Not His Type (28 page)

“I
was…surprised,” he said lamely.

Riley held up a
hand, forestalling more insults from his angry wife.  He turned to Travis.

“You should
know, Brooke didn’t want to go on the date with Rafa,” Riley said.  “Yeah, we
know, nobody
forced
her to go along with it.”  His tone was bitingly
sarcastic.  “But she didn’t like it, and she was going to tell you the night of
the tree lighting ceremony.  The day after her one and only fake date.  She
told us that day at work.”

“Anything Brooke
did that you believe was deceitful,” Jazz said, “she did because she trusted
me
.” 
Jazz pointed at herself.  “So yes, I have to bear some of the blame for this
mess.  But
you
are the one who has to fix it.”

“Will you help
me?” Travis asked, an idea slowly forming in his head.

“Tell us what
you’re thinking,” Riley hedged.

“Is the bakery
open tomorrow?”

“Until two,”
Jazz answered.  “Why?”

Travis gave them
a rough outline of his plan.  By the time he left their house, it was nearing
midnight.  He wanted nothing more than to rush home and pound on Brooke’s
door.  He wanted to drag her into his arms and beg her forgiveness.  He wanted
to kiss her senseless.  Instead, he went inside his own house and finalized his
plans for the following day.

Chapter
37

The next day, it
was shortly before noon when Riley called Brooke to the front of the bakery. 
He handed her a bag from a nearby deli.  Brooke stared at it, her expression
blank.

“What’s this?”
she asked.

“It was just
delivered,” Riley answered.  “The guy said it was for you.  I thought you
ordered lunch.”

“I didn’t order
anything.”

“Well, that’s
weird.”  He called to Jazz in her office.  “Jazz did you order anything from
Dillman’s?”

“No, why?” she
called back without leaving the office.

“Nothing to
worry about, love.”

Riley turned
back to Brooke.  He gestured at the bag.

“What is it?” he
asked.

“It looks
like…chicken salad,” Brooke said, frowning curiously.  “And there’s a note,
too.”

“Ooh, a
mystery!” Riley said, grinning and rubbing his hands together.  Brooke couldn’t
help smiling.  “What’s the note say?  Read it!”

Brooke read
aloud, “It’s too late for the twelve days of Christmas.  I’ll have to make do
with twelve hours.  And on such short notice, Dillman’s chicken salad on a bed
of baby greens is as close as I can get to a partridge in a pear tree.”  She
looked up at Riley.  “This is just weird.”

“You might as
well enjoy the salad,” Riley suggested, grinning.  “Dillman’s makes the best
chicken salad!”

An hour later, a
pretty little box arrived at the bakery.  Inside lay two decadent caramel
turtle candies.  Jazz eyed them with envy until Brooke handed her one with a
little roll of her eyes.  Under the candies was another note.  Again, she read
it out loud.

“I assumed you
wouldn’t want two birds hanging around the bakery, so I hope these turtle
candies will suffice to replace the two turtle doves.”  She looked up at Jazz
and Riley.  “Are you two doing this?  Is this some attempt to cheer me up?” 
She gave them a sad little smile.  “I know I haven’t been very good company
lately.”

“Seriously?”
Jazz asked sarcastically.  “You saw me scarf down that turtle!  Do you really
think I’d be giving them away?”

“If not you two,
then who?”

“Maybe you have
a secret admirer,” Riley suggested.  “Maybe one of our customers has taken a
shine to you.”

“Yeah,” Brooke
mused, pretending deep thought.  “Probably that creepy little guy with the
comb-over.  The one who always smells like wet dog and glue.”

“Ugh. 
Doubtful.”

Shortly before
the bakery closed at two, a third delivery arrived.  This one was a box that
felt as if it were empty.  Brooke pulled it open and carefully pulled out a
handful of tissue paper.  Nestled inside the red and green paper was a
Christmas ornament; it was a delicate blown glass rendition of the Statue of
Liberty.  Brooke held it up for Jazz and Riley’s inspection.

