Marie Ferrarella - Coming Home For Christmas

What she was flipping through were the photographs on her phone. Most of that space was devoted to the merchandise she had acquired and was attempting to sell in her store.

But in addition to those photographs, she also had a good many photographs of her family. And she had made it a point to have one photograph of herself in that collection. The photograph captured the way she looked back in high school. She kept it to remind her never to allow herself just to coast along. Appearance, success and everything in between required constant work.

Settling for a status quo eventually led to failure.

“This was me in high school.” Turning her phone around, she held it up for his perusal. “Now do you remember me?”

He’d only meant to glance at it and dismiss what she was saying. But the second he looked down at the screen on her phone, a memory began to stir within the recesses of his mind.

The distant memory that been elusively playing hide-and-seek with his brain was back again. He stared at the photo for a handful of minutes—and then the light bulb went off in his head. Stunned, he looked at her in disbelief.

“You’re Clumsy Mac.”

The wince was automatic. She hadn’t heard that name in years and would have thought she had risen above reacting to it.

Obviously not.

“Not the most flattering nickname, but yes,” Kenzie admitted, “I was called that.”

Taking the phone from her, Keith stared at the screen, then looked back at her before looking down at the photograph again.

There was only one word that was applicable here. “Wow.”

Kenzie’s generous mouth curved. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He hardly heard what she said. He was having a great deal of trouble believing that Clumsy Mac and the woman standing before him were one and the same person. He asked the obvious.

“Did you have surgery done?”

She tried not to pay attention to the fact that his question could be taken as an insult. She sensed he hadn’t meant it that way, which was all that counted.

“Actually, no. This is the result of a good hair stylist and learning how to use makeup.”

“Learning?” he echoed. “I think you graduated,” he murmured, looking back at the person captured on her mobile phone.

The difference between that teenager and the woman standing in front of him was like night and day—and, in his opinion, nothing short of a miracle.

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