Candlelight Christmas. Сьюзен ВиггсЧитать онлайн книгу.
a swimming award. André was next to him as they took their seats at their assigned banquet table.
Paige, who stood nearby, handing out table assignments, leaned over and said, “Those two are such a great pair. I bet they’re going to miss each other now that summer’s over.”
“Yeah, it’d be nice if they could stay in touch. Tricky, though, with André in the city and Charlie off to an air force base in Oklahoma.”
“Must be hard for you, too.”
“I can’t even tell you. But...we deal. I’ll see him at Thanksgiving, and he’s mine—all mine—for Christmas.”
At the moment, Christmas seemed light-years away. Logan wondered how the hell he’d keep himself busy after Charlie left. He had his work, a thriving insurance business he’d founded in the nearby town of Avalon. If he was being honest with himself, he was bored stiff with the work, even though he liked helping friends and neighbors and made a good living at it.
Initially, the whole point of setting up a business in Avalon had been to enable him to live close to Charlie. Now that Charlie’s mom had remarried and moved away, Logan was starting to think about making a change. A big change.
His sister India arrived to join in the festivities, and Logan excused himself to say hi. Her twin boys, Fisher and Goose, had spent the summer here. Charlie had had a great time with his two cousins, who lived on Long Island, where India and her husband ran an art gallery.
Red-haired like Logan and Charlie both, and dressed in flowing silks unlike anybody, India rushed over to her twin sons, practically in tears.
“I missed you guys so much,” she said, gathering them against her. “Did you have a good time at camp?”
“The best,” said Fisher.
“We made you some stuff,” said Goose.
“Real ugly jewelry, and we’re gonna make you wear it,” Fisher told her.
“If you made it, then I’m sure it’s beautiful,” she said.
“Uncle Logan taught us how to light farts.”
“That’s my baby brother,” India said. “Now, you need no introduction, but I’ll introduce you, anyway.” She indicated the woman behind her. “Darcy, this is my brother, who probably needs to be sent to the naughty corner, but instead, he’s a volunteer counselor.”
“And head fart lighter,” said the woman, sticking out her hand. “I’m Darcy Fitzgerald.”
He took her hand, liking her straightforward expression. She had dark hair done in a messy ponytail and a direct, brown-eyed gaze. Her hand felt small but firm, and she had a quirky smile. For no reason Logan could name, he felt a subtle nudge of interest.
“Are you here to pick up a kid?” he asked her. “Which one belongs to you?”
“None, thank God,” she said with a shudder.
“Allergies?” Logan asked.
“Something like that.”
“Then you came to the wrong place.” He gestured around the dining hall, swarming with excited, hungry kids. To him, it was a vision of paradise. He liked kids. He liked big, loud, loving families. It was the tragedy of his life that he was restricted to summers and holidays with his only child.
“Except for one thing,” said Darcy, turning toward the dais where the band was setting up. “I’m a huge Jezebel fan.”
“You must be. We’re a long way from anywhere.”
She nodded. “I came along for the ride with India when she invited me to pick up her boys. Thought it would be nice to get out to the countryside for a weekend.”
“So you live in the city?” he asked.
“In SoHo. I didn’t have anything thing else going on this weekend. Yes, I’m that pathetic friend everybody feels sorry for, all alone and getting over a broken heart.” She spoke lightly, but he detected a serious note in her tone.
“Oh, sorry. About the broken heart. Glad to hear you’re getting over it.”
“Thanks,” she said. “It takes time. That’s what people keep telling me. I keep looking for distractions. But hearts are funny that way. They don’t let you lie, even to yourself.”
“Not for long, anyway. Anything I can do to help?” He instantly regretted the offer. He had no idea what to do about someone else’s broken heart.
“I’ll spare you the details.”
Good.
She scanned the big, noisy room. “Where can a girl get a drink around here?”
“It’s not that kind of party.”
“Oops. Of course.” She set down her bag and peeled off her jacket. Underneath, she wore a shapeless T-shirt commemorating Jezebel in Madison Square Garden. “I guess we’d better have a seat,” she said, glancing around. “Looks like India found a table.” His nephews, along with Charlie and André, had already visited the buffet and were chowing down.
“Right this way,” he said, unconsciously touching the small of her back as he steered her through the dining hall.
She glanced up at him, and he noticed something in her stare. Startlement? Recognition? And he noticed something in himself. Attraction? No, couldn’t be. She was not his type. Like Paige, she was the type his family would want him to date, only unlike Paige, she wasn’t girl-next-door cute. She was...funny and ironic, and she spoke with a boarding school accent that somehow didn’t sound affected. He had no idea why he would suddenly find this interesting.
They went through the buffet line on opposite sides of the long table. “This doesn’t look like the camp food we had when I was a kid,” she said.
“Where’d you go to camp?”
“Walden, in Maine.”
Further evidence that she was the “right” sort of girl, in his parents’ eyes. But Logan told himself not to let that prejudice him. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “How about we—”
“Hey, Dad!” Charlie piped up, motioning him over to the table. “Check it out. I’m Mr. Potato Head.”
Charlie had decked himself out at the salad bar, with rings of green pepper for eyeglasses, a cherry tomato nose, carrot sticks for vampire teeth.
“Oh, that’s brilliant,” Logan said. “And so appetizing.” He turned to Darcy as she set her plate down at an empty place. “My son, Charlie, the boy genius. Charlie, this is Darcy.”
“Nice to meet you.” With the firm, direct manner Logan had drilled into him, Charlie made eye contact and stuck out his hand. The effect was ruined by the stickiness of his hand.
Logan felt Darcy stiffen as she briefly took the grubby little hand. “Hiya, Charlie,” she said. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is André,” said Charlie. “He’s got a frog in his pocket, so watch out.”
“You weren’t supposed to tell,” André said, though he was clearly proud of his find.
“André and Charlie have been buddies this summer,” Logan told Darcy.
“BFFs,” Charlie said. “We made a blood oath.”
“Not with real blood,” André said. “With ketchup.”
“Sounds tasty.” Darcy discreetly wiped her hands with a napkin. “So, are your parents here, André?”
“My mom’s coming up tomorrow. I wish I didn’t have to go back to the city.”
André’s mother, Maya, worked as a nanny in Manhattan. André claimed she spent more time with her employer’s kids than