A Warmth in Winter Page 15

  “Melanie will be wondering what’s keeping you,” she said, slipping her keys into the lock.

  “Melanie will understand.”

  Feeling more flustered than she wanted to admit, Annie opened the door and got in, then hesitated. “Thanks. I had a wonderful time.” She felt a jolt when their eyes met. An electric, knock-your-socks-off kind of jolt that unnerved her.

  If he felt the electricity, he didn’t show it. But a man like A. J. probably wouldn’t. He reached in and flipped the lock on her car door, his eyes still fixed on her. “Drive carefully, lovely lady.”

  Nodding, Annie took a deep breath. She’d never felt this lightheaded, this giddy around a man. She must be coming down with something—altitude sickness?

  She reached out to close the door and he stepped into the narrow space and caught her hand. He smiled. “I’d like to have dinner with you some night. Is that possible?”

  Alarm slapped at her. Maybe she had mistaken a smooth male predator for a gentleman. “I can’t—there’s Melanie.”

  His brow flickered. “What about Melanie?”

  “You and her—I mean, she and you—”

  Chuckling, he released her hand and stepped back. “Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, Annie.” He bent closer and his warm breath touched her face. “But I’ve only dated Melanie once. Tonight. Twice if you count the night I met her among a group of friends.”

  Unable to find her voice, Annie nodded.

  “So—can I call you sometime?”

  “Better not,” she murmured. Melanie was a good friend, and Annie knew she viewed the situation in a different light.

  “Maybe another time,” he said quietly.

  As she drove off she risked a final glance in the rearview mirror. Mr. Right stood in the parking lot, watching her taillights. Had he felt it, too? She closed her eyes, breathing in the lingering scent of his aftershave.

  She’d felt the power.

  The breathless, once-in-a-lifetime connection.

  Magic. Just like in the movies.

  Pure magic.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On Wednesday afternoon Vernie cupped the receiver and turned her back to Elezar. Lowering her voice, she whispered into the phone: “What do you mean, a dock strike?”

  “A strike, lady.” The rep from Wagner’s Wholesalers sounded impatient. “Teamsters’ dispute. The men walked off the job late Monday afternoon.”

  “What about my order?” She tightened her grip on the mouthpiece. “What about my cranberries and nutmeg?”

  The man on the phone let out an audible sigh. “When did you place the order?”

  “Faxed it in Saturday night. The eighth.”

  “Saturday—let’s see. That would have sat in the fax till Monday, and—uh-oh.”

  The last thing Vernie wanted to hear was an uh-oh. “What’s wrong?”

  The man sighed again. “We’re doing all we can to keep business flowing, but I gotta tell you, lady, it don’t look good. You’ll have to wait your turn.”

  Shaken, Vernie hung up. She didn’t have time to wait her turn. The island Christmas party was Saturday night and there wasn’t a dash of nutmeg on the island. Nor a single cranberry, so Babette wouldn’t be able to make her holiday salad. Vernie’s inattention would ruin everybody’s Christmas, and they wouldn’t be quick to forget.

  Fumbling beneath the counter, she pulled out a plastic bottle of Coke and refilled her glass. This was awful. She’d go into Ogunquit and pay retail for supplies, but gale force winds were keeping them all island-bound. The ferry hadn’t run in two days, but perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. At least she hadn’t had to think up lame excuses about why her order had not been delivered.

  Leaning down, she pulled out the slender bottle of vanilla syrup, then splashed a liberal shot into the icy Coke. At that moment Bea Coughlin pecked on the front window, startling Vernie. She looked up in time to see Bea frowning at the bottle, so Vernie shoved it under the counter and pasted on a smile.

  Pressing her fingertips to the window, Beatrice yelled, “I’m going to ask Annie to bring sugar when she comes for the party this weekend. The bakery’s getting low.”

  Vernie shook her head. “No need to do that—”

  Wait a minute. What was she thinking? There was a need—a strong need. And Annie was the answer! She could e-mail Annie and have her bring nutmeg, cranberries, and sugar when she came this weekend. Surely the weather would let up enough for Captain Stroble to bring the ferry across by then. The weather channel was still calling for a nor’easter by Sunday or Monday, but Annie would have come and gone by that time.

