Mistletoe Reunion. Anna Schmidt

sports car of yours when we get back to the world,” she said turning her attention back to Tom.

      The woman is flirting with my husband, Norah thought. She glanced at Tom and saw him watch the slim, fashionably dressed, perfectly made-up Patty stride back toward the door in her three-inch heels. And he’s enjoying it.

      Not your husband, she reminded herself.

      “You okay?”

      Tom was looking at her curiously.

      “Fine,” she replied tightly.

      Tom sighed. “We have got to work on your vocabulary for social conversation, woman.”

      Woman—“my woman” he’d called her back when they were first married. “I love you, woman”—he used to say.

      “I have to—” She struggled awkwardly to her feet, untangling herself from the twisted airline blanket and ignoring Tom’s offered hand. She grabbed her purse and Izzy’s backpack, certain that Tom would never think to keep an eye on it. He was far too busy running things, not that he’d exactly leaped on board when she’d suggested they get organized. But now that perky Patty had appeared, well—Norah headed for the women’s restroom without finishing her thought.

      “Hurry back,” Tom called. “The gate reps can help you organize the camp.”

      Like I need help—is that what he thinks?

      

      She was a mess. Her rumpled clothes screamed “slept in them” while her face was a road map of every one of her thirty-eight years. She was probably the same age as the ever-so-effervescent Patty—maybe even younger. She dug through her purse and found her hairbrush and attacked her hair with it. Then she paused and took a deep breath as she met her image in the mirror eye to eye.

      Honestly, Norah Wallace, what kind of example is this to set for your daughter? There’s her father out there saving the world and looking great doing it. Pull yourself together, girl. If you think he’s falling into memory land with every word out of your mouth, think again. It’s been five years—he’s moved on and until you saw him yesterday—so had you.

      Spotting Izzy’s backpack, Norah rummaged through the contents, selecting items from her daughter’s portable cosmetics counter and laying them out on the counter next to the sink. She opened the small tube of toothpaste that nestled with equally small bottles of lotion and foundation in the required plastic sandwich bag to get them past security. She squirted toothpaste onto her index finger and scrubbed her teeth. Next she smeared lotion on her face and wiped it clean with a tissue from the pack in her own purse.

      Better already, she thought as she leaned toward the mirror.

      This wasn’t about impressing Tom or anyone else, she told herself. This was about taking pride in her appearance and setting an example for her daughter. It was about Izzy. Ever since the divorce her entire focus had been Izzy’s upbringing and well-being. And just because Tom Wallace had suddenly reappeared in the flesh—in all his gorgeous, charming, glory-oozing memories she thought she had long ago laid to rest—there was no reason to start acting like a teenager with a crush.

      Chapter Four

      Tom did a double take when he saw Norah emerge from the restroom. Patty was introducing him to the gate reps, but Tom could not take his eyes off Norah. The cap of black curls framed her subtly made-up face. She had tucked the rumpled green T-shirt firmly into the waistband of her black slacks—slacks now belted with the long, slim scarf he’d seen Izzy stuff inside her backpack as they boarded the plane the day before. Over her shoulders Norah had tied the shapeless black sweatshirt he thought he might recognize from when they were married. Only now the contrast between the black sleeves and the green shirt highlighted her blue-green eyes, making them seem luminous. The finished look was both casual and sophisticated.

      “Excuse me,” Tom said to Patty and the others. “Wow, you clean up nice,” he said, moving close enough not to be heard by the others.

      Norah smiled. “You know, Tom, we are really going to have to work on your compliment-giving skills,” she said as she walked past him toward the group. “Hello, I’m Norah Wallace and it would be great if some of you had the time to help me organize a day camp to keep the little ones entertained until we can all get out of here.”

      Five or six of the reps raised their hands to volunteer.

      “Excellent,” Norah said. “Let’s get started. Ideas?”

      And with that she exited the room with her band of volunteers trailing after her. The rest of the gate reps turned their attention back to Tom and Patty.

      “Okay, where were we?” Patty said. “Ah, yes, Thanksgiving dinner.”

      The group had finally settled into serious planning for the holiday meal when Izzy burst into the room followed by seven tall, gangly male teenagers. “Where’s Mom?” she asked as soon as she spotted Tom.

      “Out there organizing the day camp. I thought you were helping her.”

      “Oh, right,” Isabella said, looking slightly abashed. “I kind of got caught up in something else.”

      Tom turned his attention to the young people with Bella. “Hi, I’m Bella’s father, Tom Wallace.”

      “Oh, sorry,” Isabella said as she quickly introduced the teens. “And that’s Mike. They’re with the basketball team I told you about?”

      “Sorry about the tournament, guys,” Tom said. “So what’s going on?” he asked, turning his attention back to his daughter, who looked diminutive in the circle of giants.

      “Well, we were talking about the day camp and you know how on the last night at summer camp we always do this talent show?” Mike explained.

      Tom nodded but couldn’t ignore the fact that Bella was staring at Patty. He’d seen Isabella watching him the evening before after Norah had fallen asleep, and he—restless as always these days—had taken a chair some distance from Isabella and Norah where Patty was also fighting insomnia. He and Patty had connected immediately, exchanging war stories about their high-powered careers well into the night.

      New girlfriend? Isabella’s look seemed to ask as she shifted her gaze to him, and for the first time since meeting Patty, Tom realized that she was a clone of every woman he’d dated and introduced Bella to over the years.

      “This is Patty Martin,” he said including the basketball players in his introduction. “She’s the public relations director for Teen Town.” That got Bella’s attention. Teen Town was a popular media conglomerate with a glossy fashion magazine, a popular Web site and its own show on cable television.

      “Cool,” one of the giants said and the others mumbled their support.

      “Bella, why don’t you and your—committee—sit down with Patty here and map out a plan,” Tom suggested.

      Isabella frowned. “I should go help Mom.”

      “I’ll go help your mom. This is a great idea and you and your friends are the very ones to pull it off.”

      As always Isabella blossomed under his praise, and he felt the familiar kick of guilt that he wasn’t around to boost her confidence on a regular basis. “Okay,” she said. “You’re sure you’ll help Mom.”

      Tom gave the scout’s honor signal. “Promise,” he said.

      “Were you ever really a scout?” she asked, her eyes darting to Patty who had the entire basketball team laughing and eyeing her slim figure.

      “I was not,” Tom replied. He took a step closer and placed his hands on Bella’s shoulders. “What I am and always will be is your father and if I make you a promise, you can count on it, okay?”

      He saw from the look she gave him that they both knew he couldn’t always guarantee that, but she grinned and stood on tiptoe