“I am a forest, and a night of dark trees:
but he who is not afraid of my darkness,
will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
He was a creature of the night.
Scott Colton took a sip of bourbon as he stared broodingly out into the night from the multi-paned window of his library. How he missed being able to fully enjoy the daylight hours! But the night had been his refuge since that awful day fifteen years ago when a gas line explosion had destroyed his life, taking his wife, his children, his face, and his eyes' ability to tolerate bright light but for the merest of time. As a result, the beautifully paned windows of his house were kept carefully shaded by elegant curtains and lower voltage lights made it easier for him not to have to wear the dark glasses prescribed by his ophthalmologist.
The settlement from the gas company had set him financially for the rest of his life, so insofar as creature comforts were concerned his needs were being well met. With time and considerable therapy he'd come to tenuous terms with the loss of his family and even his disfigurement. But he missed the life that the daylight hours represented. And he missed being a part of the whole his family had represented.
Simply put, Scott was lonely. He felt incomplete, though his career as a successful mystery novelist protected him from feeling useless. His name, or rather his pen name, could be found on all the best sellers lists and he was grateful for the good reviews he routinely received from critics. His contributions to various charities, though always given anonymously, gave him a sense of doing his part to make the lives of those less fortunate better. And he gained a quiet satisfaction from the notes and letters he received from those who appreciated his efforts both professionally and personally.
By his choice, no one knew his true identity. To the world, he was Joseph MacLeod, mystery author, or the well known but elusive “Anonymous” that donated the generous gifts and endowments to the causes he cared most about. Because of his scars he shied away from the limelight, rarely allowing interviews unless done via phone, and never pictures. So far, the paparazzi had not been able to discover his true identity or his whereabouts, though he was aware that a lot of money could be had for the information. He was grimly determined that no one would be collecting it.
Turning away from the window, his gaze fell on the computer with its carefully filtered screen quietly humming on the desk many would have considered disorderly, but upon which he knew where every item was located. Reference books, research notes, correspondence and all the paraphernalia of being a success cluttered its walnut surface. It represented his hard won battle to reestablish a life left shattered by the ineptitude of the badly vetted gas company employees. Still, he'd have given it all to have his ordinary life back.
With a sigh, he went back to work.
Colleen O'Reilly was also staring out into the dark of night. Determinedly ignoring the occasional gunfire that punctuated its silence and the ongoing fighting of the couple next door, she concentrated on the cold October wind that rattled the remaining dead leaves of the elms outside and imagined it carried the warmth and perfume of a summer garden. She'd always dreamed of living in an English cottage with a proper English garden. Instead she lived in a shabby studio apartment on the fringe of the inner city with its violence and the stench of impending poverty.
Behind her, yet another novel, written in neat, precise longhand, waited on her scarred Formica kitchen table. It was nearly finished, awaiting the happily-ever-after ending that characterized romance novels. But tonight she was acutely feeling her aloneness, and oddly, the presence of another person though no one else was there. It was like a vague touching of minds that she'd encountered more and more often lately. Instinctively she recognized the presence as male but beyond that she remained ignorant. The whispers of her Celtic forebears encouraged her to pay attention to it, but pay attention to what she had no idea. Another restless soul longing for something more, or perhaps something less, than they possessed?
She yawned and turned away from the window, allowing the lace curtains she'd purchased from a thrift store to fall back into place. She needed to get to bed. She had a new job to start in the morning and she didn't want to make a bad impression. Tiredly, she switched off the lights and curled up on the futon that was both her sofa and her bed. Within moments, she was asleep.
Two weeks later, Colleen replaced the lid on a bankers' box then carried it across the room where six other boxes were stacked. After setting it down, she stood and stretched her back before turning her attention to the dozen or so that remained untouched. She'd been promised still more when she finished them all.
