Glad Tidings: There's Something About ChristmasHere Comes Trouble Read online

  Sophie says we shouldn’t skimp on the “ingredients” that matter to us, at Christmas or any other time. Like her, we should surround ourselves with family members and friends and share stories and laughter with them. We should cherish our memories and treat all creatures with kindness. We—

  Hearing someone approach, Emma looked up to discover Oliver Hamilton leaning against the partition in the narrow aisle that separated her cubicle from Phoebe’s. At first, she was too shocked to respond.

  “Hi,” she managed, before her throat went completely dry.

  “Hi, yourself. I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to check out new apartments yet?”

  “Ah—no, not yet.” As it was, Emma had barely made it to work on time. After she’d dropped Boots off at a veterinarian Oliver had recommended, she’d been hard pressed to get to the office by nine.

  “Well...” Oliver wore a cocky grin. “I have good news. There’s a vacant apartment on Cherry Street. The tenant got married and he’s already moved out. It’ll be available right away.”

  This was a lovely area of Puyallup and within walking distance of the office. The cherry trees that lined the boulevard gave the street its name; they bloomed each spring in a profusion of pink blossoms. Apartments there were coveted and hard to come by. “Cherry Street?”

  He nodded. “If you want, I can pick you up at lunchtime and you can take a look.”

  “How much?” Not only were those apartments at a premium, but more than likely they’d be way out of her price range.

  “Same as you’re paying now,” Oliver said, seeming pleased with himself.

  This sounded too good to be true, and things that sounded too good to be true generally were. But just maybe... “What about the first and last month’s rent?”

  Oliver shrugged as if this were a minor consideration. “A friend of mine owns the complex, and he said if your credit rating’s okay, he’d be willing to waive that.”

  “Wow.” This came from Phoebe.

  “Boots won’t be a problem?”

  “Not at all. But Jason will want a $150 deposit in case of damage.”

  Only a hundred and fifty dollars—this was unbelievable. She’d expected it to be much more than that. She’d heard of apartments that asked for five-hundred-dollar deposits when the tenant owned a pet. Emma wondered for a moment whether Oliver had gotten his facts straight. No, wait. There had to be something he wasn’t telling her. “No strings attached?” she asked with a skeptical look.

  Oliver raised both hands. “None.”

  Emma felt as if she’d won the lottery. “How come?” She didn’t want to examine this gift too closely, but she was still terrified there might be a catch.

  Oliver ignored her question.

  “Oliver?” she persisted.

  “Oh, all right. Jason owes me a favor. I flew him and his wife to San Francisco—and I promised I’d do it again.”

  “Oh...”

  “I put a hold on it for you, but Jason said he can’t keep the apartment off the market any longer than one o’clock this afternoon.”

  “I’ll take it.” Emma didn’t want to risk losing this opportunity. She smiled at Oliver.

  “Sight unseen?” he asked.

  “Maybe you’d better go see the place,” Phoebe cautioned. “In fact, you should go now.”

  Emma nodded; her friend was right. Still, she hesitated. Walt would be looking for that article and all she had was an unfinished rough draft. She was going to need several hours to work on it and to shape it into the piece she wanted it to be.

  “We’ll take thirty, forty minutes, tops,” Oliver said. “We can run over, do a quick tour and you can make up your mind then.”

  “I’ll cover for you,” Phoebe promised.

  “But Walt—”

  “Don’t worry. If Walt asks where you are, I’ll explain the situation to him. He’ll understand.”

  “Won’t he be upset if he finds me skipping out in the middle of the morning?”

  Phoebe’s eyes brightened and she shook her head. “Let me take care of that.”

  “Okay, I will.” Emma reached for her coat and purse. Although she’d never admit it—at least not to Oliver—she was delighted to see him again. She wasn’t quite sure why he was being so helpful, but then she remembered his comments about ordinary men and real romance as opposed to romantic gestures. A real hero brought you and your dog a meal; he didn’t worry about providing the perfect setting. He made you laugh instead of presenting you with poetic words. He found you an apartment when you needed one....

