“Thank you for coming with the family,” she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear as I bent my head near to her. She smelled like cinnamon and flowers, and I found that I never wanted to release her. “I know they can be a lot.”

  “There is nowhere in the world I would prefer to be.” I tightened my arms around her, wishing I could change things. Wishing I could stop time.

  “And the craft festival tomorrow? You’ll be there, right?” She turned her head to look up at me, her lips just inches from my own. But still, this was not the right place. Not here in front of the whole town. If Pamela wanted me to go, she most likely did not want the entire town to see me kissing her. And while everything about her posture and behavior lately said she did want me to kiss her, there was still the simple fact of my impending departure.

  “Of course. I would not miss a moment that I might spend with you,” I said. “I will be there.”

  The next day, I helped El and Hannah decorate tables, and worked with Pamela to hang garlands all around the tasting room. She insisted on hanging a large ball of mistletoe in one corner, which was very difficult to get just how she wanted it. But I was not going to complain.

  “Good?” I asked her, finally descending the ladder and going to stand at her side to inspect the hanging ball intertwined with red ribbon.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. If she wasn’t so cute, it might have been maddening how indecisive she had become about hanging this ridiculous weed. “Let’s step a bit closer.”

  I moved the ladder so she could inspect the ball from directly beneath it. She stood there, her neck craned upward, looking lovely in a bright red sweatshirt and jeans. “What do you think?”

  “I think it looks perfect,” I told her.

  “Come over here and look,” she suggested.

  I stepped closer, looking up at the ball even though my neck was beginning to ache. “Yes. Good.”

  “Maybe a little closer,” she said, tugging my arm so we were practically on top of one another beneath the little cluster of green.

  My neck was beginning to throb, and I lifted a hand to brace it a bit. “Yes, I think it looks good,” I repeated. I wanted her to be happy. But I also wanted use of my spine in the future.

  “Hmm,” she said, and I turned, sensing that she was not looking up at the ball anymore. I could feel her eyes on my face.

  I looked down at her, marveling as always at the plump youthfulness of her lips, the beauty of her face. “It is beautiful,” I told her. “Like you. Now let’s help Hannah with the food.” I took her hand and pulled her away from the ladder, and though she held my hand, her pace was slower than usual.

  I turned back. “Are you all right?”

  She looked…disappointed? “I’m fine, Jacques.” Her hands went to her hair, taming strands that were not out of place. “It’s fine.”

  I wasn’t sure what had happened, but I knew I’d missed some kind of cue. American women could sometimes be confusing, I reminded myself. Like when they sent you away, even though you thought they might be in love with you.

  Just another mystery of the universe.

  5

  PAM

  “You better have a peppermint mocha in your hands to make up for being late!” I called out from the living room as the knock on the front door was followed by the sound of it opening.

  Robin was supposed to be here an hour ago to help me set up my Christmas tree. The craft fair had gone late into the night, but I was up before the sun. I’d spent most of the fair sulking about Jacques’s rejection of my obvious advances while trying to cover it up with a perma-smile that felt as fake as the beard that came with the Santa suit I’d ordered. Boston had been a trooper, wearing the suit while trying not to scratch his face every two seconds. At some point last night, as I lay awake in bed, wondering what in the world I was doing with Jacques, I pulled myself up by my bra straps (bootstraps was too masculine a term for what I was attempting to do) and doubled down on my previous decision.

  Jacques was French. Maybe in France they wait for the woman to make the move. Operation Make a Move was underway.

  “No mocha, sorry. But I can go out and get you one?” Dillon’s voice cut into my thoughts.

  I spun around and saw him standing there at the archway to the living room, looking uncertain.

  “Hello, my youngest son!” I rushed to give him a hug. I was always happy to see my boys, though an unannounced visit usually meant something was wrong. “What are you doing here?”

  He gestured to the white box I’d been fighting with. “More importantly, what are you doing?”

