A Town Called Christmas. Carrie Alexander

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      “Oh. Um, hey, I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean anything by that.”

      “I’m sure you didn’t.” The blonde reached for her purse. “It’s fine. Really. I’m not much in the mood for gossip these days, if you know what I mean.”

      Mike gripped one of the plates. He didn’t know what she meant, but his curiosity was certainly roused. Suddenly he found himself hoping that the blonde wasn’t secretly pining for that Oliver guy. Shouldn’t matter to him when he was here for only seven days…except that seven days seemed a much shorter stay than it had fifteen minutes ago.

      Christmas in Christmas might not be so bleak after all.

      He walked toward the register with the plate and the card. The blonde’s head dipped forward while she dropped coins into a zippered compartment of her wallet. She took her bagged item from the clerk and tucked that, the paperback book and the wallet inside her leather bag, not looking up until Mike stood right beside her.

      “Thanks,” she said to the clerk. Finally she glanced at Mike. He was six-one, but she was only an inch or two shorter in her stacked boot heels. A lovely smile flitted across her face as she nodded at him. Her nose was aquiline, with bold cheekbones set high in well-rounded cheeks. Her eyes were a dazzling blue that took his breath away. “Merry Christmas.”

      He made a raspy sound. “Merry Christmas.”

      She turned with a hitch of her purse strap and a swirl of the nubby coat, yanking her red hat over her head as she departed. The bell chimed when she opened the door. A snow flurry swept inside, accompanying the blast of cold air.

      Mike stared after her, even when she was gone. His pulse ticked like the ignition of a gas burner. Heat crawled up his throat. There’s something about her. Something very merry.

      “Didja find what you were looking for?”

      “Uh, yes.” He handed his selections to the clerk. “I’ll take this and the card. Gift-wrapped, please.”

      “Sure thing. Let me get you a box.”

      Mike waited impatiently while the clerk boxed the plate and carefully wrapped the purchase in paper covered with candy canes. She chatted him up, managing to establish that he was only visiting and that the TV6 weatherman was forecasting a blizzard for Christmas Eve, three days hence.

      “You mean this isn’t a blizzard?” Mike asked absentmindedly while he fingered a couple of twenties. He’d pulled out his billfold to have payment ready even before the clerk had totaled the charges. He was being ridiculous. The blonde would be long gone by the time he reached the street.

      But it was a small town. He could run in to her again.

      The clerk chuckled while she rang him up. “You’re not from around here, are you? This is a flurry.”

      “The only snow I’ve experienced was on a ski holiday in the mountains.” His family had once been big on skiing vacations, but that had stopped when he was seventeen. He hadn’t been back to the mountains since.

      “Merry Christmas to you,” the clerk called after him as he strode toward the door with his coat hanging open.

      “And you,” he returned.

      The street was empty. Michael buttoned up, put on his gloves and checked his watch. Only five-thirty and the wan sun had completely disappeared. The streetlights had come on, illuminating the flakes that filtered out of the vast charcoal darkness above. He was stuck in a snow globe.

      He tilted back his head. More of the snowflakes melted on his face and lips, but this time he didn’t mind.

      Let it snow.

      A car pulled out of a small parking lot adjacent to the grocery store. Headlights cut across Mike’s face, blinding him for an instant. Laughter rang out from the tavern as its door opened and closed. She might be there, toasting the holidays.

      He was about to step over the snowdrift at the curb when he thought of the grocery store instead. I should get wine. And chocolates for the sisters. There’ll still be time to look for the blonde.

      The store was named Ed’s Fine Foods and it was chockablock with overstocked shelves. The aisles were only wide enough for one cart at a time to pass among paths narrowed further by freestanding displays holding mismatched assortments of goods. Mike brushed the snow off his shoulders and stepped over a dirty puddle just inside the glass doors. He passed up the cart to take a handbasket and began to wend his way through the aisles in search of the liquor department.

      A flash of red caught his attention. He made an abrupt turn, nearly smashing into a cardboard stand of chocolate syrup in squeeze bottles. By the time he reached the next aisle, she was wheeling her cart around the other end. He saw the nubby coat and the red scarf, both of them hanging loose, and dark blue jeans tucked into her stylish leather boots. She had long legs.

      The wheels of her cart squeaked. He listened, sidling along the aisle until he was opposite her. The shelves were quite short. When he reached up and took down a box of bran flakes, he could peer over the top into the next aisle. She was reading the label of a bottle of champagne. With a sigh, she put it back and selected a different bottle for her cart before glancing over her shoulder.

      Mike slid the bran flakes into their slot.

      She looked up when he strolled into the aisle. He smiled. “We meet again.”

      “That happens often here. It’s a small town.” She pulled her coat closed, put both hands on her cart and nudged it over a couple of inches.

      “I’m looking for a bottle of wine. What would you suggest?”

      “There’s not much choice. If you wanted beer—” She waved at the vast array. Towers of twenty-four-packs extended the section into the corner of the store.

      “No, I need a good bottle of wine.”

      Her eyebrows made two precise golden-brown arches. “Trying to impress somebody?”

      “An entire family.”

      “Then you should go top shelf.”

      He scanned the stickers and took down the highest priced bottle. Twenty bucks. Not that impressive. “I’ll get champagne, too.”

      Reaching for the bottle she’d returned to the shelf, he grazed her arm. She inched away, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes. Her expression was thoughtful. “Big spender,” she said with a gently teasing grin, before turning away and rolling her cart toward the opposite end of the aisle.

      Mike’s tongue felt unusually thick and slow. He still hadn’t introduced himself, but he couldn’t continue following her. Too obvious, even in a small store. He wandered the aisles, bypassing a sale on mixed nuts and waxed baking cups as he looked for the candy section.

      A red mitten lay abandoned on the floor. The bottles in his basket clinked as he set it down to pick up the mitten. Smiling to himself, he turned it over in his hand. Soft and fuzzy, slightly damp.

      He caught himself before he caressed the soft wool between his fingers. Sap. Embarrassed СКАЧАТЬ