All I Want for Christmas Is You (23 page)

A swish of cool air blew into the room. Instinctively, he glanced up toward the source. That's when he noticed the woman standing in the kitchen doorway, one arm on the door, the other in the pocket of her apron. She let go of the door and breezed into the dining room, slipping a psychedelic purple pencil from her apron pocket, and reaching for a small notepad at the same time.

“You caught me. I was just about to close up the shop early. I think the heat has been keeping people away.”

Her voice was smooth as velvet and her smile seemed genuine, not just pasted on for show. Her rich dark hair was pulled back tight into a ponytail, resistant tendrils curled around her face, framing high cheekbones.

The woman motioned with her hands toward the vinyl-covered stool at the counter. “You can sit wherever you’d like.”

“I'm not here to eat. I was hoping I could ask a bit of a favor.”

She stopped short, a slow grin lifting the corners of her lips. Not the genuine smile of courtesy. This one was different, a hint of...something, perhaps mixed with a bit of surprise. Jonah wasn't quite sure.

“You're not from around here, are you?” she said, fiery blue eyes wide with interest. They were uniquely lit, not just by the canned lights positioned on the ceiling above her, but with gold streaks set into their deep sapphire color.

“Well, actually yes. My office is in the building just diagonal from you.” Jonah motioned out the window toward the street and beyond the honking horns and bumper-to-bumper late afternoon traffic. When he looked back, her gaze was fixed on him.

Her eyes widened, twinkling with a hint amusement. She flipped an errant lock of hair that had fallen from her ponytail neatly behind her ear and just stared at him.

“You may work in town, but I know for sure you're not from around Cambridge, Massachusetts.”

Jonah glanced down at his black tuxedo as he slid into the stool by the counter, brushing his hand absentmindedly across the smooth, clean Formica countertop.

“I know I look rather odd given the fact that it's about a thousand degrees outside.”

“One hundred and two if you want to be technical,” she said, cutting in. She thumbed back to the double doors at the end of the counter. “I had the radio on in the office.”

Jonah pulled at the collar of his wilting white tuxedo shirt until the top button popped free. “It feels every bit of it,” he said, forcing a smile.

And it was getting a whole lot hotter. It had already turned out to be the worst day of his life. Making a fool of himself couldn't possibly make it any worse.

As Jonah drew in a deep breath, he watched the smile play at the corner of the waitress's mouth. Her full lips were bare of color, and he wondered if she'd chosen not to wear any lipstick or if working a full day and conversing with customers had chewed off what color she'd applied earlier. His mind instantly pictured her full lips in ruby to compliment her dark hair.

He silently berated himself for thinking along those lines. If the day had gone as planned, he'd be on a flight to Aruba with his new wife at his side.

The best laid plans...

“Well, regardless of where you're from, you look a little lost,” she said. “I don't see many tuxedos here at the
Coffee Drop
. Everyone who's been in here today was wearing shorts and shirts that barely meet proper dress code.”

“The clothes. Is that what gave me away?”

“Actually, it was your accent,” the woman said, dropping the notepad on the shiny counter top.

Heat crept up his skin from beneath his collar. He'd naturally assumed she'd been referring to his clothes when of course, his British accent would be a dead giveaway no matter what he was wearing. All he'd managed to do is draw more attention to himself.

“Now, since you've already informed me you're not here to eat, how about a coffee? I have to warn you though. Despite the name, I don't serve any of the fancy stuff here. No special blends, no cappuccino or espresso delights. No latte or chai. Only thing on my menu is old fashioned regular and decaf.”

It was now or never.

“I'm afraid I don't have...” He shook his head. It was never a good day for humiliation and it was something he didn't do well even if it was. If Catherine had at least left him with his keys when she fled the courthouse, none of this would be happening. “Never mind, it doesn't really matter.”

She appeared completely oblivious to his bumbling. “Oh, that extends to iced coffee, too. Given how oppressive it is outside, I'm sure you'd prefer that over something hot.”

She turned and pulled a clean white coffee filter from a plastic bag tucked to the right of the coffee machine and proceeded to make a pot of coffee.

“No, that won't be necessary...” As she turned around, Jonah took the opportunity to glance at her nametag. “Maggie. Yes, what I really wondered is whether I could use your telephone.”

She stopped spooning coffee into the filter and propped her slender hip against the counter. She stated the obvious. Obvious to anyone who'd stepped one foot on either side of the coffee shop door.

“No cell phone?”

“It’s in my other coat, I’m afraid.”

“There are pay phones lining Harvard Square.”

“I know.”

He dipped his head, embarrassment burning its way to the surface of his cheeks more than the blazing sun he'd escaped outside. If only he hadn't agreed when Catherine insisted they take the car instead of having his driver take them to the airport after the ceremony. Unfortunately, when she walked out on him moments before the ceremony began, she'd taken flight with his car and luggage as well. Since the clerk at City Hall was less than thrilled with the idea of allowing him to call his driver from her phone, given the scene that had erupted in the City Hall lobby, he'd taken the next step and pulled out his pockets.

