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    Lakeshore Christmas
    Lakeshore Christmas
    Lakeshore Christmas
    Ebook379 pages4 hours

    Lakeshore Christmas

    By Susan Wiggs

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook


    Maureen Davenport finally gets to direct Avalon's annual holiday pageant, and she's determined to make it truly spectacular. But former child star Eddie Haven is turning out to be a tattooed lump of coal in her stocking. Eddie can't stand Christmas, but a judge's court order has landed him right in the middle of the merrymaking. He and Maureen spar over every detail of the pageant, from casting troubled kids to Eddie's original and distinctly untraditional music.

    Is he sabotaging the performance to spite her, or is she forcing the show into her storybook–perfect notion of Christmas? And is it possible that they're falling in love?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins Publishers Australia
    Release dateJul 1, 2012
    ISBN9781460828854
    Author

    Susan Wiggs

    Susan Wiggs is the author of more than fifty novels, including the beloved Lakeshore Chronicles series and the recent New York Times bestsellers The Lost and Found Bookshop, The Oysterville Sewing Circle, and Family Tree. Her award-winning books have been translated into two dozen languages. She lives with her husband on an island in Washington State’s Puget Sound.

    Read more from Susan Wiggs

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    Reviews for Lakeshore Christmas

    3.5/5

    96 ratings7 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Every year, just before Thanksgiving, I begin to crave and then search, sometimes extensively, for a good "Holiday Read". I have to admit, more often than not, I end the holiday season disappointed. I find several books from the 3 or 4 libraries that I frequent and reasearch man more on Amazon and other sites, but I find that the overwhelming majority of holiday theme books are either non-fiction, craftsy, or historical type of books, OR are a quickly written, not well though out novel by trendy authors who have 20 books or so on their shelves and decide to write a christmas theme novel to add to their collection.
      Everyone BUT Stephen King, it seems, have given in to this quick cash flow idea. The problem is, these books are not interesting, amazingly similar to other stories written by the author, and leave me frustrated and wondering why nobody can write a good novel with a holiday theme.
      This book, Lakeshore Christmas, has helped to revive my hopes that my search is not in vain. Even though the jacket does it injustice....(it looks like just another cheap, shallow holiday romance novel), I decided to put it in my large stack of Christmas hopefuls at one of my library trips.
      I was pleasantly surprised. I enjoyed the characters, who were not shallow, but had some depth, some believable traits that made you want to know them more. A bit of a stray from the cookie-cutter characters found in most holiday novels. The plot is well laid out and there was enough mystery and controversy to keep me interested. She added just enough of the supernatural element to give me that holiday miracle type of buzz.
      I enjoyed this book enough to find another by Ms. Wiggs.
    • 1/5
      Ugh. What a total waste. I had picked this book to listen to on audio to put me in the Christmas mood while I worked on holiday presents, but instead it gave me no end of frustration. I couldn't stand Maureen. She did more to perpetuate the prim-librarian-who-has-no-life label herself than anyone else did for her. She instantly judged other people harshly, and then decided how they in turn would view her and went with her views even when actual facts went in another direction. Even finding out what was really "wrong" with her didn't garner her any sympathy in my book. She was annoyingly obtuse and went out of her way to keep others a good couple of feet away from her at all times and I have no idea why the other characters even kept trying to be close to her at all, let alone what on earth drew Eddie to her.

      Eddie's character alone might have bumped my review up a star, but by the end of the book he was just as annoying as Maureen, so...no.

      I love libraries. I can't even begin to calculate the number of happy hours I've spent in them throughout the years. The fact that we could walk to ours from our house was a big selling point when we bought it, actually. I have myself been involved in efforts to keep our local branch open in recent years so that my kids can have as many good memories there as I did. The way librarians were portrayed in this book was fairly insulting to the librarians I have known and do know, and the struggle to keep their local library open was, quite frankly, just not at all inspiring.

      Daisy's character was just thrown in the novel for no apparent reason (okay, I've read book eight so I know WHY she was there. But I don't understand what she was doing in THIS book. Her connection with Maureen is so laughingly tenuous that she really can't even be considered a secondary character here. It's as if Wiggs took another story and just crudely smashed it into the one that she was originally writing and voila--there's Daisy!) and it was extremely distracting. Every time she was the focus I was drawn right out of the story--and I really wasn't all that connected to it in the first place, so it was particularly annoying. Plus, knowing that we'll hear all about the pertinent details later on in Daisy's book just make having to read them here completely unnecessary.

