Colleen Quinn never believed in Santa Claus. That is, she only pretended to believe, for the sake of her parents and her best friend Meg. A rambunctious seven year-old with blonde pigtails, who claimed she’d actually heard the tap of hooves and the soft chime of jingle bells.

“He always leaves a special chocolate candy at my place setting,” she confided to Colleen during one of their schoolyard romps. “My favorite kind, the coconut filled.”

“Really?” Colleen had said, wrapping her gloved fingers around the monkey bars and swinging her feet in the air. Summoning the same level of imagination she used whenever they played games with stuffed animals or paper dolls. Because, after all, it was just the sound of wind chimes in the night air, or else Meg’s older brothers playing one of their famous tricks on her.

Maybe this lack of belief had something to do with the long list of gifts Colleen wished for and never received. Like a pair of ice skates for gliding across the frozen ponds in their rural Colorado community, instead of bribing her brother for a few minutes use of his. A worn out pair that were way too big and only got her a long scar across the left knee for all troubles.

It was a similar experience with the Schwinn bicycle she pined for and the designer Western boots she glimpsed in fashion catalogues. And then there was the ultimate dream gift–a horse, with an ebony colored coat like the one in her favorite novel, Black Beauty. Not an outrageous wish for a girl whose parents already operated a full-fledged ranch, with hordes of livestock in carefully fenced pastures. Except these were cattle for her father’s business and not at all the loyal pet she envisioned for exploring the acres of untamed woods behind their home.

No bearded gift-bearers or magical tooth fairies ever visited her house in the late-night hours.

Not surprisingly, Colleen was a practical child, the kind who enjoyed PT exercises and solving word problems in math. Qualities she was teased about more often even the generous spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks. In fact, there was only one impractical thing Colleen did believe in: love at first sight.

But this wasn’t something she dreamed up or read in a book. It was a family tradition, with three generations worth of love stories summoning images of a glance across the room or a chance meeting somewhere. There was even a lucky charm involved–one worn by her great-grandmother Truda Belfry the night she met her husband-to-be. A simple crescent moon amulet purchased from a carnival booth, it hung from a tarnished gold chain. Truda had looped it over her neck moments before she turned a corner and stumbled into the arms of a dark-haired boy with a gentle smile. Charmed, he bought her a cotton candy treat, and three months later, a wedding ring.

“He liked to say I hung the moon,” the older woman would recall with a laugh, eyes watering with the memory, as she sat in the parlor to her Colorado farmhouse. Her gray hair swept into an old-fashioned chignon, as her wrinkled hands moved knitting needles together with a soft clickety- clack. "It was my favorite piece of jewelry. That's why it passes to the eldest daughter in each generation–including you, Colleen."

True to her word, Colleen received it on her sixteenth birthday: a time when her own young heart was already stirring with romantic aspirations, although she was determined to keep them under wraps until the right moment.

“It’ll be love at first sight,” she insisted, as her mother hemmed the trim on her blue spread skirts for the prom. An event she was attending with an old school chum who was anything but a candidate for future spouse. “Something dramatic and really memorable,” she continued. “I mean, that’s how it worked for you and Dad.”

“True,” said her mother. A smile crinkling the corners of her green eyes as she glanced up at her daughter. No doubt remembering the fateful day her car locked bumpers with a 1970’s Dodge pickup. She had burst into tears only to find the other driver surveying her with a friendly gaze beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.

“And it was the same for Great-Aunt Sophie, too” Colleen's mother answered, referring to Truda’s eldest daughter. “She knew Uncle Tyler was the one the moment they met. When she was on the party barge and the clasp on this necklace broke. And it fell in the water and Uncle Tyler–”

“–dived in to save it,” Colleen finished with a laugh. “A history of colorful first impressions. But I guess someday somebody's bound to break the pattern, huh?” With a pause, waiting for her mother to dispel such a notion.

“Not you,” said her mother, with a laugh. Colleen’s chin tilted solemnly as she studied her reflection in the mirror. Her fingers curling protectively round the amulet.

So, of course, she was devastated when the treasured heirloom went missing a month later, its worn clasp breaking apart somewhere on a summer horse trail expedition in the Colorado mountains. Sobbing on her cabin’s bunk bed, she had envisioned the dire consequences for the family member who dared to lose the special heirloom. A broken heart, no doubt. Or maybe no brush with romance at all, not even so much as a date or harmless flirtation.

Silly, of course, but niggling doubts remained. Especially as the Christmas dance rolled around to find her dateless, the boy who flirted with her the entire semester before suddenly immune to her smile as they passed in the hall. Her friend Meg tried to console her with the possibility of exciting presents on Christmas morning. “We’ve both got our driver’s license now,” she pointed out, “so why not hope to find a car key dangling from one of the branches?”

The gift Colleen really wanted couldn’t be found anywhere near the fir tree in her parent’s ranch house. Instead, it was buried somewhere in layers of dirt and leaves in the path of a Colorado horse trail, along with her belief in her chance for recognizing true love on the spot, of course.

Christmas Eve, she slept restlessly, her dreams disturbed by a series of mysterious thumps and creaks in the other part of the house. Her parents, no doubt, sneaking a few last-minute surprises under the tree, as they did every December 24th. Stocking stuffers and items too big too hide from prying eyes with a simple sheet of wrapping paper.

At three in the morning, she was too curious. Pushing back the covers, she crept downstairs to the family room. Her sleepy vision glanced over the piles of shiny packages wrapped in her mother’s expert style. Her gaze wandered further up the tree–where a mysterious box was tucked among the green branches, its tag dangling like a glitter ornament. Her fingers touched it, turning it so the words faced her.

‘Dear Colleen,’ it read in old-fashioned sweeping cursive, ‘always remember that true love is never lost.’

What could that mean? she wondered. As her eyes took in the signature–‘Your friend, Saint Nicholas’.

She shook her head, resisting the shiver creeping along her spine even though she knew it was a joke. Which of her family members had thought that would be a clever touch? Eager to look inside, she slid the silver ribbon from the box and popped open the lid to reveal a layer of pale blue tissue paper. Her fingers moving aside the delicate folds only to discover a familiar moon-shaped amulet, its gold chain curled neatly round it.

Colleen blinked, her heart standing still for a moment. It couldn’t be. Not the necklace, the same one she so carelessly lost that day on the trail. Her fingers traced the smooth surface until she found the tiny nick along the bottom edge from the time it bounced off the railing to the party barge.

She glanced quickly round the room, as if expecting to find a figure clad in a Santa suit crouched in a corner. Ridiculous! Of course, it’s someone in your family. But who–and how?

She sank down on the piano bench, her finger stirring the chain in the box, toying with the necklace still at dawn as groggy family members clad in pajamas trooped in to open presents.

"Which of you found it?" she asked, holding up the necklace. "Who's Saint Nick in this group?"

“Must’ve been Santa Claus,” her father joked, approaching to study the box's tag with a puzzled grin. "It wasn't me."

"Not me," said her mother, who shook her head in bemused wonder.

“What about you?” Colleen demanded, turning to her older brother, Kevin.

“Why would I do that?” he snorted, interested only in his own presents as he balanced a gift bag on one knee and investigated a package from their cousin Maureen in Tennessee.

No one else among the Quinn or Belfry clans would claim responsibility for returning the keepsake, not even her Uncle Henry, who’d played Santa at the local children’s hospital for nearly twenty years. Her friends weren’t involved either, though several smirked at the alias of the anonymous gift giver. Later, as a last-ditch effort, she even wrote to the campground to ask if someone there had recovered the necklace and traced its owner. All she got in response was a brief negative.

And so the secret Santa remained just that–a secret.

 

 

******

 

 

Over the years, the story grew to a legend that threatened to rival even the crescent moon amulet, as Colleen and Meg recounted its details for schoolmates and later, college friends. A group of giggling female students who formed a tight-knit circle on a dorm room floor, hands wrapped around cups of cocoa.

“And you’re sure it wasn’t your parents?” asked Nikki, an overly-confident math major who competed with Colleen for top grades. Her brows drawing together in a skeptical frown as she scrutinized the antique charm that rested against Colleen’s flannel pajama top.

“Positive,” said Meg. “We compared the handwriting on the gift tag with samples from all the likely suspects.” With a sly glance at Colleen, who grinned as she remembered the investigation they had launched a la Nancy Drew.

“I think it’s cool,” piped up Rosalyn, the psychology student who shared the connecting bathroom between the girls’ suites. “I mean, I’d love to have a Secret Santa who leaves the perfect Christmas present. My family has been pretty uninspired the past few holidays.”

Colleen laughed. “Yeah, well, it was only a one-time deal apparently. Whoever it was hasn’t come back.” A wistful note crept into her voice with this admission. Maybe they had realized they couldn’t possibly top this one spectacular surprise. Or maybe…but no. That was just too ridiculous.

“Hey,” said Rosalyn, interrupting her thoughts, “why don’t we start our own tradition? A sort of secret Santa circle.”

“A what?” Colleen’s brows raised in a curious glance, as if sensing a break in the humdrum college routine with its never-ending study groups.

“Yeah, you know, like an exclusive club,” said Rosalyn. Her voice rose with excitement as she continued, counting ideas off on her fingers. “We could exchange names, so everyone is a “Santa” with their own special person to plan gifts for. And we could do it scavenger hunt style, with clues and mini challenges. With really fun surprises as the reward, of course.”

Nikki rolled her eyes, but the other girls–including Colleen–leaped at the chance to spice up the last few weeks of the semester, a rare bright spot among the last-minute homework assignments and final’s studies. Beginning December 1st, cryptic notes were passed in classes, stuffed inside dorm mailboxes, and left on cafeteria trays. Little slips of paper that contained special instructions for the members of the so-called “Secret Santa Circle”.

“Look for the pink flyer on the recreation center’s billboard,” one message might read, or “check your windshield wipers for a special rainy day reward .” A trail of clues that ultimately led to something like a free beauty facial or weekend movie passes–welcome treats for a college student on a tight budget.

The circle’s members came and went with the passing semesters, until only Colleen, Meg, and Rosalyn remained from the original group. Their bond of friendship managing to endure the changes of time, including graduation, full-time jobs and, in Rosalyn’s case, marriage and motherhood.

But now Meg was engaged to a handsome journalist; Colleen became the last “carefree” member of the group. A precarious position that put her in grave danger of receiving blind dates and romantic set-ups for the coming Christmas season. In an attempt to ward them off, she claimed a full-fledged accountant with her own business didn’t have time for matters of the heart.

She knew, however, her friends and family suspected something else influenced this solitary attitude. A certain moon-shaped amulet, for instance, and its promise to bestow upon its owner the magical gift of love at first sight.

 

 

*****

 

 

The latest December 1^st rolled around to find Colleen seated in a booth at The Hidden Pearl, a cozy little seafood joint that happened to be her favorite restaurant in downtown Denver. The lunchtime special–clam chowder and soft rolls–was spread across the table for its four hungry occupants. Meg in a sparkling engagement ring sat next to Rosalyn, who looked radiant in business style maternity wear.

Next to Colleen was Dawn, her partner at the accounting firm. A perky thirtysomething with a pixie haircut and a talent for calculating tough math equations in her head. She also just happened to be the newest member of the Secret Santa Circle, sporting a silly grin as she added her name to the paper slips piled on a clean saucer.

“No peeking, ladies,” warned Meg, her voice taking on the persuasive tone she used to defend her clients in the courtroom, as her fingers mixed the papers. “And remember,” she added, with a glance in Dawn’s direction, “you have twenty-four calendar days starting now to fulfill your duties as a Secret Santa. Which means surprising your lucky recipient with as many challenges–and presents–big or small, as you choose.”

“Don’t worry,” Colleen assured her co-worker, “it’s not as serious as she makes it sound.” Somehow, the Christmas scavenger game seemed a little ridiculous these days, childish almost. But she didn’t have the heart to call it off, considering how much it meant to her friends. And how it started in the first place, she remembered, as her fingers brushed the old-fashioned charm that hung around her neck.