When she'd accepted the temporary assignment as a file clerk she'd been told she would be organizing a new filing system for a home-based business. It wasn't until she'd actually arrived at the elegant, but modest, estate a few miles from downtown that she'd learned she'd been assigned to help Scott Colton, aka the mysterious Joseph MacLeod, and that everything was to be kept strictly confidential, especially the name of the man she worked for. If she asked, she was a file clerk and nothing more, which wasn't hard. For that was exactly what she was. But she'd signed the confidentiality agreement anyway.
Each box contained research material for a single book, and most books required more than one box. She had just completed the four boxes containing notes, photocopies, correspondence, and other paraphernalia pertaining to Joseph MacLeod's third bestseller, Death on the Serengeti. It had been the novel that introduced the world to Lord Romney Dumfries, the half-American peer of the realm who liked to dabble in solving international crimes, much to the annoyance of the aggrieved authorities. MacLeod had adroitly created a sympathetic Edwardian character who possessed a droll, dry, sometimes amusingly awkward wit to balance out his tendency toward intellectual pomposity, and who enjoyed pursuing passionately earthy attractions toward thoroughly unsuitable female adventurers.
Looking over the boxes, she chose one marked Concubine of Death and carried it to her desk. Glancing at her watch she decided it was a good time to take a late lunch break and left the room designated as her office for the kitchen. Scott's middle-aged, live-in housekeeper, Mary, looked up from stirring a large pot and smiled as she entered.
“There you are. I was wondering if you were going to break for lunch.”
Colleen returned her smile as she opened the refrigerator and withdrew the brown bag that bore a bowl of last night's leftover ham and macaroni salad and a bottle of water.
“I wanted to finish the box I was working on first.” She sniffed appreciatively. “That smells good.”
“Marinara for Mr. Colton's dinner tonight. Would you like a sample?”
“Love one!”
Mary withdrew a spoon from the cutlery drawer, dipped it into the sauce, then held it over her cupped hand to catch any drips as Colleen blew gently before taking a careful sip. The housekeeper grinned as the younger woman moaned.
“That is absolutely the most delicious thing I've had in a long, long time, Mary!”
“I know, isn't it? It was my Italian grandmother's recipe, using fresh tomatoes, herbs, and hours of simmering.” She dropped the spoon into the sink. “I'll give you some to take home with you.”
“I'd like that. Thank you.”
Taking her bag and bottle of water, Colleen quit the kitchen and was half way back to her office when the front door opened.
The man who entered was tall, broad-shouldered, and solidly built with no hint of excess. In deference to the weather, he was dressed casually in well worn, faded jeans and and a black leather jacket over a black wool sweater, with a black Greek fisherman's cap covering his head and and hiking boots on his feet. Very dark wrap around glasses hid his eyes from the light outside, and she suspected some of the brighter light inside as well, but didn't hide the horrific scars marring his otherwise handsome face.
“Mr. Colton, good afternoon,” she greeted him with a shy smile.
After carefully removing the glasses, he squinted then nodded in response with a small smile.
“Miss O'Reilly. How are things coming along?”
“Very well, actually. I admit that I'm enjoying learning how much research you put into your books.”
“Do you not research your own books?”
“Yes, of course, but I admit that my research is strictly internet and library based. Whereas it appears you actually travel to the locations you write about.”
His answering smile was wry as he removed his cap and hung it on the coat tree, followed by his jacket.
“Busman's holidays, all.” He nodded toward the bag and bottle she was holding. “I seem to be keeping you from your lunch.”
“Not really. I usually eat as I work.”
He frowned.
“I would rather you took an honest lunch break, Miss O'Reilly.”
She blushed.
“To be honest, Mr. Colton, over lunch I'm not so much working as reading the materials that I'm filing.” Her blush deepened when she met his gaze. “As a writer, I can appreciate how much work goes into crafting your stories. As a fan, I'm fascinated by all the details that form the backbone of the book without ever weighing it down with too much minutiae.” She paused. “I hope you don't mind.”
Scott eyed her consideringly for a moment then smiled.
“No, that's perfectly fine. Just be sure you take honest breaks now and then and get away from the job.”
Colleen smiled.
“I do, don't worry. I discovered your garden early on and go out there when my eyes need a rest.”
“You should see them in the spring and summer.”
