*“Don’t look so glum,” Janine urged as they headed back out to the sidewalk. “Alex and Francie are not going to elope. That’s absurd.”
“Is it, though?” Holiday tugged her mittens on. “They’re both single, successful, and attractive. It actually makes perfect sense that they would fall for each other.” She paused. “And that’s what I should be rooting for. It would be great for my career—I could convince them to do some media puff pieces on how the Christmas concierge delivers true love, along with antique fountain pens and Dandie Dinmont terriers and whatever.”
“Is that what you’re hoping to get out of this? Media puff pieces?”
“I wouldn’t say no.”
“The whole time you were telling me about the trip to New Hampshire and the antics in the attic and how you and Alex frosted each other’s cookies, you were glowing,” Janine said. “Lit up from the inside out.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I think I’m just sweating from all the stress.”
Janine kept going as if Holiday hadn’t spoken. “And when you got to the part where he stopped in the middle of a snowstorm to offer assistance to the stranded motorist on the highway . . .” She tipped her face up to the clear morning sunlight. “I honestly thought all the birds in the forest were going to burst into song while a rainbow appeared. And a golden unicorn.”
Holiday scrunched up her face. “What exactly is your point?”
“My point is, you yearn and burn for this man.”
Holiday did her best to muster some outrage. “You’ve been sniffing too many cranberry-fir blend candles.”
“There’s still time to put an end to this madness. Call Alex,” Janine urged. “Tell him how you feel.”
“No way. That is the dictionary definition of a conflict of interest.” Holiday glanced at the time displayed on her phone. “Besides, it’s too late. Francie is already on a plane, on her way to meet the boy she pined after from afar.”
“Exactly! She’s probably stuck on a layover in Detroit and you’re right here on Alemos Island. Make your move now while you still have the benefit of geographic proximity.”
Holiday allowed herself to consider that possibility for a moment. She set aside the conflicts of interest, the ever-growing to-do list, and her track record of Christmastime heartbreaks and disappointments. She set aside her clients’ wishes, her family’s wishes, and her own wish to stay emotionally safe and unscathed through another busy season. She allowed herself to imagine calling up Alex—no, showing up at his doorstep—and saying everything she wanted to say to him . . . and doing everything she wanted to do to him . . .
There they were—the singing birds, the soaring rainbows, the golden unicorn. She felt herself glowing from the inside out.
And then she shook it off. Because this was real life, and in real life, business agreements needed to be honored and her track record spoke for itself. “No way. I stick to the plan.”
“Says the lady who’s still snuggled up in his jacket.”
Holiday threw up her hands. “I don’t have any choice in the matter—he still has my coat in his car. This is just a matter of practicality, so I don’t freeze to death.”
Janine stopped walking and looked at her.
“It’s not like I’m wearing his class ring at the Friday night football game,” Holiday sputtered.
Janine tilted her head, considering. “Actually, it kind of is.”
“And I’m not going to double-cross my client and her granddaughter, who is braving Christmas Eve air travel, for my own selfish whims.” Holiday stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and crossed her arms. “This blind date is happening, and everyone is going to have an enchanted evening in a winter wonderland, and that’s that.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
“I don’t have to convince anyone of anything. What I have to do is meet Alex—aka, the target, the mark, the commodity—and make sure he is appropriately attired to be the North Woods version of Prince Charming. So I am asking you, kindly and respectfully, to stop needling me and help me figure out where I can find some decent men’s clothing by one o’clock this afternoon.”
“Spinone’s,” Janine said without a moment’s hesitation. “It’s a block down from the library. Super-touristy and super-spendy, but they have good stuff, and since Alex is paying, price is no object.”
“Thank you.” Holiday noted this information in her phone.
“And tell you what—after you introduce Prince Charming to the princess, why don’t you come over to my house and we’ll open a bottle of prosecco and eat Christmas cookies until we burst?”
“That sounds amazing, but we’ll have to plan a raincheck. I’m going home tonight, and nothing’s going to stop me.”
Janine didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to—her face was doing all the talking.
“What?” Holiday demanded.
“Nothing. But, um, have you looked at the weather forecast?”
“So it’s going to snow. Again. So what?”
“‘Nor’easter’ is actually the term they are using.”
“No problem. I can put on snow chains now.” Holiday attempted to pat herself on the back. “I’m unstoppable.”
Janine nodded and didn’t argue, which just made Holiday protest more.
“This is the year I’m keeping my promises to everyone. Including my family. Including myself. I am going to be home for Christmas morning come hell or high water or Nor’easters. As God is my witness.” She shook her mittened fist. “Besides, look how sunny it is. Maybe the forecast is wrong. Not a cloud in the sky.”