“I get it!”
Riley crowed.  “The Statue of Liberty was a gift to the US from France, remember?  Three
French
hens?  Get it?”

“It’s a stretch,
but yes,” Brooke said.  She smiled as she put the ornament back into its little
protective nest in the box.  “Well, this has been interesting, but I don’t even
have a Christmas tree.  Besides, it’s time to close, so whoever my benefactor
is will be able to save some time and money now.  No more gifts.”

When Brooke
reached her house, she stared at her front porch.  An enormous Noble fir leaned
against the railing.  Brooke climbed slowly out of her car and approached the
porch as if expecting someone or something to spring from behind the tree.

“It was
delivered a few hours ago.”

Brooke turned to
see Nick Rodgers standing beside her.  He smiled.

“It’s a
beautiful tree,” he said.  “Where’d you find it?”

“I – I didn’t,”
Brooke answered.

“Really?”  Nick
looked back at the tree.  “Hey, look, there’s a card!”

Nick plucked the
red envelope from the branches and handed it to Brooke.  Still staring at the
tree, she pulled the card out.  In the same neat print as the other gifts, the
card read simply, “This goes with the ornament.”

“Can I help you
carry it inside?” Nick asked.

“I, um, guess
so,” Brooke said uncertainly.

At three
o’clock, Brooke received a text message on her phone.  It came from a number
she didn’t recognize and consisted of only four words: 
Look on your porch.
 
Curiosity burning now, Brooke opened her front door.  She looked around, but
saw nothing.  She was about to close the door again, feeling inexplicably
disappointed, when she looked down.  At her feet lay a cell phone and a green
envelope.  She picked them up, looking down the road that led away from her and
Travis Cooper’s houses.  No vehicles were in sight.  Brooke closed the door and
opened the green envelope.

“This may not be
four calling birds,” she read, “but you could certainly make a lot of calls
using this phone.  Maybe you can get rid of that paperweight you carry in your
purse.  P.S.  Don’t worry about the bill.”

Brooke looked at
the phone.  Her suspicions were confirmed when she looked at the messaging
application; the text message she’d received was sent from this phone.  It was
one of the latest phones, a device with more bells and whistles than Brooke
knew how to use.  With a self-mocking smile, she murmured, “Maybe the next gift
will be the user manual.”

Uncertain what
to do with the phone, Brooke set it down on the coffee table.  She went about
her business, all the while wondering who was behind the unusual, albeit
clever, gifts.

At four o’clock,
Brooke wasn’t completely surprised when the new cell phone on the table emitted
a sound like sleigh bells.  A new text message. 
Porch, please.

On the front
porch sat five large boxes, all wrapped in various gold paper.  Again, Brooke
looked down the road, but it was empty.  She took the lid off the box closest
to the door.  Sure enough, there was a note.

“Five golden
boxes, I hope that will do in place of five golden rings,” Brooke read,
smirking a bit as she did.  “I didn’t want your tree to look like a Charlie
Brown tree.”

Brooke looked
inside the box and gasped.  Several spools of white lights lay in the box. 
Another contained silver and gold garland.  The third held a lovely skirt for
the bottom of the tree.  The remaining two boxes held silver and gold ornaments
in various shapes and sizes.  One by one, Brooke carried the boxes inside.  Not
knowing what else to do, she began to hang the lights on the tree, using a
stepladder to get to the uppermost branches.

As she worked,
Brooke smiled.  She was certain Jazz and Riley were behind the gifts, no matter
what they said.  Actually, now that she thought of it, they hadn’t actually
denied it, they just hadn’t admitted it.  There was a slight difference. 
Besides, who else would know so much about her to be able to give her these
gifts?  Brooke had to admit, she appreciated their efforts, prompted by their love
and concern for her.  She also realized her spirits felt slightly brighter than
they had in weeks.

Brooke
completely lost track of the time and when she heard sleigh bells again, she
started; she was still working on decorating her Christmas tree.  She picked up
the phone.

“Jazz, what can
you possibly do for six geese a-laying?” Brooke chuckled to herself as she
looked at the phone.