With a sigh, she selected her slip of paper, then flipped it open to glimpse Rosalyn’s name. Her friend most in need of a little pampering right now, with twins and one more on the way and a psychology practice on the side.

“This is fun,” said Dawn, tucking her own slip inside her purse. “It’s kind of like being a kid again, all excited and wondering what Santa will bring.”

“In this case, nothing too magical,” answered Colleen. “Especially since Santa has a full time job elsewhere and who knows how many personal obligations.” She shoved her fork around her empty plate, aware a disappointed streak was buried somewhere in her voice. Why did seasonal joy seem less exciting these days?

“Colleen’s always been a skeptic on the subject of Santa,” her childhood friend supplied, a teasing gleam in her eyes. “She still blames him for her lack of ice skating skills–or was it the horse you wanted so badly and never got?”

“Both,” Colleen admitted. “Although the ice skating was technically my brother’s fault. He hated lending anything to his dorky sis much less showing her how to use it.”

The waiter appeared, interrupting the giggles that followed this bit of information. “Everybody finished?” he asked, collecting empty salad and bread plates. A gesture that made Colleen reach for her purse, her mind calculating her portion of the lunch hour tab.

“Dessert’s on me, girls,” Meg announced, making her pause in her tracks. “My gorgeous fiancé gets back from his out-of-town assignment this weekend, so I’m in a celebrating mood.”

Exaggerated eye rolls followed this statement–Meg drove her friends crazy these days with frequent updates on “Mr. Perfect” and their whirlwind romance. But there was no reluctance to accept the generous offer, and menus were quickly flipped open to the desert section.

As her friends debated between rich cheesecake and fruit pie slices, Colleen ordered a small cappachino, her mind on the stack of client files that awaited her perusal back at the office. Couples planning for their first home on one end of the spectrum, as others looked forward to retirement days. Her afternoons spent making other people’s dreams possible while her own life seemed more and more stagnant by the day.

Don’t be silly–you’ve got a great group of friends and a thriving career. So what if you haven’t found that Perfect Someone to share it with yet?

A short burst of applause from a nearby table interrupted this train of thoughts. Glancing up, Colleen spied a familiar figure among the group of stylish business friends, who were raising their wine glasses in a toast. Broad shoulders and tousled, russet curls. A pair of brown eyes that caught hers for a millisecond, before she turned away.

“Looks like your co-worker is celebrating something too,” she commented to Meg, attempting to sound casual with these words. Pretending the flustered note she forced herself to control had nothing to do with the close presence of the dashing Jack Bradley, attorney at law.

“He just won a big custody battle for a client,” Meg explained, sending a wave to her colleague. “You know, he asks about you sometimes,” she said, eyebrows arched mischievously in Colleen’s direction. “If you’re still single, if you’re interested in seeing anyone...”

Colleen fidgeted, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She’d encountered the inscrutable Mr. Bradley at a handful of functions, both formal and informal, none of them producing the magic “spark” she required in a relationship. And as for their first meeting–well, it was so painfully awkward, so monumentally bad, she’d made an extra effort to block it from her memory bank.

Nothing at all like the traditional family love story, a voice inside mocked.

“Just tell him I’m too busy to consider dating anyone at all right now,” she said, managing to summon a breezy, carefree air. Leaning back as the waiter placed a steaming beverage in front of her, its rich hazel scent wafting through the air.

“He seems nice to me,” Dawn commented, slicing off a forkful of her strawberry cheesecake. “I mean, he’s only been my lawyer for a couple of months but he’s really helpful. Intelligent and thoughtful too.” None of which could matter much to her, since Colleen knew she had a crush on the insurance agent whose office was one floor up from their own accounting firm.

“Yeah,” agreed Rosalyn, craning around the table for a better view. “He’s pretty cute from this angle. Maybe you should make an exception for your ‘love-at-first-sight-only’ policy.”

This was getting way, way out of hand, she decided, fighting back a sense of dismay. “That’s not why it won’t work–”

“Oh, no?” Meg interrupted. “Then why do you still wear that silly amulet everywhere you go?” Her eyes wandering with accusation to the now infamous moon charm.

Colleen shrugged, a pink flush creeping into her cheeks. “It’s a family heirloom. Why shouldn’t I wear it?” Although her tone didn’t convince even her, though she hated to admit it. Was it wrong to hope the luck of her ancestors would somehow rub off on her own life experience?

“I think maybe its clouding your romantic judgment a little,” Meg hinted, scraping up a bite of a pastry. “It was one thing when we were sixteen, but you’re almost thirty now. It’s time to let go of a few of those impractical fantasies. ”

“Well, at least, my fantasies have some proof to back them up. Unlike a certain girl who still thinks Santa used to bring her coconut-filled chocolates every year,” Colleen said, letting a playful edge creep into her tone. Squealing as Meg reached over to smack her with a napkin.

“Point made. Although I still stand by that story. I mean, my family hates coconut, they’re practically allergic to it.”

“Un-huh.” Colleen rolled her eyes and took a long sip from her glass. Careful to keep her gaze averted from the table of lawyers, where Jack Bradley was relating a workplace anecdote to a crowd of appreciative listeners.

Handsome, yes. Successful and charming in a reserved, “all-business-no-play” sort of way–absolutely. But was he ‘the one,’ the special guy who was destined to sweep her off her feet in a moment of moonstruck connection?

Definitely not, she told herself. Though she was conscious of a slight fluttering sensation whenever she heard his voice or glimpsed his profile from the corner of her eye. An annoying effect that remained until at last, his party of five bundled into their coats and scarves and slipped out the restaurant’s exit, flooding the dinning room with a burst of cold winter air.

 

 

*****

 

 

Home was a second story apartment on Brillstone Avenue, with brick walls and cherry wood floors. A flocked wreath hung on the door, its ribbon slightly askew from months of storage in a cardboard box.

In her childhood days, Colleen’s family had decorated the yard to their ranch house with festive light displays and elaborate cedar swags, red and white plastic candy canes lining the gravel driveway. But the grown-up version of Colleen could barely find the time to decorate the skinny cedar tree that leaned against her living room wall, a gold ribbon still draped around its middle from the company that delivered it.

The red light on her answering machine blinked frantically as she came through the door, dropping her work binder and green pea coat on the sofa. Her gloved finger pressed the ‘play’ button on her way to the kitchen, where three days worth of dirty dishes sat piled by the sink.

“Merry Christmas, sweetie.” The voice of her mother, Harriet, carried a slightly frazzled edge beneath its usually bubbly surface. “I know its early in the season–and you haven’t even done your shopping yet–but that’s partly why I called. To tell you that there’s no rush, since we have to postpone the family dinner this year.”

Colleen paused in the midst of loading the dishwasher, a frown tugging her mouth. The ‘family dinner’ was a traditional event that blended the Quinn and Belfry branches of the family. An elaborate homemade meal featuring the special poached salmon, garlic potatoes, and stuffed mushrooms straight from great-grandmother Truda’s own recipe book.

“Your brother just sent an email saying he has to work the last two weekends in December. Something about swapping hours with a co-worker who has a family emergency…Anyway, it means, of course, that he can’t make it home for Christmas.”

Rats. Ever since Kevin took the medical post in Southern California, arranging family events had been nearly impossible. He’d even missed the birth of his own son due to conflicting hospital schedules.

Her own December calendar was already jam packed with business meetings and charity events for the firm. Meaning there was little room for last-minute changes in the realm of personal matters. Her mother’s voice continued in the background, an apologetic note in her tone.

“Your Aunt Sophie is dying to see the new baby, so she’s thinking of flying down before Christmas Eve and your father has a few fencing projects to finish on the back forty. After all, Kevin has promised to be here on New Year’s so we’ll get together and open presents then …”

Colleen groaned as the message dragged on, eventually cut off by the machine’s limited capacity.

“Perfect,” she mumbled. “A Christmas at home by myself.” She drummed her fingers against the kitchen counter and gazed out the window at the stark winter view. Silently contemplating the fact she now had even fewer reasons to decorate her tree or wrap packages in shiny paper.

Well, so what? She could spend the holidays watching old Christmas movies while she balanced a laptop on her knees, plowing her way through client portfolios. A cup of cocoa in one hand and a TV dinner on the fold-out tray. Not exactly the stuff of Norman Rockwell, but then she’d ceased to expect holiday magic years ago, after the elusive Secret Santa of her childhood failed to make any return trips–or at least give her a glimpse of his identity. Now it was just a nice surprise or two from grown-up and very busy friends in an anonymous lottery.

This thought brought to mind the slip of paper still tucked in her purse from the lunch at The Hidden Pearl. With a sigh, she plopped down at the kitchen table and reached for list-making supplies, a pencil and pad in the jumble of office supplies.

What to get for the friend who had practically everything? Including a loving husband, cute kids, and a budding career. She bit her lip, her fingers twirling the pencil back and forth above the blank sheet of notebook paper. A spark of jealousy had invaded her feelings, a twinge of longing for the Perfect Match she kept expecting to meet around every corner.

“You’re too picky,” Dawn had scolded her the week before, when she brushed off an overly-friendly male client’s attempts to flirt. A newly divorced software engineer eager to get back on the dating scene, the faint outline from his wedding band was still visible as he handed her a stack of tax information.

“I’m just not interested in settling,” Colleen had argued, stirring a packet of creamer in her lukewarm coffee. “The women in my family have an instinct for this kind of thing. Believe me, when the real thing comes along, I’ll recognize it.”

But would she? A prickle of discomfort slid over her at the thought of passing Mr. Right in the street or maybe the grocery store without so much as a second glance. Or making a less-than-perfect impression at a party, the way she had with Jack Bradley the first time they crossed paths.

She winced as the memory swept over her like a chilly breeze. It had been a fundraiser last Christmas, strangely enough, with the theme of cancer research. And Colleen was there without a date, as usual, dragged along by Meg and her journalist boyfriend. Who abandoned her beneath a canopy of paper snowflakes the moment the dance floor opened, a live band providing renditions of holiday songs.

It was here the handsome lawyer made the fatal mistake of a bad–no, make that an almost unforgivable–first impression. An awkward exchange that began when Colleen fumbled her plate of hors d’oeuvres , dumping the contents to the gleaming tile floor below and leaving a streak of chocolate sauce across her sequined gown’s torso.

With a low wail, she shoved the plate of crumpled goodies beneath the table with the tip of her shoe. She needed Meg and an emergency supply of stain remover to clean up this mess, the thought flashing through her mind as she turned in the direction of the last spot where her hostess had been chatting. She took a few steps through the crowded room before a hand touched her arm, accompanied by a disapproving masculine voice.

“Do you always leave messes for other people to clean up?”

“What?” Heat rushed to Colleen’s face, her eyes widening as they met the stranger’s critical gaze. A flutter rippling through her at the sight of the tall build, flawless suit, and festive red necktie.

He nodded towards the buffet table. “I saw what you did. Sort of childish, don’t you think?”

“Not if I plan to come back and clean it up,” she said, raising her chin in a confident manner meant to unnerve him. “I didn’t want someone to ruin their shoes by stepping in it–the way my dress is being ruined by the second, thank you.” With a gesture to the stain seeping deeper into the fabric.

A hesitant spark invaded his gaze. “Your dress–" he began.

“Of course I'm not leaving a mess for someone else,” she snapped, brushing a curl from her face. “And unless you’re psychic, I’d suggest you refrain from making any similar accusations with people you don’t know.”

She slipped past him and moved towards Meg, who was visible chatting with the party's hostess on the other side of the dance floor, just beyond the elegantly dressed couples who swayed to the rhythm of “I’ve Got My Love To Keep Me Warm”. Her skin tingled as she felt the same touch on her arm as before.

“I’m afraid I owe you an apology.” The man's tone was subdued, a sort of schoolboy sheepishness that made her pause in her tracks until he added, “When you’re in the legal business, it’s almost a reflex to look for dishonest behavior.”

Colleen froze again. Was he comparing her to a criminal? “Let’s just forget it happened,” she said, edging away. “Now, I really need to find my friend–”

“Who’s your friend? Maybe I can help you find them.” He frowned. “I suppose it’s your date we’re looking for? Or is it someone else?”