“I can pretty well imagine how lovely they must be. As it is, there's a certain beauty to them even now, in the way they are laid out and with the fall leaves scattered among the holly and evergreen bushes.”
For a moment their gazes held before she gestured with the bottle.
“I suppose I need to get to my lunch so I can get back to work. It was nice seeing you, Mr. Colton.”
She started to walk away when his voice stopped her.
“Mr. Colton is what strangers and acquaintances call me. I would prefer that you call me Scott, seeing as we share a mutual passion for writing.”
Colleen smiled and nodded.
“Very well. If you'll call me Colleen in return.”
“That I will, Colleen. Have a good rest of the afternoon.”
His expression was enigmatic as he watched her walk down the hall and enter her office. After a moment he slid the glasses back on before climbing the stairs to his room where he would sleep until nightfall.
The days continued to pass as Colleen made her way carefully through the boxes. On several occasions Scott would join her for lunch where they would share writing experiences and thoughts on the works they each had in progress. Colleen was gratified that he didn't seem to consider writing romances as wastes of time. Instead he assured her that good writing was good writing regardless of the genre, and every genre had its audience.
On Halloween, Colleen chose not to break for lunch in favor of going home early. She wanted to be safely locked in her apartment before the trouble began that always came on Halloween. It could be dangerous being outside after sunset.
She was deep into the second box for Dangerous Reckoning when Scott knocked on the open door and walked in.
“Mary said you weren't taking lunch today.”
Colleen sat back and set the pencil aside she had been using to make notes on a legal pad.
“No. I will need to leave early this afternoon to be home before the usual Halloween shenanigans start.”
“Troublesome teenagers looking for thrills?”
She shook her head, her expression serious.
“Nothing so benign, I'm afraid.”
“I don't understand.”
“The gang warfare.”
He stiffened, his head drawing back in surprise.
“Gang warfare?” He eyed her doubtfully. “Just where do you live, Colleen?”
She grimaced, feeling self-conscious.
“In Docks Park, near the corner of Tenth and Chestnut.”
“And you commute all the way here? By bus?”
“Yes.”
“My God! Why do you choose to live there?”
He regretted the question as pride had her meeting his eyes almost defiantly.
“It's an expensive city to live in,” she explained quietly yet unapologetically.
Scott felt uncomfortable for having made careless assumptions about her based on her obvious intelligence and skill, as well as her always impeccably professional attire. Obviously she wasn't as comfortable as her demeanor would seem to attest. He'd had no idea that she lived in a dangerous place of near squalor. Then a troubling thought occurred. Was he paying her enough?
He took a frustrated breath.
“Don't worry about catching the bus. I'll call my car service and we'll see you get home.”
“Oh, I couldn't...”
He gave her stern look.
“Yes, you can.”
Seeing the mutinous flare in her green eyes, he softened his tone.
“Please. For my peace of mind let me take you home.”
Her pride battled with her very real desire to not go home alone before she nodded in resignation.
“Okay, thank you.”
With a nod of satisfaction, he glanced pointedly at the files and papers atop her desk.
“So since I'm taking you home, I insist that you take lunch. There's nothing there that has to be rushed.”
Her hesitation didn't go unnoticed.
“Let me guess. You didn't bring a lunch?”
She shrugged.
“No, I didn't.”
“Then I suggest we order in. How do you feel about pizza?”
“I like pizza.”
“What toppings do you like?”
“The works, but without anchovies.”
“Never could understand the need for fish on a pizza either.” He smiled and reached for his phone. “One supreme pizza coming up.”
After ordering the pizza, he left the office and Colleen resumed working for another hour. When the delivery was made, they made their way to the informal dining room where Scott produced a couple of sodas before they took their seats and dug in.
Lunch became something of a lengthy affair as their conversation ran the gamut from exchanging writing experiences to discussing other mutual interests and debating current affairs. He was pleased to watch her grow comfortable with him enough to speak her mind, giving her opinions and insights firmly but respectfully, and allowing him to see the quirky side of her sense of humor. Their keen appreciation for the ironies in life, as well as a passion for certain social and environmental causes, provided plenty of common ground to explore, so that by the time the grandfather clock in the foyer chimed two o'clock, the foundation for a real friendship had been laid.
