Snowdrop Kisses Part One
A serialised holiday romance involving a plucky florist and a tall dark and handsome entrepreneur
Chapter 1
Wendy Blake tapped a fluffy polyester mitten on the steering wheel as she waited for the light to change. The falling snow softened the glare from the street lights, still glowing at 8:30 a.m. thanks to the late November darkness. She glanced down as she shifted into gear. The large amount of stuffing in her tummy pushed the red suit up against the steering wheel. She could direct the car with her belly alone.
She had asked for “Mrs Claus” but by the time she realised they’d given her a costume for the big guy, she didn’t have time to return it. Love's Bouquet prided itself on delivering its flowers at their appointed hour, and if that meant Wendy was now doing so dressed as a very short Santa Claus in an oversized suit, then so be it.
The Byward Market was sleepy this early on a Friday morning. The street performers, vendors and tourists didn’t start flooding the tightly packed lanes and sidewalks until well after nine a.m. The Christmas tree stand looked like a winter forest in the falling snow and for a moment she could imagine she was back home, with the woods stretched out from her parents’ front porch. Five weeks to Christmas and her first away from home.
She continued down York Street, stopping at the one apartment high-rise amongst the dozens of small Victorian buildings. Parking, she checked her appearance in the rear view mirror. The Santa hat was too big and frankly a bit dingy, but it covered most of her curly brown hair, which was good. She pulled the white beard over her ears. It smelled like crusty socks. She grabbed an old lipstick from her purse and painted on the final touch: two round bright circles on her cheeks. Were they jolly, or did they make her look disreputable, like Santa had one too many egg nog? Too late for second thoughts.
This morning was a singing-dancing delivery, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant. There was little dignity in a twenty-six year-old woman belting out a tune while doing a frenzied Sugarplum Waltz at someone’s front door.
Nothing for it but to get out and give the bouquet to --she looked at her sheet, “My little SnuggleTits. A million smooches, from Gavin.” She closed her eyes in pain.
Wendy leaned over and unlocked the passenger door. For the past few days the driver’s side of her fifteen-year old Honda refused to open. Her usual duct tape fix wouldn’t help in this case; and she didn’t have the excess cash to throw at any repairs that weren’t life threatening.
Wendy clambered over the stick shift to get out the passenger side. She pushed on the door, and groaned. She had parked beside a telephone pole, and could barely get the passenger door opened. She’d have to wiggle herself out.
She couldn’t wedge through the opening going forward, so she tried backwards. A twist, a slither, a desperate squirm later, and somehow she was stuck. Her bottom was hanging out of the car, but her Santa belly had trapped her. Her face was planted in the passenger seat. In retrospect, she should have just moved the damn car.
She braced her arms on the seat and pushed for all she was worth. The door bit into her side, and her arms strained with the effort. In desperation she rocked back and forth, finally popping out of the car like a champagne cork from a bottle. She stumbled and hit something soft but solid.
“Oomph,” Wendy managed as she steadied herself against this unexpected bulk.
“Damn!” exclaimed a deep male voice.
She turned and found herself staring at a large coffee stain spreading across a once-pristine white shirt.
“I’m so…” she began, yanking the nasty Santa beard out of her mouth. Her apology died on her lips. It had been a long time since Wendy experienced such a visceral reaction to a man’s appearance. Thick dark hair and great bone structure. The man’s sleek winter jacket was open, exposing a well-cut suit, which only enhanced his lean frame and wide shoulders. He stood at least a foot taller than her five two.
“…Sorry,” she finished.
He stared down at his soaked shirt, ignoring her. Wendy’s gaze followed his. The fabric was plastered to his well-muscled body with its broad, broad chest.
“I hope I didn’t burn you.” She yanked the Santa hat off. It was itching.
“It’s iced-coffee,” he said brusquely, glancing over at her. His eyes crinkled into laugh lines as he took in her costume. “What’s your hurry? Looking for Rudolph?”