      Which brings me to my final point--there was constant telling and retelling in this book. It honestly made the whole experience twice as long and painful. How many times do we need to hear that Eddie spent every childhood Christmas driving from venue to venue? That Maureen's always found magic in Christmas? That Eddie's always taken refuge in alcohol, just like his parents? That Maureen has a close and loving family? (Who, by the way, always knew that Maureen wanted a nickname, but never thought to give her one? What the heck? Why wouldn't they give her one, then, being so close and loving and all? And it's not like it takes a genius to come up with "Mo", it's pretty standard.) I could go on and on here...the book does!...but I really just need for it to all be over, so I can begin to try to forget. Ugh.
    • 4/5
      Lakeshore Christmas is about the town librarian and an ex-child star. It was a very good book but a little too much "fantasy" than I like in my usual romance books. Very little about Daisy and her guy trouble but what little that you get is made up with the quality of the plot. Oh I'm just dying to find the next one in the series now.
    • 5/5
      Wonderful Christmas story.
    • 4/5
      The author delivers an original predictable Christmas feel-good that just goes on too long repeating each character's angst.
      Enough of "...a girl like you...."

      Funny dialogue conflicts between the seemingly staid librarian and the wild musician keep the plot rolling along.
      Many of the Christmas references bring back good memories.

      {Not sure why Magic Realism of Jabez was needed.}
    • 2/5
      There are two authors with the same initials that I seem to get confused. (A friend introduced me to the one author--the one who is not this one.) And even though I know that I tend to confuse these two authors, I haven't yet figured out how to remedy that.

      What I thought I was getting when I picked up this book was a nice, sweet, clean romance set at Christmas. And there were some aspects of the story that were that. Perhaps my earliest clue should have been the swearing that Eddie does when Maureen first meets him. But if it had been only that I probably could have overlooked it. What really clinched dropping the number of stars I gave this was that Maureen and Eddie fall into bed together--without being married, without even a really defined relationship. (The fact that it wasn't graphically described saved it from another star loss.) In fact, by the time Maureen invited Eddie's parents to Avalon against Eddie's wishes I was at the point where I just rolled my eyes and thought "of course they couldn't just live happily ever after for the last third of the book."

      I guessed about Jabez long before it was revealed.

      What I liked: The focus on the library--as a reader, I appreciate libraries and I was sad to read that this branch might close--it was heartwarming to see how many people pulled together to get the library budget together; that Eddie continued to volunteer with the Christmas program even though his community service was fulfilled; the friendship that developed between the Veltry boys, Jabez, and Cecil; that Maureen and Eddie challenge each other to face problems and to make each other better people;

      What I disliked: Mr. Byrne's "blackmail" attempt to get Cecil the starring role in exchange for concessions on the library lease; that Cecil didn't attempt to talk to him about changing the terms to help the library stay open; Eddie's using the pageant as a way to avoid spending time with his parents at Christmas; Not knowing what happened between Daisy, Julian and Logan (It feels to me like that got put in there to plug the next book in the series);
    • 4/5
      Maureen Davenport is Avalon's town librarian. She is totally devoted to the library and her patrons, but she's just received word that the library will be closing unless funds can be raised to operate it. Although she is devastated by this news, she is also excited about the fact that she will be the director of the town's annual Chritmas pageant, a dream she's always held. The only rub is that her co-director is Eddie Haven, a former child movie star, who is perfiorming court ordered community service. Maureen and Eddie clash from the very beginning. she is too prim and proper for him and he is too untraditional for her. Soon, as they get to know each other better, they see the strengths that each one brings to the project. But both Maureen and Eddie have secrets that could nip their growing relationship in the bud. As they work together on the pageant and on raising money for the library, the spirit of the season surrounds them and after all, miracles do happen and angels walk among us.

      This is the 6th offering in the Lakeshore Chronicles. Many characters from previous novels in the series appear in this one, so it feels just like coming home for readers who have been following the series. Since it's a holiday-themed entry, it doesn't "feel" like a full novel; it feels more like coming together to celebrate with the characters we know while waiting for the next installment in the series.

    Book preview

    Lakeshore Christmas - Susan Wiggs

    Part One

    Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.