When Colleen insisted that she wanted to at least finish the box she was currently working on before she left, he agreed to have a car ready to go by four o'clock. Together they cleaned up, saving Mary from having to do it, before going their separate ways outside her office door.
At five minutes to four, she was putting the lid on the completed box when Scott once again appeared at the door, wearing his black leather coat and dark glasses.
“Ready?”
She nodded and started to lift the box, but he stopped her.
“Here. Let me take care of that while you get your coat.”
“Oh, okay,” she smiled, “Thank you.”
After lifting her warm puffy coat from the side chair where she'd draped it that morning, he took it from her and held it while she slipped her arms into the sleeves before leading her from the room with a hand on the small of her back.
The drive to her apartment was mostly quiet. With the sunset, street lights came on but as they left the respectful side of town, Colleen was feeling self-conscious as they entered the less desirable district, where many of the street lights were dark. While she was grateful to have a home, she didn't want him to see the despair of where she lived. Scott, noticing the growing feeling of sinister tension on the streets, was growing less willing to let her go when she reached her apartment. When they finally arrived, it was to the sound of gunfire from a few streets over. Before she could open her door, he took her by the arm.
“Colleen, I'm not comfortable leaving you here tonight.”
“It's okay, Scott. I'll be alright.” She smiled reassuringly. “I've lived her for a while with nothing happening to me.”
“I'd just feel better if you'd let me put you up for the night.” He squeezed her arm gently. “It's not as if I don't have enough bedrooms to choose from.”
She sighed and started to refuse when a trio of youths in matching street clothes ran by the car, giving them such belligerent glares that she shuddered. The driver was growing noticeably more nervous and Scott pressed his point by making the decision for her.
“I'll walk you in so you can get a change of clothes then we'll head back to the house.”
More gunfire erupted nearby and Colleen readily agreed. Less than ten minutes later she had an overnight bag packed and they were speeding back to Scott's much safer neighborhood, leaving the sounds of increasing violence behind them.
Alerted by a call from Scott, Mary was waiting when they arrived back.
“I am so happy to have you home, Mr. Colton.”
“And I'm happy to be home.”
Once again his hand rested gently on Colleen's back as he guided her inside.
“Please take Colleen's bag to one of the bedrooms.”
“Yes, of course. I've put her in the one overlooking the gardens.”
Colleen smiled wanly as she handed the overnight bag to the housekeeper.
“Thank you, Mary.”
“You're quite welcome, Colleen. I left dinner warming for you. I'll be right down to finish it getting it ready.”
Scott nodded his thanks as the housekeeper walked away and helped Colleen slip out of her coat before removing his own leather jacket and glasses.
“How long have you lived there?” he asked as they entered the living room.
“Four years last month.”
“Since you moved to the city?”
“Yes.”
“And it's never been that bad before?”
“No, not while I've been there.”
He as silent as she took a seat on the sofa sitting before the gas-lit fireplace, his expression giving nothing away of his emotions. He sensed she wouldn't be appreciative of his almost overwhelming desire to demand she move somewhere else, away from the hellhole he had just visited. He had no right to do so. But as he had got to know her over the past few weeks he'd found himself growing more attracted to her. She was pretty, without being overtly beautiful, but more, she was warm, caring, sensitive, humorous, and highly intelligent. He enjoyed their often lively, always thoughtful conversations and the way her expressive face reflected her emotions and passions for the subject at hand. A slight grin curved his lips. She'd never make a good poker player.
Now he watched as she relaxed against the cushions and closed her eyes. She was pale with stress and fatigue and he fought the need to sit beside her, pull her into his arms, and vow to take care of her and all of her troubles.
He took a deep breath as the truth filled him.
He was falling in love with her.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” He asked abruptly and watched as she tiredly shook her head without opening her eyes.
