendors with carts covered in tinsel. Steam rose from manhole covers.

Ricky was still on the phone when the driver pulled up to a luxury apartment building and opened the door. He talked as he got out of the limo, talked as they walked to the door and finally disconnected the call when the doorman offered them entry.

“Sorry about that.”

Fake date smile in place, Eloise happily said, “It’s fine. Really. You don’t need to apologize.” She gave him a significant look. “Remember?”

He frowned. “Right.”

Drat! Now she’d gone too far in the other direction. Instead of reassuring him, she was behaving like a hired hand. Exactly what he didn’t want.

They rode up in the elevator in silence. The doors opened onto a plush penthouse. A huge Christmas tree stood in front of a wall of windows. Bright lights and tinsel had been strung around the tree, and that theme continued on coffee tables and archways. Two red stockings decorated the marble fireplace mantel. Awash in lights and color, the main room had a warm, cozy, old-fashioned Christmas feel.

Tim and Jennifer welcomed them with hugs, got them drinks and slid them into the group of couples in front of the elegantly simple marble fireplace.

Conversation flowed easily until the butler announced dinner was served. The hostess pointed out seats at the long mahogany table set with fine china and crystal. Once everyone was comfortable and salads had been served, the lively discussion resumed.

Something light and airy floated through Eloise. Amid the colorful Christmas lights, tinsel and easygoing people, she totally relaxed. This was her second meal, good wine and simple conversation in two days, but, best of all, the odd tension between herself and her fake date had evaporated. With no dancing or touching of any kind required, she didn’t have to worry about her attraction or his lack of attraction. All she had to do was talk. And that came easily.

After dinner, the men retreated to the den for a cigar.

Proud of herself for controlling her attraction to Ricky, Eloise breathed a sigh of relief. But when she turned to the women seated with her in front of the fireplace, she found herself facing four round-eyed wives.

“I thought he’d never date again.”

Glad for the chance to really play her role and fulfill her commitment, she smiled as she picked up her wineglass. “Oh, he wasn’t such a tough nut to crack.”

Jennifer’s face fell. “Sweetie, it was four months after the tragedy before he even spoke to anyone.”

Eloise kept her facial features neutral, but internally she winced. Wasn’t tragedy a bit of an odd way to refer to a breakup?

Muriel, who owned a string of restaurants and was married to Fred, who Eloise had learned was the prankster of their fraternity, said, “Fred was positive he was going to lose everything. All his businesses and all his prospects for more business. But then...” She turned to Jennifer. “What was it? Six months in, he finally picked himself up and got back to work.”

And wasn’t missing six months of work a bit extreme for a breakup?

Surely she’d misinterpreted.

“He missed work for six months?”

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t think he ate for six months.”

Her heart stuttered. This had been no ordinary breakup. Everything inside her wanted to ask what had happened. But she caught herself before she opened her mouth. She was supposed to be dating Ricky. These women assumed she knew—assumed he’d told her —about whatever had happened. If she didn’t behave accordingly, she’d ruin everything.

She quietly said, “It was a difficult time for him.”

Jennifer patted her hand. “Which is why we are so glad he found someone.”

She smiled. “I’m glad he found me, too.” She replied easily enough, but her brain began to scramble for answers. What kind of breakup hit a man so hard he didn’t work for six months?

She told herself to stop. Told herself that if he wanted her to know, he’d tell her. She even told herself that she might not want to know because knowing might draw them closer, and she was already having trouble separating fact from fiction.

But nothing worked. Curiosity tightened her chest, filled her brain, wouldn’t let her think of anything else.

Forty minutes later, the men ambled out of the den. Everyone had work the next morning. Apparently Ricky had a conference call with lawyers in Berlin, so he had to be up the earliest, which made them the first out the door.

He slid her black wool cape over her shoulders and directed her into the elevator.

Though part of her knew it was overstepping the boundaries of their deal, her curiosity and her genuine concern for him were too much to handle. As soon as she and Ricky were alone in the elevator, she intended to ask him what had happened.

But two seconds before the door closed, Dennis Margolis and his wife, Binnie, jumped in with them.

Dennis rubbed his hands together. “It’s gonna feel even colder out there after sitting by that fire.”

Binnie sighed dreamily. “I don’t care. I hope it stays cold. We need snow for Christmas. The season is so much more fun when there’s a coating of snow on the decorations. Don’t you think, Eloise?”

“Um, yeah. I love snow. Especially for the holiday.”

She smiled at Ricky, expecting him to smile back. He did, but it was a weak lift of his lips. Either he was really tired or “man time” in the den had not gone well.

As they walked through the lobby and into the frigid air and the limo, his phone rang again. She climbed into the car, but he shut the door and stood on the sidewalk talking. Twenty minutes later, Norman opened the door again. He slid in with a big smile.