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Her Candy Cane Christmas (A Recipe for Romance) (Volume 4)

By Bonnie Engstrom

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Chapter One

Newport Beach, California

Noelle pumped on the brakes and surveyed the string of cars through the fog on her windshield. The sea mist was especially heavy this afternoon. She slammed her palm against the leather-covered steering wheel and gnawed on her lip. Why had she taken MacArthur Boulevard to the Coast Highway today? Is this the first day of the Christmas Boat Parade weekend? No, that’s not until December. This is only the Friday before Thanksgiving – not yet holiday season.
Yet, it was in full swing. Must be stuff like the fifteen decorated Christmas trees for charity at the Fairmont Hotel and the special Thanksgiving event of the film festival. So much was always happening in this tourist town. Even Rogers Gardens had started its opulent annual boutique that attracted so many out of towners.
She had read about all the events in the Daily Navigator, but in her stressful frame of mind she’d forgotten. I could have avoided Corona del Mar completely by taking surface streets and Newport Coast Drive. Still, I would have passed Rogers Gardens on San Joaquin Hills Road and had to deal with the tourist buses. She gripped the steering wheel with damp hands. Either way, I will be late for my appointment with the florist. I hate that.
Jill, her now former wedding coordinator, said the florist was forgiving, but Noelle lived for punctuality. Her mother said she was a bit obsessive about it, but she didn’t care. Being on time was a matter of courtesy. If only the faculty meeting hadn’t lasted so long. Then the principal followed her to her car chatting and constantly touching her arm. Maybe she should have left early. But, as the new teacher that would have made her look bad. Canceling her wedding just a month before the planned date made her look bad enough.
The cars inched forward along Pacific Coast Highway, truly inched, giving Noelle no way to change lanes or get out of the mess. She would be at least twenty minutes late. Maybe thirty.
Finally! The Persian rug store and a few niche restaurants came into view, including Rothchild’s. At last she was turning south. She passed the Starbucks at the corner of Marguarite Avenue where three tiny tables were crowded with bundled-up patrons each holding a dog leash, and amazingly, sleeping dogs. What gives with that? Guess those people aren’t going to any tourist events. Smart move.
The light finally turned green and Noelle’s little car crept past the Five Crowns Restaurant and through the last clogged intersection of Corona del Mar. Breathing a sigh of relief, she gunned the gas and sped past the open spaces. The endless Pacific Ocean on her right spouted huge waves that rolled in to spit up on the sand below the bluffs. It was a beautiful sight she never tired of, although she seldom saw it anymore. She passed the Sugar Shake Shack and memories flooded her brain. The girls from her swim team had pulled into the sand lot in front of it. They were tired and smelled of chlorine from the high school pool, but they’d won. Their relay team, dubbed the Candy Canes because of their red and white striped swimsuits, was responsible for Vista del Mar High School taking the All-state title. She’d thought Coach Douglas might have a heart attack, he was so excited. He’d hugged each of them, all the team members, not just the relay team, then slipped a twenty into each of the Candy Canes’ hands.
“Celebrate, girls! Have fun – just be sure it’s loaded with sugar, not alcohol.”
Noelle had ordered a double-malt chocolate chip shake with triple whipped cream. It was a special day, a day of celebration and bonding. A day to remember.
Noelle finally pulled into the parking lot of the opulent hotel resort. She refused to have a valet park her shining red baby. Instead, she found a self-parking slot. The trek to the resort in the expansive lot seemed like miles in her spike-heeled shoes. Another dumb thing. Should’ve switched to tennies since I’m not here to impress anyone. Jill was meeting her there with some guy named Braydon, the florist contracted to provide the flowers for her now defunct wedding. Does he know why we’re meeting – to cancel the wedding contract? I hope Jill gave him a head’s up. This is so embarrassing.
Jill said he was the only florist in Southern California who could produce baby Calla Lilies in December – a desire of her now former mother-in-law-to-be, Gladys, who had carried them in her own wedding. Noelle felt a combination of relief and guilt for no longer being under the woman’s persuasive thumb. She really hadn’t cared what flowers she might have carried. She rubbed her arm hoping to diffuse the bruises. She’d read somewhere that would make them hurt less.
An attendant opened a huge glass door for her. She felt a bit dizzy. Maybe lunch would have been a good idea. Glancing about the enormous lobby she spotted Jill. Sweet Jill, not officious, not too glamorous, just right in her black slacks and starched white blouse. Jill held out her arms to hug Noelle, but as Noelle spread her own arms, she felt woozy and tripped, then landed in muscular ones. Just before she passed out she smelled the heady scent of roses.
~