“No, thank you. It wouldn't take much to put me to sleep.” She smiled softly as her eyes opened to meet his. “I don't think you'd like to carry me up the stairs to bed.”
Realizing what she had just said, Colleen blushed hotly and looked away in embarrassment.
“I mean, I'm not the smallest woman on the planet and...”
Her blush deepened. God! Why couldn't she just shut up?
His mind full of the image of carrying her upstairs to his room, Scott nonetheless let her off the hook with a gentle smile.
“No wine, then,” then in an offhand tone, “though you're hardly the largest woman on the planet.”
At that moment, Mary returned and announced that she had salads ready for them in the dining room before she served them dinner, and they followed her down the hall.
Dinner, while delicious, was a mostly quiet affair during which Colleen fought to keep from constantly yawning. Scott watched her struggle to stay awake long enough to do justice to the cream cheese chicken chili Mary had served them and was filled with a tenderness he hadn't felt in a long time. How much he longed to hold her close against him in the big king size bed upstairs and watch her fade off to sleep!
Finally she laid her spoon aside and, after a sip of water, wiped her mouth on a fine fabric napkin. Looking up she was surprised to find him looking at her with such tenderness that her heart sped up as she caught her breath.
“Did you enjoy the chili?” he asked, and she instinctively knew that wasn't what he'd wanted to say, but she accepted the opportunity to shy away from the expression in his eyes.
“Yes! Yes,” she smiled tiredly, “It was excellent.”
“It's one of Mary's specialties. She'll be pleased to know you liked it.” He lifted a small plate from the table and extended it toward her.
“She also made some sopapillas for dessert. Try one before you head off to bed.”
Despite her fatigue, Colleen eagerly accepted one of the small fried breads with honey poured over them.
“Thank you,” she murmured before biting into the bread. Her eyes closed in delight as the cinnamon-sweet flavor filled her mouth. “Oh, my! This is wonderful!”
Scott took one for himself before setting the plate aside. After taking a bite he nodded in agreement.
“Yes, it is. Mary's really outdone herself this time.”
For a few minutes they were silent as they enjoyed their dessert, then Colleen yawned widely behind her hand.
“I'm sorry,” she murmured, “I'm completely exhausted. Do you think Mary would mind if I just went off to bed and helped her clean up another time?”
He shook his head.
“No need to apologize. She wouldn't allow you to help anyway.”
He paused as she hid another large yawn behind her hand.
“I'll show you where your bedroom is,” his voice lowered seductively but it was belied by a teasing grin, “before I do have to carry you up the stairs.”
Blushing she nonetheless gave him a stern look before taking a final sip of water.
“Behave yourself, Mr. Colton, or I shall begin to believe your teasing.”
He chuckled huskily before rising to his feet and extending his hand.
“I'll try to mind my manners, then. Come on and I'll show you to your room.”
Minutes later she opened the door to a bedroom filled with homey charm and turned to wish him a good night, only to find herself once again caught by the gentle possessiveness in his eyes. The stared at each other for a few moments before he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her cheek then stroked it before stepping back.
“Good night, Colleen,” he whispered, “Sweet dreams.”
He waited until she closed the door before walking down the hall to his own room. Closing the door quietly behind him, he thought of the softness of her cheek and wished he wouldn't be spending the night alone, with her just down the hall. With a sigh, he undressed and slipped nude into his bed where eventually he fell asleep, and dreamed of her until morning.
The aromas of freshly brewed coffee and lemon poppy seed muffins were wafting up from the kitchen when Colleen awoke well after dawn. After a moment she remembered where she was and glanced at the watch she still wore. Then, swearing softly, she jumped from the bed and hurried into the en suite bath where she took a quick shower, dressed in the jeans and soft pink sweater she'd brought from home the night before, donned her sneakers, and hurried downstairs.
Mary glanced up as Colleen entered the kitchen, her troubled eyes belying her smile.
“Good morning, Colleen. Did you sleep well?”
The younger woman smiled.
“Yes, too well, I think. I'm late for work!”
