Page 73 of Kiss Me at Christmas
At that moment Gideon took to the stage bellowing, “My dear people, you must let the theater take you over! Feel its passion! Give in to its siren song!” He threw off his cape and flung it at Mallory—who caught it with practiced ease—and broke into a spirited rendition of Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.” The incongruity of a sexagenarian man wearing plaid trousers while rapping in a perfect Queen’s English accent startled the entire theater into silence.
“Yes,” Harriet said, failing to stifle her giggles. “I believe we would.”
Harriet tried to cap rehearsals so that they finished no later than seven thirty each evening; any longer than that and people were simply too tired after a full day at school and work that tempers became likely to fray. It also gave her an outside chance of keeping on top of her day job.
Since she’d begun at the theater her evenings had followed a pattern: get home, peruse the fridge for a microwave meal, set up laptop on the sofa, TV on low for background noise, work and eat, hope Maisy might call, fall into bed exhausted and not be able to sleep. It wasn’t exciting, but there was comfort in its predictability.
On Wednesday evening, she’d just finished a very satisfactory microwave lasagna when her doorbell buzzed. It was James. Suddenly she was very awake. The thrills zipping up from her toes to her head made her light-headed; this was a lot for a Wednesday. She buzzed himin and quickly gargled some mouthwash and applied a swish of lip balm before he knocked.
She took a breath and opened the door—and realized she was still wearing her fluffy slipper socks with smiling sloth faces on the toes. James smiled sheepishly at her and then looked down at her feet.
“They look cozy,” he said.
She felt her cheeks redden. “I don’t like drafts on my ankles.”
“They work well with the apron.”
Oh, for god’s sake!She’d forgotten about the Wonder Woman apron.
“I didn’t want to get lasagna down my dress, tomato is a trial to get out. I’m a very practical woman.”
“You made lasagna?”
“The good people at Aldi made it. But I microwaved it.”
He smiled like a crocodile.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked.
“Actually, yes, you can. May I come in?”
She noticed for the first time the large paper bags at his feet. She opened the door wider and stepped aside for him to enter.
“These are for you,” he said, laying the bags down on the table in the hall.
She gave him a dubious side-eye.
“Take a look.” He gestured that she should open the bags. “And try not to look like I’ve asked you to dismantle a bomb.”
Cautiously she opened the bags. The first contained two wooden nutcracker dolls, one in a green uniform, the other in red. The second bag held a large snow globe on an ornate base. She pulled it out of the bag. Inside theglobe was a perfect village scene surrounded by fir trees, with thatched cottages and a bridge over a frozen lake where a boy and a girl in bobble hats and scarves skated. Protruding from the base was a key, which Harriet turned, releasing a tinny musical-box version of “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.”
“Do you like them?” he asked, a hint of nerves in his voice.
“They’re beautiful!” Harriet whispered; her voice came out hoarse and she cleared her throat. She looked up at him. “But why?”
“I thought some decorations not associated with your Christmases with Maisy might ease you into enjoying the season for yourself. And if it’s not too presumptuous, I thought perhaps I could help you put your Christmas decorations up.” He smiled at her.
“That’s a lovely offer, but I’m not doing decorations this year.”
“I thought you’d say that, and I’d really like it if you would reconsider.”
“Why?”
“Because I get the feeling that you do a lot of things for other people, but you don’t pay yourself the same courtesy. Your daughter is lucky to have the kind of mum who spins the magic of Christmas up around her. I wonder if in her absence you might need a friend to help you spin some of that magic for yourself.”
She was trying very hard to keep herself from unraveling into a sad heap of discarded ribbons on the floor.
“That’s really thoughtful,” she managed.
