Tasha's Christmas Wish (9781460341315) Page 4

  As expected, the lounge was empty. It was three o’clock in the morning. Who else would be up at this hour anyway? He sat down in one of the comfy couches.

  He stared down at the book he’d grabbed and realized what he really needed to do was pray. No matter how many times he picked up on the sadness in Mary’s expression or how many times she woke up crying, his concern for her never diminished. He’d give anything to take the hurt away from his little girl. He had such hope for the dolls Tasha was going to make.

  He knew that it wouldn’t just be one thing that helped Mary heal. Mary had been so young when Heather died. The little girl’s memories were not that clear. Some of this pain was connected to not having a mom at all. He saw the look on Mary’s face when the other moms came to her friends’ school performances or picked their kids up. Not having a mom wasn’t something he could fix, even if he was the best dad in the world.

  He heard footsteps outside the lounge, and Tasha appeared in the doorway. She looked kind of cute in her bathrobe with cats and kittens on it and fuzzy bunny slippers. He smiled at her. “I thought I was the only one who knew about this place.”

  “I used to do fashion shows here. I found this place one afternoon when I needed a break from the chaos,” she said.

  Something else they had in common. They both needed downtime. He scooted over on the couch to make room for her.

  She sat down beside him. “How do you know about this lounge? And what are you doing up this late?”

  “Question number one—I’ve been to a dozen medical conventions in this hotel.” He breathed in the light floral scent of Tasha’s perfume. “Question number two—I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here to pray.” She pulled a bag of candy out of her bathrobe pocket. “I come bearing gifts. I stopped at a vending machine and it turns out they had some of that wonderful taffy from that candy shop downtown.” When he glanced down at the floor, she slipped her bunny-clad feet farther under the coffee table. It was kind of endearing that she was trying to hide them. He had already seen the savvy businesswoman side of her. It was nice to know she had a playful side, as well.

  “I love taffy. Here’s my contribution to this snackfest.” He pulled a plastic bag filled with cookies out of his pocket. “Grace loads me up with homemade cookies every time she comes.”

  “Those look good. Hold out your hand and I’ll give you some taffy.” She placed her hand under his and sprinkled out several pieces of candy. A spark of energy zinged through him when she touched his hand. Against his better judgment, his pulse raced. Hadn’t he already told himself this was just a business relationship?

  Philip met her gaze as she pulled her hand away. He looked down, pointing at her feet. “Cute slippers.”

  Tasha settled back into the couch. “The last person who was impressed by my slippers was ten years old.”

  “I find it interesting that someone who knows a lot about fashion gravitates toward fuzzy bunny slippers.” She was not a predictable person. He liked that. He couldn’t hide the attraction he felt for her.

  She smiled and golden light came into her eyes. She reached across the table. Her shoulder brushed against his. “I’ll try one of those cookies.”

  He took the fastener off the bag and handed her a cookie. He scooted over on the couch and leaned closer to her. “I have to warn you. You can’t eat just one. They’re that good.” He unwrapped a piece of taffy and popped it into his mouth.

  Tasha took a bite of the oatmeal cookie. She closed her eyes as she chewed. “That is a good cookie. It’s nice to meet someone who is not opposed to late-night snacking.”

  “We’re a matched set.” He snatched a cookie off the coffee table.

  Tasha wrinkled her forehead, obviously confused by his remark.

  What an odd thing to say. They weren’t a matched anything. What on earth had made him say something like that?

  Regretting the impulsiveness of the remark, he cleared his throat and stared at the coffee table as if the pattern of the grain fascinated him.

  “Now you have to tell me why you’re really up here.” Tasha selected an orange taffy.

  He planted his elbows on his knees and ran his hand through his hair. “Mary was having another one of her bad dreams. So I held her until she went to sleep. By then, I was too awake to go back to bed.” His voice was thick with emotion, but he felt comfortable sharing with her.

