A Town Called Christmas. Carrie Alexander

bread. Bunches of herbs. Fresh strawberries that must have been flown in. Jars of pistachios and almonds. Anchovies. Capers. Olives, radishes and two kinds of specialty cheese. Plus a bag of minimarshmallows and the bottle, which turned out to be sparkling ginger ale.

      Marshmallows, anchovies and ginger ale? She had eclectic tastes.

      She noticed his interest and paused with a jar of maraschino cherries in her hand. “My name is Mary.”

      He crinkled his eyes at her, despite the previous decision to keep his interest detached. “As in Mary and Joseph? That’s appropriate for a town called Christmas.”

      “The villagers do take the name seriously,” she said with a wry look.

      “Maybe I’ll catch the mood.”

      Her head cocked. “You’re not imbued with the holiday spirit?”

      The question made him recognize the loneliness of being out of step, particularly during the holidays. He was sorry for it, much more than when Nicky had pointed out the same. “Not lately, I’m afraid.”

      “Stick around. Christmas will work its magic on you.”

      “The town or the holiday?”

      She smiled. “They go hand in hand.”

      She wrote a check for her groceries, then paused to put on her hat and mittens and button up her coat. She lifted one of her bags and reached for the other.

      “Hold on,” he said, liberating another couple of twenties from his wallet. “I’ll help you carry those to your car.”

      She cradled one of the paper bags to her front while he took the second and accompanied her to the door. The wind blew viciously, tearing the handle from her grip. The door banged against the wall. He pushed up close behind her and caught the door before it swung back into her face.

      She sidestepped. “Do you need a ride? My car’s around the corner.”

      “Thanks, but I’m being picked up.”

      They moved carefully along a sidewalk that was bumpy with packed ice and snow, then loaded the grocery bags into the backseat of her car, a red Mazda with a plump Santa suction-cupped to a side window. The license plate read FALALA.

      Mary’s eyes were slitted against the wind. She scraped hair out of her mouth and made a spitting sound. “I’ll see you around then, Lieutenant Commander Kavanaugh.”

      He wanted to ask where and when, but stopped himself. “Maybe that can be arranged. I’m here for a week.”

      She hesitated, looking at him with puckered lips. Her eyes held a secret—something fanciful, as if she were playing with him. She seemed about to speak, but changed her mind and got in to the car instead, easing herself behind the wheel. She tugged at the coat, which kept her bundled as furry as a bear.

      He briefly imagined what her body might be like beneath it. Long-limbed but curvy. For all the willowy, athletic elegance, there was a solidness about her, too. He sensed they would match up well.

      Snow swirled. Wind whistled. He could delay no longer. With reluctance, he said goodbye and closed the door.

      She smiled at him through the frosty glass and started the engine. He stepped back, oddly forlorn as the car pulled away, until he realized what she’d said.

      Lieutenant Commander Kavanaugh.

      After an instant of revelation, he gave a short shout of a laugh. Some secret!

      CHAPTER TWO

      “NICKY!”

      “Mer!”

      Meredith York wrapped her younger brother in a bear hug and held on for dear life, having learned what the phrase truly meant over the past few years of their separation, particularly during his most recent deployment at sea. Her heart squeezed itself into a tight knot, then released as a wave of pure relief rolled through her. She let out a deep breath. At last.

      She gripped his shoulders. “You’re really here! You made it home for Christmas.”

      “A promise is a promise, Merrylegs.” Nicky tilted his head back. He bumped their noses. “Don’t cry.”

      “I’m not.” She hadn’t expected to be so sentimental, but Shannon and Mom were watching with red-rimmed eyes and watery smiles. In the background, Nicky’s sons bounced off the couch with excitement.

      “Where were you?” he asked.

      “Mom sent me out for provisions.”

      Grace York dabbed the corners of her eyes with her apron, then retrieved the bags of groceries Meredith had dropped when she’d greeted Nicky. “My goodness. What’s this? Goat cheese? Capers? What are we going to do with capers? I hope you didn’t forget the marshmallows.”

      Shannon, Nicky’s wife, had joined the siblings’ embrace. She leaned her cheek against her husband’s. “Skip and Georgie have their hearts set on church window cookies.”

      Meredith unwound herself. She rubbed her eyes. “Of course I remembered the marshmallows, Mom.”

      “Roquefort and goat cheese,” Grace clucked as she rummaged through the groceries.

      “I thought I’d make something different for tonight—hors d’oeuvres.”

      “Hors d’oeuvres. Fancy! Who are we trying to impress?”

      Meredith flushed.

      “She’s got city taste now, Grammadear.” Charlie York, the clan patriarch who’d remained fully involved in all activities since his retirement, stepped into the foyer with his sleepy granddaughter draped over his shoulder. At nine months old, Kathlyn Grace was the newest and much-adored addition to the family. “Don’t fuss at the girl.”

      Meredith rolled her eyes as she slipped out of her coat and hung it on one of the wall hooks. She was thirty-six. Her hand went to her waist—her disappearing waist—as she bent to knock the snow off her boots. Certainly no longer a girl.

      “Where’s your friend?” she asked Nicky. Without considering why, she chose to keep her meeting with Michael Kavanaugh to herself for a while longer.

      “At the Cheer. I’m going now to pick him up.” Nick nuzzled his wife’s ear. “Want to come along, honey?”

      Shannon glowed. Seeing their happiness brought both thankfulness and a pang of longing to Meredith’s heart. For more than a decade, she’d been satisfied with her thriving career as a human resources director for a large financial services firm, the high-rise condo she’d bought on Chicago’s Gold Coast and her lengthy live-in relationship with Greg Conway, a financial analyst she’d met at work. Then, suddenly in the past year, everything had changed.

      “Hurry back,” Grace said. The slender, silver-haired homemaker was as active as her husband, involved in many church and community activities, in addition to her regular book club meetings and t’ai chi classes. “Dinner’s in the oven.”

      “It’s your favorite,” Shannon said as she and Nicky put on their coats and boots. “Pot roast and mashed potatoes.”

      He moaned. “I can’t wait. I’ve been dreaming about Mom’s cooking.”

      Shannon paused while wrapping a scarf around her dark brown hair. “What about mine?”

      He grinned wolfishly as she preceded him out the door. “You’re in the other dreams.”

      Meredith gave Nicky another hug before he left, then stood in the farmhouse doorway, watching the couple drive down the long, dark driveway, until her mother complained that she was letting in the cold air.

      I want that. Merry shut the door and absentmindedly straightened the jumble of the kids’ snow boots, hats and insulated mittens. There, Mom, I admitted it. I wish I was married.

      She’d