Coming Home for Christmas (16 page)

“Have you ever pleaded one of your cases before a judge?” she asked him quietly.

Was she kidding? He wasn't a law clerk. He was an accredited
lawyer
. “Yes, of course I have.”

Nodding, Kenzie continued. “Was he a friendly judge?”

Subsequent judges had melded together, but not his first one. That man's dour face was still as vividly clear in his mind as if the trial had taken place yesterday. “Not particularly,” he answered gruffly.

“Then I guess, since you didn't think it was a slam-dunk, you gave up.” She said it as if it was a foregone conclusion.

“No, of course not.”

“But you didn't win.”

He saw where Kenzie was going with this. “Yes, I won.”

Kenzie smiled, her argument made. “Then you can do this,” she assured Keith with total confidence. “These kids are more than willing to meet you halfway. Having Santa Claus find them brings hope into their young lives. And the gifts in here,” she told him, patting the side of the large sagging red sack, made out of the same material that his suit was, “will sell themselves. All you have to do is say ‘Ho-ho-ho' and the toys in the bag will do the rest of your talking for you.” She put on the finishing touch: pulling a white beard out of the same bag that had held his costume. After helping him put it on, she looked at him and grinned. “Hottest looking Santa I've ever seen, bar none. Ready?”

Keith was still not completely convinced he could pull this off. “No, I don't think I'm—”

He didn't get a chance to finish because she suddenly sang out, “Showtime!” grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him from the safety of the kitchen into the pure nerve-racking atmosphere of the homeless shelter's common room, where the parents and children spent time getting to know one another and hopefully made connections that would last them a lifetime. Or, at the very least, help get their minds off their situations for a little while.

“I sure hope you know what I'm doing,” Keith said, eyeing the group of children he saw at the far end of the room.

“Absolutely. Bringing hope,” she told him, looking pointedly at him.

He wasn't ready for this. Wasn't ready to interact with small, thin faces, all eagerly hoping that Santa had remembered them.

But ready or not, here they came, he thought as a group of children suddenly and enthusiastically surrounded him.

“What's in your bag, Mr. Santa?” one little blonde girl, who couldn't have been any older than six, asked as she tugged on Keith's sleeve.

For a split second, she reminded him of Amy when she had been that small. The same hair color, the same delicate bone structure.

And suddenly, it wasn't so hard playing Santa Claus any more. “Why don't we open it and see?” Keith answered, adding, “Who knows? There might even be something here for you.”

“Really?” the little girl asked, her bright blue eyes growing to the size of the proverbial saucers as she turned them to the large bag Keith had managed to bring into the room.

“Really,” Keith replied.

He pulled back the straining sides of the red bag and took out the first wrapped package. He pretended to examine it, shaking it slightly. And then he saw the lettering, ever so faint, across the front.

The word was Girl, telling him the gift was a safe one to give to a little girl. He couldn't help thinking the girl's whole future and how she approached it might very well be formed here, in this room, because Santa Claus had had time to fly his reindeer over to her part of the city and bring her a gift.

It was, Keith discovered, a very heady feeling.

And Kenzie had given it to him.

Chapter Sixteen

“K
eep going, Santa,” Kenzie urged him, whispering into his ear. The little girl squealed when she discovered a soft, furry yellow bear wearing a red T-shirt beneath the silver-and-green Christmas wrapping paper that she had sent flying in ripped pieces. “It looks like you're on a roll.”

“I don't look anything like Santa Claus,” he protested. Even with him sitting down, the jacket was pooling around him like a red lake.

“Granted, you're not exactly rotund, but you've got the suit. More importantly, you came in carrying a bag stuffed with toys, so you'll more than do,” Kenzie told him. She could see that he needed just a little more convincing. “Try to think of yourself as the poor man's Santa Claus. Or, in this case, the poor child's Santa Claus.”

Keith spared her another look as he surrendered. He couldn't very well find it in his heart to argue with that. Not when he was looking down at so many eager little faces.

Besides, he had to admit that seeing the girl smile and hearing her squeal of joy did feel good.

“Okay,” he said in the deepest voice he could summon, waving the next child to come closer. “Let's see what's in this bag for you.”

He didn't have to say it twice.

“I think you've found his element, Kenzie,” her mother said to her as they both observed Keith in this new role. He would hand out a gift only after spending a couple of minutes talking to each new child. Andrea glanced at her before continuing. “He was always polite and well mannered, but this is definitely the happiest I've seen him.”

Normally optimistic, exuberant and the first to lead the parade, this one time Kenzie was treading lightly, leery of assuming too much. “Someone once told me something about counting chickens,” Kenzie replied, looking pointedly at her mother.

“Perhaps,” Andrea conceded. She smiled at her daughter. “But after all, my love, it is Christmas, the season of miracles, and the kids seem more than willing to believe that your friend is Santa Claus.”