  She leaned forward and put a supportive hand on his wrist. “I hope the dolls help.”

  “Me, too. Me, too.” Resting his chin on his hands, he gazed at the wall.

  “You need cheering up.” Tasha perused her taffy and picked up a green one. “Close your eyes and guess what flavor this one is.” She placed the unwrapped taffy in his hand after he closed his eyes.

  He popped it in his mouth. After he chewed for a moment, he said, “Pistachio.”

  “Good guess. Most people don’t get that one,” Tasha said.

  He pulled another cookie out of the bag and placed it in her hand. Their fingers touched briefly. “The chocolate ones are the best.” Again, his heart drummed from the warmth of her touch.

  Tasha took a bite of the cookie. “Maybe your sister should give up organic farming and go into the cookie-making business.”

  “Only if she figures out how to keep the kids from eating the inventory.”

  She laughed. “I like you, Philip. You have a wonderful sense of humor.”

  His smile faded, and he gazed at Tasha as an uncomfortable silence settled in the room. Something had definitely shifted between them.

  Philip cleared his throat and looked away. “So how is life in the doll business?” Back to a safe subject. He smoothed out his tousled hair.

  “Slow and kind of scary. I quit my real job eight months ago to do this full time. Thinking about the business is what woke me up in the middle of the night.”

  “I think what you do is admirable.” He took a bite of cookie.

  “Really?”

  “Sure, every woman has a little girl inside her. You bring out that little girl.”

  “Yes, exactly.” She nodded her head. “It’s so nice to meet someone who understands that.”

  He liked the way her face became animated when she talked about her work. “So business is not so good?”

  Tasha sighed and stared at the floor. “They say any business takes five years to become profitable. I just don’t know if I should have given up my steady income at the design firm.” She balled her hands into a fist and then stretched her fingers out. “But I needed to move back closer to Mom. She’s getting older.” She massaged the back of her neck. “I don’t know what to do to get this business going. Christmas is the optimal time to make that happen.”

  An idea popped into his head. “Can you do huggable cloth dolls? The kind a kid would like.”

  “I can do cloth, porcelain, any kind of doll you want.”

  “I’ve spend some time at a children’s hospital, and my nurse and I volunteer at a kids’ shelter. We deal with kids who are facing cancer or a battery of tests or have just been taken away from their parents. Didn’t you say those were situations where a doll would be a comfort?” He knew in proposing the deal he was looking for an excuse to see her more.

  Tasha lifted her head. “A doll might just be what they need to feel safe.”

  “Exactly. Of course, you would have to be paid. I’ll have to see if I can scare up some grant money.”

  “You would do that for me? You barely know me,” she said.

  “God sent people to help me through medical school when I didn’t have two dimes to rub together. I figure that I pay back all those people who helped me by helping others,” he said.

  “That’s a neat way of looking at it.” Admiration shone in her eyes. �
��Let’s finish these snacks.”

  They ate and talked and laughed until only two pieces of taffy were left.

  Tasha stared down at the last pieces of candy. “I guess the party’s over,” she said with mock sadness.

  Philip studied the remaining candy. “They look kind of lonely there, don’t they?” He shook his head with exaggerated drama.

  “I’ll take the blue one. You can have the burgundy one.” She picked up the blue taffy and brought it toward her mouth.

  “Wait just a minute.” He grabbed her wrist to stop her. “I think I’m getting the raw end of a deal here. Do you even know what flavor the burgundy one is?”

  “No.” She held the blue taffy to her chest. “I always called it gobbledygook flavor. I think they put whatever they have left over at the end of a batch to make the burgundy ones.”

  “My point exactly. But that blueberry one. Now, that is a prize piece of candy.”

  “Oh, all right.” With exaggerated pathos, she slapped the blue candy down on the table.

  “Now you made me feel bad. You have it.” He slumped his shoulders and hung his head theatrically as he pushed the candy toward her.