Porch
,
was all the message said this time.  Jazz must be getting tired of sending
them.  Brooke opened the door.  Once again, she didn’t see anything at first. 
She looked down to see a small black velvet box.  Gasping, she stooped and
picked it up, opening it quickly.  Inside lay a pair of earrings.  As Brooke
stared at the two large egg-shaped pearls, the first doubts began creeping into
her thoughts.  She couldn’t imagine Jazz and Riley buying these for her.  But
who else?

Brooke chanced a
quick look at Travis’ house.  He wasn’t even home, and more importantly, the
last time they’d talked, Travis had left her with no doubt about his feelings. 
He’d not buy her a can of rubbery smoked oysters, much less this amazing pair
of pearls!  Who could be behind these gifts?

Six o’clock
brought a beautiful comb for her hair.  The comb, in keeping with the next
verse – seven swans a-swimming – was shaped like a delicate feather.  The
silver sparkled in the lights from Brooke’s tree.  She was getting a little
concerned.  Then she caught herself and laughed; she wasn’t really the kind of
woman to inspire a stalker, now was she?  This had to be someone she knew.  But
who?

Seven o’clock
rolled around and a very fancy box appeared on Brooke’s front porch. 
Hesitantly, Brooke opened the box, recognizing it as a dress box.  She
carefully folded the tissue paper back to reveal a black dress.  Brooke
snatched the folded note up and read it.

“A pretty maid
needs a pretty dress to wear for a special evening.  P.S.  Not suitable for
milking cows.”

Brooke giggled. 
She laid the note aside and lifted the dress out.  Her smile faded; the dress
was beautiful!  As she held it in front of her, the new cell phone rang out
again.  Brooke looked at the display. 
Does it fit?
  Brooke looked at
the size on the dress, dismayed to see it was a size smaller than the blue
dress she’d thrown out after Thanksgiving.  There was no way the beautiful
dress was going to fit her.  Sighing, she hung the dress on her closet door
without trying it on.

Brooke returned
to the living room, planning to sit down and enjoy staring at her very own
Christmas tree.  She had just sat down when the cell phone chimed merrily
again.  Brooke picked it up and read the message. 
Door please.

Shaking her
head, Brooke opened the front door.  Two boxes and two envelopes sat on the
porch.  Brooke didn’t even bother to look around this time; she simply picked
up the gifts and carried them inside.  She figured if her benefactor meant to
harm her, she’d already be lying in a puddle of blood on her front porch. 
Brooke snickered at her own dark thoughts as she set the boxes down on the
coffee table.

The boxes and
envelopes appeared to be numbered nine through twelve.  She opened the largest
box to reveal a lovely pair of black satin sandals.  The narrow straps were
decorated with sparkling rhinestones.  The note in the bottom of the box said
simply,
Dancing shoes
.  Ah, Brooke remembered, for nine ladies dancing.

The box that
bore the number ten contained makeup very similar to the pots and tubes Brooke
had thrown out.  She noted there were also some sparkly eye shadows and a
glittery powder this time.  The note read,
You’re already more than beautiful
and sexy enough to make this lord’s heart leap, but I understand girls like
this sort of thing.

The phone chimed
and Brooke realized her anticipation was nearly unbearable.  She looked at the
phone and read the message. 
Almost ready?
  What does that mean, she
wondered.  Ready for what?  Was she supposed to be putting these things on,
getting dressed for something?  And what was she supposed to do about that
too-small dress?

Uncertainly,
Brooke carried the phone, the shoes, the makeup, the comb and the earrings to
her bedroom.  Quickly, she made up her face, lightly dusting her skin with the
sparkly powder.  She combed her hair, scooped it back on one side of her face,
and stuck the silver feather comb into it.  Cringing, she took the black dress
from its hanger, unzipped it and stepped into it.  The taffeta slid easily up
over her hips; Brooke reached to her side and pulled up the zipper.  She stared
at herself in the mirror.  It fit!  The dress fit her perfectly!  A tiny voice
in Brooke’s head whispered,
And you look beautiful!