“Santa Claus after a major crash diet,” Kenzie pointed out, nodding at the way Keith's costume hung on his body.

Andrea laughed softly, shaking her head. “What happened to my dreamer?”

“It's uncharted territory, Mom. She decided to tread cautiously,” Kenzie answered.

There was deep affection in Andrea's eyes as she looked at her youngest daughter. “So it's like that, is it?”

Kenzie could feel herself retreating, as if saying anything at all would jeopardize this happiness. Until now, she'd never been superstitious, but until now, she'd never felt like this before.

“No, I just—”

Something suddenly popped into Andrea's head. “Wait, isn't he the boy you had that huge crush on?” The moment she said it, it began making a great deal more sense.

Alarmed, Kenzie instantly pulled her mother aside. She was afraid that the next thing out of her mother's mouth would embarrass her beyond any hope of recovery.

“That was then,” Kenzie insisted in a very firm, hoarse whisper.

In response, her mother smiled. “I see.”

Oh, God, she should have flatly denied it instead. She hated lying, but there were consequences to this getting out. Her mother meant well, but Kenzie had a sinking feeling it would be only a matter of time—short time—before her mother spoke to Keith about “great loves that were meant to be” or something equally as embarrassing.

“Mother—” There was a desperate warning note in Kenzie's voice.

Andrea held her hands up as if that helped establish her innocence. “I didn't say a word, dear,” she said. “Well, I have to be getting back. I just came with the toys the way you asked me to. But there's lots to do at home. Don't forget to come tomorrow,” she reminded Kenzie as she began to leave. “Bring your friend.”

The last sentence floated back to Kenzie in her mother's wake.

* * *

“How did you happen to find this place?”

Keith asked her the question when they were back in the shelter's overcrowded main office. The first thing he'd stripped off was the beard, which had been driving him crazy for the past three hours. He ran his hands over his face, trying not to give in to the overwhelming desire to scratch it and keep scratching.

The jacket and oversize pants were next. The last gift had been given out, and after spending another hour in the children's midst, the children and Santa had parted company. He was tired, but there was an odd sort of contentment weaving its way through him that he had to admit he was enjoying.

Still, he was more than ready to go home.

Home.

It felt rather odd, after all this time had passed, to suddenly be applying that word to the house on Normandie Circle. He hadn't thought of it in that sense since he'd left. And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, he supposed it had always been that. Possibly years from now it would still unofficially wear that label for him even if he never uttered the word again. The house on Normandie had been and would always be home.

Some of that, he knew, had to do with Kenzie. Maybe even a lot of it.

“I didn't exactly find this place,” Kenzie was saying, answering his question. “Mrs. Manetti told me about it. She and her crew prepare food and bring it here every other week. Otherwise the shelter serves foods that are donated by discount stores. In her opinion, just because people have temporarily fallen on hard times doesn't mean they should only have three-day-old bread, powdered foods and fruits that were going to be thrown out.”

“Mrs. Manetti,” he repeated, the name nudging at a memory he couldn't quite get hold of. “Isn't that the woman who—”

“Catered your mother's funeral reception,” Kenzie finished his sentence for him. “Yes, she is. She has a very big heart. When I once mentioned that observation to her, she just shrugged it off, saying it's her way of giving back to the community for her own good fortune.”

Well, that explained the food he saw being served, but not everything. “And the toys I was giving out today? Where did they come from?”

Kenzie's smile grew wider. “My mother and sisters have toy drives in their communities.”

“Just your mother and sisters?” he questioned, sensing that there was some information missing. There were a lot of toys in that bag. “You don't have any part in it?”

Kenzie never felt comfortable talking about herself when it came to charitable deeds, but he'd asked her a direct question, so she was forced to give him an answer. “I might.”

Folding the suit and placing it into the bag that Kenzie had brought it in, he laughed, shaking his head. They walked out of the shelter and got into her car. “I feel like I've just wandered into some old-fashioned feel-good movie.”

“No, that'll come tomorrow,” she told him glibly, driving away from the shelter.

Caught off guard, Keith looked at her, confused. “Tomorrow? What's tomorrow?”

She did her best to keep a straight face as she asked, “You mean besides being Christmas Eve?”

Keith suppressed a sigh. “Yes, besides being Christmas Eve.”

“My mother invited you to the family Christmas party.” When he made no response, she added, “I'll be there, too, seeing as how I'm part of the family and all.”

“And I'll be on a plane for San Francisco,” he told her.

She'd given herself a pep talk centered around the fact that what had happened last night would not change anything—but she hadn't expected it not to change anything so soon. She realized that he was leaving, but she wasn't ready to see him go so quickly.

“Really?” She packed a great deal of feeling into the single word. “You don't want to be flying on Christmas Eve.”

“Why not?” he challenged her. Then he reminded her, “A room full of kids thinks I'm Santa Claus. Santa Claus flies every Christmas Eve.”