  I looked down to see the top of the sexy Mrs. Claus outfit laying on top of the tissue paper. Black lace bordered red satin, highlighting the white fur pieces. “Oh!” I moved faster than my joints appreciated, ramming the whole thing in the box and slamming the top onto it, probably crushing the tissue paper in the process.

  Dillon came closer, trying to peer over my shoulder. “Is that...? Oh dear baby Jesus in the manger, is that lingerie?” His face went pale and two spots of red took up residence on his cheeks.

  My shoulders sagged. I couldn’t be fighting on multiple fronts. It took too much out of me when the holiday season was supposed to be festive and happy. I reached up to put my hands on Dillon’s shoulders, waiting until he looked at me before speaking.

  “Son, I love you with all my heart. I also loved your father just as much. But I’ve come to terms with him being gone, and I’ve realized I don’t want to be alone. Jacques makes me happy. He makes me happier than I thought I could ever be again. Please try to give him a chance.”

  Dillon sighed and then pulled me in for a hug, resting his cheek on my shoulder, though I was sure the sweet gesture cost his spine dearly. “I know, Mom. I do. And I like Jacques. If he makes you happy, that’s all I need to know.”

  I gave him an extra squeeze. “I—I love him, Dil.”

  Dillon pulled back abruptly and studied my face before breaking into a smile. “Then I’ll focus on that and not what’s in that box.” He crossed his eyes and scrunched up his mouth.

  I slapped his arm and laughed. No child wanted to hear about their mother’s personal life, I got it. “Hey, I was going to clean out Dad’s office later today. Is there anything in there you’d like to keep for your new place?”

  Dillon sucked in a deep breath and I wondered if he was ready for that. Just because I was, didn’t mean he was. “Actually, yeah. I was hoping to have his desk. Now that I work from home most of the time, I can’t keep using the kitchen table. Sophia has to shove all my papers to the side to get a spot to eat.”

  I took him by the arm and went into the office, going through the room and putting smaller items in a box for Dillon to take home. He said he’d come by later this week with a truck to pick up the desk. As I looked around the room, it felt good to see some surfaces cleaned off. It felt like I was moving in the right direction. The other boys would have to come by to take things they wanted too. I walked Dillon out of the office and back to the living room.

  “Okay, now that that’s done, maybe you can give me flirting pointers. So far, Jacques isn’t taking the hint. I tried to steer him under the mistletoe yesterday and he didn’t take the bait.”

  Dillon winced, and I realized maybe we’d never be ready for that kind of honesty in a conversation.

  “Did someone say mistletoe?” Robin’s loud voice interrupted, letting me know she’d finally made it.

  I made a big show of checking my watch. “Nice you could make it.”

  Robin pursed her lips. “With that attitude, I’ll just pour this large peppermint mocha with extra whip and drizzle down the drain.”

  I ran over to snatch the steaming cup out of her hands. “Don’t you dare!”

  “I’ll let you two ladies do whatever it was you were going to do.” Dillon inched toward the door.

  “Wait!” Robin cried. “We need muscles!”

  “Speak for yourself, missy,” I muttered, feeling a bit offended. I was no slouch.

  Robin gave me a deadpan look. “I have a six-foot tree on the top of my car. You want to get that off by yourself, Wonder Woman?”

  I walked over to the door and opened it to see a large tree overwhelming her little sedan that had more rust than miles. “I thought we agreed on a four footer.”

  Dillon slipped past me and went to take the rope off the tree. He was such a good kid. Robin hovered behind me, looking around my shoulder at the tree that was much larger than expected.

  “I went in there to get a four footer, but the guy talked me into two extra feet. Said if I bought six feet, he’d only charge me for four. How could I say no to two free feet?”

  I frowned at her logic. “You still paid the same, but got a bigger tree than we wanted. How is that a deal?”

  Robin pushed past me, one of her wrist braces nearly clipping me in the face as she tossed her hands in the air. “I don’t know, Pam! All I know is the lumberjack cutting down the trees was quite handsome. Okay? He could have sold me a sixteen footer and I would have said yes. Be glad we only have six feet to deal with!”

