The St James Affair. Susan Wiggs

years tonight,” he said, staring down at her with appreciation.

      Well, thank God, she thought. If he’d failed to remember her, she would have died, right in the middle of Fezzywig’s. But the warmth in his eyes, the extra layer of color in his face, confirmed that he had not forgotten her.

      She wondered if he recalled the feeling of holding hands, gliding across the ice, if he could never listen to Christmas music without thinking of her, if he lay awake nights and wondered what his life would be like if only he had dared …

      “Seven,” she corrected him, not at all surprised he’d gotten it wrong. “But who’s counting?”

      He smiled, his generous, sensual lips forming a dangerous curve. Yet, like the young, unpretentious man she’d known, he appeared to be completely unconscious of his devastating effect on women. There was nothing so sexy as a guy who didn’t realize he was sexy. His gaze frisked her from head to toe. “You look good, Elaine.”

      “You, too.” She glanced questioningly at his clipboard. What she was really doing was looking for the expected wedding band. Surely a guy like this had a plump, happy wife and a couple of bambinos. Long ago, he’d told her he wanted exactly that, along with his NHL career. But to Elaine’s surprise, she saw no ring. “What’s up with that?” she asked.

      “Fund drive,” he said unapologetically, nodding to greet her companions.

      Aha, she thought. He was just like Larry the elf. Only taller. Darker. Handsomer.

      Then he did the grinning thing she remembered so well. His eyes, with their thick, criminally long lashes, took possession of everyone around the table. Elaine’s friends opened to him like budding flowers to warm sunshine.

      She had never been able to figure out how he did it, but he had a mesmerizing effect on people. Maybe it was the way he leaned forward a little, the warmth in his expression reaching out to everyone. It was like … magic. She flashed on another memory of the elf, promising her miracles.

      Even Melanie, who was so cool she made ice cubes shiver, sighed audibly.

      Elaine felt curiously exposed, running into Tony again like this. The past was behind her for a reason—so she wouldn’t have to look at it. Straightening her shoulders, she was determined to hide her vulnerability and brazen it out.

      She made the introductions in the smooth, polished way she had perfected over the years, and with a little laugh that completely covered everything she was feeling, she said, “This is Tony Fiore, who broke my heart back when we were in college.”

      “Yeah?” Jenny aimed a blatant invitation at him. “He’s breaking mine now.”

      “I broke your heart?” He grinned, incredulous. “Very funny, Elaine. I did you a favor.”

      She gulped down the rest of her drink. Could he really believe that?

      “So spill,” Mel said. “You two were an item?”

      “We dated like … three times,” Elaine said blithely.

      Jenny gave a low whistle. “For most guys, that’s a long-term relationship.”

      “So what are you collecting for?” asked Bobbi, squirming in her seat.

      “Kids’ hockey league,” Tony said. “It’s a pet project of my division. We fund coaching and ice time in all five boroughs.”

      Elaine wasn’t surprised. Hockey used to be his life. It was supposed to be his future, his career. She couldn’t help wondering about him as she studied this new, different Tony who hadn’t changed a bit, who still set her heart on fire. What was his life now? Expired licences and shoplifters?

      “What can we do for you?” Melanie asked.

      That entrancing smile never wavered. “Anything you can spare. It’s Christmas Eve,” he reminded them needlessly.

      “That’s great that you’re helping out inner-city kids,” Jen said.

      “It’s an outstanding idea,” Elaine announced.

      “Thanks. I’m sorry to say, funds are low this year. We’re going to need a miracle to keep the league going.”

      “You ought to have a gala.” Jenny beamed at him. “Trust me, we know about this stuff. We’re publicists.”

      He looked blank.

      “We are responsible for getting our clients’ faces in front of the press, or getting their products mentioned in magazines as the hot new must-have. That sort of thing,” Elaine said. “I’ve never heard of your organization. You should do some PR for exposure. It would increase your contributions tremendously. Trust me, I know the benefits of PR.”

      “Yeah? What do you charge?” When she didn’t answer, he grinned. “I can’t afford you. Anyway, the time I put in is just as important.”

      Everyone went for their bags. It struck Elaine that she hadn’t always hated Christmas. Sure, her self-disciplined approach to life had never allowed her to indulge too freely in the frivolities of the season. But, now that she thought about it, she once loved the warmth and joy of the season, the sentimental music and the spirit of generosity that took over even the most miserly of individuals. When had that hardened into annoyance and exasperation?

      Watching Tony, she knew precisely when. It began the night he’d let her down. Right then had begun a slow erosion of the spirit. Hope had deflated, giving way to bleak reality. She’d begun to view the world through the eyes of a cynic. In the most holy of seasons, she saw greed instead of generosity, phoniness instead of sincerity. She’d learned to expect the worst of people and she was never disappointed.

      Hiding her troubled thoughts, she rummaged deep in her handbag, sifting through gear she toted everywhere but the shower.

      No wallet.

      She frowned and rummaged some more, searching for the smooth leather case stuffed with plastic cards and folded bills.

      No wallet.

      “Something’s wrong here,” she muttered. She dumped the contents of her purse on the table, then put them back one by one. She felt Tony watching, and realized he had focused on her key chain, the one with the silver skate. It had been a gift from him, years ago, the only thing he’d ever given her. So what? she thought. Let him make what he would of it. She knew why she carried it.

      As she sifted through the clutter on the table, a sinking feeling plummeted through her. “Somebody stole my wallet.”