Trading Christmas: When Christmas Comes / The Forgetful Bride. Debbie Macomber

As soon as the waiter took their dinner order, Ray leaned back in his seat and reached inside his suit jacket for his cell phone.

       “I’d better give my mother a call. I was planning to do it tomorrow, but knowing her, she’s waiting anxiously to hear about the strange woman who’s corrupted her son.”

       “You or Charles?” Emily teased.

       Ray grinned and punched out a single digit. He raised the small phone to his ear. “Hello, Mother.”

       His smile widened as he listened for a long moment. “I have someone with me I’d like you to meet.”

       He had to pause again, listening to his mother’s lengthy response.

       “Yes, it’s the evil woman you feared had ruined your son. She might still do it, too.”

       “Stop it,” Emily mouthed and gently kicked his shoe beneath the table.

       “Not to worry—Charles is in Washington State. Here, I’ll let Emily explain everything.” He handed her the cell phone.

       Emily had barely gotten the receiver to her ear when she heard the woman on the other end of the line demand, “To whom am I speaking?”

       “Mrs. Brewster, my name is Emily Springer, and Charles and I traded homes for two weeks.”

       “You’re living in Charles’s condo?” She didn’t seem to believe Emily.

       “Yes, but just until after Christmas.”

       “Oh.”

       “Charles and I met over the Internet at a site set up for this type of exchange.”

       “I see.” The woman went suspiciously silent.

       “It’s only for two weeks.”

       “You’re telling me my son let you move into his home sight unseen? And that, furthermore, Charles has ventured all the way to the West Coast?” The question sounded as if it came from a prosecuting attorney who’d found undeniable evidence of perjury.

       “Yes… I came to Boston to see my daughter.” For the last few days, Emily had tried not to think about Heather, which was nearly impossible.

       “Let me speak to Rayburn,” his mother said next.

       Emily handed the cell phone back to Ray.

       Ray and his mother chatted for another few minutes before he closed the phone and stuck it inside his pocket.

       By then the wine had been delivered and poured. Emily reached for her glass and sipped. She enjoyed wine on occasion, but this was a much finer quality than she normally drank.

       “Rayburn?” she said, teasing him by using the same tone his mother had used.

       He groaned. “If you think that’s bad, my little brother’s given name is actually Hadley.”

       “Hadley?”

       “Hadley Charles. The minute he was old enough to speak, he refused to let anyone call him Hadley.”

       Emily smiled. “I can’t say I blame him.”

       “Rayburn isn’t much of an improvement.”

       “No, but it’s better than Hadley.”

       “That depends.” Ray sipped his wine and sat up straighter when the waiter brought the antipasto plate. It was a meal unto itself, with several varieties of sliced meats, cheese, olives and roasted peppers.

       That course was followed by soup and then pasta. Emily was convinced she couldn’t swallow another bite when the main course, a cheese-stuffed chicken dish, was brought out.

       When they’d finished, they lingered over another bottle of wine. Ray leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, and they talked, moving from one subject to the next. Emily had hardly ever met a man who was so easy to talk to. He seemed knowledgeable about any number of subjects.

       “You’re divorced?” he asked, as they turned to more personal matters.

       “Widowed. Eleven years ago. Peter was killed when Heather was just a little girl.”

       “I’m sorry.”

       “Thank you.” She could speak of Peter now without pain, but that had taken years. She was a different woman than she’d been back then, as a young wife and mother. “Peter was a good husband and a wonderful father. I still miss him.”

       “Is there a reason you’ve never remarried?”

       “Not really. I got caught up in Heather’s life and my job. Over the years I’ve dated now and then, but there was never any spark. What about you?”

       He shrugged. “I’ve been consumed by my job for so long, I don’t know what it is to have an ordinary life.”

       This interested Emily. “I’ve always wondered what an ordinary life would be like. Does anyone really have one?”

       “Good point.”

       “Did you have any important relationships?”

       “I dated quite a bit when I was in my twenties and early thirties. I became seriously involved twice, but both times I realized, almost from the first, that it wouldn’t last.”

       “Sounds like a self-fulfilling prophecy to me.”

       He grinned as he picked up his wineglass. “My mother said almost those identical words to me. The thing is, I admired both women and, to some extent loved them, but deep down I suspect they knew it wouldn’t last, either.”

       “And it didn’t.”

       “Right. I put long hours into my job and I have a lot of responsibilities. I love publishing. No one’s more excited than I am when one of our authors does well.”

       Emily had plenty of questions about the publishing world, but she knew Ray must have been asked these same questions dozens of times. They had this one evening together, and Emily didn’t want to bore him with idle curiosity.

       When they’d finished the second bottle of wine, Emily felt mellow and sleepy. Most of the other tables were vacant, and the crew of waiters had started changing tablecloths and refilling the salt and pepper shakers.

       Ray noticed the activity going on around them, too. “What time is it?” he asked, sitting up and glancing at his watch with an unbelieving expression.

       “It’s ten to eleven.”

       “You’re kidding!” He looked shocked.

       “Well, you know what they say about time flying, etc.”

       He chuckled softly. “Tonight certainly was an enjoyable evening—but there’s a problem.”

       “Oh?”

       He downed the last of his wine and announced, “I’m afraid the next train doesn’t leave for New York until tomorrow morning.”

       “Oh…right.” Emily had entirely forgotten that Ray would have to catch the train.

       He relaxed visibly, apparently finding a solution to his problem. “Not to worry, I’ll get a hotel room. That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

       Without a reservation, she wondered if that was true. Furthermore, she hated the thought of him spending that extra money on her account. “You don’t need to do that.”

       “What do you mean?”

       “Your brother’s condo has two bedrooms.”

       He raised his eyebrows.

       “I’m sleeping in the guest room, and I’m sure your brother wouldn’t object to your taking his room.”

       Ray hesitated and looked uncertain. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with that arrangement?”