  Rushing to the door on a tide of relief, she jerked it open and smiled at Bea. “That’s a good idea, Beatrice. I’ve just heard that the wholesalers are on strike, and who knows when they’ll get that order to us? So I’ll e-mail Annie and ask her to pick up the things we need. Maybe she can get here by early Saturday afternoon and we’ll have plenty of time to prepare for the party that night.”

  Bea slapped a mittened hand to her cheek. “On strike! I was afraid something like that would happen. We should have gone to Ogunquit last week and picked up those supplies.”

  Vernie forced a smile. “I know, I know. But no harm done.”

  Feeling drained, she closed the door, then leaned against it. If Annie brought the supplies, no one would have to know about her incompetence. She ignored a prick of conscience. Why did anyone need to know?

  Like a scratchy record, Stanley’s voice echoed in her ear: You can’t admit your mistakes, can you, Vernie?

  She lifted her chin and spoke to the memory. “Of course I make mistakes. I’m not perfect.”

  Without warning, Elezar stepped around the corner, a dustcloth in his hand. He shot her a questioning look. “Everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine. I’m going to ask Annie to bring our supplies since the strike is holding everything up.”

  His expression sobered. “A strike? Is that the problem?”

  “It is today—that and the weather. The wholesalers don’t know when they’ll be able to deliver, so Annie will have to help us out. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  The man’s eyes darkened, and a hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Feeling more confident than she had in days, Vernie picked up her glass and moved toward the stairs. “I’ll have Annie pick up some cat food, too. MaGoo’s gained five pounds on table scraps this week.”

  Elezar nodded, then pointed toward the door. “I was thinking about going out for a walk. Will you be okay if I leave for a while?”

  Vernie snorted. “It’s not like anyone’s beating down our door. Go on, I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”

  She tackled the stairs with spring in her step and climbed them in record time. In five minutes she’d be logged onto AOL, and then her problems would be solved.

  The wind tugged at Elezar’s hat, but he held it firmly in place as he strode toward the church. A breath of snow was in the air, but a thin sun drifted in and out of the threatening clouds. Dirty patches of half-melted slush bordered the cobblestone road and sidewalks. His breath formed a frosty vapor as he walked and thought about the humans he had been assigned to serve.

  He ached when Vernie made bad choices, and she’d made several lately.

  Lifting his gaze to the sky and the invisible realm beyond, Elezar addressed the Lord: “Father, what must I do? Pride is a crippling thing. We all saw what it did to Lucifer. Now Vernie has allowed pride to come between her and those she loves, and I don’t think she’s aware of her mistake.”

  He paused at the churchyard, trying to identify the lone bent figure by a snowbank between the church and the Lansdowns’ bed-and-breakfast. The man wasn’t Winslow Wickam. This fellow was larger, with long white hair flowing over a white coat . . .

  Elezar grinned. Gavriel had decided to materialize.

  As Elezar drew nearer, the angel captain turned. “Brot
her! You’re just in time.” He gestured to the pan in his hand, which contained something white.

  Puzzled, Elezar walked on.

  “I’ve heard the women talking about snow cream and I thought I might try some.” Gavriel extended the pan for Elezar’s inspection. “Will you join me?”

  Falling into step with his brother angel, Elezar lifted a brow. “Are Salt Gribbon’s grandchildren doing well?”

  “The children are happy.” Gavriel dropped his voice as they entered the church through a side door, then descended the steep staircase to the basement. “Now, let’s see if the kitchen has what we need.”

  Bemused, Elezar watched as Gavriel set the pan on the counter, then rummaged among canisters and jars in the cabinets. “Sugar and vanilla extract, I believe I heard them mention. Milk. An egg, and a dash of salt.”

  Elezar eyed the pan skeptically. “With snow.”

  Gavriel flashed a grin over his shoulder. “They say it’s quite tasty.”

  “Some mortals say liver and onions are tasty, too, but I have never agreed.”

  Gavriel laughed, then splashed ingredients into the bowl. He stirred and tasted, made a face, then shrugged and dumped more sugar into the mixture. “Now,” he said, looking up. “Where shall we enjoy our treat?”