    —Hamilton Wright Mabie (1846—1916), American essayist

    One

    The boy came to the edge of town at twilight, at the close of a winter day. Although the snows had not yet begun, the air was brutally cold, having leached the life from the fields and forests, turning everything to shades of brown and buff.

    The road narrowed to one lane and passed through a covered bridge on ancient river stone pilings. Through the years, the structure had weathered and been replaced, plank by plank, yet it never really changed. The tumbled rocks and sere vegetation along the riverbanks were rimed by a delicate breath of frost, and the trees in the surrounding orchards and woods had long since dropped their leaves. There was an air of frozen waiting, as though all was in readiness, as though the stage was set.

    He felt a quiet sense of purpose, knowing his task here wouldn’t be easy. Hearts would have to break and be mended, truths would be revealed, risks would be taken. Which, when he thought about it, was simply the way life worked—messy, unpredictable, joyous, mysterious, hurtful and redemptive.

    A green-and-white sign in the shape of a shield identified the town—Avalon. Ulster County. Elevation 4347 feet.

    Farther on, a billboard carried greetings from the Rotary, the Kiwanis and at least a dozen church and civic groups. The message of welcome read Avalon, in the Heart of the Catskills Forest Preserve. There was another sign exhorting travelers to visit Willow Lake, The Jewel Of The Mountains. The bit of hyperbole might apply to any number of small lakeside towns of upper New York state, but this one had the earnestness and charm of a place with a long and complicated history.

    He was one of those complications. His understanding of what brought him here only extended so far, a narrow glimpse into the mystical realm of the human heart. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to know why the past and present were about to collide at this moment in time. Perhaps it was enough to know his purpose—to right an old wrong. Exactly how to accomplish this—well, there was another unknown. It would reveal itself, bit by bit, in its own time.

    The main feature of the town was a pretty brickwork square around a Gothic block structure which housed municipal offices and the courthouse. Surrounding that were a variety of shops and restaurants with lights glowing in the windows. The first Christmas garlands and light displays of the season adorned the wrought-iron gas lamps around the square. In the distance lay Willow Lake, a vast indigo sheet under the brooding sky, its surface glazed by a layer of ice that would thicken as the season progressed.

    A few blocks from the main square was the railway station. A train had just pulled in and was disgorging passengers coming home from work in the bigger towns—Kingston and New Paltz, Albany and Poughkeepsie, a few from as far away as New York City. People hurried to their cars, eager to escape the cold and get home to their families. There were so many ways to make a family…and just as many to lose them. But human nature was forged of forgiveness, and renewal might be only a word or a kind gesture away.

    It felt strange, being back after all this time. Strange and… important. Something was greatly at risk here, whether people knew it or not. And somehow he needed to help. He just hoped he could.

    Not far from the station was the town library, a squared-off Greek revival structure. The cornerstone had been laid exactly ninety-nine years ago; the date was seared upon his heart. The building was surrounded by several acres of beautiful city park, lined by bare trees and crisscrossed by sidewalks. The library occupied the site of its original predecessor, which had burned to the ground a century before, claiming one fatality. Few people knew the details of what had happened or understood the impact the event had on the life of the town itself.

    Funded by a wealthy family that understood its value, the library had been rebuilt after the fire. Constructed of cut stone and virtually fireproof, the new Avalon Free Library had seen nearly a hundred years come and go—times of soaring prosperity and crushing poverty, war and peace, social unrest and harmony. The town had changed, the world had changed. People didn’t know each other anymore, yet there were a few constants, anchoring everything in place, and the library was one of them. For now.

    He sighed, his breath frosting the air as old memories crowded in, as haunting as an unfinished dream. All those years ago, the first library had been destroyed. Now the present one was in danger, not from fire but from something just as dangerous. There still might be time to save it.

    The building had tall windows all around its periphery, and a skylight over an atrium to flood the space with light. Through the windows, he could see oaken bookcases, tables and study carrels with people bent over them. Through another set of windows, he could see the staff area.

    Inside, laboring at a cluttered desk in the glow of a task lamp, sat a woman. Her pale face was drawn with a worry that seemed to edge toward despair.

    She stood abruptly, as though having just remembered something, smoothing her hands down the front of her brown skirt. Then she grabbed her coat from a rack and armored herself for the rapidly falling cold—lined boots, muffler, hat, mittens. Despite the presence of numerous patrons, she seemed distracted and very alone.