She had opened her mouth to firmly contradict this first suggestion, when Meg appeared on the scene. Introductions were made and Colleen felt her irritation began to dissolve slightly as Meg rescued her from embarrassment. In the melee of cleaning her gown and helping the hostess remove the last traces of spilled appetizers, she didn't encounter Jack Bradley again that evening. A glimpse of him across the room chatting with an attractive fellow guest proved he had other things to interest him besides badgering strangers.

Future encounters between them remained stilted, thanks in part to the attorney’s reserved manner–and the fact that Colleen still blushed with indignation at the memory of his accusing voice.

“Give him a chance,” Meg prodded, anytime the subject of Jack came up between them. “You two have more in common than you think.”

“Like what?” Colleen would challenge. “I don’t think he’s a math whiz and I can’t see him shedding the business suit long enough to climb on a horse.”

But she couldn’t deny the influence of those rich brown eyes. The appeal of his quiet smile and gruff yet boyish manners.

Too little, too late, though. An almost wistful thought, as she glanced down to find her fingers sketching little snowflakes in the corner of the note pad, its lined paper still empty of suggestions for Rosalyn’s gifts.

 

 

*****

 

 

Monday’s afternoon mail brought the first of Colleen’s Secret Santa notices. A small envelope with a typed label, the address made out to Miss Quinn of the Always Accurate Accounting Firm. She split it open with a nail file and unfolded a crisp sheet of stationary, the familiar masked Santa motif visible in the background.

“Colleen,” read a series of crookedly cut magazine letters, “your Secret Santa is ready to issue the first challenge! To play along, catch a trolley to the center of Hartley Park on Thursday, December 6^th at ten o’clock. You’ll find a critical clue in the place where time stands still.”

She frowned, her fingers crinkling the cryptic message. Hartley Park–wasn’t that somewhere near Meg’s law firm? She had glimpsed news articles on the historic property’s grand re-opening in the local paper last year, but didn’t join the leagues of eager tourists. Her free time–what there was of it–was usually split between activities like babysitting for Rosalyn and helping Meg plan for her spring wedding.

“Hey–you got yours too!” Dawn peered around the office doorway, an impish grin on her face as she waved an identical piece of stationary. “I can’t make heads or tails of this message. But then, I’ve got a week to figure it out, so we’ll see, right?”

Colleen gave a half-hearted smile, slipping her own clue back in its envelope. “You’ll get the hang of it. The hunt is more rewarding than the prize, to be honest.” Although she could have done without either this year, she reflected, shoving the envelope inside her work folder.

“Something wrong?” Dawn studied her with a shrewd glance, one eyebrow raised. Her gaze flitting suspiciously to the moon-shaped charm around Colleen’s neck, as if to say romantic woes must be the reason behind any lack of enthusiasm for the Christmas season.

“It’s nothing,” Colleen insisted. “Anyway, it’s not what you think”–with a knowing smile–“although it does involve relationships. A last-minute cancellation of my family’s Christmas party. ”

Her co-worker offered an apologetic grimace. “Ouch. Although I wouldn’t mind trading places with you. I mean, a day of silent relaxation would be welcome compared to the family gossip and that icky gelatin dessert my mom insists on making every year.”

Colleen grinned. That did sound worse than spending the holidays with a bundle of paperwork, her gourmet fish entree replaced by a selection from the frozen food aisle.

“Oops–gotta run,” said Dawn, disappearing from the doorway at the sound of her office extension ringing across the hall.

Swiveling her chair around, Colleen shook her computer mouse until the black screen was replaced with a desktop image of horses running in the snow. Not too festive, but part of her still secretly longed for the dream pet, the way some people longed for a classic car or a vacation to Disneyland. But this wasn’t something apartment living was likely to make possible anytime soon.

She signed in to her email account, ignoring the dating service ad that popped up in the corner, its banner proclaiming, Find True Love For the Holidays! The picture of a smiling young couple embracing made her eyes narrow slightly.

Was she jealous? Or just wishing the lucky charm had performed the same magic for her?

Those were questions she left hanging as she paged through business communications from clients eager to make their life dreams a reality. The printer on her desk hummed, its tray spitting out sheet after sheet of take-home work to fill an otherwise empty evening schedule.

 

 

*****

 

 

December the sixth was a Saturday, which normally would have found Colleen still in her pajamas until sometime around ten o’clock. But thanks to the whim of her Secret Santa, she was riding a trolley through Hartley Park, one hand clutching the pole as the other held the first clue to her prize.

A cool breeze nipped her face, her scarf fluttering as she climbed down into the heart of the park. Old-fashioned shops lined the sides of the square, Christmas garland trimming the windows and doorways, along with rows of jingle bells. A red and black sleigh waited outside the Toy Tinker Shop, as if Santa had stopped by for some last-minute gifts. The landscape’s centerpiece was an impressive clock tower, its base surrounded by festive holly bushes.

Colleen frowned and checked the clue again, biting her lip as she puzzled over the message. “You’ll find a critical clue in the place where time stands still,” she read to herself, stroking the paper thoughtfully.

Did it mean the clock? She shielded her eyes against the morning sun, and studied the position of the hands. Twelve o’clock–definitely not the current time.

Brushing past the line for the hot chocolate stand, she crouched in front of the old clock to read its tiny bronze plaque. “A historic fixture in Hartley Park, the clock’s hands are frozen in the same position as the moment it was damaged in the 1969 fire that destroyed the park’s original main street…”

Satisfaction swept through her, along with a prickle of excitement. So she’d found the answer to riddle number one. But where was her reward?

Her gloved hands parted the branches of each holly bush, carefully searching among the greenery and berries until she spied a small envelope. She glimpsed her name in typed letters, then split it open to unfold a sheet of stationary identical to the first.

“Follow the music around the corner to the old post office,” crazily cut magazine letters instructed, along with, “check its bulletin board to find a free pass for winter fun.”

What music? Colleen cocked her head, straining to hear above the voices and laughter of passing strangers. After a moment, she heard it: a big band version of “Sleigh Ride,” its faint melody imbued with the scratchy effect of outdoor speakers. Stuffing her hands in her coat pockets, she walked swiftly in its direction, her high heeled boots clicking against the pavement.

Was that shiver traveling up her spine merely from the cold, or perhaps a spark of anticipation? She felt almost giddy inside, aware that her skin tingled as she neared the corner with an excitement she hadn't felt for her last Secret Santa adventure. What surprise waited on the other side?

Nothing you can‘t live without, she told herself, attempting to rein in the sudden burst of girlish enthusiasm. Your friends don’t exactly have time for big, dramatic gestures after all…

Colleen stopped, her eyes widening with surprise at the scene ahead. A small outdoor skating rink, the speakers blasting the rest of “Sleigh Ride,” as couples whirled across the ice, some elegant, some shaky with beginner’s syndrome. A few took a tumble to the good-natured amusement of their companions.

Her gaze turned slowly to the building beside her, the familiar envelope tacked to its bulletin board. She knew what was inside even before she popped it open: the ticket for all-day admission to the park’s mini skating rink slid into her palm.

This was crazy. Sure, she’d liked the idea as a kid, but skating on your own, as a grown adult, didn’t equal quite the same thrills. Especially if you have no clue what you're doing, she thought, with a shake of the head.

Still holding the ticket, she crossed to the rink, hesitating on the fringes where spectators watched. She hugged herself, debating whether she should chicken out. It wasn't too late to bequeath her ticket to the first person she saw. The girl at the skate rental booth eyed her with expectation, but she could feel her stomach dropping, the fear of looking silly outweighing the need to conquer an old challenge.

The song changed to a tender version of “White Christmas,” the skaters slowing to match the rhythm. Couples holding hands and swirling in graceful, fluid motions made her feel incredibly out of place. On the verge of walking away, Colleen saw something that made her heart turn over.

A masculine figure was seated on the second bench, his face angled to study something in his hand. Dark hair curled across his forehead, a crimson silk scarf tucked inside his black coat. As Colleen drew close, he glanced up, a spark of recognition flashing in his brown gaze.

“Jack?” she blurted. “What are you doing here?”

 

 

*****

 

 

“So you’re the familiar face I was instructed to look for.”

Jack’s tone was casual, his expression innocent as he waved the sheet of stationary in his hand. Its message constructed from a series of crookedly cut magazine letters pasted over a masked Santa motif.

“Wait–you got a Secret Santa message too?” Colleen's forehead furrowed, her thoughts a jumble of confusion and anger. If this was her friend’s way of arranging a romance for the Christmas season then they could expect a refund very soon.

“This was in my apartment’s mail slot,” he explained, handing it over with a shrug. “I thought it must be a joke, but it didn’t seem too ominous, so I took a chance.”

Colleen scanned the message, her eye brows inching higher as she read: “Secret Santa needs your help! Take this ticket to Hartley park and use an old skill to help brighten a friend’s holiday season. Be at the skating rink by ten o’clock and wait for a familiar face to appear.

“I can’t believe this,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Other people aren’t usually part of the game,” she explained, offering Jack an apologetic smile. “My friend must be trying something new with our holiday scavenger challenge.” A weak explanation, but she couldn’t tell him her real analysis of “Santa’s” motives.

“Sounds like fun,” said Jack, with a nod towards the crazy invitation. “At least, it’s more creative then the annual white elephant gift exchange at the law firm. Tacky neck ties and musical snowmen aren’t really my idea of a merry Christmas. ”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry you got roped into this. I mean–you must have better things to do with your weekend,” she guessed, crossing her fingers behind her back. Surely a handsome, successful attorney had Saturday plans, probably even a date or two.

“Just a dozen or so client files to page through. And it’s actually kind of flattering to be included,” he added, “since my skating skills are all but forgotten these days.”

“You skate?” she couldn’t help the shock in her voice, or the laugh that popped out at the same time. “I’m sorry,” she said, covering her mouth to keep another from following. “It’s just you don’t seem like…well, the type who’s into sports.” With a glance at his jeans, perfectly creased at the knees.

“Backyard hockey,” he explained, a sheepish grin widening his mouth. “My uncle’s house had a pond that froze over every winter. My friends and I would face off with the kids in the neighborhood–I’ve got the scars to prove which team took the most beatings. ”

She laughed, but this time for different reasons. His warm sense of humor crept over her like the morning sunshine, despite her attempts to stay frosty. “Really, you don’t have to do this,” she urged. Her tone lacked conviction, something that irked her almost as much as the pleasant tingle connected with the idea that he might stay.

“But I want to,” he insisted. “That is, if you don’t mind a skating partner who’s a little rusty. It’s been a decade since my last hockey tournament, and I’m pretty sure I might’ve sprained my ankle even then. ”

It seemed like giving the wrong impression to say yes, like a date almost. Still…the chance to fulfill a childhood wish tugged at her heart like a buried memory, the embers faint but still glowing.

“OK, let’s give it a try. But I have to warn you,” she said, “I’ve only been on the ice a couple of times and both of those were spent falling down.”

He shrugged, a playful gleam appearing in his eyes. “I’m not much of a coach but at least I’ll give you a cushion to fall on. Provided I don’t slip first, that is.”

But when he stepped on the ice there was no sign of hesitation, his blades cutting against the surface in a smooth sweeping motion. His confidence made her reach for the hand he extended without a second thought. His strong fingers cradled her own as they intertwined, leading her slowly onto the ice.

“Steady now,” he encouraged, guiding her forward in a gentle pulling motion. The other skaters seemed to blur, the strains of “Merry Christmas , Darling,” melting into the background. The sound of their blades scraping the ice–and her heart pounding insanely fast–were the only sounds Colleen registered as he lead her in a slow semi-circle.

“See–you’re a natural at this,” he winked.

When they had reached the middle of the rink, he released her hands and drew backwards, allowing a few feet of glistening ice to stretch between them. “Now just skate towards me, nice and slow.”

“Like this?” she said, slightly breathless, her feet wobbling forward. The halting, awkward motion becoming a glide as she gradually closed the distance, almost close enough to touch his coat.

