Celeste O. Norfleet - This Holiday Magic

He was stunned by her comment. “Janelle, my leaving had nothing to do with what I feel for you. It was about me. I needed time. I needed to go. But when I came back you were gone.”

She scoffed. “What a surprise, and so convenient. At least be original. Isn’t that always the go-to excuse? ‘Oh, no, baby,’” she mocked, “‘it’s not you. It’s me. It’s not that I’m through with you now, or that I was just using you to kill time. I’m just leaving you to go back to my real family now.’”

“Is that what you think? That I had another family someplace else? That I left you because I was through with you?”

“Are you going to seriously stand there and tell me I’m wrong with your daughter and probably your wife waiting inside?” She stopped suddenly. The thought of coming face-to-face with Tyson’s wife sent a stunned shock wave through her system.

An instant later the door opened. Janelle held her breath. Mrs. Ivers stood there, smiling at them. “I thought I heard voices. Why are you two standing out here in the cold? Come on inside.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Ivers,” Tyson said.

“Hi, Mrs. Ivers. Thank you so much for loaning me your car.”

“Hello, Tyson. Janelle, is everything straightened out?”

“Yes, I’m going to stay at my dad’s house for a while. I just came back to drop off your keys and pick up my luggage.” Janelle handed her the car keys.

“Oh, dear, I already put your bags upstairs in the master bedroom. I can go get them.”

“No, no, that’s okay. I’ll get them,” Janelle said, walking toward the stairs quickly. Then she stopped and turned. “Mrs. Ivers, is there someone upstairs?”

“Someone, yes. Aneka is upstairs, asleep in her room,” Mrs. Ivers said, looking at Tyson curiously.

As she climbed, Janelle glanced behind her and saw Tyson watching her. She quickened her pace. She wanted to get her things and get out—and away from Tyson—as soon as possible.

She continued down the hall, opened the already-slightly-open door wider, stepped inside and looked around. A dim light shone from a lamp on a night table beside the large king-size bed; the drapes were open, allowing moonlight to beam in, giving the room a warm, cozy glow. Just as the living room downstairs, it was fully furnished and beautifully decorated with stunning furniture that wasn’t hers.

She spotted her bags on a cozy love seat in the alcove beneath the bay window. Grabbing one of the handles, she pulled it to the floor. As soon as she did, it tumbled open and a mass of clothing fell to her feet. She knelt and began stuffing things back inside.

“Here, let me help you.”

She stiffened, hearing Tyson’s voice as he knelt beside her. He picked up her hair dryer, curling iron and several pieces of intimate apparel.

“I have it,” she said, quickly taking everything from him and zipping the suitcase up again.

He stood and reached down his open hand to her. She stared at his hand without responding. “I won’t bite you, Janelle. I promise.” She took a deep breath and took his hand and stood.

A few seconds passed, her hand still in his. They stood toe to toe, staring at each other in the muted darkness. Neither spoke; Janelle didn’t even dare to breathe. For the first time that evening there was a silent moment of peace between them.

“You’re wrong,” he said softly, answering her earlier question. “I’ll take these downstairs.” She nodded and followed, and then she stopped when movement in the bed caught her eye. He set the bags down, then walked over to lean down at the side of the bed. Janelle watched his movements. That was when she saw the tiny figure snuggled beneath the covers, holding tight to the bride doll Janelle had brought back from Africa. She walked over and stood near.

“Daddy...” The little girl moaned softly and reached out to him.

“Shh, I’m here. Go back to sleep,” he whispered, giving her a hug and a kiss on her forehead.

After tucking the covers over the child, Tyson straightened and smiled. Janelle instantly saw the unconditional love he had for his daughter in his eyes. It was heartwarming to see.

“That’s not her doll,” Tyson said, turning to Janelle.

“No, it’s not. It’s mine.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a handcrafted Ndebele bride doll. A friend of mine gave it to me before I left. It represents a bride on her wedding day. It’s supposed to be a blessing for a happy, healthy family and future.”

“It looks expensive.”

“I don’t know about that, but it’s sentimental. It was in the side pocket of my luggage. I guess Aneka found it. That would explain why the suitcases were open.”

He sighed heavily while shaking his head. “I’m sorry. She’s in a curious stage right now—she’s into everything.” He reached down to retrieve the doll, but Aneka’s little fingers gripped it tightly as she rolled to the side.

Janelle touched his arm. “No, don’t take it away from her,” she whispered. “I’ll get it another time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you. I’ll get it back to you. I promise.”

“No problem,” she said softly, then paused. “She is beautiful.”

He smiled proudly. “Yes, she is, and she’s a handful.”

“I bet. How old is she? Four?” Janelle ventured.

“Almost. She’ll be four years old next month. But, to tell you the truth, she’s more like fourteen.”

“Let me guess. Nonstop energy and fiercely independent.”

He nodded continuously. “Oh, yes, and then some. Running, jumping, skipping, dancing... You name it, she does it. Her favorite storybook character right now is Tigger, the tiger from Winnie-the-Pooh. She hops and jumps everywhere. And of course she wears her princess dress and her crown when she does.”

“Of course,” Janelle said, smiling.

“But she’s also kind, generous, creative and wonderfully imaginative. She loves to draw and play make-believe. She insists on choosing her own clothes, even if nothing matches, and she’s a sponge for learning new things. And, admittedly, she has me wrapped around her little finger.”

Janelle smiled. “Daddy’s little girl.”

“Yes, she certainly is,” Tyson said as Aneka stirred.

“She has your heart. That’s how it should be.” Janelle looked closer at the little sleeping angel. Her features were soft and innocent and her skin was honey-toned, far lighter than Tyson’s deep, rich cinnamon complexion. Her hair, a light brown hue, was lightly tinted with reddish-blond highlights. All at once it occurred to her that Aneka bore very little resemblance to Tyson. “She must look like her mother,” she said without thinking.

“Yes, she does,” Tyson replied.

Suddenly, Janelle realized where the conversation might lead. She wasn’t ready to talk about Tyson having another woman in his life. She took a step back. “I’d better go. My dad is probably waiting outside for me.”

“Janelle...” Tyson began, turning to her.

“Daddy,” the little girl muttered again.

Tyson turned back to his daughter.

“Don’t worry about the bags. I’ll pick them up tomorrow. Take care of your daughter.” She turned and walked out.

Seconds later she was opening the front door and stepping outside.

She took a deep breath. A sudden rush of crisp cold December air chilled her lungs. It was a welcome sensation; she needed the intense shock to her senses. Exhaustion and jet lag had apparently gotten the best of her. She’d actually had a civil conversation with Tyson Croft.

She looked up at the full moon and wrapped her hands around her arms and shivered. It seemed a lot colder than it used to be around Christmastime, or maybe she just needed to get used to the seasonal weather again.