Joan Pickart - A Ring For Christmas

“Enjoy,” the woman said, then zoomed away.

“Help yourself, Maggie,” Luke said. “Look at that creation. Chocolate cake with whipped cream between the layers and all those cherries in sauce dribbling down the sides like a delicious waterfall. How can you resist a treat like this?”

What she wanted to know, Maggie thought miserably, was how could Luke make the description of a slab of cake sound like the most seductive thing she had ever heard in her entire life? The man just didn’t quit.

“Well, maybe just one bite,” she said, picking up the fork. She filled her fork, making sure it included one of the fat, gooey cherries. “Mmm.”

“Oops,” Luke said, reaching for a napkin. “You’ve got a dab of cherry sauce. I’ll get it for you.”

He leaned across the table and gently, so gently, dabbed at the spot of sauce, then shifted his eyes to look directly into Maggie’s.

Her bones were dissolving, Maggie thought, unable to tear her gaze from Luke’s. There was nothing sensuous about having her sloppy eating mopped up like a toddler in a high chair, darn it, but…Oh, yes, there was.

There was something so intimate about Luke tenderly stroking that napkin by her lips as though it was the most important thing he had ever done. She was going to slide off that chair and turn into a puddle on the floor.

“All better,” he said, his voice husky. “Good cake?”

“Mmm,” Maggie said dreamily. “The best cake I’ve ever…really yummy.”

“Well, it’s sure calling my name.”

Maggie watched with rapt attention as Luke leveled a serving onto his fork, lifted it to his mouth, then closed his lips—those, oh-so-kissable lips—over the treat, then slowly pulled the fork free.

“Mmm,” he said, closing his eyes as he savored the taste.

She couldn’t handle this, Maggie thought frantically. She was going up in flames, burning inside with a heat like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Luke set the fork on the table and reached over to take both of Maggie’s hands in his.

“Ah, Maggie,” he said, “what are you doing to me? What is this thing that spins out of control between us?” It’s love, Maggie Jenkins. True and forever love. “You feel it, I know you do.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, trying to pull her hands free. Luke tightened his hold. “Well, yes, I do, but it’s just physical attraction between two people who are…physically attracted to each other. I would call it lust, but that’s kind of a tacky word. It’s certainly nothing to be pursued or acted upon or…May I have my hands back now, please, Luke?”

“In a minute. So you admit that you’re physically attracted to me?”

“Well…yes.”

“You desire me? Do you, Maggie? Lust is a tacky word. Desire is something else entirely.”

“Semantics.”

“No, Maggie, emotions. Emotions are intertwined with desire. I truly believe that. The tricky part is to know what those emotions are, what they mean, unwrap them layer by layer like a wondrous gift.”

“That’s very poetic,” Maggie said softly.

“I’m not attempting to be poetic. I’m just expressing how I feel. I want to know what that gift holds for us. Don’t you?”

Maggie pulled her hands free and shook her head. “No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Luke, you just don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me. Please, Maggie. What are you afraid of? Why are you so determined to never marry, to plan weddings for so many brides but never one for yourself? Why have you built those tall, strong walls around your heart? There’s something happening between us that could be very important, but whenever I bring it up you act like you’re about to bolt. Talk to me. Please.”

Maggie clutched her hands tightly in her lap and stared at them for a long, mind-searching moment. She nodded slowly, then met Luke’s gaze again.

“All right,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Perhaps I should tell you the truth about me, why none of the weddings I coordinate will ever be mine, why I’ll never be a bride.”

Luke’s heart thudded so wildly he could hear the echo of it in his ears.

“It goes back as many generations as my family has been able to track, without skipping even one,” Maggie continued. “There’s no escaping it, no reason to believe it won’t continue on and on into infinity.” She sighed. “Oh, people try to beat the odds—my mother, sister, my brother—but it’s foolish to do that because it’s hopeless.”

“My God, Maggie,” Luke said, feeling the color drain from his face. “Is it a disease that can’t be cured?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d call it a disease exactly, but there is definitely no cure for it. It happens over and over and over again. It’s harsh and heartbreaking and I don’t intend to allow it to happen to me. I will never, ever get married.”

“What—” Luke cleared his throat “—what is it? Does it have an official name?”

“Yes, it definitely has a name,” she said. “We’re all doomed. It would be so foolish to believe I would be spared, because it wouldn’t happen, Luke. My mother, sister, brother all thought they could escape from it, but…” She shook her head.

“What is it?” he said, leaning toward her. “You’re ripping me up here, Maggie. What is it? ”

Maggie took a shuddering breath, then blinked against sudden and unwelcome tears.

“It’s…” she said, a sob catching in her throat. “It’s the Jenkins Jinx.”

It took several mental beats for Luke to really compute what Maggie had just said. He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again as he replayed the words once more in his head.

The Jenkins Jinx? he thought incredulously. Did he have a clue as to what Maggie was talking about? No, he did not. A jinx of some kind that had a bearing on Maggie’s negative attitude to marriage? Did people really believe in jinxes these days? A jinx that did what? Oh, man, this was nuts.

It would certainly clear things up if Maggie would suddenly laugh and tell him she was just kidding, that what she had said was a silly joke, then tell him the real reason she didn’t intend to ever be the bride in one of her beautifully coordinated weddings.

But the fact that at the moment Maggie was a study in misery and that tears were shimmering in her big brown eyes told him that she was dead serious about the Jenkins Jinx.

“Maggie,” Luke said finally, “we need to talk about this…this Jenkins Jinx thing, but you’re obviously upset, so let’s get out of here.” He signaled to the waitress for the check. “I’ll take you home, back to Roses and Wishes, and we’ll discuss this there. Okay?”

“You said you had a very busy afternoon at work,” Maggie said, then sniffled and dabbed her nose with the napkin.

“That’s what cell phones are for,” he said. “So bosses can call efficient secretaries and have them reschedule whatever is on the calendar. My father won’t mind getting the word that he’s free to go golfing.”

“But I drove my van here so you can’t take me home.”

“I’ll bring you back later for your van or you can drive yourself if you feel you’re up to it,” he said. “We’re not postponing this discussion, Maggie.”

Maggie sighed in defeat. “I had a feeling you’d say that. I’ll drive myself. Meet me at Roses and Wishes.” She got to her feet and hurried away.

Luke rose, dropped several bills onto the table, then accepted the check from the waitress.

“Is everything all right, sir?” the woman said.

“Ask me later,” Luke said absently, “because right now I really don’t know.”

Maggie drove blindly to Roses and Wishes, wishing she could turn back the clock to before her momentous announcement about the Jenkins Jinx.