  “After that kind of protest, you take it.” She slid the single candy across the table.

  “I insist.” He picked up the blue taffy and placed it in her palm, closing her fingers around it. “You take the blueberry.” He held her hand in his a little longer than was necessary to make his point.

  “Fine.” She unwrapped the candy and shoved it in her mouth.

  Philip opened his mouth wide, feigning shock. “You go right ahead and have that succulent, juicy blueberry.” He stuck out his lower lip in a mock pout. “I’ll just have blah burgundy.” He fluttered his eyelashes.

  Tasha mimed playing a violin. “Oh, you poor baby. Where did you learn how to tease like that?”

  “Grace is my older sister. I also have two younger sisters.”

  She laughed. “So you were probably tormenting women from the day you were born.”

  “Hey, I was in a house full of women. It was survival.” The conversation faded back into silence.

  Tasha stared at the floor and smiled. She let out a heavy sigh. “I think I’m finally tired again.”

  “Am I that boring?”

  “No.” She gave him a friendly punch in the shoulder. “It’s not that. I have to be up in a few hours.” Stretching, she rose to her feet. “Are you going back to your room?”

  “I think I’ll steal your idea and stay and pray for a while.” He twisted an empty candy wrapper in his hands.

  “All right. I’ll be in touch with you about the dolls. You can swing by and get that order form.” She slipped around the corner and was gone.

  Philip settled back on the couch, shaking his head. That was the most he had laughed in a long time. He’d forgotten how wonderful it could be to talk to someone who was so easy to be around.

  What an unexpected surprise.

  He liked Tasha. He would admit that. But some part of him still held back. He stared down at the candy wrappers on the coffee table and remembered how he and Heather used to love to share a bag of cinnamon bears.

  Chapter 5

  Tasha sat for a long time in her van, staring at the glittery Newburg Designs sign. Four-foot-high letters in a flourish of silver, gold and hot pink were mounted on the squarish roof of the renovated warehouse that contained the offices and factory of her former employer. Unexpected anxiety about returning to Newburg Designs corseted her stomach and rib cage. Newburg and Quinton’s comments haunted her. Still, she was hopeful Newburg’s promised “surprise” would be some vote of support for her business.

  Tasha stared out the window down the busy street. Cars navigated through fresh snow turned to dirty slush from tires and exhaust. Christmas lights flashed in the windows of the businesses all up and down the block. Shoppers spilled out of stores onto the glistening sidewalk.

  Newburg Designs was in the Historic Lower Downtown District of Denver. LoDo, as the locals called it, consisted of many renovated warehouses that had been turned into art galleries, high-end clothing stores, offices and restaurants. The boutique where Newburg sold most of their designs was four blocks away.

  Early that morning, she’d packed up her own unsold dolls, dismantled her display units, checked out of the hotel and driven across town. Though she did not see Philip again in the remaining days of the craft fair except when he stopped by briefly to pick up the order form, her thoughts had returned often to him and their late-night snack session. Was his generous offer to find grant money for her only about helping her with her business? Tasha kicked herself mentally. She needed to quit trying to read some coded romantic message into everything he did. Still, she couldn’t get past Grace saying that Philip liked her. And she couldn’t get past the electric warmth she felt when he was close.

  Philip’s laughter and gentle voice echoed in her mind. Be still, my stupid beating heart. He was a client, that was all. Besides, with so much distance between them, a relationship would be impractical. Still, Philip was fun. Kind of like a big brother. That was it. He was a client and the sibling she’d never had. Nothing more.

  Tasha gripped the steering wheel and let out a deep breath. A puffy gust of air appeared and faded quickly.

  Snow fell silently to the ground. Ten minutes ago, Tasha had turned off her motor, her heater and her wipers, fully intending to jump out of her van and run inside.

  Ten minutes and she still hadn’t worked up the guts to face the people at Newburg Designs and get the last boxfuls of her old life. Snow accumulated on her windshield, blurring the letters of the sign.