    The sharp, dry cold drove him toward the building’s entrance, a grand archway of figured stone with wise sayings carved in bas-relief. He paused to study the words of the scholars—Plutarch, Socrates, Judah ibn-Tibbon, Benjamin Franklin. Though the words of wisdom were appealing, the boy had no guide but his own heart. Time to get started.

    Hurrying, her head lowered, the woman nearly slammed into him as she left the building through the heavy, lever-handled main door.

    Oh, she said, quickly stepping back. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.

    It’s all right, the boy said.

    Something in his voice made her pause, study him for a moment through the thick lenses of her eyeglasses. He tried to envision himself as she saw him—a boy not yet sixteen, with serious dark eyes, olive-toned skin and hair that hadn’t seen a barber’s shears in too long. He wore a greenish cargo jacket from the army surplus, and loose-cut dungarees that were shabby but clean. The winter clothes concealed his scars, for the most part.

    Can I help you? she asked, slightly breathless. I’m on my way out, but…

    I believe I can find what I need here, thanks, he said.

    The library closes at six tonight, she reminded him.

    I won’t be long.

    I don’t think we’ve met, she said. I try to meet all my library patrons.

    My name is Jabez, ma’am. Jabez Cantor. I’m…new. It wasn’t a lie, not really.

    She smiled, though the worry lingered in her eyes. Maureen Davenport.

    I know, he thought. I know who you are. He understood her importance, even if she didn’t. She’d done so much, here in this small town, though perhaps even she didn’t realize it.

    I’m the librarian and branch manager here, she explained. I’d show you around, but I need to be somewhere.

    I know that, too, he thought.

    See you around, Jabez, she said.

    Yes, he thought as she hurried away. You will.

    Two

    Maureen Davenport’s cheeks stung after the brisk walk from the library to the bakery. Although she loved the nip of cold in the air, she was grateful for the warm refuge of the Sky River Bakery. Peeling off her muffler, hat and gloves, she scanned the small knot of people crowded around the curved-glass cases of pastries and goodies. More couples gathered at the bistro booths and tables around her.

    He wasn’t here yet, clearly. It was a singularly awkward sensation to be waiting for someone who didn’t know what you looked like. She considered ordering a big mug of tea or hot chocolate, but there was a line. She sat down and opened the book she was reading—Christmas 365 Days a Year: How to Bring the Holiday into Your Everyday Life.

    Maureen was always reading something. Ever since she was small, she’d found delight and comfort in books. For her, a story was so much more than words on a page. Opening a book was like opening a door to another world, and once she stepped across the threshold, she was transported. When she was reading a story, she lived inside a different skin.

    She loved books of every sort—novels, nonfiction, children’s books, how-to manuals. As the town librarian, books were her job. And as someone who loved reading the way other people loved eating, books were her life. She tried not to sink too deeply into the page she was currently reading because of the upcoming meeting. She kept reminding herself to keep an eye out for him.

    Him. Eddie Haven. And he was late.

    As the minutes ticked by, Maureen grew paranoid. What if he didn’t come? What if he stood her up? Could she fire him? No, she could not. He was a volunteer, and you couldn’t really fire a volunteer. Besides, he’d been court ordered to work with her.

    Why else would a man like Eddie Haven be with her except by judicial decree? She tried not to be insulted by the notion that the only way he’d ever be found with the likes of Maureen Davenport would be through court order. The fundamental mismatch was a simple fact, perhaps even a law of nature. He was heartthrob handsome, a celebrity (okay, a D-list celebrity, but still) and a massively talented musician. He was almost famous.

    Long ago, his had been one of the most recognizable faces in the country. He was one of those former child stars who had rocketed briefly to fame at a young age, and then flamed out. Yet his role in that one hit movie—along with twenty-four-hour cable—kept him alive for decades. The Christmas Caper, a heartwarming movie that had captivated the world, had become a holiday staple. She’d heard his name linked with a number of women, and every once in awhile, one of the gossip magazines pictured him with some starlet or celebutante. For quite a while, he had fallen off the radar, but a fresh wave of notoriety surrounded him now. The silver anniversary DVD of his hit movie had just been released, and interest in him had skyrocketed.

    Maureen had nothing in common with him. Their lives had intersected one night he didn’t remember, though it was seared in her mind forever. He lived in New York City, but came to Avalon each holiday season—against his will. She’d heard he had friends in town, but she wasn’t one of them. To her knowledge, he’d never set foot in the library.