  She wobbled over to Dillon, barking out instructions when I knew my son was perfectly capable of getting the thing down without our help. He managed to get it on the sidewalk and dragged it up to the doorway where I stood sipping my mocha like a lifeline. One needed adequate sugar and caffeine to hang out with Robin.

  I handed him scissors to cut the twine that held the branches tucked in tight. With a ping, the tree sprung loose all at once. Robin screamed and nearly toppled over, only saved from a face-plant by Dillon catching her.

  “Frog!” she bellowed, pointing at the ground where a small green thing was hopping away from the tree and across my wood deck.

  “Oh, he’s so cute!” I ran outside in my reindeer slippers, careful not to slip while trying to usher a confused frog down the steps and into my garden, where he’d be safe. Only then would Robin let go of Dillon.

  “I’m just going to set this thing up and go. Things are getting weird around here,” Dillon muttered, already hefting the tree into the house. I didn’t blame him. Things frequently got weird when Robin was around, and he didn’t have a peppermint mocha to calm his nerves. I told him where to place it and he did, backing away with a quick wave and then bolting out the door.

  “Now. Where did I put my decorations?” Robin looked around her, finally spotting the bag she’d dropped when she first came in.

  “I have plenty of ornaments, trust me.” We’d collected so many over the years, we’d need a forest of Christmas trees to use them all.

  “Not like mine, you haven’t,” Robin muttered, rooting around in her bag before pulling out a box and holding it in the air. “These are Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia Pet cupids with mistletoe for hair. Very rare. Very lucky for love.” Robin did a little hip shimmy that made me bite back a giggle.

  She handed the box to me and went back to her bag of goodies. “And I have oysters for dinner!”

  I grimaced. “You brought oysters in your bag? Aren’t those supposed to be frozen or chilled at least?”

  Robin shook her head slowly. “You have no faith in me, my friend. I got ‘em on dry ice. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

  I opened my mouth to tell her about several times she’d done just that when she cut me off.

  “Forget I asked. Just know I have this all nailed down for you tonight. Invite Jacques over for dinner. Serve him oysters. Get him close to the tree so he can see the cupids and be mesmerized by the mistletoe. Then give him the lingerie you showed me. If he doesn’t lay a wet one on you by then, he’s clearly batting for the other team.” Robin beamed at me.

  My stomach was starting to stir as I thought about making my move. “I was thinking about laying one on him.”

  “Ohh!” Robin hooted. “Even better! I gotta say, Pammy-Pam, I’m proud of you. You’re really stepping up to the plate and going for the win.”

  I grinned despite the nerves gripping me. “Let’s hope it’s a win. If not, I’ll be mortified.”

  Robin put her arm around my shoulder. “Girl, I have never seen a man so smitten with a woman. Except for the Shaft when he’s had a full meal, and he’s looking at me like dessert. He’s got a good smolder too. But trust me on this. Jacques loves you and after tonight, you’ll be on your way to happily ever after.”

  6

  JACQUES

  Pamela had invited me over for dinner. As I straightened the bright green tie she’d given me, my stomach jumped around ceaselessly. An intimate dinner at her house did not say to me, “see you later, Frenchman. It has been fun.” it said something much closer to, “I want to spend time alone with you, away from prying eyes.” And while these two sentiments were not exactly at odds, they were still far enough apart to have me questioning everything all over again.

  I arrived at the appointed hour, bearing a hard block of some kind of baked good that the woman at the little specialty store in town had called fruitcake, and a bottle of red wine from the winery my family owned. It had been an exciting find, though Solano Creek was a wine destination and the shops here were known for carrying rarer bottles. I could not wait for Pamela to taste it. She’d shared her family with me, and in a way, I could share mine with her through the wine my father had made.

  “Oh hello,” she purred, opening the door after I’d rung her doorbell, which someone had arranged to play “Jingle Bells”.