  When they approached his truck, he opened the passenger door for her. Oscar barked a welcome and seemed to be looking for Boots.

  Emma raised her eyebrows. “You’re really taking this romantic-hero stuff to heart.”

  “Absolutely,” he said, grinning. “If a pizza and a bag of dog food results in a kiss, I can only dream about what finding you an apartment will do.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up.” It figured—he wanted something. What all men wanted, apparently. And after she’d had all these lovely thoughts about him, too.

  He chuckled. “Want to go flying with me later?”

  She stared at him. “No way!”

  “You’re getting to be a pro at this. There was hardly a peep out of you the entire flight home.”

  “I was busy praying.”

  Oliver shook his head. “Come on. We’ll have a good time.”

  Oliver Hamilton was not getting her back in the air, especially for the so-called fun of it. To her, flying simply wasn’t entertainment. “No. N-O,” she said, spelling it out.

  “That’s a pity.”

  Not to her. It was life preservation.

  The apartment, a ground-level corner unit, was small but well-designed. The single-story complex was fairly new but beautifully maintained, and each unit had its own front door. The surrounding doors were all decorated with wreaths and pine swags and lights. Inside, Emma was thrilled to see brand-new appliances, including a dishwasher. Sliding glass doors off the kitchen led to a fenced area in the back that would be perfect for Boots. There was even space for a container garden, which pleased Emma. Her mother had always had a garden. Emma had hated weeding and watering it as a girl. She’d never believed she’d miss it, but she did.

  Oscar walked around, cocking his head as if confused. He looked up at Oliver, who ignored his canine friend.

  “Well, what do you think?” Oliver asked, leaning against the kitchen counter in a nonchalant pose.

  “It’s wonderful!”

  He grinned knowingly. “I thought you’d like it.”

  “I do. Thank you, Oliver, thank you so much.” Impulsively she kissed his cheek.

  Not one to let an opportunity slip away, Oliver grabbed her around the waist and brought her into his arms. “You can thank me properly, you know.”

  She was tempted to do just that when there was a sudden knock at the open door and Oliver’s friend Jason let himself in. Emma had met Jason when Oliver took her to the owner’s unit to collect the key.

  “Have you made a decision?” he asked.

  Embarrassed, Emma quickly disentangled herself from Oliver’s embrace. “I’ll take it. Just show me where to sign.”

  Jason had the paperwork with him, and after reading the lease agreement, she quickly signed her name at the bottom and wrote him a check.

  Jason handed her the keys, assured her she could move in anytime, and left.

  “You are my hero,” Emma said once the other man had gone.

  “I know,” Oliver murmured in modest tones.

  She was half-tempted to kiss him again, but changed her mind. “I suppose I should get back to the office,” Emma said reluctantly.

  “Okay, but I need to stop at my place first.”

  She couldn’t quibble, since he’d driven her here and, more, had arranged for her new home.

  He walked out, turned right and went down two doors.

  Emma followed. S
he didn’t understand, until he inserted the key into the lock, that this was his place—two doors down from hers.

  “You live here?” she asked. “Here?”

  He nodded, opening the front door. It had the biggest Christmas wreath of all, and the front window sparkled with tiny white lights.

  “It didn’t occur to you to maybe mention this before now?” She’d asked him earlier if there were any strings attached and he’d promised her there weren’t. She should’ve known.

  Her tone must have conveyed the fact that she wasn’t happy with this unexpected turn of events. She remained standing in the doorway, resisting the impulse to look inside, although she did catch sight of a gaily decorated Christmas tree.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you want me for a neighbor?”

  She found it hard enough to keep him out of her thoughts as it was. Living two doors down from him would make it impossible. “As a matter of fact, no. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Didn’t enter my mind. You should be grateful I found you an apartment.”

  “Which I wouldn’t have needed if you hadn’t opened your big mouth,” she said, even though that was only partially true.

  “So it’s my fault?” he cried out at the unfairness of her accusation.

