Читать книгу Trading Christmas: When Christmas Comes / The Forgetful Bride - Debbie Macomber - Страница 16

Eight

Emily was bored and sad and struggling not to break down. There was only one thing left to do—what she always did when she got depressed.

Bake cookies.

But even this traditional cure required a monumental effort. First, she had to locate a grocery store and because she didn’t have a car, she’d have to haul everything to the condominium on her own. This was no easy task when she had to buy both flour and sugar. By the time she let herself back into the condo with three heavy bags, she was exhausted.

On the off chance that she might be able to reach Faith, she tried phoning again. After leaving six messages, Emily knew that if her friend was available, she would’ve returned the call by now. Faith must be at her sister’s because she certainly wasn’t at home.

Heather’s roommate had apparently left town, too, because there was no answer at the dorm. Emily had to accept that she was alone and friendless in a strange city.

Once she began her baking project, though, her mood improved. She doubted Charles had so much as turned on the oven. In order to bake cookies, she’d had to purchase every single item, including measuring cups and cookie sheets. Once the cookies were ready, Emily knew she couldn’t possibly eat them all. It was the baking, not the eating, that she found therapeutic. She intended to pack his freezer with dozens of chocolate chip cookies.

Soon the condo smelled delectable—of chocolate and vanilla and warm cookies. She felt better just inhaling the aroma. As she started sorting through her Christmas CDs, she was startled to hear someone knocking at the door. So far she hadn’t met a single other person in the entire building. Her heart hammered with excitement. Really, it was ridiculous to be this thrilled over what was probably someone arriving at her door—Charles’s door—by mistake.

Emily squinted through the peephole and saw a man in a wool overcoat and scarf standing in the hallway. He must be a friend of Professor Brewster’s, she decided. A rather attractive one with appealing brown eyes and a thick head of hair, or what she could see of his hair. She opened the door.

All he did was stare at her.

Emily supposed she must look a sight. With no apron to be found, she’d tucked a dish towel in the waistband of her jeans. Her Rudolph sweatshirt, complete with blinking red nose, had been a gift from her daughter the year before. She wore fuzzy pink slippers and no makeup.

“Can I help you?”

“Where’s Charles?” he asked abruptly.

“And you are?”

“His brother, Ray.”

“Oh…” Emily moved aside. “You’d better come in because this is a rather long story.”

“It would seem so.” He removed his scarf and stepped into the apartment. As soon as he did, he paused and looked around. “This is my brother’s place?”

“Technically yes, but for the next two weeks it’s mine. I’m Emily Springer, by the way.”

“Hmm. I hardly recognized it.” Ray glanced at the mantel where Emily had hung the two Christmas stockings and put the angel. “Would you mind if I sat down?”

“No. Please do.” She gestured toward the low-slung leather chair that resembled something one would find on a beach.

Ray claimed the chair and seemed as uncomfortable as she’d been when she’d tried watching television in it.

“You might prefer the sofa,” she said, although that meant they’d be sitting next to each other.

“I think I’ll try it.” He had to brace his hand on the floor before he could lever himself out of the chair. He stood, sniffed the air and asked, “Are you baking cookies?”

She nodded. “Chocolate chip.”

“From scratch?”

Again she nodded. “Would you like some? I’ve got coffee on, too.”

“Not yet.” He shook his head. “I think you’d better tell me what’s going on with my brother first.”

“Yes, of course.” Emily sat on the other end of the sofa, and turned sideways, knees together, hands clasped. She just hoped she could get through this without breaking into tears. “It all started when my daughter phoned to say she wouldn’t be home for Christmas.”

“Your daughter lives here in Boston?”

“Yes.” Emily moistened her lips. “Heather attends Harvard.” She resisted the urge to brag about Heather’s scholarship.

“One of my brother’s students?”

The thought had never occurred to Emily. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know.” Apparently there was a lot she didn’t know about her daughter’s life.

“When I learned that Heather wouldn’t be coming home for the holidays, I made the foolish decision to come to Boston, only I couldn’t afford more than the airfare.”

“In other words, you needed a place to stay?”

“Exactly, so I posted a message on a home-exchange site. Charles contacted me and we exchanged emails and decided to trade places for two weeks.”

“My brother hates Christmas—that’s why he wanted out of the city.”

Emily’s gaze shot to his. “He didn’t mention that.”

“Well, it’s another long story.”

“Then I’m afraid Leavenworth’s going to be a bit of a shock.”

“Explain that later.”

“There’s not much more to tell you. Charles is living in my home in Leavenworth, Washington, for the next two weeks and I’m here.” She stopped to take a deep breath. “And Heather, my daughter, is in Florida with a man who looks like he might belong to the Hells Angels.”

“I see.”

Emily doubted that, but didn’t say so. “Did Charles know you were coming?”

“No. Actually, my mother asked me to visit. She called and you obviously answered the phone. Mother was convinced something had happened to Charles—that he’d gotten involved with some woman and… Never mind. But she insisted I get over here to, uh, investigate the situation.”

“She’ll be relieved.”

“True,” Ray said, “but truth be known, I’m a bit disappointed. It would do my brother a world of good to fall in love.”

He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t question him further. Everything she knew about Charles had come from their email chats, which had been brief and businesslike.

Emily stood and walked into the kitchen. Ray followed her. “So you’re alone in the city over Christmas?”

She nodded, forcing a smile. “It isn’t exactly what I intended, but there’s no going back now.” Her home was occupied, and getting a flight out of Boston at this late date was financially unfeasible. She was stuck.

“Listen,” Ray said, reaching for a cookie. “Why don’t I take you to dinner tonight?”

Emily realized she shouldn’t analyze this invitation too closely. Still, she had to know. “Why?”

“Well, because we both need to eat and I’d rather have a meal with you than alone.” He paused to take a bite of the cookie, moaning happily at the taste. “Delicious. Uh—I didn’t mean to sound ungracious. Let me try that again. Would you be so kind as to join me for dinner?”

“I’d love to,” Emily said, her spirits lifting.

“I’ll catch the last train back to New York, explain everything to my mother in the morning and we’ll leave it at that. Now, may I have another one of these incomparable cookies?”

“Of course.” Emily met his eyes and smiled. He was a likable man, and at the moment she was in need of a friend. “When would you like to leave?”

Ray checked his watch. “It’s six-thirty, so any time is fine with me.”

“I’d better change clothes.” She pulled the towel free of her waistband, folded it and set it on the kitchen counter.

“Before you do,” Ray said stopping her. “Explain what you meant about my brother being in trouble if he isn’t fond of Christmas.”

“Oh, that.” A giggle bubbled up inside her as she told him about Leavenworth in December—the horse-drawn sleigh, the carolers and the three separate tree-lighting ceremonies, one for every weekend before Christmas.

Ray was soon laughing so hard he was wiping tears from his eyes. Just seeing his amusement made her laugh, too, although she didn’t really understand what he found so hilarious.

“If only…if only you knew my b-brother,” Ray sputtered. “I can just imagine what he thought when he arrived.”

“I guess Charles and I both had the wrong idea about trading homes.”

“Sure seems that way,” Ray agreed, still grinning. “Why don’t I have another cookie while you get ready,” he said cheerfully. “I haven’t looked forward to a dinner this much in ages.”

Come to think of it, neither had Emily.