Cupid's Christmas (Serendipity #3)(15)

John



I was going to tell Lindsay about Eleanor tonight. I’d gone over what I had to say a dozen or more times, but every time I had the words ready to burst out of my mouth, Lindsay dredged up another memory of her mother. Don’t misunderstand me—Bethany was, without question, a wonderful woman. But she and Lindsay sometimes went at it like two bulldogs. I could be out in the garage or trimming hedges in the back yard and hear Lindsay’s voice screaming about how she wasn’t allowed to do one thing or another. To hear her tell it, every kid in Shawnee High School had more privileges than she did.

Of course, Lindsay doesn’t remember any of that. She only remembers the good times, which I suppose is how it should be. But when every other word she speaks is about how wonderful Bethany was, it’s pretty impossible to bring up the subject of Eleanor.

The irony of this situation is that if Lindsay gave it a chance, I think she’d like Eleanor. In a number of ways, Eleanor is a lot like Bethany except maybe a little slower to anger and a lot more forgiving. Of course that could be because of age. We’re a bit older now, and years do have a way of mellowing people.

Mellowed or not, I think Eleanor is still going to be pretty peeved when she finds out I haven’t told Lindsay yet.

Maybe if Eleanor is here it will be a bit easier. Oh don’t get me wrong, Lindsay can be extremely reactionary, but she’s not the kind of girl to make a big stink in front of someone, especially someone she knows I’m fond of.

Yep, that’s what I’ll do. When Eleanor gets here tomorrow morning, I’ll introduce her as a real close friend. After they’ve spent some time together, Lindsay will come to see what a wonderful person Eleanor is. Once that happens, our marriage won’t be a problem. At least I don’t think it will be.





Cupid…Rude Awakening



Procrastination…it’s a human trait and one that all too often leads to disaster as you will soon see. The ideal answer would be to go ahead and give Lindsay the perfect match I have for her, but the truth is she’s not ready. Her brain has accepted that Phillip was a bad apple, but her heart is still longing for the scoundrel. It’s a common condition we call romance-restricted, but when it’s combined with misappropriated affection, we’re talking about a ticking love bomb.

Right now, not even I could give this girl a love that would last. The only thing I can do is increase her distraction. Lindsay never wants something that comes easy, so I’ll pique her interest by teasing her with pictures and promises. Eventually she’ll go for it, humans always do. Just tell a human there’s something they can’t have and bingo—biting into that forbidden fruit becomes an obsession.





The sound of muffled voices woke Lindsay. It wasn’t the far away voice of last night. It was the sound of people talking, words going back and forth with short pauses in between. Thinking her father most likely had the television on, she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Sleep didn’t come. The window shade that had been hanging there for over fifteen years had suddenly become too narrow and it left room for a strip of sunlight to slide through. The beam of light landed smack across Lindsay’s eyes. She could see it with her eyelids closed and when she turned her face to the wall, it was worse. The light bounced off the mirror and magnified itself.

She blinked open her right eye and checked the clock—almost ten, time to get up anyway. Lindsay shrugged on the robe she’d left hanging on the back of the door when she went off to college and started for the stairs. Before she set foot on the first step, she heard them. It wasn’t the television. It was a woman talking with her father.

“Not yet,” he was saying, “Not yet.”

Lindsay couldn’t make out precisely what the woman said in response, but it was something about someone named Ray. She listened with both ears, but the words were fuzzy, and the most she could get were bits and pieces. It had to be one of the neighbors, she reasoned, who else could it be? She stood there for a minute and when the voices stopped, she continued down the stairs. When the living room came into view she saw her father and a light-haired woman locked in an embrace.

“Well, excuse me!” Lindsay snapped.

The couple quickly stepped back from one another, and John turned to look up at his daughter. “I didn’t realize you were awake,” he stammered.

“Obviously!”

“Don’t misunderstand—”

“Misunderstand? What is there to misunderstand?”

“Lindsay, give me a moment and I’ll—”

The woman standing next to him tugged on his arm. “John,” she said, “I think it would be better if I leave.”

“No Eleanor,” John answered, “Stay. I think it would be better if we—”

Eleanor looked at the anger spread across Lindsay’s face then shook her head. “You need some alone time to talk to your daughter.” Her answer was more sympathetic than chastising.

Lindsay just stood there glaring at the woman, balled up hands on her hips, and an expression as flat and hard as the bottom of a cast iron skillet.

John bent and kissed Eleanor’s cheek then she slipped quietly out the door.

The lock hadn’t clicked shut before Lindsay angrily asked, “Dad, do you want to explain what that was all about?”