Page 1 of What Happens This Christmas
Chapter 1
WINTER WONDERLAND
Candy
A wild little cry ripped through me like a tornado, only my mouth was clamped shut so it didn’t escape.
This was not the place to be uninhibited or unreserved about my pleasure.
My heartbeat was rapid.
My veins throbbing.
I bit back another sultry, intense vocalization.
Besides foaming at the mouth, there was no way to convey how I was feeling.
There it was. Right before my very eyes, a sight that I wouldn’t have believed unless I’d witnessed it for myself. A Harrison original was on sale, and not just any Harrison original. No, this one was a black coat. Wool. Long sleeve. With a silk lining.
Reaching out, I ran my hands over one of the sleeves, allowing my fingers to gracefully roam across the gem, taking it in and trying to memorize the feel. Nothing would ever compare to this. All the other coats would be jealous, frowning in utter disbelief that one like this existed. That was all the more reason I needed it. Anyone who was anyone could spot it from a mile away. They’d stare and want one for themselves, wishing, hoping, dreaming that they were so fortunate as to stumble upon one that was on sale too.
Dreams like this only came true in a luxury department store on Fifth Avenue. It was the magic of New York City. That, and knowing where to shop. A skill like that only came with practice, lots and lots of practice. Thankfully, I’d earned my master’s degree in shopping a while ago, and now I spoke the language, knew where to go, when to go, and who was who. Designers, I mean.
As I carefully drew down the coat in my size and headed to the nearest register, I recalled the beautiful moment when I’d been first introduced to this coat. It had been during New York Fashion Week. I’d watched Harrison’s new ready-to-wear collection in rapture.
Just as expected, the line to check out was so long that it may as well have spanned continents. Perhaps slightly dramatic, but some people had places to be, namely me, and I didn’t have the time or patience to stand in line. It was Christmastime, which meant that every department store in the city was as congested as the streets on a normal day. They were filled with people desperately trying to rub two pennies together to buy something nice for someone they cared about.
People who had hit it big with an end-of-the-year bonus they barely earned.
People who didn’t know the first thing about shopping in New York City.
With both of my arms practically draped with new items that I couldn’t wait to get home so they could become better acquainted with my walk-in closet, I hightailed it to the jewelry salon on the first floor. Typically, it was less busy, and almost no one decided to make that their last pit stop on their way out, such that they checked out with one of the employees behind the counter.
Good news for me.
Bad news for anyone who hadn’t picked up on that trick.
Heaving a sigh, I unloaded everything on the top of the glass case, where precious gems and diamonds were hidden away, sparkling and waiting for the next person to come and admire them, maybe even buy them, if it was their lucky day. Sue me, but to me these things weren’t just inanimate objects. If people treated shopping the way they did food or property, then it was a necessity. These objects were carefully picked out and purchased for a moment in time when they’d be pulled from the closet or drawer, and the owner would realizenow’s the time to wear it. They were made to be there for a time in life that couldn’t possibly even be anticipated.
“Hi,” I greeted the gentleman behind the counter, his ensemble impeccable. It had to be, though, because look at what he was selling. So, the two-piece textured wool and cashmere navy-blue suit he was wearing was essential. Honestly, he could have been scowling, deeply unsatisfied with his place of employment, and he would still be throwing off the right vibe. Because no one was staring at his face, or his hair, or the beard he should have rethought growing. They were looking at his clothes.
He cleared his throat, twisting his neck to peer behind him as though confused by the current situation. “May I help you?” he asked, finally turning back around to me, managing a forced smile before it collapsed faster than a house of cards in a windstorm.
I nodded, my blonde hair hardly swaying in the high ponytail. “Please. I’m in a rush. Would you be able to ring me up?”
“Sure,” he replied without a second thought.
To be honest, I was intelligent enough to know there wasn’t a single thing to contemplate. If he earned a commission on his sales, which I was pretty sure he did, then he just hit the jackpot with me. I’d contribute to his mortgage, and if he livedin the Upper East Side, which he probably did for commuting purposes if nothing else, then his silence was a hearty thanks. “My husband would love a watch like that,” I noted, pointing to his wrist.
My husband, Nick Crane, was the very definition of debonair. He was extremely handsome, dapper even. He was a wealthy, charming dreamboat. If only he hadn’t decided to have a quarter of a century crisis years ago and get a job at The Black Sheep, some Irish pub on Long Island, our home away from home. He’d claimed he had been bored, wanted a change of pace, and liked the company, talking to people, even getting to know the usuals. I couldn’t imagine a worse hobby to take on, but there was no changing Nick’s mind no matter how much I hated it.
The gentleman continued ringing me up as he explained, “It’s new actually. We just got this design in stock from Francesco Vega’s two-tone collection.” He nudged his chin past me. “They’re in the case just behind you.”
“Thank you.” I rolled my lips and turned, trailing my finger along the top of the warm, smooth glass as I attempted to find the perfect watch. Frankly, there were so many options. Nick didn’t own any jewelry from Francesco Vega, so I knew he’d appreciate the addition. “A man can never have too many watches,” I said, making meaningless conversation to pass the time and break through the cloud of silence that was making me feel like I was in a haze.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Obviously, he’d say that. The number one rule in sales that the customer was always right wasn’t for no reason.