  “Hello beautiful Pamela,” I said, my blood rushing just a tiny bit faster through my veins at the sight of her in a pair of black satin pants and a soft-looking, figure-fitting red sweater. She was demure and gorgeous tonight, blushing up at me from beneath her lashes.

  “I brought these for you.”

  Pamela took the fruitcake with a questioning frown, but it spread into an enormous grin when I explained where the wine had come from as we walked together into her kitchen.

  “That sounds lovely,” she said. “Shall I open it now?”

  I wanted the evening to be perfect. And between the low music playing, the glow of Pamela’s tree in one corner of her living room, and the soft lighting she’d set up, I thought it might be. Except for the smell.

  “Ah, yes. We should open it,” I answered, unable to keep myself from sniffing as I peered around the kitchen. “Are we having seafood, Pamela?” The smell was intensely fishy.

  She frowned and then blushed. “Oh, no. No seafood.”

  That was strange. There was little else the scent could be. Did Pamela have a plumbing issue, perhaps? “It’s only. Well, there is a smell. Do you not smell that?”

  Pamela laughed and waved her hands. “It’s probably just the cinnamon incense I burned earlier to make the house smell nice.”

  There was a distinct layer of cinnamon laced into the very off fishy scent. I couldn’t help investigating, peering into the sink, flipping up the lid to the garbage can. On the counter there was an empty platter with water glistening from it as if it had just been washed. This was where the smell was coming from. “I think it is the plate here,” I said, pointing at it.

  Pamela’s eyebrows drew together in an adorable frown. “Oh, I didn’t have time to wash that yet.”

  Did the woman allow dishes to sit out dirty so long that they began to smell like rotting fish? This was an issue. I would love her still, but we would need to discuss this. “Perhaps we just…” I pushed my sleeves up and squirted some dish soap onto the smelly platter, rinsing it in hot water and then drying it with a clean towel as Pamela watched, her mouth slightly open. “Are you…” I dried my hands and turned to face her. “Are you all right?”

  “I didn’t mean for you to come over here and do dishes. This is Robin’s fault.”

  I shook my head, becoming distressed at Pamela’s clear distress. She was wringing her hands and darting glances all around the kitchen, muttering.

  “The stupid oysters. I knew they were bad.”

  I felt an eyebrow climb up my forehead. “Oysters?”

  Pamela sighed, leaning a hip against the counter and letting her head drop a bit, as if defeated. “Robin brought oysters. I was supposed to make them for you. They’re… you know. An… afro-whatever.”

  “An aphrodisiac?” My heart stuttered with hope.

  Pamela would not look me in the eye.

  “What happened to the oysters, Pamela?”

  “Robin happened to them,” she said, huffing out a disappointed sigh with the words. “She hauled them over here in a plastic bag, and I have no clue where they came from or how long they’d been shoved in the bottom of her purse.”

  I tried hard not to imagine this as my stomach threatened to turn.

  “And then she realized I didn’t have an oyster knife, so she said we could just smash them open and I could serve oysters ‘on the some shell.’” She shook her head at the memory and I moved to pick up the wine opener and bottle as she continued. “Soon she had the meat mallet, and there was oyster flying everywhere. I thought I’d gotten it all cleaned up and thrown away outside, but there must be little bits around.” She frowned around at her kitchen.

  “I think it was only the plate,” I said, since the smell had dissipated significantly since I’d washed it.

  “I hope so.” She sighed and stared down into the ruby red liquid in the wine glass I’d just handed her. “I just wanted…”

  I lifted my own glass and took her elbow, turning us toward the enormous tree in the living room.

  We sat on the sofa near the tree and faced one another.

  “What did you want?” I prompted, lifting my glass to her.

  “I just wanted tonight to be perfect,” she said, still looking dejected and sad.

  “Pamela,” I said, waiting until she lifted her eyes to meet mine. “Every moment I’ve spent with you so far has been perfect. And the rest of them, I can already tell you, will be equally perfect. Because I am with you.” I touched my glass to hers and let the velvety wine of my father’s vineyards roll over my tongue.

 

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