“Just like that. Only further,” he grinned, skating backwards until he had almost reached the wall. A cocky gleam in his face she never would have believed possible, for a supposedly stuffy businessman.

“Hey, no fair.” She pretended to pout, crossing her arms. Although she was actually starting to feel in control, the way a child does when their parent lets go of the bicycle for the first time. Her stride was even as she skated towards him, her eyes locked with his gaze. The fear of falling becoming lost somewhere in the curve of his jaw, the shock of dark hair across his forehead.

Her hand reached for his, their fingers a touch apart. Until her feet slipped, her body colliding with Jack’s in a sudden whoosh. His arms caught her before she could hit the ice, pulling her upwards until their faces were mere inches apart.

“Sorry,” she said, pulling back from him, her hand reaching to brush the curls from her face.

“At least I caught you,” he grinned. “We may not be Olympic ready, but we’re doing better than some of our competitors.” With a nod towards one couple already sprawled across the ice, the girl laughing as her companion attempted to regain his balance.

She bit her lip, attempting to concentrate on the feel of the ice beneath her blades rather than the slight wobble in her knees. Was that weakness only because of the ice? Doubt warmed her cheeks as Jack led her in a slow circle, a smile widening across his face as they spun.

“Thanks again for doing this,” she said, as they came to a halt, the music ending abruptly. “I guess I can cross skating off my list now.”

“What else is on that wish list?” Jack asked as they rested against the rink’s partition, their faces glowing pink from the exercise. “Any other Christmas dreams that didn’t come true?”

“A few,” she admitted. “But I’ve grown out of most of them. I mean, a Schwinn bicycle isn’t exactly practical, since I’m not planning on a paper delivery business.”

“Says who?” he teased. “You might want a second career sometime. Something easier than crunching numbers and monitoring portfolios.”

She tapped the toe of her skate against the ice. “For me, crunching numbers is easy. It’s the only thing I could picture doing for a job. Besides horse riding, maybe.”

“Horse riding,” he mused, a quiet interest lighting his features. “Did you compete professionally–rodeo circuits, that kind of thing?”

“Oh…” she trailed off, a little confused. Sharing personal information seemed unnatural somehow after so much small talk, so many boring conversations at tedious social functions. “I wanted to,” she admitted after a moment, “but you can’t really do that unless you own a horse. I never did, so riding was more of a hobby. One I can’t really continue with an apartment’s patio rooftop as a yard. ”

He nodded. “My place on Baker Avenue is four floors up. The view from the living room is a blinking sign for Tanya’s Trout House. ”

“Ugh.” She wrinkled her nose, her hands pulling her cap lower against her curls. Four teenagers whizzed past, hands held as they formed a chain.

“Of course, I’ll have a better view for Christmas,” Jack continued, “since my uncle’s family is hosting this year’s dinner. If his pond’s frozen over, maybe I’ll round up a reunion hockey game,” he joked, nudging her elbow.

“Sounds fun,” she said. “My family cancelled on me. Which means I’ll be opening gifts on New Year’s instead of our usual Christmas day dinner–and trading poached salmon for fish sticks.”

“Sounds awful.” His brown eyes caught hers, sympathy pooling in their dark depths. He jammed his hands in his coat pockets, a hesitance crossing his features. Clearing his throat, he said, “Listen if you don’t have any plans–”

Colleen’s breath caught, her mouth forming an automatic ‘no’, only to be saved the trouble by a welcome interruption beside the rink’s partition.

“Would you care for a picture, my friends?” The park photographer wore a set of impressive white whiskers, his blue eyes shining brightly behind a set of spectacles. “A winter memory for the mantle, perhaps?” he inquired, his finger poised at the old-fashioned camera’s trigger

“Oh, we really aren’t–” Colleen began. But the photographer had already pushed the button, capturing a mixture of surprise and happiness in the split-second of his frame.

 

 

*****

 

 

Colleen slid the all-day spa certificate inside the envelope, the first of her gifts to bestow as Secret Santa to the overworked Rosalyn. She slapped a stamp on it and placed it in the stack of outgoing mail on her work desk, a space already crowded with other less personal papers and pamphlets, as well as Christmas cards for longtime clients.

Propped against her brass paperweight was something that seemed out of place among the sea of office supplies and tax related information. A photograph of herself and Jack at the skating rink.

Almost a week had passed since that magic afternoon of navigating the ice together. An event never to be repeated, she told herself, sliding the photo out of sight into a desk drawer. If she saw him again, it would be at some function for Meg’s law firm and they would exchange a few polite words, maybe an awkward smile or two. But nothing more.

Certainly no more Christmas gifts would be exchanged between them. She couldn’t believe her Secret Santa would dare have the nerve to arrange yet another activity involving Jack Bradley, no matter how perfect they imagined the first attempt. Or how lonely her holiday plans seemed to be this year.

“You can’t spend Christmas by yourself ,” Meg had scolded when she learned about the Quinn family’s change of holiday plans. “At least come to my house–I mean, you know my parents, you practically spent half your childhood at their house…”

“Thanks, but it’s fine,” she had insisted, with a careless air. “I don’t need a big, noisy gathering to know it’s Christmas. A cup of cocoa and some carols on the stereo will do just fine.” Although her thoughts had wandered automatically to Jack, and his plans to stage a hockey tournament at his uncle’s big family party.

Don’t even think it, Colleen. She rolled the antique amulet between her fingers, confusion rippling through her. She jumped as the phone on her office desk rang, an irrational fear popping into her head–namely that it was Jack on the other end with an offer for her to spend Christmas day with his family. An invitation she irrationally imagined he was formulating when the photographer interrupted.

“Hello?” she said, her tone a little breathless as she forgot her usual business greeting. The voice on the other end was not Jack’s however, but that of Mr. Collard, a longtime client.

“Miss Quinn? I realize it’s almost your lunch hour but I had a question about my retirement account…”

“Not a problem,” Colleen insisted. Relief that it was a regular client and not her skating companion made sacrificing a few minutes with her brown bag lunch of yogurt and chicken salad worthwhile. Tapping a pencil absently against the desk, she answered Mr. Collard’s concerns, her free hand flipping his file open to study a few percentage charts and future projections.

“I can schedule an appointment to discuss your finances the first week of January if you want,” she offered, pulling up her electronic schedule with a few keystrokes. “How does the third sound? There’s an opening at–”Her voice stuck, her attention gripped by something taking place straight across from her.

An envelope was sliding beneath her office door.

“What–yes, I’m still here,” she stammered, jumping from her swivel chair as a shadow moved away from the door. “Two o’clock? Well, I suppose that could work–” She made a lunge for the door, stumbling half-way, as the phone cord reached its capacity. It tumbled from the desk, taking her jar of pens with it.

“Mr. Collard, I’m sorry but I’ll have to call you back to confirm that appointment,” she said, “I’ll let you know sometime this week. Merry Christmas to you, too.” She flung the receiver aside and yanked the door handle only to feel firm resistance. Locked–a lunchtime precaution she wished she’d skipped for once.

Fumbling with the knob, she pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway, feeling breathless and just a little bit silly. All that was present was a deserted space, the elevator doors firmly shut in transit.

Rats. Four flights of stairs stood between her and the mysterious gift giver. Instead of sprinting for the exit, she stepped back inside and closed the door again. Peering out the window that overlooked the building’s side parking lot, she watched the figures exiting the building–just in case her Santa was looking for a fast lunchtime getaway via the street.

Scanning the rows of cars, she spotted a few candidates right off the bat, including two red Mercury models that could easily pass for Meg’s vehicle hugging the curb. There was only one minivan that resembled Rosalyn's usual drive, but it was ruled out by the sight of an elderly man climbing behind the wheel.

Colleen sighed as a few more figures strolled into view, most of them too bundled in coats and scarves to be recognized. A young couple climbed into the first Mercury, the girl’s red hair peeking from beneath a stretchy wool cap. The other car was occupied a minute later by a tall brunette talking on a cell phone.

So much for that brilliant plan. She lowered the shade, blocking the draft of cool air and turned back to her desk. Her eyes fell on the envelope that lay abandoned on the carpet, her name visible on the outside in typed letters.

“Colleen,” read the message tucked inside, “the Christmas season should never be spent alone! Keep a festive appointment with a buried treasure on December 14^th at seven o’clock for some seasonal socializing. P.S. If you can’t guess where this means, think the bottom of the sea.”

Her eyebrows shot up as she scanned the bizarre message. Santa had arranged for yet another person to be part of her scavenger hunt surprises? Not if she had anything to do with it. A frown tugging her mouth, she punched the elevator’s lobby button. It was time to get some answers.

“Hey, Colleen. Going out for lunch?” Marci the secretary for the first floor business, offered her a beaming smile over her computer monitor.

“Actually, I’m sort of looking for someone. They came out of the elevator about five minutes ago. A woman about my age with…blonde hair?” she crossed her fingers, thinking Meg was the most likely culprit. After all, Rosalyn had mentioned a doctor’s appointment for this morning, hadn’t she? And Dawn had taken an early lunch for Christmas shopping–or so she said.

“Let’s see…” Marci’s brow furrowed, her manicured nails tapping the desk. “I don’t remember anyone like that coming through the lobby recently. There was a young guy and a girl with red hair and an older man with a cane. There was an older lady too. Oh, and a guy in a business suit, I think.”

Her shoulders slumped. Definitely not any of her friends, unless they had stooped to dyeing their hair for the sake of secrecy. “Thanks, anyway, Marci,” she said, pushing through the double doors to the front parking lot. Lunchtime traffic was in progress on Main Street, as she glanced up and down the road in search of–what? Certainly whoever slipped the envelope beneath her door wouldn’t still be hanging around.

She started to turn towards the door again, when something a couple of blocks away made her pause. The blinking sign for The Hidden Pearl, the seafood place where she and the girls had drawn names for this year’s challenge over a round of clam chowder. “Think the bottom of the sea,” she murmured, repeating the hint from the clue in her hand.

Yes, of course–dinner at The Hidden Pearl. But with whom?

Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the restaurant’s number. “Hi,” she said, as the front desk employee picked up, “I have a reservation for the fourteenth at seven o’clock–”

“Ah, yes,” said the woman, the sound of computer keys clicking in the background. “Quinn, party of eight, isn’t it?”

Party of eight? Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widening with surprise. It definitely wasn’t a date with a party that size–unless, of course, it was a speed date with a panel of eligible bachelors. Something she wouldn’t quite put past her scheming friends, with their burning need to see her as the other half of a couple.

“Was there a problem with the reservation?” the voice on the other end inquired. “Because our private dining rooms are quite popular this time of year, and if you need to reschedule I can’t guarantee that–”

“What? No, sorry,” Colleen said, collecting her thoughts again. “I just couldn’t remember, well…which credit card did I use to reserve the private area?” she asked, a burst of inspiration coming to her. Thinking she could track Santa by his payment method if nothing else.

“You reserved it with the Visa,” the woman replied, after a few more key strokes. “Now, is there anything else I can help you with?” Her tone signaling she was unwilling to reveal any other sensitive information over the phone.

“Nothing thanks.” She flipped the phone shut, slightly deflated. A Visa wasn’t much to go on, since her friends no doubt had multiple credit cards. But it was a start, she decided, glancing back at the Santa clue. Her cell phone sprang back to life with the tune of “Jingle Bells.”

“Hey, girl,” Rosalyn’s peppy voice greeted her. “Are you on lunch break yet? Because I’m down the street at Carson’s Coffee House if you want to share a plate of pastries–my latest pregnancy craving.”

“Sounds perfect,” said Colleen. Perfect for checking out her friend’s pocketbook, that is, for evidence of certain secret Christmas activities.

At the café, Rosalyn was seated on the outdoor patio, her red pea coat accented with black gloves and a matching scarf.

“Just in time,” said Rosalyn, shoving a plate with a jam pastry across the table. “How’s your morning been? Lots of people worried about saving for the new year?”