  “Yes, yours.”

  Oliver glared at her. “Fine.”

  She crossed her arms and glared right back at him.

  Jason stepped up to his vehicle on the other side of the street and raised his hand. “Merry Christmas,” he shouted.

  “Right,” Oliver muttered back. “And goodwill to all mankind.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Late that afternoon, Oliver joined Walt Berwald at the tavern down the street from the newspaper office. Walt sat at the bar with his shoulders hunched forward, looking as if he’d just received some piece of devastating news. His demeanor was at odds with the cheerful rendition of “Deck the Halls” playing on the tavern’s crackling sound system.

  Oliver shared Walt’s sentiment. He had no idea what he’d done that was so terrible. There was no mistaking Emma’s irritation with him, although he’d expected her to be overjoyed that he’d found her an apartment. Oh, no, that would’ve been far too rational. He should’ve remembered that there was nothing rational about most women. His mother and one of his three sisters were the exception that proved the rule.

  What really got to him was that he hadn’t purposely hidden the fact that he lived in the same complex. It just hadn’t seemed important, and he didn’t understand why it mattered. The ride back to the newspaper office had been silent and uncomfortable. Emma hadn’t been able to get out of the truck fast enough.

  Walt slid his gaze to Oliver when he claimed the stool next to him, nodding morosely. The bartender looked over and Oliver motioned toward the beer in Walt’s hand. “I’ll take one of those. And get another for my friend.”

  “Thanks,” Walt said.

  “My pleasure.”

  Neither spoke again until the beers arrived.

  “What’s got you so down in the dumps?” Walt asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. What about you?”

  Walt shrugged. “Same.”

  Women were beyond Oliver’s comprehension. He had sisters and knew from experience that Emma was probably talking to Phoebe right now, describing every aspect of his many faults. Things had begun to look promising, too. He’d been attracted to Emma from the start and he’d been certain she felt the same way. After this morning, he was no longer sure.

  “How’s it going with that reporter of mine?” Walt asked, reaching for his cold beer.

  “Not bad.” Oliver didn’t elaborate.

  “Emma’s got real potential as a journalist, you know.”

  Oliver believed that, even if he hadn’t read anything she’d written. This was her big shot and despite their differences, he wished her well. “She’s got a few hang-ups.” He didn’t mean to say that aloud and was surprised to hear his own voice.

  “All women do,” Walt said, as if he were an authority on the subject.

  “You know this from your vast research, do you?”

  Walt laughed and shook his head. “Hey, when it comes to women and relationships, I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”

  Oliver gave him a second look. Walt had always seemed secure and confident. He knew his stuff, as befitted a man who was the third generation of his family in the newspaper business. Now, however, Walt seemed to feel downright miserable.

  Oliver did, too. And it was all because of Emma. It was times like these when he felt like sitting in the dark, listening to Harry Connick Jr., bourbon in hand. Either that, or go and visit his mother. Knowing her, she’d pry out of him what was wrong, give him some common-sense advice and then feed him a huge dinner, as if her cabbage rolls would solve all his problems.

  Oliver loved her and her stuffed cabbage, but even his mother wouldn’t be able to help him understand Emma Collins.

  After a second beer, Oliver slid off the stool and placed a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. “See you around,” he mumbled at Walt.

  Neither one of them had been very talkative.

  “Yeah, sure,” Walt responded in the same weary tone. “Thanks for the beer. I’ll buy next time.”

  Oliver nodded, and got up to head back to his truck, where Oscar was waiting impatiently inside the cab.

  “You got plans for the evening?” Walt asked unexpectedly.

  “Not necessarily.” It was either his mother’s cabbage rolls or listening to Harry. “What have you got in mind?”

  * * *

  “You are a friend indeed,” Emma said as she came out of the bedroom dragging a cardboard box filled with books. She and Phoebe had left work early, once Emma had finished the article, skipping lunch to do it. They’d collected boxes on the way to Emma’s place and spent the past two hours packing. Fortunately, Boots was still at the vet’s and therefore not underfoot.

