Seeking Single Male (22 page)

experienced day in and day out.

Even though the Christmas card she'd mailed to her father a month ago had been returned yesterday with no forwarding

address, at least she still had Janet. Even if her business were shut down in the next few months, she'd still find a way to make

a living and eventually repay her debt. Even if Greg Healey didn't care for her, she had her health and good friends around her.

Everything was relative.

So with much effort, she quashed the emotions that seemed to have careened out of control since the episode in his room two

nights ago. Her left brain told her there was no future with Greg Healey. But her right brain had wrapped its synapses around

the words Annette had spoken yesterday.
When love finds you, you shouldn't waste time.

She hadn't shared her burgeoning feelings for Greg with anyone, although Annette suspected something was going on. Alex

had asked a few vague questions about the rezoning proposal the last time they'd talked on the phone, but was preoccupied with

overseeing the Christmas rush at Tremont's and with moving into her new home. Rich had left Friday and wouldn't return until

the thirtieth. Harry was no help whatsoever.

But she planned to tell Janet about Greg, another reason she was looking forward to their time together. Her mother would

want all the details, would want to sit up until two in the morning in their pj's, talking about life and love and men. And maybe

in the course of trying to express her thoughts about Greg, some unforgivable wart on his character would be revealed, some

defect that would neutralize these…stirrings of her heart. Janet would tease her mercilessly because Lana had never before

been in…deep like this. She'd scattered candles around the kitchen and living room. Her mother loved candles, and Elvis's

"Blue Christmas" album, which Lana had found on CD, along with Jim Reeves and Lou Rawls, two more of her mother's faves.

She loaded the CDs into the stereo, smiling as the strains of the old recordings came over her speakers. She'd be tired of them

by the time Janet arrived, but it put her in the mood to finish decorating.

Harry wore a tolerant smile as she dressed him in a Santa suit. "Behave while Mom's here, okay?" She stuffed his hard

plastic doll manhood into the red pants and pulled the hem of the coat down for more camouflage. By two o'clock she had hung

garlands from every surface, set luminaries in her windows, removed the turkey from the oven, and had begun baking the walls

for the gingerbread house they would build together. Just looking over the ingredients sent a little tremor of happiness through

her chest—gumdrops and sugar cubes and squeeze tubes of colored icing. Nothing said Christmas like the gingerbread houses

she and her mother used to make when Lana was little.

While the gingerbread baked, she showered and changed into a black velvet jumpsuit, then dabbed perfume behind her ears.

Janet had sent her a rhinestone candy-cane pin for Christmas last year from the Bahamas, and it showed up well against the

dark fabric. The gingerbread came out more perfectly than she'd ever seen it. A good omen, she thought, smiling to herself

while keeping one eye on the clock. One more hour. She let the slabs cool on the breakfast bar while she put together the rest of

their feast.

The phone rang, and she picked it up while sliding the asparagus into the oven. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Alex. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you, too."

"I just called to check in. I hear Elvis in the background, so your mom must be there."

She glanced at the clock—3:45. "Not yet, but she should be here any minute."

"Okay." Her friend was trying hard to sound casual, bless her. "Jack and I are spending the night at Dad's, if you need

anything."

"I won't, but thanks."

"Sure. And don't forget about our New Year's Eve party next Sunday."

"Are you sure you want to have a party in your new house after you've just moved in?"

"It'll be fun. And it's shaping up to be a good-size crowd. Jack's brother will be there, and his wife. You'll like them."

"If it's all couples, maybe I should pass."

"Don't be silly. Derek's wife has a friend in from Atlanta, and some of the people I work with are coming. Don't forget to

invite your roommate. Oh, and Annette and her new beau, of course."

Lana waited as two seconds passed, then three, four, five.

"And you can invite a date if you like."

She smiled into the phone. "Really? Whoever would I ask?"

"Anyone," Alex said in her most innocent voice. "Hey, since Greg Healey's brother is coming with Annette, why don't you

ask him? I know Jack would like to see him again."

A smirk pulled back one side of Lana's mouth. "Hmm. I'll probably just ride with Rich, if he can come. But thanks for

offering."

"Okay. Well, have a good time with your mother," Alex said.

"I will," Lana said. "I'll call you later in the week."

She hung up and snacked on a celery stick dipped in peanut butter while she put the finishing touches on the decorations. She

lit all the candles and lowered the lights to show off the masterpiece of a Christmas tree that was leaning ever so slightly. And

she rearranged her mother's gifts so that the bows were perky. At the last minute she remembered the two disposable cameras

she'd bought and put them on the counter so she could take pictures as soon as Janet arrived.

And she tried not to check the clock too often. Four-ten. Four-seventeen. Four-twenty-four. At four-thirty she considered

blowing out some of the wilting candles, and turned off all the warming burners for the food.

At five-fifteen the phone rang again. Lana snapped it up. "Hello?"

The crackly noise of a cellular phone with bad reception sounded over the line. "Lana, darling, it's Mother."

Her heart raced. Janet only called herself "Mother" under dire circumstances. "Mom? Is something wrong?" Her father's

Christmas card had been returned. Was he okay?

"No, nothing's wrong. You're such a worrywart."

A by-product of growing up fast. "Are you held up in traffic?"

"Darling, I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to make it this year."

Lana swallowed hard and blinked back sudden hot tears. "Oh?" was all she could manage to say.

"Yes, dear. At the last minute, Larry got this fabulous deal on a cruise to Cancún, and we're getting ready to set sail."

"Set sail?" She cleared her throat of the emotion that lodged there. "I wish you had called. I…wish you had called."