Colleen shook her head. “It’s been pretty quiet, actually. Except for a second visit from Saint Nick.” She pulled a chunk from her pastry, her gaze scrutinizing her friend’s face for any subtle reaction to this bit of information.

“It’s kind of impressive you’ve already gotten through your first challenge,” said Rosalyn, spreading a napkin across her protruding belly. “Your Santa must have more time than mine. Or more than I do, for that matter.” She dug into her pastry with an air of nonchalance that seemed unshakable. “By the way, I heard you picked up a new skill last weekend.”

Her wink gave Colleen a self-conscious pang. “Yeah, well, apparently Santa is sentimental. Of course, the coach could have been better chosen, but other than that ...” She dabbed her lips with a napkin, hoping the flush on her cheeks wasn’t as visible as it felt.

“Jack didn’t seem to think so. In fact, he said it was the most fun he’s had in ages.”

Colleen shrugged and shifted her gaze to the café’s glass exterior. “He could have been worse. At least he kept me from falling.”

“Did he?” Her friend quirked an eyebrow, a teasing gleam in her expression. As if to say she was in danger of more than a physical sense of falling–and that impact with the ice had been the least of her worries.

“No bruises,” Colleen said, pretending to miss the significance behind the remark. Flagging down the waiter, she forced herself to seem casual beneath Rosalyn’s critical gaze. “Bottled, water please. Mineral, if possible.”

Rosalyn rose from the table, tossing her crumpled napkin next to the plate. “Lucky for you, I need to make a quick phone call to Bob’s mother–she insists on weekly baby updates. But when I get back, expect this conversation to resume.” Grinning impishly, she fished a cell phone from her purse and disappeared inside the café’s double doors.

Colleen hesitated mere seconds before snatching her friend’s designer pocket book and flipping through the plastic sleeves with a sharp eye. Every major credit except Visa appeared to be among the contents, which even included a few expired ones. With a sigh, she shoved it back inside the handbag and was innocently studying a coupon booklet from the table when the waiter arrived with her mineral water.

“Thanks,” she said. Taking a long sip, she reconsidered her options, reminding herself that Rosalyn could have used one of her husband’s credit cards to make the arrangements. But it didn’t seem likely, and her mind came back to Meg as the most plausible suspect. Because, after all, it was her childhood friend who had the best connection with a certain attorney-turned-skating-coach. Unless…

Wasn’t Dawn one of Jack’s clients?

She groaned, frustrated with going in circles. Maybe she should simply ride it out, let this “Santa” do his worst and then focus on repairing the damage.

Rosalyn slid into the seat across from her, a sense of anticipation in her ruddy features. “Sorry that took so long. And now,” she said, leaning across the table, “where were we?”

 

 

*****

 

 

The Hidden Pearl wasn’t the swankiest joint in town, but Colleen felt this occasion must call for something other than business casual. Western chic–her style when she wasn’t at the office–didn’t seem quite right either. She finally settled on a simple black cocktail dress with matching jacket and heels. For jewelry, she chose Truda’s amulet, thinking a lucky charm couldn’t hurt for reinforcement.

But reinforcement for what? Nothing romantic was going to happen tonight– clearly Santa had in mind a festive holiday party or a friendly buffet of some sort. Not one of true love's candlelight dinners for two.

A small traffic jam a block from her apartment made her five minutes late to the restaurant. Breathless, she rushed into the lobby, dark curls escaping her chignon. Her heart was pounding beneath her coat, not just from exertion but from a sense of anticipation. A sense of excitement despite the casual feelings usually reserved for the yearly Secret Santa routine.

“Colleen Quinn, party of eight,” she said, pulling her gloves from her hands.

The seating hostess smiled. “Right this way, Miss Quinn.” She led Colleen through the main dining room to a section of the restaurant she’d never visited before. A long hall with separate rooms, the doors closed.

“Here we are,” said the hostess, opening the door to a room labeled ‘The Coral Reef.’ Where they were greeted by a warm, rosy interior and a formal dining table set for eight. A poinsettia bouquet served as the center piece, its vase wreathed by a circle of flaming candles.

“Gorgeous,” Colleen breathed, stepping tentatively inside the doorway. A jolt of electricity shot through her as a masculine hand touched her arm.

“Merry Christmas, sis!” Her brother, Kevin seemed to appear from nowhere, followed closely by a troop of other familiar faces. All wearing goofy grins as they emerged from the space behind the open door.

“What are you doing here?" Colleen squealed. "I can’t believe this!” Her arm twined around her brother’s shoulders as surprised tears burned her eyes. Behind him, her teary gaze darted across the faces of her family, her mother and father, Aunt Sophie and Uncle Tyler. Just behind them, Kevin’s wife Joyce cradled Colleen's infant nephew.

“This–this is perfect,” she stammered, pulling back to greet everyone. “But how? I mean, how did this happen?” Her gaze shifted expectantly from face to face, looking for an explanation.

“How else?” her father grinned. “Saint Nick arranged it, of course.”

Colleen rolled her eyes, sinking into a chair at the head of the table. “Not him again. Please, please tell me which one of you did this, because I'm dying to know–”

“Well, it’s your game,” her mother reminded her, helping Joyce settle the baby in its high chair. “All I know is we got a card in the mail with the reservation printed on it and a gift cards to cover Kevin's expenses for driving there and back."

"I'm staying the night at the ranch, sort of a pre-Christmas break," said Kevin. "I thought you arranged the whole thing, just you being a little goofy–but I guess you're as surprised as we are."

"Then it was just a nice present from one of your friends?" said Aunt Sophie. "They must be a good friend to go through all this trouble, covering the cost of shuttling all of us here like this."

Before Colleen could respond, the waiter swept in with a rolling cart and began dispensing entrees. All of which seemed to consist of her family’s traditional Christmas menu: poached salmon, garlic roasted potatoes, and stuffed blue cheese mushrooms.

“This is fantastic,” said Colleen, savoring her first bite of the gourmet fish. “It’s just like Truda’s recipe.”

Kevin grinned at her from across the table. “It is Truda’s recipe. Apparently “Santa” is pretty good friends with the manager here. Good enough to convince them to cook a special dinner that doesn’t exist on the menu.”

Colleen’s fork dropped against her plate with a sharp clink! “This is crazy. Who would do this–it's like one of those reality shows where they give someone a cruise or their dream vacation–"

“Why question it?” her Aunt Sophie challenged, a teasing gleam in her eye. “Why not just enjoy the beauty of a carefully chosen gift from someone who cares?”

“It just seems strange somehow," answered Colleen. "Like it’s not just about a gift exchange or a clever surprise. I feel like something else is going on here.” She stabbed a mushroom with her fork, her thoughts focused on the subject with intensity.

“Like what?” said her brother. “Maybe one of your grateful clients is behind it. Maybe one of your friends wants to be generous with their holiday bonus–or won the lottery using your birthday as their lucky numbers–”

She gave him a playful smack with her napkin, despite the glint of truth in this statement. “It’s your fault they knew I'd be alone this holiday,” she answered. “If you hadn’t gotten stuck working Christmas, we would’ve had the party at Mom and Dad’s like usual.”

“And you would have come alone–as usual,” her mother interrupted, her fork jabbing in Colleen’s direction for emphasis. “So your brother isn’t entirely to blame for your lack of Yuletide cheer.”

“No,” said Aunt Sophie, “that would be Truda’s fault. If she hadn’t told that silly story about that charm, then none of our girls would be so crushed by the failure to find love at first sight.”

“It's just a silly story,” Colleen said, painfully aware the charm in question hung around her neck, like a girlhood superstition. “I only wear it for sentimental reasons, not because I expect the man of my dreams to turn up.”

Her tone was meant to be joking but a defensive streak was tainting the edges of her voice. When the conversation shifted to other topics, like Kevin’s work at the Emergency Room, and her father’s new ideas for the ranch, she felt grateful for the shift. “We’re thinking of hosting a cattle drive for cowboy wannabes,” her father informed her over the family’s dessert, a sumptuous raspberry cheesecake.

“Which means you’ll finally have to buy some horses,” she said. “You would wait until I’m stuck with an apartment lease to make such a dramatic move.”

He grinned and shook his head. “It’s nothing definite, and it’s certainly not happening anytime soon. I’m thinking of it for my retirement years.”

In Colleen's mind, she saw herself galloping across the ranch's land–but alone, on the back of a horse that resembled the pen and ink drawing of Black Beauty from her childhood copy. For some reason, her mind was compelled to conjure the image of a broad-shouldered rider on a chestnut horse galloping alongside. A familiar figure in a cowboy hat and plaid shirt.

She shook her head faintly, banishing the thought as the dessert plates were collected and the candle wicks burning low. Colleen admired her baby nephew and listened to the proud parent’s anecdotes on all the childhood “firsts”. Kevin was digging out his cell phone to show some home video footage, when the waiter appeared and slid an envelope next to Colleen’s elbow.

“Miss Quinn?” he said. “A fellow diner wished this delivered to you.”

“Who?” Colleen asked, glancing frantically around as if the culprit were lurking somewhere outside the door.

The waiter smiled apologetically. “I’m not sure, actually. It came from the table in the ‘Blue Lagoon Room’, but–”

She didn’t wait for him to finish, hurrying from her chair towards the hallway and the so-called ‘Blue Lagoon Room'. The dining area was deserted by anyone except a waitress busy collecting empty plates and glasses onto a rolling cart.

“Excuse me,” Colleen said, “but what party was dinning here?”

The waitress glanced up, her hand pausing over an empty bread basket. “It was a community improvement committee,” she said. “Volunteers through the Chamber of Commerce, I think. They left several minutes ago.”

Her heart sank with yet another dead end. All three of her friends did volunteer work through their jobs and churches; her own schedule was packed with seasonal charity events. Requesting physical descriptions of the committee members seemed too ridiculous, her courage shrinking from the task. “Sorry to bother you,” she said, retreating from the room.

Family members waited for her in the lobby, amused grins twitching the corners of their mouths. “Santa’s left the building, huh?” said Kevin, giving her arm a playful nudge.

She shrugged, attempting to regain some of her dignity. A grown woman chasing after a mythical figure…well, not quite a mythical figure. This generous gift giver did exist, only in the form of an elusive friend, determined to keep her guessing for the rest of the holiday.

Much like the first visit she had from Saint Nicholas. A thought she couldn’t block out as she glimpsed her reflection in the lobby’s glass, the antique amulet aglow in the lamplight.

 

 

*****

 

 

The Christmas lights twinkled in blue and white as Colleen connected the plug. Midnight wasn’t her usual time for decorating trees, but she couldn’t sleep for some reason. Maybe it was the excitement of the family surprise, the lively conversation and rich foods at the restaurant. An incredibly generous surprise that outweighed even the Secret Santa ski lessons she once arranged for Meg.

Or maybe her burst of energy had something to do with the Secret Santa message that lay open by the cardboard box of ornaments, a slip of paper she re-read every few minutes.

“The weather is perfect for some outdoor fun on the eighteenth. Take a drive down Memory Lane (literally) for a chance to recover a lost ambition. It’s never too late to chase old dreams–especially if they run on their own!

Memory Lane–where was that? Curious, she set it aside and flipped open her laptop, keying in the search terms, Memory Lane, Denver, Colorado. An address popped up, a place twenty miles from her office district. A little back road business lane, it seemed, judging from the links for a handmade goods store and a basket weaving shop. And something else that made her heart skip a beat.

The Last Chance Horse Ranch.

Double clicking on the link brought up a colorful collage of horses running and playing in fenced pastureland; a beautiful black and white mare being petted by school age children. The image of a barn decorated for Christmas, cedar swags and holly branches strung above the doors and windows.

“This is where Lost Horses Find a Place To Call Home!” Read the banner, its swirling font surrounded by horseshoe designs. The message below explained that the ranch was a rescue center for aging and abandoned horses, where professional trainers worked to socialize the animals through community programs.

She glanced over the calendar of events, noting the words “Christmas Festival” displayed on the eighteenth. So Santa knew about her fondness for horses, a piece of trivia that didn’t exactly narrow the field of candidates. Sighing, she snapped the laptop closed and lounged in front of the tree, its sparse limbs improved by the strings of lights and multi-colored balls.