    Even so, arranging to meet him here had almost felt like a date. The rendezvous had been organized via e-mail, of course. Using the phone would be far too bold and intimidating. She was much better in e-mail. In e-mail, she didn’t get flustered. In e-mail, she almost had a personality. So she hadn’t actually spoken to him—who needed to talk when there was e-mail?—yet the give and take as they settled on a day and time had borne all the hallmarks of a date. It wasn’t a date, of course, because that sort of thing didn’t happen to women like Maureen.

    Except maybe in books. And of course, in dreams.

    It only happened in dreams that a plain, bookish woman caught the eye of someone like Eddie Haven.

    Even if the plain woman had once saved his life. She sighed, and shrugged away an aching wisp of memory, quickly stifled.

    She hadn’t dated anyone in a very long time. She had exacting taste, or so she told herself and her too-inquisitive siblings and friends. She still cringed, remembering her last two dates—an outing with a stamp collector named Alvin, and a very bad concert with Walter Grunion last year. She’d ended up returning home with a headache, and a resolve to quit going out with guys because it was expected of her. She was determined to stop saying yes to men she wasn’t interested in just because she was still in her twenties—barely—and supposed to be dating.

    People coming and going in the bakery barely looked at Maureen, which was fine with her. She never liked being the center of attention. A long time ago, she used to dream of being in the limelight. Life had quickly cured her of that notion. At a mercifully young age, she’d learned that being well-known and recognized was no substitute for being loved and cherished. Maureen was an unobtrusive sort; that was her comfort zone. Flying under the radar took very little effort on her part. She wore a T-shirt that said Eschew Obfuscation and a button in support of intellectual freedom, yet the slogans didn’t seem to draw anyone’s eye. Maybe the trendy shirt was counteracted by her hand-knit cardigan sweater—a gift from a favorite aunt—and Maureen’s tweedy wool skirt, leggings and boots. Though she knew her style of dressing was plain and boring, this didn’t bother her in the least. Fashion was for people who craved attention.

    Occasionally, her gaze touched someone else’s and they would give each other a slight, social nod. She was the sort people recognized only obliquely. She looked vaguely familiar, like someone they occasionally encountered but couldn’t quite place.

    This always mystified Maureen, because she had a facile memory for faces and names. For example, there was Kim Crutcher nursing a mug of coffee with her friend Daphne McDaniel, who was nibbling a donut with sprinkles in every color of the rainbow. They were both regular library patrons. So was Mr. Teasdale, who sat on the opposite side of the café, gazing dreamily out the window. He used the library’s low vision services on a regular basis. With hardly a stretch, Maureen could name the kids jostling toward the exit with their post-hockey-practice purchases—Chelsea Nash, Max Bellamy, AJ Martinez, Dinky Romano.

    She wondered if Eddie Haven liked his notoriety. Maybe now that they were about to be forced to work together, she would have the chance to ask him. Or not.

    The sad fact was, she’d probably be too bashful to ask him what time it was, let alone the way he felt about the vagaries of fame. She knew plenty about Eddie Haven. Yet she didn’t know him. Perhaps over the weeks leading up to Christmas, that would change.

    Or not.

    She wondered if it was possible to get to know someone without letting him know her. And did she care enough to try?

    She read a page of her book, then tried to avoid looking at the lighted neon clock on the wall. A burst of laughter sounded from a nearby table, and the trill of a child’s gleeful voice drifted across the busy café. Along with the library, and Heart of the Mountains Church, the Sky River Bakery was one of her favorite spots in town. It was impossible to be sad or depressed in a bakery. There must be something in the sugary, yeasty scent that imparted serenity, for everyone Maureen could see appeared to be happy.

    A girl in a white apron perched on a step stool, creating a list of Thanksgiving pie options and announcing Christmas pre-orders. Seeing that, Maureen felt a thrill of anticipation. Christmas was right around the corner, and in spite of everything else going on in her life, it was still her favorite time of year.

    She made the mistake of glancing at the clock. Eddie Haven was officially late. Seven minutes late, to be precise, not that she was counting—though she was. How long did one wait until the other party was considered late? Five minutes? Ten? Twenty? And whose responsibility was it to check in with the other? The waitee, or the waiter?

