For my dad, John Petrunak
SUSAN MEIER has been an office manager, the division manager for a charitable organization and a columnist for a local newspaper. Presently, she holds a full-time job at a manufacturing company.
Even though her motto, “The harder you work, the luckier you get,” is taped to the wall of her office, Susan firmly believes you have to balance work and play. An avid reader and lousy golfer, she has learned to juggle the demands of her job and family, while still pursuing her writing career and playing golf twice a week.
Dear Reader,
My father always tried to make Christmas magical for us. There were eleven kids in my family, so money was always tight, but somehow, some way, my dad—in cahoots with my mother—always found a way to make every Christmas memorable.
The year that sticks out most in my mind was the year my father worked out of state. He had to be back at work on Christmas, which meant he needed to be on the road right after lunch on Christmas Eve, and wouldn’t be able to spend any of the holiday with us—not even to see us open our presents. We were all upset about that because everyone knew Santa brought the gifts around midnight and my dad would be long gone.
It was a cold year, so we’d blocked off the kitchen from the rest of the house with a blanket and gathered around the table for lunch. After we ate, one of my sisters left the kitchen and immediately ran back yelping for joy that Santa had come while we were eating and all our gifts were under the tree. I was astounded. Getting gifts one day early was about the best thing that could happen to an eight-year-old, but to have it happen the very year my dad couldn’t be home for Christmas made the whole episode seem downright magical.
We talked about that Christmas for years. Still do, in fact. I think my sister Helen helped my parents set the whole thing up. She won’t admit to it though. Neither will my parents. But whatever the explanation, that one Christmas left us with the feeling that Christmas and family are magic. Real or created by someone who loves you, it doesn’t matter. Magic is magic.
Merry Christmas!
When the elevator doors opened, Gabriel Cayne thought he had walked into an ad for blue jeans. Bent before him, encased in prewashed, natural-fit jeans was the most perfect derriere he’d ever seen. The woman unsuccessfully tried to gather groceries, as they rolled in all directions down the hall, but Gabe didn’t pay too much attention to her dilemma. For this short span of time he had nothing on his mind but enjoying the view. And what a view. The right kind of curves in all the right places.
His vision of perfection lasted three more seconds, then—after snagging a can of green beans—his quarry straightened, and Gabe saw she was his stuffy, conservative neighbor who lived in the apartment across the hall with her two equally stuffy friends. He almost sighed.
He didn’t care to run into her on a normal day, but on this cold, rainy December day, after receiving the news his grandmother was dying, he’d rather take his chances in the rain again than have to make small talk.
“Good evening,” he mumbled, trying to be polite, anyway.
Pushing her blond hair off her face, she glanced at him. Even in the dim hall light, Gabe could see her eyes were green. Despite their many “encounters” over her contention that he played his stereo too loud, his parties lasted too long and his friends made too much noise, he’d never noticed them before.
“Good evening,” she mumbled, then she bent again, grabbed a jar of mayonnaise and set it along the wall by her door since her shopping bag was so wet it had disinte grated.
Looking down the corridor, Gabe saw her groceries had traveled the whole way to 3C. Though his key was two millimeters away from his lock, the gentleman in him couldn’t leave without helping her. He set his briefcase beside his apartment door, placed his wet trench coat on top of it, then strode down the hall as he said, “I’ll get these.”
But Kassandra wished he wouldn’t. Really wished he wouldn’t. Not on the day she’d discovered one of her roommates had eloped. Not on the day the engine in her car had caught fire. And not a week before her second roommate was transferring to Boston. She wasn’t in the mood to have to be friendly to the six-foot-three playboy from across the hall, no matter how good he looked in his striking black suit….
Or maybe because of how good he looked in his striking black suit. The expensive suit—tailored to fit his perfect body—personified everything she disliked about him. He had a flawless life—an easy life. Since he ran his family’s company, he not only didn’t have to worry about money, but he could do anything he wanted, including have parties until all hours any day of the week. Every time he had a party, Kassandra’s baby, Candy, cried all night.
And when Candy didn’t sleep, neither did Kassandra…and then she’d miss school the next day.
It was no wonder she found it so hard to be nice to him.
“Here you go,” he said, striding toward her, holding an odd assortment of canned spaghetti and soups, most of them with cartoon characters on the labels. Her food choices seemed odd to Gabe. Almost odd enough to tease her about. That is, if she had been someone with whom he actually wanted to speak. He made a move to give her the cans, saw her hands were full and looked at her.
Great! Now she was going to have to let him in. They both stifled a sigh.
Kassandra turned and inserted her key into her lock, and the door gave easily. Standing directly behind her, Gabe noticed that her hair looked almost the color of wheat, and was, in fact, quite pretty. Surprisingly pretty. And sweetsmelling, too.
Deciding that train of thought was ludicrous, Gabe moved away from her hair. He bent down to gather a few more items from the floor. Then he followed Kassandra as she led him through her foyer and into her kitchen.
All the apartments in this reasonably new building were neat as a pin, elegant in a functional sort of way. Gabe had decorated his ultramodern—flashy black lacquer trimmed in gold—from the bedroom to the bath to the kitchen. But Kassandra and her two friends had used a softer touch. Though Gabe couldn’t say he would want to live here, he sort of liked her overstuffed floral sofa and chair and the green-and-white leaf pattern incorporated into the all-white kitchen. He knew she couldn’t afford this apartment on her own and neither could either of her friends. He’d expected it to be an inexpensive nightmare, decorated with everybody’s gaudy taste. Instead, he found they must have compromised….
Which amazed him because Kassandra O’Hara had never tried to compromise with him, only demanded that he tone it down. Twice she’d even called the police on him.
That still rankled, particularly since his family owned the company that owned this building. His parents and grandmother continued to get activity reports from the superintendent. Those reports, brief as they were, had