What was wrong with her, anyway? She should just enjoy the fact that one of her friends wanted to give her a meaningful Christmas, one with the kind of presents that couldn’t be wrapped in paper or stuffed inside a gift sack. There was no reason to be suspicious and certainly no reason to ascertain their true identity like an investigator on the heels of a dangerous criminal.

So why did the thought of hiring a private investigator suddenly seem so tempting?

 

 

*****

 

 

Holiday festivities were in the full swing at the Last Chance Horse Ranch, as Colleen maneuvered her car between a minivan and a pickup truck. The barn and corral were just as they appeared on the website, with cedar swags and boughs of holly strung for decorations alongside old fashioned sleigh bells. Booths from local venders were scattered across the landscape, the profits advertised as going towards the feed and care of the horses.

Feeling a little awkward, Colleen wandered through the crowd of tourists and school kids, pausing to admire the horses circling the corral. A friendly chestnut mare bumped its nose against her gloved hand and made soft whinnying sounds.

“Well, aren’t you quite the charmer,” she murmured, rubbing the soft fur with an affectionate smile. How long had it been since she saddled one of these beautiful creatures for a trail ride? She couldn’t remember; her mind automatically recalled the day she lost Truda’s necklace, although she knew there must have been times after that. In college, perhaps, on summer trips with her friends.

She gave the horse a final pat, then reluctantly turned back into the crowd, glancing around for a sign from Santa. But there was no clue, no giant banner telling her where to go next. Instead, she spotted a booth for the ranch itself, the employee behind the table sporting an ID tag with the name “Emily” printed across it.

“Can I help you?” the worker asked, flashing a bright smile.

“I–I was sent here by a friend,” Colleen hesitated, “as a sort of Christmas surprise. But I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do now that I’m here.” She bit her lip, hoping this didn’t sound too weird.

“Name please?” the woman said, flipping open a plastic binder she pulled from beneath the table.

“Colleen Quinn.” She pulled her scarf closer around her as a chill wind blew. Her gaze wandered to the barn area, where a volunteer dressed as Santa handed out treats for the kids to feed the horses. Masked behind a fluffy, fake beard, only Santa's eyes were visible, with a gleam that seemed strangely familiar as they met hers from a distance.

Do I know you? She almost stepped towards the figure when the booth worker’s voice jerked her back.

“Ah, yes,” Emily said, “we have you on our list. It looks like an anonymous donor has sponsored a horse in your name for a full year. Which means you can ride Star–that’s your horse–anytime during regular business hours.”

“Are you sure?” she said, leaning over the table to glance at the list. Much like the restaurant dinner, it seemed too generous, too extravagant for something as simple as a scavenger game prize.

“Positive.” The woman snapped the folder shut and rose from the table. “Would you like to meet Star? I can show you his stable, you can feed him and even take him into the corral if you want.”

Colleen felt slightly dazed as she followed the worker through the barn’s double doors, passing the volunteer Santa and his crowd of eager children. She couldn’t help glancing his way, only to find his back turned as he crouched next to a small, shy looking girl, her mittens cradling a sack of oats.

“Here we go,” said Emily, pausing at the fourth stable on the right. “Called Star because of the pattern on his forehead, as you can see. He’s a very friendly sort of fellow, retired from a dude ranch just eighty miles east of here.”

“He’s perfect,” Colleen breathed, extending a hand to stroke the impressive black steed, with the star shaped white patch of fur. “Exactly what I wanted.” Twenty years ago, that is. But she still wanted it, more than she realized, as unexpected tears cropped in her eyes.

“Carrots are his favorite treat,” the volunteer advised, handing her a small sack like the ones being dispensed to the children. “He also loves oats and apples, however.”

Opening the sack, she spilled the bits of vegetable into her palm. “Hungry?” she asked, holding her hand beneath the horse’s nose. He immediately nuzzled it, catching the carrot slices gently with his teeth.

She could take him for a ride anytime. Even now, it wouldn't harm her jeans and sweater to make contact with a leather saddle and bridle, or make her skin glow with anything but pleasure if she went for a brisk circle in the cold of the outdoor corral.

Brushing his coat down, she saddled him up and led him through the double doors. The Santa with the chocolate eyes had vanished, his crowd of children busy feeding horses through the fencing.

Star had a steady, even stride as they loped down the fence line. Colleen closed her eyes for a second, enjoying the sensation of the wind in her face, the breeze stirring her long locks. “Thank you, whoever you are,” she murmured, rubbing the reins between her fingers. A gentle tug backwards was all it took to stop the horse in his tracks.

“You look pretty experienced out there,” one staff member complimented, as she led Star back to his stable.

She grinned and gave the horse a parting stroke. “I’ve done some riding here and there. But it’s been a long time.”

Outside, she hugged herself against the cold, breathing deeply. This was the best gift anyone had given her in years, and she still couldn’t explain why they did it. Did they feel sorry for her? Was it like everyone said–that she was consumed with work and couldn’t enjoy a holiday unless someone else planned it for her?

A glimpse of a red suit ahead of her in the crowd jerked her thoughts back to the present. The figure turned and she caught sight of those familiar eyes, a jolt of surprise running through her. That gaze seemed so familiar, so similar…

“Wait!” she called, as he turned and disappeared behind a booth display for specialty peppermint candies. “Excuse me,” Colleen said, trying to maneuver through the crowd, “Santa…I mean, whoever you are…I need to speak to you.”

Was she crazy? A thought she didn’t waste too much time on as she scanned the horizon for the elusive scarlet coat. The color was popular for the season, making her task more challenging as curious shoppers gathered to study the various seller’s wares. Red coats, tams, scarves and gloves caught her gaze, leading her down false trails until she was standing somewhere in the maze of booths behind the stables.

At last she spotted the unmistakable suit and hat, the white trim and black boots. Her heart raced nervously as she reached and tapped the arm. Only to have a pair of twinkling blue eyes face her, framed by a genuine white beard traced with grey.

“Sorry,” she said, an apologetic smile curving her lips. “I thought…I mean, there was someone else here dressed like Santa. Someone I thought I recognized.” Which is just silly, after all, since all you saw were his eyes.

“Quite all right, my dear,” the other Saint Nick assured her. “I didn’t realize one of my impersonators was anywhere nearby. But then, it is the season, isn’t it?”

She laughed, catching the merriment in his joke. “Absolutely. You’re the best Santa I’ve ever seen,” she added, with a nod to the elegant costume. “Everything about you looks the part.”

“I certainly hope so. It’ll make my job all the easier,” he chuckled. “Merry Christmas, my dear.” As he placed a an old-fashioned candy cane in her hand. “And I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Thank you.” She waved goodbye, a warmth surrounding her despite the winter day. The kids must love this guy, no doubt believing he could really deliver all their secret wishes on Christmas Eve. Although she was starting to feel that same sense of anticipation with each new surprise from her own mysterious benefactor.

Her eyes roamed the crowd one last time, hoping to glimpse the figure with the coffee colored eyes. Finding only strangers, their arms loaded with packages for the tree.

 

 

*****

 

 

“It was so weird–I mean, it was like destiny or something.”

Dawn gazed at Colleen over her frozen yogurt cup, a dreamy look in her eyes. “What are the odds that he would be so in to rock climbing–and that my Secret Santa knew to give me a certificate for that new sports activity center on Rogers Avenue?”

The “he” in question was Rick, the insurance agent from upstairs. And apparently, he and Dawn had taken their elevator flirtation to the next step, arranging for lunch and another trip to Outdoor World to explore their mutual hobbies.

“Sounds like a lucky coincidence,” Colleen smiled. She stirred her lemon tea and tapped the spoon against the rim of the cup as she tried to imagine which friend had picked up on those clues. Maybe Meg and Rosalyn were working together–tag teaming to find all the answers about their friends' romantic interests, for instance.

Her mind was still focused on the events of the past two weeks and the possibility of any final challenges before the magic December 24^th date rolled around. A spark of anticipation stirred inside her, as she imagined the crafty St. Nick attempting to top the previous feats. How far would they go? What was left on that list of unfulfilled wishes she’d never really stopped longing for? Only one thing came to mind–and it wasn’t something she wanted anyone else arranging.

“Earth to Colleen.” Her coworker was grinning as she scraped the last of the yogurt from her cup. “Are you going to eat your lunch or just sit there daydreaming all day?”

“Neither,” she said, pushing back her swivel chair. “I need to prevent a possible disaster.” Grabbing her coat, she swept out of the office before Dawn could say another word.

She arrived at the law firm where Meg worked in less than fifteen minutes, her heels clicking impatiently across the lobby’s tiled floor. It was time to force some answers on this campaign to rescue her from being a Christmas humbug, just in case her friends had something else in mind. Romance, for instance, was off-limits in this Yuletide agenda, in her opinion; that was the approach she needed to take.

Her knuckles rapped twice against the office door with Meg’s nameplate, her ear pressed against the wood. Meg usually had lunch in her office so she could sneak in some extra work, making more time for evening plans. But there was no stirring behind the pulled shade, no sound of a chair sliding back or heels crossing the floor.

“She took a client to lunch.”

The masculine voice made her jump, her skin tingling as her eyes met Jack Bradley’s gaze. “Rats,” she said, stepping back, her hands slipping inside her coat pockets. “I really needed to talk to her about something.”

“Well, it’s an important case. A two-hour kind of lunch, if I was to make a guess.” A teasing gleam buried in those dark depths as he checked his wrist watch. “Have you eaten anything yet? Because I have an errand to run at that specialty chocolate shop on the corner–”

“Sweet Addictions,” Colleen finished, before she could stop herself. “I love their Bavarian-filled éclairs,” she explained, warmth infusing her cheeks. Finishing other people’s sentences was something she tried never to do, especially if that someone happened to be an attractive and available member of the opposite sex.

“Would you like to come?” he asked. “We’ll try some of those éclairs, my treat. Consider it compensation for my bad coaching skills.”

“Okay,” she said, almost surprising herself with the automatic acceptance. “Except you were pretty good as a skating instructor. I mean, it was the first time I didn’t have a few scrapes or bruises to prove I’d been on the ice.”

He held the door open in a gentlemanly gesture that made her blush. Don’t get swept away, she cautioned herself, pulling her coat closer as if to block his natural charm. A maneuver that seemed pointless since she’d just agreed to spend her lunch hour with him, an invitation that qualified as a date in some people’s eyes.

But she’d already held hands with him, their fingers intertwined as they swirled across the ice. Not to mention that moment when she’d practically fallen into his arms, their faces almost cheek to cheek for a split-second. Could today’s excursion really pose as much danger to her heart?

Colleen adjusted her scarf, frowning as her great-grandmother’s amulet caught against the wool, pulling a thread. Maybe her friends were right; maybe she wore it for superstitious reasons. She studied the ornament guiltily, its tarnished surface glinting in the sunlight.

“Nice antique charm,” Jack commented, as she hurriedly tucked it inside her coat’s lapels. “Is it the same one Meg mentioned once? Some story about it having special powers in the romance department…” he trailed off, a slightly sheepish look invading his expression.

“Meg told you about that?” Colleen stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, nearly toppling a swivel display for Christmas themed jewelry. Her arm reached automatically to balance it, her eyes glued to the handsome attorney with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. “I can’t believe she did that. You must think I’m nuts or something. ”

“No, no,” he answered, moving aside for a stream of shoppers, loads of shiny gift bags dangling from their arms. “She didn't mean–that is, she didn't make it sound like believing in the tooth fairy or something. More like observing a family tradition.” He was right beside her now, their bodies forced together by the passing crowd.

She glanced away, aware that a strange warmth was spreading through her veins, a lightheaded dizziness seeping through her. “I’m not as obsessed about it as she might imply. It's just, my family liked the idea behind it, the possibility it could be real. I guess that makes me a hopeless romantic, right?”

“Who says that’s a bad thing?”

