Must Love Mistletoe

Christmas sold by way of merchandise and atmosphere was trying to wear off on her.

Turning her back on the storytime tableau, she thought about her real office, where people dressed in suits the colors of stone and dirt and ash. Her real work, where the kind of business conducted was just right for a hard-hearted, hard-headed realist like herself.

A place where people bled money, not red.

She found her gaze on Finn again, and she wrenched it away as the front door opened. Through it came the general-no, Captain Reed, the president of the chamber of commerce. With him was a woman with the battleship bustline and helmet hair of her elementary school principal. Bailey narrowed her eyes. It was her elementary school principal.

Both newcomers paused to watch Santa and his little buddies for several minutes, then made their way over to Bailey at the register.

The captain beamed. “I knew you would take care of things,” he said. Then he gestured to his buxom companion. “Do you remember Peggy Mohn?”

“Of course I do.” She nodded. “Principal Mohn.”

The older woman shot out her hand and squeezed Bailey’s fingers like she used to squeeze the upper arms of little kids who couldn’t stand still in the lunch line. “Bailey. Good to see you back home. I’ve left education and I’m now in medical equipment sales.”

Education was better off for the defection, Bailey thought, but she pitied the bedpans.

“Peggy’s also the VP of the chamber,” the captain added. “She’s an idea person, I’ll tell you. It was she who coordinated all these Christmas events among the local businesses.”

“Oh…nice.” Though thanks to the old battle-ax Bailey was within spitting distance of the first male she’d ever shared spit with-and whom she wanted to share spit with again.

“It’s been a great success,” Peggy put in. “Though I had a few bad moments when I heard The Perfect Christmas wouldn’t stand by its obligations.”

Her disapproving tone set Bailey’s neck hairs on fire. Not only had the old biddy tried to squelch every childish joy at Crown Elementary-she’d had the swings removed and there’d been a no-running rule on the playground-but Bailey didn’t like her intimations about shirking responsibility. While she might assert that her mother would have to wake up soon and smell the single- woman java, it wasn’t up to Peggy Mohn to stand in judgment. The older woman didn’t understand the hell her mother had gone through during her divorce from Bailey’s father. She did. The memory of the misery and the tears could still scratch like fingernails against the chalkboard of her mind.

Bailey’s voice sounded stiff. “Look…”

“But now you’ve taken over,” Peggy went on. Even she was beaming now. “I remember your attendance awards, citizenship medals, the recess and lunch peacekeeper program you started in sixth grade.”

“Pretty easy to keep the peace when there were rules against play,” she murmured under her breath.

“So I know we can count on you,” Peggy finished.

Bailey felt a cold chill put out that still-burning fire on the back of her neck. “Count on me for what, exactly?”

“The Valentine’s Weekend celebrations we have in mind.” The older woman was ticking them off on her fingers. “The coordinated events we’re planning for St. Patrick’s Day, Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day, Thanksgiving.”

“I’m not…I won’t…” Bailey fumbled for words, as she felt heavy chains draping over her, cold links twisting around her waist, her wrists, locking her to the store, to Coronado, to-

“Bailey, I’m having some trouble here.”

Finn, it was Finn, plucking at the patent leather belt around his waist. She realized that storytime was over. The children had joined their mothers and were crowded around the display of books she’d conveniently set up behind the Santa chair.

“Let me help you with that,” she offered, coming around the register. “Excuse me,” she told the chamber of commerce people, “but I have to get back to work.”

They both were smiling again. “That’s just what I like to hear,” Peggy said.

Bailey ignored her and dragged Finn in the direction of the stock room in the back, signaling Bronte toward the front register. “Don’t take the costume off while you’re in sight of the kids,” she scolded Santa in a fierce whisper, half because Peggy pissed her off and half because even a pirate-especially a pirate-should realize he was playing a role here.

With the door shut to screen them from the rest of the store, while he removed his hat and luxurious facial hair, she went after his belt. The mechanism was stiff and stubborn, and she grunted in exasperation.

Finn’s voice sounded amused. “Never in a million years did I think I’d have you working so hard to open my pants again.”

“It’s your jacket, as if you didn’t know.” In any case, her face prickled with embarrassed heat. She gave the belt’s leather tongue an impatient yank, which sent him stumbling back. A tall stack of boxes tumbled.

“Damn. Now look what you’ve done.” She pushed him aside to reright the packages.

“You’re so very welcome,” Finn said, sarcasm dripping from the polite words, as he stripped off the Santa suit so that he stood once again in a white T-shirt and seen-better-days jeans. “I was glad to extend my services.”

She flushed. “This is new stock that I haven’t put out yet. I don’t want any of it damaged.”

He picked up one of the boxes, stacked it, stacked another. “You’re getting this stuff from all over the country. And lots of the addresses are handwritten.”

Bailey bit her bottom lip, then cast a glance at the closed door. “Here’s the thing. Due to the upheaval caused by my folks’ separation, there’s a bit of a…a hole in the stock. So I’ve bought a few things-okay, more than a few things-off eBay and some other sites. Older pieces. I’m going to turn the smallest room upstairs into something called Grandma’s Attic.” She believed the idea was brilliant herself, but she wasn’t sure what anyone else would think.

So it was good to talk about it out loud. To talk about it with Finn, for some odd reason. “To be honest, I hope to make a killing on vintage decorations.”

Finn placed the last carton on top of the stack. “Markup?”

She could hardly hide her smile. Then she gave up trying. “In a tourist setting like this? With vacation dollars burning holes in their Bermuda pockets? Grandiose.”

Finn laughed. “Now there’s the creative little business wonk I know. Remember that lemonade stand you ran one summer? Way before Starbucks opened its doors, you were the first fast-food service person I knew to keep a tip jar by the cash box.” For some reason she couldn’t imagine, he linked his arms around her waist. It was a friendly gesture, she supposed, wondering if that was how he saw her now.

She stared at the pulse beating in his throat and realized hers was pounding much, much faster. It wasn’t exactly “friendly” feelings on this side of the aisle, damn it.

His voice lowered. His head did too. “You know what, GND?”

She could smell him again. That scent that wasn’t Irish Spring, but that was Secret Service Finn. Man Finn. Still sexy Finn. “What?”

“I have a sneaking suspicion you’re happy in this place.”

Bailey couldn’t deny it fast enough. “It’s just business.”

His long fingers caressed the small of her back, and a little shiver ran up her spine. She remembered his lips on hers in the T-bird. His teeth scraping against the skin of her shoulder. The wet suction of his mouth on her nipple. God, that had been so good.

He smiled as if he was reading her mind. “The Perfect Christmas is a business you just happen to love.”

The words paralyzed her. “You’re wrong. None of this is what I want,” she said, her voice hoarse.

He ran a soothing hand along her back. “Bailey-”

Jolting back, she jerked free of his touch. “None of it.”

His arms fell to his side. His expression hardened. “That’s right. It’s only business. All business. That’s why you rushed home when you heard the store was in trouble. That’s why you coerced me into playing Santa. I’m sure you’ll say that’s why I had your tongue in my mouth and why I had my mouth on your breasts the other night too.”