*
The first snowflake fell as Holiday approached the door to Spinone’s Clothiers. She glanced at the tiny white ice crystal resting on her coat sleeve, glanced up at the clouds gathering on the horizon, and sternly instructed the weather to “Cease and desist.” Then she bustled inside the shop, which, just as Janine had promised, was a veritable bastion of bougie—stacks of cashmere sweaters, waxed canvas barn coats, and shearling-lined boots that cost more than Italian designer stilettos. A line of well-heeled city folk was queued up at the cash register, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ version of “All I Want for Christmas” blasted from the speaker system.
She checked the time: 1:03. Three minutes behind schedule. Upon dialing Alex’s number, a cell phone started ringing behind the burlap curtain of a nearby dressing room.
“Alex?” she called. “Is that you?”
“I’m way ahead of you.” His voice drifted over the curtain. “Already trying on my third shirt.” At the sound of his voice, all the tingles—emotional and physical—from last night flooded through her. She was a bit shocked at the intensity of her response.
But that was the thing about good chemistry—it was powerful. It was immediate. It was nothing more than hormones roiling around together. She could counteract chemistry.
And there it was—her new mantra. She’d repeat it until she actually believed it.
As if on cue, Paul strode over, carrying a stack of sweaters and sport coats. His face lit up when he saw Holiday. “You’re finally here. I’m a man of many talents, but personal stylist ain’t one of them.” He shoved the pile of clothes toward her.
She opened her arms to accept all the merino and tweed. “Hi, Paul, good to see you too.”
“Guess my work here is done.” Paul didn’t try to hide his relief. “See you later.”
“Hey!” Alex stepped out from the dressing room. The cascade of tingling started anew. “You don’t get to escape so easily.”
“But she’s here.” Paul pointed at Holiday. “And I’m hungry.”
“You helped break Mom’s glass star, you can help shop for clothes.”
“Shopping for clothes is almost worse than telling Mom about the star. Almost.” Paul produced his cell phone and nodded at Holiday. “I’m ordering a sandwich. You want anything?”
“A strawberry milkshake would be great,” she replied. I can counteract chemistry, I can counteract chemistry, I can—
“What about me?” Alex demanded.
“You get what you get.” Paul stepped outside the shop to complete his food order.
“Not bad.” Holiday gave Alex an exaggerated once-over. He was clad in navy pants and a black-and-green watch plaid shirt. “Except the navy and the black don’t one hundred percent go together.”
“Try telling Paul that.” Alex stepped back to give her a once-over of his own. “Nice jacket.”
“Yeah, sorry, I forgot to give it back last night.” Holiday forced herself to take off the warm wool jacket and hand it to him.
“You can keep it,” he offered. “Looks good on you.”
“No, I couldn’t possibly. You’ve already done so much for me.” She smiled, thinking of yesterday’s adventures.
“If you’re giving this back, then I’m buying you a new coat while we’re here.” He cut off her attempts to protest. “The one you left in my truck is still damp and covered in road salt. You’ll need something to keep you warm during the snowstorm.”
“It’s not snowing,” Holiday insisted.
He glanced over her shoulder and out the plate glass storefront window.
“Not a word,” she warned.
“Can I help you?” a perky, ponytailed sales associate interrupted.
“Absolutely. Thank you so much for asking.” Holiday glanced around the store displays and made some swift executive decisions. “This gentleman would like to try on a gray V-necked sweater, please. Maybe a gray cable crewneck as well.”
“It will bring out your eyes.” The saleslady sidled up to Alex and started brushing off his shoulders and picking imaginary lint from the front of his sweater. “Wool or a silk-cotton blend for the crewneck?”
Holiday recited her manta about counteracting chemistry and threw in a few lines from the Serenity Prayer in her effort to remain unaffected in the face of this flirtation. “Both, if you have them.”
“Hang on; how many things do I have to try on?” Alex demanded.
“Enough to find the perfect fit.” Holiday settled into a rustic wooden chair next to the dressing rooms. “The sooner you get started, the sooner we’ll be finished.”
Alex caught the associate’s eye before she turned away. “And the lady would like to see something in a puffy down parka, please.”
The associate seemed momentarily disappointed that he hadn’t responded to her advances, but the prospect of increased commission revived her spirits. “I’m on it. We got a shipment of cherry-red Monclers yesterday. I’ll go in the back and find them.”