His tone was gentle, making her turn towards him again. His eyes were filled with understanding, along with a hint of admiration that made her knees tremble. She felt an indescribable force pulling her towards him, her face tilting upwards. A moment later, a horn blared from the street, breaking the spell.

“We should get going,” she said, stepping away. The path had temporarily cleared, giving her a safe distance to calm her pounding heart. “The noon hour is ticking away,” she explained, a shaky laugh escaping her lips.

“You’re right.” He fell in step beside her, their destination within sight now. Conversation had reached an impasse apparently, with Jack giving an awkward cough to fill the silence. It made the bustling interior of Sweet Addictions a welcome distraction, with the sound of other people’s laughter and the strains of holiday music echoing over the speakers.

Colleen stood in front of the glass display counter, pretending to study the chocolates that were iced to resemble blue and silver Christmas balls. From the corner of her eye, she could see Jack consulting an employee about his order. No doubt a special assortment of gourmet chocolates for some a friend or family member. Or even a would-be girlfriend, since he couldn’t have any lack of admirers.

A young couple strolled up beside her, gloved hands clasped as they admired the rows of glittering candies and the powdered truffles designed to resemble snowballs. The man whispered something to his girlfriend that inspired a secretive smile, the two of them sharing quiet laughter.

For a moment, Colleen was reminded of all those “third wheel” moments she’d been through lately, with one friend engaged and the other happily married. As she stepped away instinctively, she almost ran into Jack, his arms cradling a red and green gift box and a small white paper bag. “Ready for those éclairs?” he asked.

They shared a corner booth that seemed unnecessarily private, as if they were more than distant acquaintances on an impulsive outing. Unwrapping his pastry, Jack offered her an apologetic glance. “Listen, I–I shouldn’t have mentioned the amulet earlier. It’s clearly very personal for you–I didn't meant to make it sound like something sappy.”

She sensed that Meg had exaggerated this tale the way she always did. “It’s part of my heritage and I love it for that," she answered, with a shrug. "But I’m not waiting for it to give me some sort of fairytale romance, even if it supposedly worked for the generations before me.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.” He tapped his fingers against the table, looking somewhat deflated. “That must be hard to live up to.”

“So far.” Her mind flew to all the pointless fix-ups and blind dates she’d been on, the annoying clients who insisted on flirting. And Jack’s own disastrous introduction, his voice scolding her for a crime she had no intention of committing.

Was he thinking of the same thing? Of course, in his case it would be too many eligible girls to choose from, too many possibilities to narrow down to the perfect one.

“Just one more question and we drop the subject,” he said, grabbing her attention. “Does the love-at-first sight thing only work if both people experience it? I mean, could one of them fall at the first meeting and the other come around more gradually?”

“I–I’m not sure.” Something about this seemed odd, as if it were more than a hypothetical situation being posed. “You act like you believe all this,” she added with a laugh, hoping to break the tension. “Which is pretty amazing, considering my own family isn’t completely sold on it.”

“Point taken,” he said. “But you have to admit, it’s not the craziest thing to believe in. There’s more proof for it than UFO sightings or even Saint Nick.” With a cheesy grin that she couldn’t help but return. "If I found one of these charms somewhere, I'm assuming the magic might not take effect on both parties at once, right? Even if the magic was from Santa himself. "

“I guess so," she laughed. "Although the gifts I’ve been getting lately are so special, it seems like Santa's magic is pretty powerful stuff.”

As she spoke, she searched his face for any flicker of discomfort, remembering the suited figure at The Last Chance Horse Ranch. But there was nothing like recognition in his eyes as they met hers across the table.

“Glad to hear it," he said. "Everyone deserves a genuine holiday surprise now and then.”

“Looks like someone else is going to be extremely happy with their gift,” she joked, nodding towards the generous box of chocolates. “Is it someone in your family?” Her tone was casual despite her curiosity.

“It’s someone I’ve never met,” he said, making her glance a double take. Grinning at her surprise, he added, “I’m volunteering for a gift wrapping session at the local homeless shelter on Saturday. This is one of my contributions–along with a couple more practical items, like coats and hats.”

“Sounds like a great cause.” Colleen smiled at him over the rim of her glass. Her hand shook slightly, swirling the contents until she placed it down with a soft thunk.

You’re acting like a teenager with a crush. There was no reason for a case of nerves; she’d known Jack for a year and never worried it would spill into the realm of romance. Which did nothing to explain the sensation twisting her stomach.

Jack pulled a doughy chunk from his pastry but didn’t pop it in his mouth. Instead, rolling it absently between his fingers, he cleared his throat. “We’re short of help if you’d like to come. I could pick you up…”

“I’ll meet you there,” she interrupted. “If you tell me when and where, that is.” Her mouth twitched with a self-conscious smile, her eyes dropping to her half-finished éclair. Keeping this friendship low-key seemed important, somehow. And keeping it limited to worthy causes was an even better idea.

She wasn’t ready to think about future consequences yet, especially with Great-grandmother Truda’s ornament looped around her neck like a heavy reminder.

 

 

*****

 

 

Colleen slid the pair of sunglasses on, then off again. There was no reason to act like a spy on a secret mission just because she was meeting Jack Bradley. Never mind it was the second time this month she had voluntarily spent time with him.

“It's a good cause for the holidays, nothing more,” she murmured to herself, as she pushed inside the back entrance to the community homeless shelter. Where a makeshift gift wrapping station had been set up for all the donations that citizens in need would receive on that most charitable of holidays.

She spotted Jack immediately from his table in the middle of the room. Dressed in a striking red pullover, his dark curls attractively tousled across his forehead. “Please tell me you’re better at this than I am,” he pleaded, waving a pair of scissors in greeting. The package in front of him was full of creases, the ends decidedly crooked. Even the scotch tape was a mess, wrinkled and puckered in the middle.

“Well,” she said, shrugging out of her coat, “judging from this, my neighbor’s six year-old is better at wrapping gifts than you are. Interested in a few pointers?”

He rolled the tube of paper in her direction with a grin. “Teach me everything you know. I’ve relied on gift sacks up to this point.”

“It shows.” Colleen tried to ignore the warmth in his voice, their close proximity as he leaned over her shoulder. “You need the paper to reach half-way, like this,” she instructed, her voice a trifle flustered. “And it’s better to overestimate, since you can always cut more off.”
Her grip on the scissors seemed slightly uneven. She sucked in a calming breath, trying to appear normal, even though she could smell the rich spice of his aftershave. The fragrance was incredibly appealing, making her want to lean towards the source even though her heart knew she should turn the other direction.

“Fold it like this, so the flap is on the bottom. See?”

“You make it look easy.” He leaned against the table, his dark eyes smiling up at her. A certain boyishness reflected in his features that made him seem irresistible at this moment, even though they were merely wrapping presents. No mistletoe, no hint of romance anywhere in sight.

“Now it’s your turn,” she said, flopping down on a nearby stool. Crossing her arms, she pretended to fix him with a stern eye. “We’ll consider this first test a practice run, but everything afterwards is graded on a scale from one to ten.”

He was a fast learner, though, and seemed to have mastered it by the time they were halfway through the stack. “I guess we’re even now,” he told her, pausing in the midst of wrapping a child’s princess doll. “I taught you to skate and you taught to me to live without gift sacks.”

She laughed, nearly tearing the paper as she cut it. “They’re not quite the same thing. But you’re welcome.” Brushing the hair back from her face, she offered him a friendlier smile than she intended. Almost flirtatious, really, considering the pace of their conversation.

“Something about you seems different today,” he said, glancing at her over a stack of books, bound together by a ribbon. “I can’t put my finger on it…no, wait. It’s the moon-shaped amulet. You’re not wearing it.”

She blushed, her mouth dropping open slightly although no answer emerged. Putting it on had become almost automatic, yet, somehow she’d left it on her dresser this morning without a second thought. “I don’t always wear it,” she said, defensively. “I do own more jewelry, you know.”

“I’m sure you do,” he said, his face reddening with this scolding. “It’s just I’ve never seen you without it. You were even wearing it the day we met.”

Colleen fumbled the pair of scissors, dropping them against the table. “I can’t believe you would remember something like that,” she said, pretending to busy herself with measuring off some ribbon. “It’s been a whole year since that charity function–”

“And here we are at another similar event. Funny, isn’t it?”

“Hilarious.” She flashed a smile that she hoped was lighthearted, despite the sense of confusion rattling insider her. This had been a mistake, but there was no escape. Her fingers trembled with the thought, the ribbon tying crookedly over the sleek package.

“Are you still spending Christmas alone?” he asked, the abruptness of the question taking her breath.

She nodded, not trusting herself to answer out loud. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she waited for the inevitable. Would she be able to turn him down if he offered her a chance to share Christmas with his family?

“I thought maybe you would spend it with Meg’s family,” he explained, his gaze glued to the set of action figures he was covering in candy cane patterned paper. “You two have been friends since childhood, right?”

“Since second grade,” she said, releasing a breath. “And she did offer for me to come to her parent’s house, but I turned it down. See, I’ve already had Christmas dinner with my family, thanks to my Secret Santa.”

“Glad to hear it.” He opened his mouth as if to say something else, when his cell phone rang. “Sorry,” he said, checking the number. “It’s the firm calling, so I better take this.”

She continued wrapping presents as he disappeared outside, deep in a conversation that involved legal jargon. When he returned, he was still on the phone, his arm cradling a work folder. “I think I’ve got it with me…I can probably fax them to you from the front desk. No problem.”

He flipped the phone shut and unzipped the folder. Riffling through the contents, he pulled out a set of papers that looked like some sort of contract. “I’m sorry about this,” he said, a sheepish look sneaking over his face. “I’ll just be a moment and then I’ll race you to the end of this stack, alright?”

She nodded, watching him leave with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Something inside her felt torn at this moment, as if she were ready to defy destiny. To chuck an entire life philosophy for the sake of a whim, a sudden attraction that could prove to be nothing more than a case of winter magic.

No hidden bit of wisdom emerged to clear her thoughts before he returned to challenge her to a marathon finish. Their laughter echoed across the room as they sliced through paper and folded corners at record speed. Her hand reaching to swat Jack as he playfully nudged her stack of supplies towards the edge of the table.

“Looks like you win,” he said, as Colleen stuck the bow on her final package. A significance was in his gaze that made her heart skip a beat, her mouth tugging itself into a smile against her will.

“You put in a good show, though. We should take a break, huh? Freshen up for round two.”

The refreshment tables offered hot cocoa and cookies. They chose to carry their treats outside to a bench near a cluster of cedar trees, where ribbons and strings of popcorn were woven into the branches, pine cones and berries peeking from the greenery for a natural look.

“Thanks for coming, by the way,” Jack said, easing his folder onto the space between them. “I would’ve been a wreck without you. Wrinkled paper and crooked edges and all that.”

“That’s true.” She took a long sip of the chocolate drink. Her fingers wrapped tight around the cup as if needing to hold onto something. Her emotions seemed to be caught in a snow flurry, blowing every direction with the winds.

“Colleen…I know you may prefer a quiet Christmas,” he began, his fingers toying awkwardly with a half a cookie, “but I want you to know, you’re welcome to spend the holiday with my family. If you want.”

His eyes locked her gaze, melting her last bit of icy resolve. Without thinking, she touched his hand, her face tilting to meet his. Their lips had barely brushed when the strains of a familiar Christmas jingle interrupted, the sound of his phone ringing in his coat pocket.

With a groan he pulled back, snatching the cell from its hiding place. “I may have to quit if this keeps happening,” he said, tossing an apologetic look over his shoulder as he rose from the table. Colleen's cheeks blushed, her face still tingling from the almost kiss.

She touched her cocoa cup, nearly knocking it over. Reaching to steady it, she accidentally shoved Jack’s half-zipped folder to the ground, its contents spilling beneath the bench.

“Calm down,” she told herself, crouching to collect the legal documents and various official looking papers. Her hands were shaking, which made it rather difficult to put them back inside, and even more ended up spilling as she unzipped the rest of the opening.