“Breakfast is on the dining table along with a fresh pot of coffee. Mr. Colton is already in there.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
When Colleen entered the dining room it was to find Scott staring broodingly into his coffee cup, the morning newspaper was beside it, and she paused just inside the door.
“Good morning, Scott,” she greeted him with a shy smile, feeling a little self-conscious.
He glanced up but didn't return her smile.
“Good morning, Colleen.” He motioned to the space beside him. “Please, have a seat. I have some bad news.”
She felt the bottom fall out of her stomach.
“Bad news? Not my family!”
He shook his head.
“No, not your family. Come, sit for a second.”
Hesitantly she approached the table and sat down beside him.
“What's going on, Scott?”
He was silent for a moment before meeting her eyes, his expression sympathetic.
“There was rioting in Dock's Park last night.”
He turned the newspaper where she could see it. The large picture on the front page showed a crowd of men, rage emanating from them even through the ink, as they postured with guns and pitched torches into a building. Looking closer, she gasped when she realized it was her apartment building.
“Oh god,” she moaned as she lifted the paper closer, “Oh no.”
Scott remained silent as she stared at the paper.
“My home! My things!” Tears appeared in her horror-filled eyes. “My book!”
Rising, Scott drew her up and into his arms.
“I'm so sorry, Colleen,” he murmured as sobs erupted from her, and he rocked her gently as she cried, his own heart breaking in response. “So, so sorry.”
“Oh, Scott! What am I going to do? Where am I...” she pulled back and looked up at him with tear ravaged eyes, “I can't keep working for you. I have no place to live. I'll have to go back home to my parents' and...and...”
He settled her face back against his shoulder.
“Shh,” he whispered, “We'll worry about that later. Right now, let's just take things one step at a time.”
For endless minutes they stood there while Colleen cried copiously and Scott whispered consolingly in her ear. At one point Mary entered the room then silently left when he silently shook his head at her.
Finally her violent tears began to abate until she was left with soft, breathless gasps.
“What am I going to do?”
He drew back and smiled gently as he wiped the traces of tears from her face.
“First you're going to eat a little something and then...”
“I don't know if I can eat anything.”
“Just some toast then, with a little honey. You've had a shock and need to eat something.”
She started to refuse but in the end accepted the single slice of honeyed toast that he offered her along with a cup of coffee. The toast tasted like saw dust and the coffee like mud, but she ate anyway. Afterward, she admitted to herself that she did feel a little stronger. Better able to deal with her tragedy.
“I need to call my mom and dad,” she told him, her voice sounding scratchy, “if they hear about this they'll worry.” She paused and wiped her brow with her hand. “I need to let them know I'll be coming home.”
Scott shook his head. Inside he was rebelling at the thought of her leaving.
“No, you aren't.”
A flicker of her old fire appeared in her eyes.
“I'm not? And how do you...?”
“You can stay here and continue to work.”
“I can't do that!”
“Yes, you can. Consider it part of your compensation.”
“But I work for the temp agency, Scott, not directly for you.”
“Then leave the agency and come work for me. I'll better your salary and give you lodging while you are here.”
“I don't know...”
“Look, Colleen, you need the job and I need the help. And,” he paused, “I promise you'll have plenty of time to work on your writing.”
Her chin wobbled.
“My book! It was almost finished!”
“Start it again. Rewrite it as best you can.” He smiled and reached across to trace his fingers along her cheek. “You may even find it better than it was.”
I don't know, Scott. It was coming along really well. I don't know...”
“You will.”
“You have more faith than I have.”
“I have every reason to believe you can.”
“You've never read anything of mine.”
“But I've got to know you. You're smart and resourceful, and you're passionate about writing. I believe you can do this.”
She looked into his eyes, and slowly began to believe.
The weeks passed. There was nothing left of Colleen's apartment to salvage and so she was forced to replace her clothing and a few other belongings. Scott objected to her shopping at thrift and second-hand shops, insisting on buying her new clothes, and even offering to let her pay him back. However, she remained adamant that she do this in her own way and on her own terms. So, understanding that her pride was at stake, he acquiesced. But silently he was determined that there would come a day when she would no longer have to wear hand-me-downs from others.