Braydon Lovejoy had been rocking back and forth between his feet and silently praying. Trying hard to be a patient man, he’d been praying extra hard lately for that quality as he waited to meet his client. Jill, the wedding coordinator, had gotten him very excited last month about this bride-to-be. The contract would mean a huge boost to his business, especially when the society section of the Daily Navigator newspaper featured the wedding – with his floral displays. Maybe he’d even be featured in the business section of Orange County NOW. He’d planned to tell the bride-to-be about his ideas for the attendants’ bouquets. Brilliant red and pure white roses with petal edges dipped in sparkling silver glitter would make a stunning statement for a December wedding. Jill had told him the bridesmaids would wear red taffeta gowns with white sashes. Perfect! He visualized young women clutching the heart-shaped nosegays he’d designed. But, the pièce de résistance would be carried by the bride. He couldn’t wait to see her face light up when he described it to her.
Jill arrived for their meeting as he’d finished wrapping a bouquet of Double Delights, his finest roses, in Cellophane. Grinning widely, he planned to present the woman he’d privately dubbed “Diva Day” with the expensive, intensely-perfumed blooms. He strode from his hotel satellite shop into the lobby with Jill trailing behind him sniffing audibly at the scent of the flowers. That Jill was such a card.
The strange expression on Jill’s face had given him pause. She’d just started to whisper something about a surprise when a beautiful woman toppled into his arms.
He’d tried to toss the bouquet off to the side, but there was no time. The Double Delight roses crushed against his forearm sandwiched between his Alpaca sweater and a mane of chestnut hair. His first reaction was to wrap his arms firmly around the limp woman. The roses finally slipped to the floor with a rustling of Cellophane wrap as he lifted the woman’s prone form, not too gracefully, under her shoulders and dragged her onto one of the lobby’s overstuffed sofas. Long, thick hair cascaded across her face like a shawl of sepia threads. He heard Jill murmuring behind him and turned to her for advice. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. Lacking any guidance he grabbed the recumbent woman’s slim ankles and shifted them onto the sofa. Although he felt uncomfortable doing it, he fingered the strands of hair from her face, especially those caught in her open mouth. Reddish-brown eyes that matched the color of her hair flicked open wide. Her beautiful face twisted in fear. At least that was Braydon’s first thought.
“Who?” The single word gurgled in the woman’s throat like a clogged sink drain. Braydon couldn’t shake off the feeling she was alarmed, maybe even panicked.
“Braydon Lovejoy. Miss Day?” He hoped his smile was warm and that he really addressed Noelle Day. He’d realized he’d risen and stood jingling the coins in his pockets.
Jill hadn’t said if the woman who’d collapsed in his arms was her client. Jill seemed to be in a bit of shock herself. He heard her mumbling, then realized she was talking on her cellphone, and, of all the crazy things, saw her marching around the lobby clasping the cast off bouquet and ignoring his plight. He pondered briefly about the other hotel patrons in the lobby disregarding the scene. No one stepped forward to offer assistance.
“Ye – yes. Noelle Day.” The voice was tiny, almost childlike. Not the voice of the diva he’d expected. Color crept across the delicate cheekbones in a pale pink flush not unlike a Maidens Blush rose in full bloom. Gingerly he lifted an icy hand into his large warm one. She yanked it back immediately to clasp its mate. Fear again? Or, simple embarrassment? Braydon knelt beside the sofa to whisper, hoping to reassure Noelle and answer her unspoken question.
“Miss Day,” he began tentatively. “You tripped on a rug. I caught you. End of story. Are you all right?”
Suddenly, the woman swung her legs over the sofa edge, sat up tall, pushed a sleeve up to check her watch and spoke in a clipped voice. “Sorry I’m late, and so sorry for the trouble. You’ve been very kind. Now, can we get on with our meeting?” She was all business and spoke as if the fainting incident had never happened.
The softness he’d seen in her eyes after she’d passed out was gone. He’d been shocked to hear her formally enunciated words. “This wedding is not going to work out, Mr. Lovejoy. My former (she’d emphasized the word) fiancé and I have parted company.” Her eyes took on saucer appearance as they perused him from head to toe. When she looked into his face again, she said, “Do you understand? I’m terribly sorry for any inconvenience, and I have a check for you to cover the cost of your time and effort. Per the contract.” She whipped a cream colored paper out of her purse.
He nodded mutely, his eyes rooted to her oval ones, brownish pools of pain and sorrow. What made him feel empathy for this lovely creature? Was he reading too much into the sudden change in her demeanor?
Braydon noticed the tiny hands now resting on her legs were tightly clasped, pasty white. She rose to get up from the sofa and teetered for a second. He offered a hand that was ignored. It took every once of restraint not to salute.

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