  Phoebe didn’t seem to be listening. “You’d help me move, too, if our circumstances were reversed.”

  “Something on your mind?” Emma asked. Phoebe

  hadn’t been her usual self since she’d returned from lunch.

  Sighing, her friend straightened. “I met Walt for lunch. We left separately and went five miles out of our way in order not to be seen. It’s ridiculous! I love Walt, but I told him I was through sneaking around.”

  Emma didn’t blame her.

  “I won’t do it again.” Phoebe sounded firm about her decision. “If he wants to wait until after Christmas, then fine, we’ll wait. But I won’t see Walt again until he’s willing to be open and honest about our relationship.”

  “You’re right.” Emma admired her friend’s courage and conviction. “What did Walt say?”

  Phoebe’s shoulders slumped. “He thinks I’m overreacting.”

  “You aren’t!”

  “I know. I’ve been feeling dreadful all afternoon, and when I left, I didn’t let him know I was going to help you move. Instead, I let him assume—” a slow smile formed “—that I had...other plans.”

  “Other plans? Like being with another man?”

  Phoebe gave a careless shrug. “Never mind. It’ll do him good to wonder where I am.”

  “I really do appreciate the help,” Emma said earnestly as they both walked out to the parking lot with loaded boxes.

  “I know. You’d do the same for me,” Phoebe said again. “When’s the next fruitcake interview?” she asked, although Emma wasn’t sure why she’d changed the subject.

  “Next week—Tuesday, I think.”

  Emma didn’t welcome the reminder that Oliver was scheduled to fly her into Friday Harbor. She didn’t want to think about him—or the fact that she’d soon be in the air again.

  “Are you ready to take these over to the new place?” Emma asked in an effort to derail her thoughts. She was eager to show off her apartment. An apartment she wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for Oliver, her conscience point
ed out.

  “Sure,” Phoebe said. “Let’s go.” But her enthusiasm seemed forced.

  Emma hesitated. “Do you want to talk some more?” This disagreement with Walt had really depressed her friend.

  “Not especially,” Phoebe murmured, revealing a little more life. “Let’s go,” she said again.

  It was nearly seven and completely dark out. The first thing Emma noticed when she pulled up in front of the complex on Cherry Street was that Oliver’s apartment lights were off; only his Christmas lights flashed a festive message. He was probably out on some hot date, she thought glumly. Despite her best efforts, her spirits sank. It shouldn’t matter where he was or with whom—and yet, it did.

  She stood by her car, fumbling for the door key, as Phoebe’s SUV drove up behind her. Carrying a couple of plants she’d transported on the front seat, she joined Emma. “What’s wrong, Em?”

  Emma looked at her blankly.

  “You just growled.”

  “I did? I was thinking what a bother moving is,” she said, inventing an explanation that was also the truth.

  “I’ll work as long as you want tonight.”

  Emma nodded her thanks. She wanted out of the old place as quickly as possible. Because she didn’t own much, it hadn’t taken long to pack. Books, bedding and towels, clothes, kitchen stuff. Her TV and CD player. Odds and ends. Only a few pieces of furniture remained.

  They made two trips, with both her car and Phoebe’s loaded, rooftop and all. Back at the old apartment, they surveyed the things that still had to be moved.

  “We should take the bed over tonight,” Phoebe suggested, hands on her hips as she stood in the almost-empty bedroom. “That way you’ll be able to sleep at the new place.”

  The idea appealed to Emma. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  Phoebe nodded.

  Oliver’s lights were on when they arrived with the bed and nightstand. So he was home. Not that she cared.

  The mattress was the most difficult to handle. With Phoebe on one end and Emma on the other, they wrestled it out of the SUV.

  “I’m starved,” Emma said as she paused to take a breath. She hadn’t eaten lunch; her only sustenance had come from a vending-machine pack of peanuts. “When we finish, I’m treating you to dinner. What time is it, anyway?”