“Sounds great. Thanks for your help.” He looked at Holiday. “If I’m trying stuff on, you’re trying stuff on.”
“I’ll try stuff on, but I’m not getting a cherry-red Moncler,” she informed him. To the sales associate, she explained, “I tend to stick to neutral colors in winter.”
“Let me see what I can do.” The associate bustled back into the crowd.
“Try something new,” Alex advised her. “Live a little. Get outside your comfort zone.”
“I’m in Alemos Island, Maine. That’s so far out of my comfort zone, I needed GPS and a lesson in snow chain application.”
“It’s good to try new things.” He caught her gaze and held it. “Keeps life exciting.”
“Spoken like a man who’s discovered the thrill of wearing elf shoes at a black-tie gala.” She tried to keep her tone light. “But cheap thrills are one thing. Do you know how much Moncler coats cost? They’re like the Ferrari of outerwear.”
He shrugged. “My treat.”
“Alex. I can’t accept extravagant gifts from you.” She felt so awkward, she had to turn away from him. “We’re not . . . I mean, we can’t . . .”
“Don’t overthink it,” he advised her. “Sometimes a coat is just a coat.”
The sales associate returned just as the ensuing silence became truly uncomfortable. “Here you go. I took a guess at the sizes.” She handed a trio of gray sweaters to Alex. “And for you . . .” She gave Holiday a knee-length maroon parka to try on. “We have one of these left. I thought we’d sold out, but someone reshelved it in the wrong section. If cherry red isn’t your thing, I thought you might prefer something less flashy.”
The jacket was beautiful, the exact shade of a dark-red poinsettia. Holiday put it on, zipped it up, and immediately felt twenty degrees warmer. Also, she couldn’t stop admiring herself in the full-length mirror between the dressing rooms.
“Fab,” the sales associate proclaimed.
“You don’t think it’s too—I don’t know—Rudolph’s nose, do you?” Holiday knew, even as she said it, what the answer would be. Maybe that’s why she’d said it.
“You look beautiful,” Alex said, frozen halfway into pulling a sweater over his white T-shirt.
The sales associate beamed. “You heard the man.”
“All right, you talked me into it.” Holiday took the coat off and started hunting for a price tag around the inside of the collar.
“Nope.” Alex plucked the garment out of her hands and gave it back to the sales associate. “My treat. And no need for a bag. She’ll wear it out of the store.”
“Thank you.” Holiday couldn’t quite make eye contact with him, so she gazed at the wood-paneled wall behind them.
The saleswoman, scenting last-minute desperation and the potential for even more commission, circled back around. “We have a pair of garnet-and-yellow gold earrings that would go perfectly with this.” She glanced at Alex. “If you want, I could ring them up—”
“No, thank you,” Holiday said firmly. “That will be all for me.” She put her hands on Alex’s shoulders and steered him back into the dressing room. “Stop worrying about my wardrobe and start worrying about your own.”
“Okay, lunch’ll be ready in ten, so pick something and let’s get out of here.” Paul rejoined them with a spring in his step. “Alex, I took pity on you and ordered that sandwich with the peppers you like.”
“Hang on, we’ve got a few more sweaters to see,” Holiday told him.
Paul smiled as though he were about to pat her on the head. “It doesn’t matter. They all look the same.”
“They do not!” Holiday turned to the saleslady for backup. “The different textures are night and day, not to mention the difference in navy versus gray with his skin tone.”
Alex’s phone pinged on the other side of the burlap curtain. “Give me a second, guys—I’ve got to take this.”
After a few moments of barely audible murmuring, Alex cleared his throat. “Hey, Paul, could you come in here for a second? Mom wants to talk to both of us.”
Paul’s eyes widened and he cast a panicked glance at Holiday. “About what?”
“Why don’t you come find out?” A hint of impatience crept into Alex’s voice.
Holiday wandered around the store for a bit, trying to afford the brothers some privacy. After debating and rejecting the idea of quilted, down-filled “après-ski joggers,” she returned to the dressing room area, just in time to hear Paul say, “I’ll be there at seven, Mom. Does that work for you?” After a few seconds of silence, Alex said, “I understand it’s Christmas Eve, but I have a prior commitment . . . No, I can’t tell you what it is, but Paul will be there at seven, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can do. Hang on, I have a work call on the other line.” His voice sounded strained with frustration.
Holiday did another lap around the store and returned to a heated brotherly debate so loud it was impossible not to overhear.
“Why is this happening now?” Paul asked. “Do they not understand it’s Christmas Eve?”
“No one in biotech cares about taking time off for the holidays,” Alex replied. “Yet another reason why I left.”