But the urge to giggle over her klutziness faded as she touched a familiar piece of stationary–a Christmas sheet with a masked Santa Claus motif in the background. Crookedly cut magazine letters were pasted on to form part of a message, the rest of the pre-cut letters dotting the ground from a spilled envelope.

A chill crept over her that wasn’t from the cold, her gaze slowly rising to meet Jack as he walked towards her. Oblivious, he flipped his phone shut and flashed her a cheerful smile. “No more interruptions, I promise. I’ve switched the ringer off and–”

“You,” she said, the guilty papers clutched in her hand. “You’re him–my Secret Santa.”

“What?” His eyes widened as he recognized the paper in her hand, his face visibly paling. Moving a step backwards, he extended a hand as if to block the blowup he knew was coming. “Colleen, I–I can explain. I know this looks a little strange but–”

“How did you get involved in this?” She held up the sheet accusingly, her voice trembling with a combination of hurt and anger. “Was this all a trick on the part of–who? Meg? Dawn? Rosalyn?”

“If I asked you to go out with me, you would have said ‘no’, without thinking,” he said, his tone gentle, pleading almost. “All I wanted was a second chance, a chance to get to know you. Because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since we first met.”

She gasped, the words shaking her icy sense of reason. Hugging herself, she backed away from Jack, whose look of guilt was already chipping away at her stony exterior.

“Colleen, I know you didn’t fall in love with me at first sight,” he said quietly, “but I hoped that maybe you weren't waiting on destiny or anyone else’s approval to fall in love.”

Hot tears of confusion burned her eyes, blurring her vision. She turned away before Jack could see them spill across her face, her hands furiously wiping them away. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I'm sorry. It's just–excuse me.” Without waiting for a response, she rose from the table and made her way towards the parking spaces as the emotions tumbled inside her like a castle of blocks collapsing.

 

 

*****

 

 

“You’re going to regret this, Colleen. He's a nice guy who wanted a chance, that's all.”

Meg’s voice seemed far away as she lectured her friend through the phone line. After attempting to communicate with her for several days, she’d finally caught Colleen by switching phones to avoid the call screen. It was Christmas Eve, a late date for confessing her guilt in this whole affair, Colleen felt.

“How else was Jack supposed to get your attention?” she reasoned, as Colleen stayed moodily silent. “You never would have gone out with him and we both know why. But he’s perfect for you and everyone else can see it. You might notice it too–”

“Stop right there,” said Colleen. “My love life is my own business, even if I choose not to have one at all. And another thing,” she added, “if Jack’s so perfect for me, than why did he need you to engineer this whole setup? Why not let nature take its course?”

“He didn’t need my help,” said Meg. “All I did was pass the torch to him. Jack arranged for the dinner menu and driving expenses for your family on his own. And he thought of the horse ranch too–he was already volunteering there as a Santa for the visiting school children.”

Colleen sighed, her eyes fluttering closed in a weary gesture. “Look, Meg, I know you meant well, I know he's probably a great guy....but I’m sorry. I have to make my own decisions. Especially when it comes to romance.” She cradled the phone without saying goodbye, her fingers tapping restlessly against her desk.

She had absolutely no reason to hold back like this, did she? The attraction she felt for Jack was real; the connection between them enough to make any hesitation over a silly Christmas game seem petty and childish.

Pulling open her desk's top drawer, she lifted out the picture taken of her and Jack at the ice skating expedition. She studied it, her eyes tracing his rugged jaw, the humorous sparkle in his face.

Her own photographed smile was one of surprise, a slight hesitation frozen between protests to the photographer. Her cheeks glowed–from something other than the chill breeze and skating, Colleen knew. Sliding it into the drawer, she closed it again.

She needed time to think about this, even if everything within her felt the urge to rush after Jack and make the connection between them complete. Wasn’t that the point of the silly lucky charm? Even if their first glimpse of love was imperfect, maybe this second or third glimpse was enough.

The notion wove itself into Colleen's thoughts as she walked towards home after leaving her office. Past the doors of poverty resource center, a Santa with a kettle and bell was collecting for a local charity. She pulled a few bills from her purse and tossed the donation in his tin.

“Thank you, dear,” said a buoyant voice, a pair of blue eyes regarding her with a kind twinkle. “I hope this Christmas Eve finds you in a hopeful kind of spirit.”

“Not exactly,” she admitted, a twinge of recognition stirring as she took in the coarse white whiskers, threaded with specks of gray. “I’m actually feeling a little lost right now. Someone I thought was a friend–they sort of tricked me.”

He shook his head, a gentle smile creasing his features. “What a shame. And yet…perhaps, all can be mended. Christmas is a wonderful time for second chances. Even last chances, am I right?”

“I–I don’t know.” She felt the crowd pushing between them, the mass of last-minute shoppers making it hard to continue their conversation. The distance between herself and Santa grew, a child pushing his way towards the white-bearded figure in his eagerness as Colleen was carried in the opposite direction by the movement of shoppers. Over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Santa's hand waving in her direction, a kindly smile before he disappeared behind a wool-coated figure emerging from a florist's shop.

Her apartment building seemed extra quiet, many of the occupants no doubt spending Christmas Eve elsewhere, celebrating with friends and family. Bitterness shot through her as she unlocked the door and pushed it open. As she stepped inside, her foot slid on something just over the threshold.

An envelope had been pushed beneath the door.

Jack Bradley–or Meg, or whoever–was clearly at it again. Her eyes narrowed as she unfolded its contents to find the Secret Santa stationary and magazine letters pasted on with glue. The message made her pause in confusion, her eyes retracing the words at least twice more.

“Colleen,” it read, “if you still believe that true love is never lost, then join the tree lighting crowd at Hartley Park before nine o’clock tonight. And remember to bring your lucky charm for a last chance at happiness!”

“This is a joke,” she said tossing it on the counter, anger heating her cheeks. Yet something in those words haunted her. It wasn’t anything she could explain, not even to herself. She couldn’t shake the need to do what it said, the burning curiosity to find out what the cryptic words really meant.

All she knew was that eight-thirty found her slipping her coat and scarf back on, Truda’s ornament safely looped around her neck.

The trolley ride through Hartley Park was freezing cold, her hands clutching the pole as she debated whether this qualified as madness. The Secret Santa message was tucked inside her pocket, and she’d even reread it a couple times to see if it still made sense. What scared her most was that it seemed the exact thing to do, as if somehow she was pulled in this direction by an invisible force.

Dismounting with the other passengers, she found herself lost in a crowd of strangers. Hundreds of festive citizens eager to witness the grand tree lighting in the center of the park. In the midst of them, Colleen stood alone, feeling out of place and a little frightened. For some reason, she felt anticipation, its adrenaline tinged with hope and fear. As if her “last chance at happiness”, as the message writer had worded it, was leaving her breathless with its secrecy.

The instructions were so vague and the atmosphere so overwhelming, the emotion ebbed in a few minutes. Colleen was crushed and overheated in the packed crowd of carolers, pulling her coat off despite the freezing temperatures. She moved towards the back of the crowd as a sense of ridiculousness crept over her, as if she could hide where the shops were closed and darkened, the vendor’s stands locked up tight.

Someone shoved against her and she heard something clatter to the pavement below. The movement of the still-growing crowd had pushed her several feet away before she realized that Truda’s amulet was no longer hanging round her neck. The clasp had broken for the third time in its life–in her mind flashed an image of it being crushed by the feet of passing strangers.

“Excuse me,” she said, “I dropped something. Please, can I just get past you…” A sense of despair washed over her as she squeezed in the direction of her previous spot, scanning the pavement for any sign of the precious charm. Instead spotting bits of litter and other lost items, like gloves and hats dropped in the confusion.

Why had she listened to that note? She should’ve learned her lesson from trusting the previous ones, from thinking any good could come from another clue in an already twisted game. “Please,” she said, gently maneuvering between two parked strollers, “I've lost something–”

She saw it. Mere feet away, its tarnished surface gleaming in the dim light, momentarily obscured by a child's scuffed sneaker as it trotted past. Lunging towards the glint of metal, her fingers reached it the same moment as another set. Five strong masculine fingers, their owner meeting her glance with surprised brown eyes.

“Colleen…” he stared at her, his mouth open with shock. “I–I didn’t know…what are you doing here?”

“Answering your note,” she said, wishing the awkwardness wasn’t so evident in her tone. Snatching the amulet from the pavement, she stuffed it in her pocket and flashed him a challenging glare. Would he explain the point of a freezing outing on Christmas Eve in a crowded square–or maybe issue an apology instead?

“My note?” He shook his head, his own hand ducking inside his coat pocket to retrieve a folded sheet of paper. “I haven’t sent you a message since the horse ranch. But when I got home tonight I found this…” he trailed off, his hand extending the paper in her direction.

She read the message, her eyebrows rising as she read the crazily-cut words. “A final chance for true love is within your grasp. Be at Hartley Park with the tree lighting crowd by nine o’clock tonight to seize your destiny.”

"Meg?" she said.

"She took the day off," he said. "And she's never been to my apartment before. I don't think anyone at the office knows where I live."

"Then how–" she began. “Jack, this is crazy.” She looked at him, seeing her confusion mirrored in his gaze. Before she could speak again, the crowd around them roared with appreciation, the big tree lighting moment having commenced.

“I guess maybe Santa was behind it after all," he said. Despite the teasing note his voice, she saw a look of puzzlement in his glance, along with something more–curiosity, perhaps, about her true feelings.

Her doubts slid away, even as one of her hands slid across his shoulder, the other intertwining with his fingers. Their lips met in a long overdue kiss, the noise of the crowd's latest carol fading into the backdrop. They were only aware of each other, not noticing as the mysterious note fluttered to the ground beside them.

 

 

*****

 

 

Strings of Christmas lights were strewn across the living room floor as Colleen packed the last of the ornaments back inside their cardboard box. The wreath had come down from the door and lay on the coffee table, its ribbon still somewhat misshapen from poor packing.

Around her neck was an ornament of a different type, a crescent moon amulet. As she placed the last Christmas ball in the box, her boyfriend settled on the floor beside her, a mug of hot chocolate in each hand.

“Next year,” he said, “we’re making sure you jazz this place up for the holidays. Something besides a mangled door wreath and a half-decorated cedar in the corner.”

“But right now, let’s worry about New Year’s,” she said, taking one of the mugs from his hand and sampling its contents. “Because my whole family will be here and they’ll expect you to be pretty fantastic. Magical romances do run in the family, you know.”

“How can I forget?” he grinned, giving the amulet a playful tap. “I guess it did sort of bring us together. For our last chance, that is.”

“Un-huh. So I was right all along–sort of.”

He shook his head. "I think you mean I was right. Shouldn't the credit go to the mysterious Santa?"

"The real one, yes," she answered, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. She paused as a rap sounded on the door. “Special delivery for Miss Quinn,” said a voice on the other side.

“Thanks,” said Colleen, signing for the slender package, a curious look on her face as she studied the postage. “Look at these crazy stamps,” she said, as Jack leaned over shoulder. “It looks like it came from somewhere international, but the return address is so blurred…I don’t think I know anyone overseas.”

“Yeah, but its got your name and address, so it must be for you.”

She pulled the wrapping away, her curiosity building as she sensed another mysterious surprise coming her way. A gasp escaped her lips as she pulled out a glossy eight by ten photograph of her and Jack at the skating rink, like the one in her desk drawer–only this one was bordered by an elegant silver frame.

“Who sent this?” she asked. Flipping over the tag dangling from one corner to read a sweeping, old fashioned cursive:

“Merry Christmas, Colleen and Jack! I trust you took my advice and are now ringing in the New Year together. It took quite a bit of work to bring the two of you together, but I savor a good challenge, so don’t feel bad. Instead, commit to celebrating many more Christmas Eves together.

 

 

–Your good friend, Saint Nicholas

 

 

“Don’t look at me,” said Jack as she turned a wide-eyed gaze in his direction. “It’s just another gift from our friendly neighborhood Secret Santa.”

Her smile, devoid of surprise, glowed brighter than the one in the photo as his arm curved round her shoulder in a loving embrace.