    She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered out the window. There were a lot of people out this time of day, heading home from work or after-school activities. A boy passed by, and she thought he might be the one she’d seen earlier at the library—Jabez. He had enormous dark eyes, thickly fringed by long lashes. His poise and formality when he’d greeted her had struck Maureen as unusual in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He regarded the rows of bread loaves and pastries, and his hand went inside the pocket of his olive-drab jacket. Then he sighed, freezing the air with his breath, and moved on. She had an urge to call him back, to offer…what? Maureen wasn’t given to social impulses, and she doubted a teenager would welcome an invitation from the town librarian, anyway.

    After nine minutes, she began to wonder if she had made a mistake with the time and place of her meeting with Eddie. Just to be sure, she opened her clipboard and consulted the printout of their e-mail exchange. No, she hadn’t gotten the time wrong. He was late. Totally, inexcusably late.

    By the time he was twelve minutes late, she was seriously nervous. She might need to phone him after all. Good grief, but she hated phoning. Or…wait. She could send him a text message. Perfect. A text message. She could ask him if he was still planning to meet with her.

    Yes, that would give him a chance to save face in case he’d forgotten the appointment. Why it was her job to save his face was another matter entirely.

    Taking out her mobile phone, she remembered the no-phone rule in the bakery. There was a sign just inside the door, depicting a symbol of a phone with a slash through it. Did that include sending a text message? Maureen was new to sending text messages, so she wasn’t sure.

    Just to be safe, she stepped outside, feeling almost furtive. Frowning down at the keypad, she composed a text message with too much care. Come on, she muttered under her breath. It’s not as if this is going to be chiseled in stone. Yet she agonized over the greeting. Did she even need a greeting? Or should she just plunge into the body of the message it self? And what about a sign-off? BEST WISHES? SEE YOU SOON? Was she MAUREEN? M.D.? No, that was weird. Okay. M. DAVENPORT. There.

    She hit Send.

    At that precise second, she noticed a little flashing icon on her screen, indicating she had a message. Strange. She almost never got text messages.

    This one was from—whoops—Eddie Haven, sent about an hour ago.

    RUNNING 15 MIN LATE. SORRY. SEE U 6:15.

    So now she would look like a neurotic psycho stalker, nagging him over a fifteen-minute delay and too much of a ninny to check her messages.

    Staring down at the tiny screen, she stood on the edge of the curb, wishing the pavement would crack open and swallow her up, sparing her this awkward meeting. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the white, windowless van careening toward her until it was almost too late. She jumped away from the curb just as it angled into a parking spot a few feet away, nearly flattening her against the brick building. Rock music thumped from the scratched and dented vehicle for a couple of seconds before the engine rattled to a halt.

    Clutching the mobile phone with frozen fingers, Maureen choked on a puff of exhaust. She heard the thud of a door, footsteps on pavement.

    A man in black appeared, glaring at her. She looked him up and down. He had the shaggy blond hair of an old-school California surfer. He wore ripped jeans and black high-top sneakers, and a jacket with a ski pass hanging from the zipper tag, open to reveal a formfitting black T-shirt. Eddie Haven had arrived. Wonderful. He was going to think the world of her.

    Jesus Christ, lady. I didn’t see you there. I nearly ran you down, he said.

    Yes, she agreed. Yes, you did.

    I didn’t see you, he repeated.

    Of course he hadn’t. And it wouldn’t be the first time. You should’ve been watching.

    I was, I— He raked a hand through his long, wheat-colored hair. Christ, you scared the shit out of me.

    There’s no need to take the Lord’s name in vain, she said, then cringed at her own words. When had she turned into such a marm?

    It wasn’t in vain, he replied. I totally meant it.

    She sniffed, filling her senses with winter cold, tinged with exhaust. It’s just so…unimaginative. Not to mention disrespectful.

    And self-righteous to boot, he said with a grin, handsome as a prom king. It’s been real, but I gotta bounce. He nodded in the direction of the bakery. I’m meeting someone.

    A soft burble of sound came from…it seemed to be coming from his jeans. He dug in his pocket and extracted a cell phone.

    Maureen glanced down at her own phone’s screen to see that it said Message Sent.

    Then she looked back at Eddie Haven. Despite his easy dismissal of polite speech, there was no denying the man had presence. Although he was almost inhumanly good-looking, the strange appeal went deeper than looks alone. He had some kind of aura, a powerful magnetism that seemed to suck all the light and energy toward him. And he wasn’t even doing anything, just standing there checking his messages.