  Elezar frowned. “We eat it like that?” Gavriel’s concoction looked nothing like ice cream. Ice cream was smooth and firm. And it wasn’t sprinkled with specks of dirt.

  Draping an arm around his fellow angel’s shoulder, Gavriel pointed toward the staircase. “Some of the women are due to arrive here soon for a cleaning session, so we’d best clear out. But I know where we can go.”

  He picked up the pan and led the way up the stairs and out the side door. Elezar followed wordlessly as his leader led the way to the cemetery. Looking around at the barren spot, he huddled deeper into his coat. Gavriel was right— not many mortals were likely to come out here in this kind of weather.

  “Now, this is nice,” Gavriel said, perching on a marble slab. “We don’t do this often enough.”

  Elezar cast a worried glance toward Ferry Road. The citizens of Heavenly Daze were going about their work as usual, completely unaware of the angelic activity around them. Bea’s mail cart sat in front of the Graham Gallery. Babette stood on her front porch, scattering rock salt on her steps and sidewalk.

  Pulling two plastic spoons from his coat pocket, Gavriel dipped one into the pan of snow cream and offered Elezar the first bite.

  Elezar took a tentative taste, then smiled. “It’s good.”

  Gavriel took a heaping spoonful. “Ayuh. Scrumptious.”

  They ate in silence until the pan was empty. Elezar shivered, chilled now from inside and out.

  Gavriel wiped his mouth with his fingertips. “Did you have something you wanted to talk about, brother?”

  “Ayuh. Vernie.”

  “I thought so.” Dropping the empty pan to the brown grass, the angel captain sighed. “Her pride again?”

  “It’s stronger than ever. She forgot to order supplies at the beginning of the month. But instead of confessing the truth, she’s hedged and dodged the other women’s requests for sugar, cranberries, and nutmeg. Now the wholesaler can’t deliver because of a strike, so there will be no eggnog, cranberry salad, or pumpkin pie at the Heavenly Daze Christmas party . . . all because Vernie can’t admit she made a mistake.”

  “Sad.”

  “That’s not the worst of it. Stanley Bidderman called. You know—the snake.”

  Gavriel lifted a brow. “After all these years?”

  “He wants to talk to her, but she refuses. She can be so hardheaded.”

  “What could he want?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me. Have you received instruction from the Lord about this?”

  Gavriel shifted his gaze to the breakers crashing on the beach. “Sorry, Elezar, but I’ve heard nothing. I suppose this is one of those occasions where people exercise free will and we wait to see how we may strengthen them . . . or help them up after they fall.”

  His eyes, lit by the sun, glittered with concern. “Why do humans cling so strongly to their pride? Vernie’s mistake was a simple one, easily corrected. Now the townspeople will be inconvenienced, but she will suffer a far worse fate. Pride leads to alienation. Just look what it did to Lucifer.”

  Elezar spread his hands, driven to defend his charge. “But that’s what she fears! I believe Vernie’s afraid the women will abandon her. She values their friendship and feels that they look upon her as the epitome of self-reliance. She’s convinced herself that she doesn’t need anyone—no other humans, at least. I don’t think she’s hardened her heart toward the Father.”

  Gavriel thought for a moment. “And forgiveness comes hard for her.”

  “Very hard. She can’t forgive herself for something like forgetting to order nutmeg and cranberries. So how is she supposed to forgive Stanley?”

  The angels sat in silence, listening to the wind hooting among the tombstones.

  “What does Vernie plan to do next?” Gavriel asked.

  Elezar sighed. “She’s e-mailing Annie and asking her to bring the supplies when she comes this weekend.”

  “But—”

  “I know.” Elezar closed his eyes. “The forecast called for a nor’easter, and the storm might prevent Annie from coming.”

  He blew out his cheeks. If it did, Vernie wasn’t going to be the most popular woman on the island.

  Hi, Annie,

  Will you please bring twenty-five pounds of sugar, five pounds of fresh cranberries, and twenty tins of nutmeg when you come this weekend? Cat food, too, if you remember it. MaGoo likes the kind in the little pouches.

  Thanks!

  Vernie

  Frowning, Annie clicked on her next e-mail, this one from Beatrice Coughlin.

