Secret Santa Read online

  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 6th 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 imp
ressive 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.