She left the temp agency and went into full-time employment with Scott, and they began to work more closely on the files and gradually even into researching his latest book together. In return, he helped her to overcome the trauma and self-doubt in starting over with her own book and she began to see that it was, in deed, turning out better than the original. He grinned when she insisted she could only write in long hand, commenting that he'd have to hire another secretary to transcribe her chicken scratch. Colleen merely stuck her tongue out at him and continued writing, and he chuckled as he left her alone.
As the holidays approached, Mary had boxes of decorations brought down from the attic and the afternoon after Thanksgiving was spent sorting through them. Strings of lights were untangled and tested, amidst much grumbling and laughter, and ornaments were rediscovered from the year before. Only one box remained unopened, prompting Colleen to ask about it.
Scott abruptly left the room and Mary's face grew sad.
“Those are ornaments that were made by his wife and children,” she explained quietly, “He can't bear to put them out.”
Colleen was filled with remorse.
“I'm sorry. I suppose I shouldn't have asked.”
“No reason to apologize,” Mary assured her, “You didn't know.”
A few minutes passed as the two women worked to unwind yards of gold and silver tinsel from cardboard, the older woman sitting comfortably on the couch while the younger sat equally content on the floor at her feet, tinsel piled like fluffy metallic clouds around her lap.
“It's a shame, though,” Colleen finally said and Mary nodded in agreement.
“Yes, but there it is.”
“Do you think he would mind if I looked at them?”
“No, I don't mind,” Scott's voice quietly answered her question from the doorway, “Go ahead.”
Colleen looked up, startled.
“I'm sorry, Scott. I guess I shouldn't pry.”
He shook his head before bringing the box to her.
“No,” he said, sitting beside her on the floor, “I want you to see them.”
Mary stood and left the room unnoticed.
Carefully he placed the box in her lap before slowly lifting the lid to reveal a layer of yellowed raffia ribbon, flattened from years of storage. Gently, almost reverently, he removed the raffia then sat back. For a brief moment he closed his eyes before smiling encouragingly into hers.
“Go ahead,” he urged softly and watched as she removed a tissue wrapped bundle.
Inside was a small plaster circle, in the middle of which was imprinted a child's hand and “Benjie 6yrs old” written below it in blue marker.
“Oh, Scott.”
He carefully took the ornament from her hands.
“We always kept our Christmas decorations in a rented storage unit,” he explained, “so they weren't destroyed in the explosion.” He ran a finger around the edge of the small imprint. “Ben was eleven when it happened.”
“I am so sorry.”
He took another bundle from the box and unwrapped it to reveal a second plaster circle imprinted with a child's hand. Written below it in pink marker was “Beatrice 6 yrs old.”
“Ben and Bea were twins. Totally inseparable even when they were at each other's throats.” He chuckled softly. “They'd fight like cats and dogs until you could swear they hated each other's guts. But woe be to anyone who threatened one of them. Then they became as one, ready to take on all comers.”
He gazed at the ornament a moment longer before laying it aside and reaching inside the box for another tissue-wrapped bundle. This one contained a fragile egg hollowed out with wax, filled with an exquisite woodland scene, and decorated with delicate painting and tiny jewels.
“How beautiful!” Colleen breathed and watched as he held it by a shimmering gold string.
“My wife, Peggy, would make these for the church's Christmas fund raisers. They were always best sellers and became quite collectible.”
“I can see why. I can't imagine how much time it took to finish one.”
Scott nodded.
“Hours. She worked for weeks to build up enough to sell.”
“Can I hold it?”
He handed it to her and watched as she admired the little ornament.
“I've never seen anything like it,” she whispered, “What a marvelous talent she had!”
She handed the egg back to him and watched as he wrapped it once again in tissue and set it aside.
“She was a truly beautiful woman, inside and out.”
“You must miss her very much.”
He paused in the act of choosing another bundle.