Only to trip over them.

“I don't have any change and...I'm afraid I'm without my billfold at the moment as well.”

Her eyes grew impossibly wide, the fine features of her face registering panic. “Oh, I see,” she said, quickly lifting an empty cup from beneath the counter and placing it in front of him as if she were suddenly on automatic pilot.

“Are you hurt? Do you need some water or--”

He shook his head.

“I can call the police for you. Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” She was already heading toward the kitchen when he realized she had misunderstood.

“I wasn't robbed,” he called out to her.

“You weren’t? You don't need to call the police?”

He let out a staccato breath and shook his head.

With a slow gate, Maggie quietly walked back to the counter and resumed the task of filling the coffee filter with coffee grounds. She popped the filter into place and turned on the coffee machine before swinging around to him again.

“I must admit I'm a bit confused now.”

“Look, it's a bit of a long story. I would have preferred using my office phone, which, as I said earlier, is just across the street-”

“Let me guess. You don't have your keys to the building with you, either, right? And there’s no one there to let you in?”

“I gave them all the afternoon off.”

“Oh, how nice of you.”

He shook his head, wishing to God he'd wake up and this nightmare of humiliation would be over. It had been bad enough when he was thirteen and discovered on the run from the London boarding school he'd attended. Now nearly twenty years later, he wished the tile floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“I just need to use your phone to call for a ride.”

She nodded. “From the look on your face, this looks like it's one heck of a story.”

“You have no idea,” he grunted.

Maggie raised her eyebrows. “People tell me their troubles all day over a coffee and pie. Take a load off. I’m all ears.”

He was just about at his wits end when he saw the corners of her full lips tilt up to a teasing grin. “Look, this has been a horrific day and... I'll reverse the charges.”

She smiled again. This time it was full blown and when the light twinkle reached her eyes, he knew he was home free.

“Follow me. The phone is just on the other side of the swinging door. Careful it doesn't hit you in the butt when you walk through. The coffee will be ready in a few minutes. I just have to finish up in the back office so if it's not done brewing by the time you are off the phone, help yourself. And to a piece of pie from the desert tray, too. I left a clean dish on the counter.”

“Thank you. You're an angel.”

“No, I'm just the owner of this coffee shop.” She stabbed a pointed finger at him and tossed him an irresistible crooked grin. “But don't you dare breathe a word to anyone that I'm a softy or I'll go broke passing pie out to every sorry-eyed college student who walks through that door.”

“It’ll be our secret.”

As he followed her through the double swinging doors to the phone, she smiled back at him, and then walked into what looked like a supply closet at the far end of the kitchen.

If the day had gone as planned, he'd be married to Catherine by now. He'd be on an airplane, sitting in first class, heading to Australia for a three-week honeymoon he hadn't wanted to go on in the first place. All his problems would be over. Not only would he have a wife, but he'd have his car, his keys, his wallet...

And his pride.

* * *

Maggie tucked the bank slip in the moneybag and zipped it closed with a trembling hand. She'd already finished tallying up today's register totals and counting the money in the drawer when her tall, dark and sinfully handsome stranger waltzed into the
Coffee Drop
. As she straightened up her desk, her mind kept wandering to the gorgeous Englishman with the adorable accent now eating blueberry pie at her counter. Who would have ever thought a sensible girl like her would go weak in the knees over a few well strung out syllables?

She pulled at the waistband of her skirt and grimaced at the sudden tightness. Okay, so she never thought that a levelheaded girl like her would end up pregnant before marriage either. But there you have it. She’d done a lot of praying from the time she’d found out about her unplanned pregnancy and made her peace that with God’s guiding hand, she was on track again. She was determined to do right by her child.

She snapped the light switch off in her office and closed the door, giving the kitchen a last once over in conjunction with a silent reprimand. It would do no good to berate herself any more than she had over the last few months for being so careless. Regrets over the past took too much time and energy, and she didn't have any spare energy to waste on self-deprecation.

Money bag in hand, she peeked through the glass window of the kitchen door into the dining area out of habit to make sure no one was on the other side before she swung through.

There he was. He sat at the counter hunched over a blue stained plate that had a bite or two of pie left. Not many men could fill out a tuxedo the way this man did. He almost looked too tall to sit on the stool. His dark hair was cut short, but the ends still curled around the nape of his neck, most probably from being out in the heat in that tux.

Maggie fanned her face with her hand, telling herself she was just sympathizing with the man. But she knew she was lying to herself. She'd seen many people come and go in her coffee shop, but none of them gave her a jolt of lightning with just one look like he did.

He glanced up at her as she pushed through the swinging doors.

“What's your name?” she asked. She sounded a little breathless, even to herself and all she was doing was talking to a handsome stranger. Maybe the heat was getting to her, too.

Deep cobalt eyes smiled up at her and pulled her into his gaze. It wasn’t the heat. She
was
breathless. And over a guy!

Geesh. She had no business being attracted to this man, or any man for that matter in the condition she was in. She sucked in a deep breath and reached for the coffee pot, which was just about done brewing.