  She thought of the sign she’d painted herself for her new business—foot-high block letters in shades of blue. She could picture the sign leaning against the side of the barn she’d renovated into a studio. She hadn’t had time to mount it yet.

  Tasha glanced through the side window, where she saw Quinton’s Lexus in his reserved parking space. Had they already assigned her parking space to someone else?

  She tapped the door handle. Cecily Newburg had said she had a surprise for her. Curiosity and hope motivated Tasha to push open the door of her van and hop down from the high seat. The chilling wind hit her hard, and she thanked God for long underwear, down coats and turtlenecks. You don’t grow up in the Rocky Mountains and not know how to dress for glacial weather, even in the city.

  She walked past her old parking space. The sign read Reserved for Octavia Monroe. Tasha giggled. That had to be a made-up name. She had loved the creative part of designing clothes, but the posturing and pretending that took place in the fashion industry had always made her uncomfortable.

  She shoved her ungloved hands into the warm, deep pockets of her down coat and walked toward the large metal doors of the warehouse. She opened the door to a bustle of activity. The outside of Newburg Designs was deceptive. No one would guess from looking at the windowless metal building that it contained such sophisticated and lavish decor.

  Inside the building, the metal walls had been drywalled and painted hot pink, Newburg’s signature color. The main floor housed the cutting tables and seamstress’s stations. A balcony and railing surrounded the upstairs offices. Mannequins, some with fabric draped over them and others wearing garments that were turned inside out, populated the factory floor. Bolts of fabric lined the far wall. Several fitting models stood by the seamstress stations as women with pincushions on their wrists readjusted the garments the models wore.

  “You would think they would at least remember my Savior.” Tasha turned at the sound of the familiar voice. “It is Christmas after all.” A roundish, four-foot-nothing woman knelt at the base of a Christmas tree arranging a nativity scene. An open box sat on the floor beside her. “Does anything about this tree say birth of a Savior to you, Tasha?�
� The woman addressed Tasha as though they’d been in the middle of a conversation.

  Tasha looked up at the ornate ten-foot tree. A hundred silver bows, all exactly alike, and a flashing silver star decorated the tree. A string of silver beads wound its way around the tree from top to bottom. “Not really. How are you, Bernadette?”

  Bernadette rose to her feet. She wore black pants, a black shirt and a red-rose–print blazer. Tasha had always referred to the outfit as Bernadette’s uniform. The head seamstress for Newburg Designs always wore black with some sort of brightly colored jacket or big shirt. “Good to have you back.”

  Tasha said, “I’m just here to pick up the rest of my stuff.”

  “Of course you are.” Bernadette’s brown eyes shone behind plastic-framed glasses. A bubble of gray hair, solid as a statue, was accented with a red barrette. “Let me walk you to the stairs, honey.” Bernadette stood on tiptoe and whispered in Tasha’s ear, “A word of warning. Newburg may try to talk you into coming back. Stand your ground.” Tasha had to bend toward Bernadette to hear her, the woman was so petite.

  Tasha’s shoulders drooped. She shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t come back.”

  Bernadette stopped and narrowed her eyes at Tasha. “Swallow your words right now, young lady.” She patted Tasha’s shoulder. “You left to pursue your dream.”

  “I mean it, Bernadette. I might know a lot about designing dolls, but I don’t know anything about business.”

  Bernadette put chubby hands on her hips. “So it gets a little bit hard and you’re just going to give up?”

  “I know, but I—”

  Bernadette held up a warning finger. “No whining. Just ask God what He is trying to teach you through this struggle.”

  “I guess I expected more success by now.” Tasha ran her fingers through her curly hair. “Did you always want to be a seamstress? Did you always want to work for Newburg?” Bernadette had the distinction of not having missed a day of work at Newburg Designs in the ten years she’d been head seamstress.