"I'm sorry, darling. We had to leave in a rush, and this is the first chance I've had to ring you. I hope you didn't go to any

trouble."

Lana looked around the sparkly, glittery apartment, awash with holiday magic, with Elvis crooning in the background, and

savory scents coming from the kitchen. "No. No trouble."

"Oh, there's our boarding call, dear. I have to go. I'll send you a nice blanket or something from Mexico."

Or something.

"Lana, are you there?"

"I'm here," she croaked. "Have a good time."

"We will—"

The line went dead. Lana stared at the phone until a piercing tone sounded and a voice informed her that if she would like to

make a call, please hang up and try again. She dropped the phone on the love seat, then slowly walked around the room. The

cooling gingerbread house walls had developed half-inch wide cracks. How fitting.

She tore off the chimney and chewed on it as she wandered around, blowing out candles. She attributed the haze and the

smoky odor to the extinguished candles, until she realized the asparagus was burning. When she opened the oven, the green

spears were black—and on fire. Lana shrieked, then yanked a mitt from the counter, pulled out the flaming dish and carried it to

the sliding glass door. The balcony was antique wrought iron—fireproof. She set the casserole dish on the floor and jerked her

hand away, sucking on a burned thumb.

Then the tears came. She hugged the oven mitt to her aching chest and wept as she looked out over a glittery Lexington,

where normal people were tucked in their warm houses having dinner and exchanging gifts with loved ones. How big a loser

was she if even her parents didn't want to be with her on Christmas Eve?

In the light of day, she could nonchalantly announce she was happy living alone. But at this forlorn moment, she felt as if she

were being paid a courtesy visit from the Ghost of Christmas Future: a vision of her at eighty-five, living alone save for Harry

and seventeen cats.

She'd trained herself to believe, especially over the past few years, that she could only truly rely on herself. But her tears

were tangible proof that she needed someone else to share her life, to fill the void in her heart that in rare moments of despair

seemed bottomless.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there in the cold. It could have been ten minutes or an hour. The next stimulus she was

aware of was a buzzing noise inside her apartment. Afraid she might have set something else on fire and triggered an alarm,

Lana rushed back inside to the tune of her doorbell ringing. Puzzled, she pressed a watery eye to the peephole.

Greg stood in the hallway. Her breath froze in her chest. What was he doing here?

He knocked on the door sharply. "Lana? It's Greg. Are you okay? Lana?"

She swung open the door.

Greg had his hand raised, poised to knock again. He looked out of place in the musty hallway, tall and broad and sexy,

wearing dark slacks and a white shirt and a black leather jacket, smelling like a man and sporting a tentative smile. He was the

most welcome sight imaginable.

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

His brown eyes narrowed. "You've been crying."

She swiped at her eyes. "I, uh, burned something in the oven and the smoke got in my eyes. What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, and shifted foot to foot. "Did your mother arrive?"

"Um, no, she had a change in plans—" Lana stopped, then looked to the sliding glass door and back to Greg. "You saw me on

the balcony, didn't you."

"By accident."

"Your eye fell against your telescope that just happened to be trained on my balcony?"

A flush climbed his face. "You were standing outside in the cold for over an hour. I called, but your phone is off the hook."

She glanced to her couch where the phone lay, emitting a fast busy signal.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked.

A hysterical little laugh bubbled out. At the moment there was more wrong in her life than was right, and this man was

responsible for at least half of it. Suddenly bombarded with the concern in his eyes, the disappointment of her mother's call,

and the melancholy strains of Jim Reeves crooning "Silver Bells" in the background, Lana burst into tears.

22

GREG STOOD STOCK-STILL
, watching the sudden display of waterworks, at a complete loss. How did women
do
that?

He fumbled in his back pocket for a handkerchief and offered it to her. She was really boo-hooing now, and at least two

neighbors stuck their heads into the hall to stare at him. "May I come in?" he asked.

She nodded and stepped aside, her shoulders heaving with the great mouthfuls of air she gulped.

Greg walked in and carefully closed the door, his pupils dilating in response to the wonderland of decorations. The air was

hazy, probably from all the half-burned candles sitting around the room. His nostrils flared at the aroma of food—burned and

otherwise—emanating from the kitchen. From the surroundings and Lana's dressy outfit and her tears, it was clear that she had

been stood up. Stood up by her mother on Christmas Eve. His heart squeezed for her, and he resisted the urge to fold her into

his arms.

Just a little while ago he'd been pacing in his room, agonizing over how to tell Lana that his response to the council would be

uncompromising—pass the rezoning proposal as is, or he would be forced to hike the shop owners' rents to offset his

company's losses. Higher rents would force some merchants out of business—a no-win situation. The city council would pass

the rezoning plan, but he'd be painted as the bad guy. Still, it would be worth the intense unpopularity if the deal put him one

step closer to that job Charlie had promised him.

Lana, of course, would hate him.

He'd been drawn to the window, to the telescope. Absurdly, looking at her apartment building made him feel closer to her.

He'd even practiced telling her, trying to put a good spin on his words:
You're an accountant, Lana. You know this is a simple

case of sacrificing the needs of a few to satisfy the needs of many.

Yes,
she would say.
You're right, Greg. Now make love to me.

He'd laughed at his own foolishness. And when she'd emerged from the sliding glass door, he'd nearly knocked over the

telescope. Then she'd remained on the balcony, in the cold and without that ridiculous dalmation coat, and he'd known

something was wrong.

But he hadn't counted on an emotional dilemma. Now, powerless to stem her tears, Greg bit down on the inside of his cheek

and waited for her to take a breath. "If you don't have other plans, come back to the house with me for Christmas Eve dinner."