  Annie,

  Honey, can you bring us some sugar and nutmeg when you come Saturday? We’re afraid to wait any longer for Vernie. She says she’s going to e-mail you and ask you to bring supplies, but I’m afraid to trust anything she says these days. She’s been promising supplies for two weeks now and we’ve not gotten them yet. She’s been acting downright weird lately and I suspect that she’s drinking. I don’t know for certain, but I’ve caught her pouring something into her Coke on occasion.

  I know that’s a shocker but I don’t know any other reason for her state of mind of late. Maybe you could pop in and ask Elezar what’s going on. If I send Abner or Birdie she’ll know something’s up. (Birdie’s been acting strange, too, but that’s another story.) Anyway, if you can bring the sugar and nutmeg we sure would appreciate it. Thanks, sweetie.

  Beatrice

  Vernie Bidderman, the poster child for the Women’s Temperance Union, drinking? What was going on in Heavenly Daze?

  A rap on the door broke into her thoughts. Annie looked up to see Melanie standing in the doorway, a pleased grin on her face. “Isn’t he everything I said he was?”

  Annie blinked. “Who?”

  “Who, my foot.” Melanie moved into the office and kicked the door closed with her heel. “A. J. Don’t you think he could be”—she wiggled her index fingers—“Mr. Right?”

  Annie didn’t know what to say. He might be Mr. Right for someone, but he certainly didn’t seem to share Melanie’s warm and fuzzy feelings. If he did, why had he invited Annie to dinner?

  Propping her chin on her hand, she studied her friend. “Is he going on the cruise?”

  Melanie’s face fell. “No. He’s spending Christmas with family.”

  Annie felt a sudden rush of mingled guilt and relief.

  Popping the lid off a carton of yogurt, Melanie sat in the guest chair across from Annie’s desk. “We’ll have to do without him—but we’ll still have fun.”

  Annie drew a deep breath. “About that cruise, Melanie. I won’t be going.”

  Melanie’s spoon hovered in midair. “You’re kidding— you bought tickets already.”

  “I know
.” Annie stood. “But I bought insurance, so I won’t lose all the money.”

  Melanie’s face contorted in despair. “Annieeee! You can’t back out on me now!”

  “I’m sorry.” Throwing up her hands, Annie began to pace. “I should have been honest with you, and myself. I thought I could go, but I can’t. Aunt Olympia needs me, so I have to spend Christmas in Heavenly Daze.”

  The admission pained her more than she wanted to admit, but it wouldn’t do any good to dwell on thoughts of sun-bleached beaches, handsome men, and tropical seas. Her only option was to ignore the disappointment that grew stronger and deeper with every passing day . . .

  “Well, that stinks.” Melanie scooped a spoonful of yogurt and narrowed her eyes.

  Annie shrugged. “Nancy and Becky will be there.”

  “Yeah, I know, but that makes the cabin arrangements awkward. I’ll either have to stay by myself or share with them—three girls using one teeny, tiny bathroom.” She rolled her eyes.

  “You won’t be in your room that much.”

  Her face brightened. “That’s true. Maybe I’ll get lucky and meet someone who’ll keep me dancing all night.”

  Easing back into her chair, Annie frowned. “What about Mr. Perfect?”

  “A. J.? What about him?” Melanie’s eyes narrowed further as she licked her spoon. “We’ve only dated twice—just once, actually, ’cause we met on that first night.” Grinning, she scooped up another spoonful of yogurt. “Hey, don’t get me wrong, A. J.’s wonderful. And if I don’t find anybody better on the cruise, I’ll be on him like white on rice. But on a cruise all prospects are put on hold. There could be a better Mr. Perfect just beyond the lido deck.”

  Annie rolled her eyes. Amazing how Mr. Perfect could evolve into Mr. Possibility in a heartbeat.

  Thank goodness she had no man in her life. She didn’t need those kinds of complications.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On Saturday morning, Annie bundled up and left her apartment at nine-thirty, planning to stop by the well-stocked Hannaford Brothers grocery for sugar, cranberries, cat food, and nutmeg before she made the two-hour drive to Ogunquit. To her chagrin, she discovered that the store didn’t have twenty cans of nutmeg. She would have to swing by her local grocery store to complete Bea’s and Vernie’s wish lists.