Wendy flushed and reached back into the car for something to help him clean up. “I’ve got some wipes in here.” She moved the bouquet of red roses, white anemones and green cedar from the back seat. She found the box and turned; she was talking to an empty sidewalk. Mr. Coffee was striding down York Street at a rapid clip.
He was gone and Wendy was left with a drooping Santa belly and itching cheeks from what turned out to be an allergic reaction to the old lipstick.
Chapter 2
James Crofton entered the offices of the Lily Crofton Corporation at 8:55 a.m. He glanced at his watch in satisfaction; the little debacle on the street hadn’t slowed him down. Tonya at reception smiled and handed him the mail.
He merely nodded. He didn’t have time for the usual flirtations. “Is Kim in yet?”
“Yes, Mr. Crofton.” The woman’s eyes widened when she noticed the stain on his shirt, but she refrained from comment.
He opened the door and crossed the large, open room. Most of his employees were already there, plugging away at their laptops. A couple were chatting at the snack counter as they unwrapped breakfast burritos. Someone had strung up Christmas lights behind the espresso maker and cut out paper menorahs, kinaras and Christmas candles. James frowned. It was cluttered and kitschy. Not the image he wanted his company to project.
Behind an enormous desk near the only closed office in the room, sat Kim Videto, a plump, fashionable woman of about sixty-five with short dreadlocks. She was typing quickly.
“Morning,” James said.
She glanced up from the screen. “Damn. What happened to you?”
“I was attacked by a disorderly Santa.” James smiled. The woman had been a total mess. Her Santa suit was too big and her curly hair burst out around her head like she’d stuck her hand in an electrical socket. She had nice eyes. Thick eyelashes framing wide, hazel eyes.
“I’ve seen that smile before, James. Something tells me that this Santa was also an attractive woman.” Kim raised an eyebrow.
“Way too loopy for my taste.” James dismissed the cute Santa from his thoughts. “We’re finalizing the Smythe deal today. Is everything in place?”
Kim nodded. “Mrs. Smythe will be in at two to sign the papers.”
“Excellent.” James said. “You’ve done a great job. I know dealing with Minna hasn’t been easy.”
Kim nodded. “She’s a strong-willed woman.”
James grimaced. “She’s certainly testy. Why don’t we send her a bouquet of flowers, to seal the deal? Have the card say something like ‘Looking forward to working with you. All the best, James.’”
Kim typed the particulars. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Could you send two dozen red roses to Norah? Have the card say “’Thanks for everything, you were wonderful but --’’
“’I just don’t think it will work out,’” Kim finished. “James, honey, I’m on a first-name basis with the florist because of your constant bouquet brush-offs. All I have to say to Wendy is that I need the ‘regular’ and she knows what to do.”
He scowled at her, but she was undeterred. “My two-year old grandchild has a longer attention span than you! When are you going to settle down?”
Kim was one of the few people who could get away with that kind of questioning. James kept his voice light. “There’s something inherently sad about ‘settling’.” He thought about his father’s string of girlfriends. They seemed to keep the old man pretty happy. “You know me, I strive for perfection. That’s what makes me a success.”
“I hate to break it to you but building a relationship and building a company are two very different things.”
“Don’t all your trashy romance novels tell you to hold out for your soul mate?” He gestured to the novel on her desk. “When I bump into my ‘one true love’, I’ll settle.”
He grinned and Kim rolled her eyes.
James turned serious again. “Can you get me the entire Smythe file? I want to make sure I’ve dotted every ‘i”. I’ll go over the press release with Catriona. We need to maximize our publicity on this thing.”
James stopped in his office doorway. “Have Tonya pick up my dry-cleaning. I should have a fresh shirt in there. I don’t want to spend the day smelling like Starbucks. Oh, and can you take down those decorations in the break area? They’re not our brand.”
“It’s the holidays, James!”
He shook his head decisively. “Not here it isn’t.” He closed the door.
He was energized and invigorated. With the Smythe investment he could significantly expand his business. He caught himself rubbing his hands in glee. Today might have had a bumpy beginning -- an image of Santa’s lopsided hat and curly hair rose unbidden to mind-- but it would end in triumph.
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