“Just tell them they’ll have to wait,” Paul urged.
“If this deal falls apart, half of my team might lose their jobs,” Alex said.
“They’re not your team anymore,” Paul replied. “If the new CEO sucks, that’s on him.”
“I’m not going to cut them all loose like that,” Alex said. “It’s not their fault he sucks.”
“What’s the latest you can schedule a Zoom call tonight?” Paul asked.
“Whenever I’m done with this blind date.” Alex sounded beyond frustrated. “So I don’t know . . . eight? Eight thirty?”
“But you already told Mom you were coming over.”
“You know what?” Alex’s tone had gone from strained and stressed to clipped and cold. “Everyone is going to have to deal with disappointment. I’m doing everything I can here.”
Holiday cleared her throat loudly on the other side of the dressing room curtain. No one responded.
“You can’t be in three places at once,” Paul said. “Work is important, family is important . . . Maybe you could reschedule the date?”
Holiday stilled and listened with all her might.
“No, I have to do it.” Alex sounded angry for the first time since Holiday had met him. “I made a deal, and I have to do my part.” There was another pause. “I can’t believe I got myself into this.”
“It’ll be over soon,” Paul said. “By tomorrow morning, this will all be over.”
“Twelve hours and counting.” There was an odd ripping noise on the other side of the burlap curtain. “In the meantime, I have to try on two more sweaters to earn my freedom, so if you’ll excuse me . . .”
Holiday recoiled at the bitterness in his voice. Of course, she realized that Alex had gone out of his way and rearranged his schedule for the last three days on her behalf . . . but she had done the same. And no matter how chaotic the situation had gotten, she’d enjoyed their time together. She’d thought he had as well.
Paul exited the dressing room and avoided eye contact with Holiday, who had moved herself safely out of earshot to the shoe section. Five minutes later, Alex strode out carrying a stack of pants and sweaters. “Any of these’ll work.” He placed the folded garments on the chair next to Holiday and handed his credit card to Paul. “Thanks.”
He turned to Holiday without a hint of a smile. “See you at five.”
“Listen, I’m a wish granter, not a warden.” She lifted her chin. “If you need to bail, go ahead and bail. We can make the date work for next week or whatever.”
She heard the ripping noise again. When she glanced down, she saw that he was systematically shredding an old paper receipt. “I’ll be at the Pine Cone and Tassel at five sharp,” he told her.
“It’s not worth it to make you eat brie and drink wine on demand if it’s going to cost a bunch of people their jobs,” she said.
He furrowed his brow. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough.” She squared her shoulders. “And I get it. There’s a lot of pressure this time of year. Lots of obligations and choices and what basically boils down to emotional blackmail.”
Paul whispered, “Mom,” and nodded.
“I’m no blackmailer.” She stared him right in the eye. “I don’t want you doing me any favors or resenting me because I forced your hand. If you bail, I won’t be disappointed. This isn’t personal.”
The ripping turned into crunching as he crumpled the receipt into a tiny ball. “Nothing’s personal with you. You’ve made that clear.”
She folded her arms and told herself that she had no idea what he was talking about. “I have a job and I’m doing it. With or without you.”
“I don’t see how . . .” Paul started. He trailed off when they both turned to him, scowling. “I’ll go get in line.”
Holiday turned back to Alex, her exasperation growing by the second. “I’m letting you off the hook. I’m not disappointed. I’m not resentful. Why are you mad?”
“You’re never disappointed,” he shot back. “You’re too busy getting out of the way before anything disappointing can happen.”
She snatched up a cashmere cardigan and held it to her chest. “What does that even mean?”
He waited until she met his gaze and held it. “It means that you’ve found someone who wants to make your wishes come true and you won’t let me.”
She was so stunned, all she could manage to say in reply was “That’s not true.” Because she feared it wasn’t true. Other men had said the same, and it hadn’t been true. But oh, how she wanted it to be true. The depth of her longing was terrifying.
“I know it’s true from my side,” he said.
She clutched the cashmere, feeling as though she was right on the edge of falling. But with a deep breath, she pulled herself back from the brink. She had just met this man. Even if he meant it when he said he wanted to make her wishes come true, she wasn’t sure she could do the same for him. What was the point of squandering her career and other people’s hopes and dreams if, in the end, she couldn’t give him what he wanted?
She lowered her voice, and her whole body slumped. “I have promises to keep.”
There ensued a long pause, during which she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
“Pick a sweater and I’ll wear it and that’s the end of that. See you at five.” He strode out of the store without a backward glance.