returned to the shelf, he grazed her arm. She inched away, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes. Her expression was thoughtful. “Big spender,” she said with a gently teasing grin, before turning away and rolling her cart toward the opposite end of the aisle.
Mike’s tongue felt unusually thick and slow. He still hadn’t introduced himself, but he couldn’t continue following her. Too obvious, even in a small store. He wandered the aisles, bypassing a sale on mixed nuts and waxed baking cups as he looked for the candy section.
A red mitten lay abandoned on the floor. The bottles in his basket clinked as he set it down to pick up the mitten. Smiling to himself, he turned it over in his hand. Soft and fuzzy, slightly damp.
He caught himself before he caressed the soft wool between his fingers. Sap. Embarrassed for himself, he thrust the mitten into his pocket. After the debacle with Denise, he wasn’t planning to be in the market for a good, long while.
Except, technically, he was.
He loosened the scarf around his throat. The store felt too warm and close. Steamy. At least he’d found the sweets. He examined rows of chocolate bars and bagged candy that sold two for a dollar, looking for something, well, impressive. A small decorative gold tin of Whitman’s Samplers was the best he could do, so he dropped several into his cart and headed for the checkout.
Wheels squeaked nearby. He sped up, making certain their paths intersected at the checkout lane. There was only one lane, and a woman with a cart filled with the makings for a holiday dinner—including a frozen turkey—had arrived first.
Mike lifted the turkey and a ten-pound sack of potatoes onto the conveyor belt, then turned and gestured at the blonde. Her cart stood between them. “Ladies first.”
“No, you go. I have more items.”
“I’m in no rush.”
She nodded and moved past him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He stood directly behind her, looking at the straight, silky hair that brushed her collar. He closed his eyes and inhaled. How long had it been since he’d held a woman? Since he’d known the comfort of a soft, warm, curved body, a sweet voice and gentle presence?
He shook his head, dismayed that he could be seduced so easily, even after almost a year of virtual monkhood. First had come the long deployment, then the Dear John letter that had left him certain he’d never get serious with a woman again, let alone romanticize over a complete stranger.
One failed attempt was enough for him. At first marrying Denise had seemed like a good idea. She had all the qualities he hadn’t known he was looking for in a wife, until she and Shannon had kindly pointed that out and convinced him to propose. Unfortunately, after they’d been together for more than a year with the wedding still on hold, his former fiancée had nagged and griped more often than not. The deployment to the Gulf had been the death knell to an engagement already on life support.
Many times since the breakup, he’d wondered why he’d done nothing, even though he’d recognized Denise’s gradual withdrawal. And why, after the first sting of receiving her letter, he’d been more relieved than sad. More regretful than wounded.
Reminded of all that, he deliberately looked away from the woman standing in front of him. He told himself that his interest in her was only a pleasant distraction.
After a minute, he yanked the mitten from his pocket. “I almost forgot. You dropped this.”
She turned halfway. “Yes, that’s mine.” She took the mitten, matching it with the mate. She smoothed them between long, elegant fingers with polished nails. “Thank you again.”
“I’m Mike, by the way. Mike Kavanaugh.”
Her mouth opened, then closed with a little huh of a smile. She glanced into his basket. “I thought you might be.”
She recognized his name? Mike was going to ask how that could be, even in a small town, but she’d turned and begun placing her grocery items on the belt.
He studied her selections. Fancy stuff, fit for a more sophisticated holiday than he’d have expected, now that he’d seen the down-home, humble nature of the town. She had a loaf of Italian bread. Bunches of herbs. Fresh strawberries that must have been flown in. Jars of pistachios and almonds. Anchovies. Capers. Olives, radishes and two kinds of specialty cheese. Plus a bag of minimarshmallows and the bottle, which turned out to be sparkling ginger ale.
Marshmallows, anchovies and ginger ale? She had eclectic tastes.
She noticed his interest and paused with a jar of maraschino cherries in her hand. “My name is Mary.”
He crinkled his eyes at her, despite the previous decision to keep his interest detached. “As in Mary and Joseph? That’s appropriate for a town called Christmas.”
“The villagers do take the name seriously,” she said with a wry look.
“Maybe I’ll catch the mood.”
Her head cocked. “You’re not imbued with the holiday spirit?”
The question made him recognize the loneliness of being out of step, particularly during the holidays. He was sorry for it, much more than when Nicky had pointed out the same. “Not lately, I’m afraid.”
“Stick around. Christmas will work its magic on you.”
“The town or the holiday?”
She smiled. “They go hand in hand.”
She wrote a check for her groceries, then paused to put on her hat and mittens and button up her coat. She lifted one of her bags and reached for the other.
“Hold on,” he said, liberating another couple of twenties from his wallet. “I’ll help you carry those to your car.”
She cradled one of the paper bags to her front while he took the second and accompanied her to the door. The wind blew viciously, tearing the handle from her grip. The door banged against the wall. He pushed up close behind her and caught the door before it swung back into her face.
She sidestepped. “Do you need a ride? My car’s around the corner.”
“Thanks, but I’m being picked up.”
They moved carefully along a sidewalk that was bumpy with packed ice and snow, then loaded the grocery bags into the backseat of her car, a red Mazda with a plump Santa suction-cupped to a side window. The license plate read FALALA.
Mary’s eyes were slitted against the wind. She scraped hair out of her mouth and made a spitting sound. “I’ll see you around then, Lieutenant Commander Kavanaugh.”
He wanted to ask where and when, but stopped himself. “Maybe that can be arranged. I’m here for a week.”
She hesitated, looking at him with puckered lips. Her eyes held a secret—something fanciful, as if she were playing with him. She seemed about to speak, but changed her mind and got in to the car instead, easing herself behind the wheel. She tugged at the coat, which kept her bundled as furry as a bear.
He briefly imagined what her body might be like beneath