“Santa Claus doesn't fly,” she contradicted him. “The reindeer do. If the reindeer were sitting on a plane, letting some pilot fly them—and you—it might not be all that safe on Christmas Eve. Even the reindeer know the pilot might have been celebrating just a little too much.”

They were here, back at the house, she realized. The distance had managed just to disappear. She supposed the thought of his leaving so abruptly had caused her not to notice.

Kenzie pulled up in front of his house.

“You're reaching,” he told her as they got out of her car.

The open house sign Mrs. Sommers had placed beside the for sale sign was gone. That meant the house was his again, at least for the night. He tried not to notice the sense of relief that came with the realization. He refused to explore what it might actually mean to him.

“I know, but you're tall. I have to reach,” she quipped.

He laughed and shook his head again. “Kenzie, you're one of a kind.”

“Considering the business I'm in, I'll take that as a compliment,” she told him.

Keith began to go up the front walk. Kenzie, he discovered, was right behind him.

“You're coming in?” he asked, not entirely surprised at how good that thought made him feel.

“Well, I have to see what we'll be putting out for the sale tomorrow.” She'd already told him that her aim tomorrow would be to appeal to shoppers who had put off finding the right gift until the last minute. “Besides,” she continued as she followed him inside, “it would be kind of difficult for me to make dinner if I'm not in the house.”

This was the first he was hearing about it. “You're making dinner?”

Kenzie nodded. “Unless you're rather have takeout, of course.”

He had takeout all the time when he worked. He didn't believe in brown-bagging it, and evenings usually found him still at his desk, so ordering takeout seemed like the only logical way to go. But he didn't look forward to it anymore.

“No, I'm fine with you making dinner,” he assured her quickly, not wanting her to change her mind. “I don't get much of a chance to eat a home-cooked meal.”

Kenzie flashed a smile. She'd been pretty sure she wasn't going to need to twist his arm.

“Home cooked meal it is,” she declared.

And then, maybe dessert
, she added silently, knowing better than to count on it. This was all very undefined territory she was treading.

And maybe she was giving herself too much credit, but she had a strong hunch that he felt the exact same way about what was going on here. The man exuded sex appeal, but she suspected he was completely oblivious to that.

Ninety minutes later, after having seconds and then thirds, Keith realized he was dangerously close to needing to unbuckle his belt, or at least move it by a notch. He was stuffed—but happily so. The meal she had prepared for them—Sicilian chicken—had been so good, he couldn't stop himself from taking “just a little bit more” until “more” had added up to almost three full servings.

“Where did you learn to cook like that?” he asked her, sitting back in his chair. He didn't want to leave the table just yet.

“Watching my mom,” Kenzie replied. “And Mrs. Manetti's given me tips now and then. This was her recipe,” she told him.

“How do you know her?” She had managed to arouse his curiosity on so many levels, and since he was asking questions, he figured he might as well throw that one into the mix.

“She and my mom are friends. They have been for a very long time.”

As she talked, she began to gather the plates together, consolidating what had been left on the serving platters onto one.

“I think they were each other's bridesmaids. I know my mom was there for her when Mrs. Manetti lost her husband. And Mrs. Manetti returned the favor when my dad died.” And then she smiled, remembering. “Mrs. Manetti was the one who encouraged my mother to start her own business, said that was the best way for her to get out into the world again and get on with the business of living. Mrs. Manetti told my mother that starting her own catering company was what really helped her function again.”

“They both sound like extraordinary women,” he told her. Accompanying the words was a pang he was quick to bury.

He had a strong feeling that if he didn't get up and start moving, he was going to wind up falling asleep right where he sat. Keith rose from the table and picked up his plate, taking it to the sink.

Kenzie was on her feet as well, carrying the platter to the counter. She covered it and placed it in the refrigerator.

“Most moms usually are,” she told him, commenting on his observation.

She went back for the other plates, putting those in the sink on top of his plate.

Keith turned away from her. “Yes, well, we might have a difference of opinion on that,” he said. There was a faint touch of bitterness in his voice.

What could have gone down between his mother and Keith to have made him so angry, even now, after her death? she wondered. Her sympathy went out to both.

“Some just don't have as easy a time of it as others,” she told him.

Kenzie was really afraid this was going to eat straight into his gut. Putting her hands on his shoulders, she turned Keith around to face her. “It's Christmas, Keith. Don't you think it's time you forgave her?”

He was
not
about to get into this with her. He didn't want to spoil the evening—or the upbeat feeling that today and playing Santa Claus for the children had created.

“I don't want to talk about that now,” he told her firmly.

Kenzie prided herself on knowing when to back off. “Fair enough. What do you want to talk about?”

That was the moment when he gave in to impulse, which he wasn't accustomed to doing. But then, none of what had been happening these last few days could be categorized as normal for him.

“We'll think of something,” he told Kenzie just before he pulled her close and kissed her the way he had been aching to do all day long.