The Mistletoe Promise Read Online Free PDF Page B

flowers,” the man said.
    I looked around my tiny apartment. “Bring them in.”
    “Where do you want them?”
    “Wherever they’ll fit,” I replied.
    My apartment was on the second floor of the building, and it took the man fifteen minutes to bring all the roses in from his truck. By the time he finished, it was twenty-five after. I quickly changed into some more comfortable jeans and a sweater, brushed back my hair, then went to put on some perfume but couldn’t find any. Girl, you’ve got to get back with it.
    I remembered that I had an unopened bottle of perfumein the bottom of my closet—a gift from the girls at the office for my birthday last spring. I tore open the package and was spraying it on when the doorbell rang. I looked at myself one more time in the mirror, then hurried out past the garden of flowers, grabbing my coat on the way.
    I opened the door. Nicholas was standing there holding a bouquet of yellow gerbera daisies. I almost laughed when I saw them. “You’re kidding, right?”
    “I wasn’t sure what else to bring you,” he said.
    “Let me find something to put these in. Come on in.”
    He laughed when he saw the flowers splayed out over my front room. “You almost need a machete to get through here.”
    “Almost,” I said.
    I couldn’t find a vase (other than the ones in my front room), so I filled a pitcher with water and arranged the flowers in it. When I came back out Nicholas was examining a picture on my wall of me with my sister.
    “Is this your sister?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    “What’s her name?”
    “Cosette.”
    “As in Les Misérables ?”
    “Yes. My father liked the book. Shall we go?”
    “Sure,” he said. Then added, “You look nice.”
    “Thank you. So do you.” He was dressed casually in a dark green knit sweater that was a little wet on the shoulders from falling snow. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of a suit.”
    “It’s rare, but I do dress down on occasion.”
    I took his hand as we walked down the stairs. His car was parked out front, a white BMW sedan. He held the door open for me as I got in. The interior was immaculate and smelled like cinnamon. The seats and doors were two-toned leather, embossed like a football. He shut the door, then went around and climbed in.
    “You have a nice car.”
    “Thank you. I just got it a few months ago. The dealer said it’s good in snow. I hope he’s right. I turned your seat warmer on. If it’s too hot you can adjust it.”
    “Thanks.”
    He started the car. The heater and the windshield wipers came on simultaneously, along with a Michael Bublé Christmas album. “Is this music okay?”
    “I love Bublé,” I said.
    “Then Bublé you will have.”
    “It smells good in here,” I said.
    “ You smell good. What is it? Lovely?”
    “How in the world did you know that?”
    “My paralegal wears it.” He pulled a U-turn, then drove out of my complex. “Thanks again for going to this with me. I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”
    “It’s my pleasure,” I said. “I told Cathy where we were going, and she said she loves it. Her family goes every year.”
    “Who’s Cathy?”
    “Sorry, she’s our bookkeeper.”
    “Are all of your friends from work?”
    I frowned, embarrassed by the question. “Yes.”
    He glanced over. “It happens. All my friends are lawyers. Except you.”
    Something about how he had said that made me glad. “Tell me about this play,” I said.
    “Hale Centre Theatre. They’ve been doing this for a long time. I’m kind of a sap when it comes to Christmas. I watch A Christmas Carol on TV at least twice every holiday season. My favorite television version is the one with George C. Scott.”
    “Me too,” I said. “I mean, that’s my favorite version too.”
    The Hale Centre Theatre was located on the west side of the valley, about fifteen minutes from my apartment. The place was crowded. We picked up our tickets at Will Call, then Nicholas asked, “Would you