    I am in such trouble, she thought.

    With a bemused expression, he touched a button. A second later her phone rang. Startled, she dropped it on the ground.

    He bent and scooped it up, holding it out to her. Maureen, right? Maureen Davenport.

    That’s me. She turned her ringer off and slipped the phone into her pocket.

    What, you’re hanging up on me already? he said.

    I suppose that would be a first for you. A woman, hanging up on you.

    Shit, no, are you kidding?

    She winced. Don’t tell me you’re going to talk like that the whole time.

    Great, he said, so you’re one of those holier-than-thou types.

    I’ll bet a convicted felon would be holier than you are, she retorted.

    "I’ve met quite a few felons who were holier than me. Wait a minute, I am a convicted felon. He touched the heel of his hand to his forehead. Does that mean I’m holier than me? Jesus, lady, way to mess with a guy’s head."

    I’m sure I don’t mean to mess with your head or any other part of you, she said.

    He started walking toward the bakery. So…Maureen Davenport. He pronounced her name as though tasting it. From the library.

    That’s me. She couldn’t tell if he was surprised, disappointed or just resigned.

    He paused, frowned at her. Have we met before? Without waiting for a reply, he said, It’s weird that our paths haven’t crossed, in a town like this. I guess we just move in different circles, eh?

    She considered telling him their paths had crossed, but he simply hadn’t deigned to notice her. Instead, she simply nodded. I guess.

    This is going to be fun, he said, clapping his hands together, then blowing on his fingers. And fun is good, right?

    She didn’t think he expected an answer to his question.

    I’m Eddie Haven, he said.

    I know who you are, she said. Good grief, who didn’t know who Eddie Haven was? Especially now, with his anniversary DVD topping the charts. She knew it topped the charts because the library currently owned a dozen copies, and each of those had more than a hundred patron holds. She wondered what it was like for him to see his own flickering image on the small screen, year in and year out, all hours of the night and day.

    She’d have plenty of opportunities to ask him, because this holiday season, she was stuck with him. The two of them had been charged with codirecting the annual Christmas pageant for the town of Avalon. She had taken on the job because it was some thing she’d always wanted to do, and she was well-qualified for the task. Eddie was her partner in the endeavor thanks to a mandate from a judge ordering him to perform community service. For better or worse, they were stuck with each other.

    Sorry I’m late, he said easily. I texted you.

    I…sent you a text message, as well. She couldn’t quite bring herself to use texted as a verb. And after I hit Send, she added, I saw your message.

    In the bakery, several people greeted him by name, welcoming him back to town. Several more—mostly women, she noted—checked him out. A group of tourists looked up from studying their area maps and brochures to lean over and whisper about him, likely speculating about whether or not he was who they thought he was. With the publicity surrounding his movie, he was definitely back in vogue.

    Our table’s over here, she said, leading the way, on fire with self-consciousness. There was no reason to feel self-conscious, but she did. She couldn’t help herself.

    Why do I get the impression you’ve already decided not to like me? he asked, shrugging out of his jacket.

    Was it that obvious? I have no idea whether I’m going to like you or not, she felt compelled to say. Not a fan of the language, though. Seriously.

    What, English? It’s standard English, swear to God.

    Right. She hung up her coat over the back of her chair and took a seat. She didn’t want to play games with this guy.

    You mean the swearing, he said.

    Brilliant deduction.

    Fine. I won’t do it anymore. No more taking the Lord’s name in vain or even in earnest.

    I’m pleased to hear it, she conceded.

    They’re just words.

    Words are powerful.

    Right. You want to know what’s obscene? he asked.

    Do I have a choice?

    Violence is obscene. Injustice—that’s obscene, too. Poverty and intolerance. Those are obscenities. Words are just that—words.

    A lot of hot air, she suggested.

    That’s right.

    Now that we’ve established you’re full of hot air, we should get to work.

    He chuckled. Touché. Hang on a sec. I need to get a coffee. He dug in his back pocket and took out a well-worn billfold. It flopped onto the floor, and he stooped to pick it up. Sh— he paused. How about shit? Can I say shit?

    I’d rather you didn’t.

    Jesus—er, gee whiz. What the hell do you say when you drop something?

    There are many ways to express dismay, she pointed out. I imagine you know plenty.

    "I’m asking you. What do you say

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