“Yes, I will always miss her and the kids.” He sighed. “But time marches on, as they say, and the pain, well, the pain eventually becomes an ache that never completely goes away.” His eyes met hers. “Then life brings new blessings to help fill the empty places they left behind.”
For long moments their eyes held before Colleen blushed and looked away.
“Colleen?”
His voice was a rough whisper drawing her back to him.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for sharing this with me.”
She smiled softly.
“You're welcome.”
The remaining ornaments were taken out, unwrapped, and stories told about them. Colleen was happy to see Scott's sadness replaced by treasured memories, many of which had her laughing as he recounted the antics of his twins throughout their childhood. There were more of the exquisite egg ornaments, each individually decorated with no two ever being alike. And there was a crystal ornament that held a family portrait. The last taken before the explosion. When time came to decorate the tree, she insisted that every last one of the ornaments be placed on its boughs with the family portrait nestled directly beneath the magnificent angel topper.
Mary had long since retired and left them to finish the decorating. Once the multi-colored tree lights were plugged in, Scott turned off the lamps, leaving only the tiny twinkling bulbs to cast their magic, and moved to stand behind Colleen, who was staring at the tree with moist eyes.
“Why the tears?” he asked softly.
She smiled self consciously.
“It's just such a beautiful tree. Filled with love and memories.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “You were so fortunate to have had them in your life.”
“Yes, I was. And I wish I still did.” He moved closer and slid his arms around her waist. “But that was another life. A lifetime ago.” He pulled her gently back against him. “Now there's only today and tomorrow, and even that isn't guaranteed.”
She rested her hands on his arms.
“No, it isn't.”
They gazed upon the tree, each thinking of the many vagaries of life, until she felt him take a deep breath.
“Colleen, may I ask you a question?”
“What's that?”
“May I kiss you?”
Slowly she turned in his arms and slid her hands behind his neck.
“Yes.”
One kiss led to another, and then to another, as passion quickly erupted, until Scott was finally forced to draw away or pull her down on the sofa and do what they both plainly wanted. Instead, he pulled her close and rested his chin on her head until their heartbeats and breathing slowed.
“Damn!”
Colleen giggled.
“My thoughts exactly.”
The remaining weeks before Christmas passed quickly. The files were finally completed and Colleen became Scott's full-time research partner. He hired a part-time secretary to assist with the paperwork, as well as to transcribe Colleen's hand-written manuscript, and he surprised her by formally introducing her to his literary agent who agreed to review her book after the new year.
Scott gave Mary Christmas and the following week off so she could spend them with her family in Maine then focused his attention on making Christmas Eve truly special for himself and Colleen. The next day they would be traveling to her parents' home for a few days and he wanted to arrive with his engagement ring on her finger.
It was nearing midnight when the final credits for Miracle on 34th Street scrolled to an end. After turning off the television, he pulled her closer and smiled when she sighed.
“I love that movie.”
“I would never have guessed.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you've only watched it three times this week.”
“And you've watched A Christmas Story just as often!”
“And we've both watched National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation how many times?”
They shared a laugh then resumed watching the tree with it's many twinkling lights and ornaments, until a few minutes later when the clock over the mantle began to chime.
“Colleen?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you marry me?”
There was a moment of silence before she shifted so that she was facing him. A soft smile curled her lips moments before she pressed them to his.
“Yes.”
The End
c. 2025
Want to review or comment on this short story?
Need a FREE Reader Membership?
Reviewed by Ronald Hull
9/18/2025
In your new digs you are back to your productive self in your favorite genre. This one appears long enough to be a novella. Something I hear is really what people want these days with their busy lives. I teetered on taking so long to read it today.
I wondered why when they went to her apartment, that she didn't run upstairs and get some essential things if she was going to stay Halloween Night with Scott.
Again, it took them a long time to really get together. Not so in real life just romantic stories.
I only saw one little thing "a trio of youths." I believe it should just be youth.
Enjoy twists and surprising turns in this erotic collection of sexy love stories based on seven classic fairy tales. There are romantic interludes to touch your heart and plenty of scorching sex to warm your coldest nights.
