Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor

Maggie went to the child and pulled her close. “Guess who I brought?” she asked against the light tangled banners of Holly’s hair.

“Renfield!” the girl exclaimed.

Recognizing his name, the bulldog readily approached the sofa with his bulging eyes and perpetual grimace. Holly regarded him doubtfully, shrinking back as he put his front paws on the edge of the sofa and stood on his hind legs. “He’s funny-looking,” she whispered to Maggie.

“Yes, but he doesn’t know it. He thinks he’s gorgeous.”

Holly chuckled, and leaned forward to pet him tentatively.

Sighing, Renfield rested his huge head against her and closed his eyes in contentment.

“He loves attention,” Maggie told Holly, who began to croon and baby-talk to the adoring bulldog. Maggie grinned and kissed Holly’s head. “I have to go now. Thanks for babysitting him today, Holly. When I come back to pick him up later, I’ll bring you a surprise from the toy shop.”

Mark watched from the doorway, his gaze warm and thoughtful. “Want some breakfast?” he asked. “We’ve got eggs and toast.”

“Thanks, but I already had cereal.”

“Have some Jell-O,” Holly exclaimed. “Uncle Mark made three colors. He gave me some and said it was a bowl of rainbow.”

“Really?” Maggie gave Mark a wondering smile. “It’s nice to hear that your uncle uses his imagination.”

“You have no idea,” Mark said. He walked Maggie to the front door and gave her the tall thermos filled with coffee. Maggie was troubled by the cozy domestic feeling that had swept over her. The dog, the child, the man in a flannel shirt, even the house, a Victorian fixer-upper…it was all perfect.

“It doesn’t seem like a fair trade,” she said. “Special coffee, for a day with Renfield.”

“If it means I get to see you twice in one day,” Mark replied, “I’ll take that deal any time.”

Eleven

In the two weeks that followed, Maggie found herself seeing more and more of Mark Nolan. To her relief, it seemed that he had accepted that she was only interested in friendship. He frequently dropped by the toy shop with the thermos of coffee, and he also brought treats from a local bakery: crisp chocolate croissants, apricot pinwheels, sugared pastry sticks in white paper sacks. Now and then he coaxed Maggie to have lunch with him, once at Market Chef, and another time at a wine bar, where they lingered until Maggie realized that nearly two hours had gone by.

She was never able to turn down his invitations because she couldn’t point to one instance in which Mark had put a move on her. In fact, he had done everything possible to allay Maggie’s worries. There were no kisses or suggestive comments, nothing that indicated that he was interested in anything beyond friendship.

Mark had gone to Seattle to break up with Shelby, who had apparently taken it as well as could have been expected. When he told Maggie about it afterward, he didn’t go into detail, but his relief was obvious. “No tears, screaming, or drama,” he said. After a perfectly timed pause, he added, “Not from Shelby, either.”

“You’re still in the backslide window,” Maggie said. “There’s still a chance you may get back together with her.”

“There’s no backslide window.”

“You never know. Have you already deleted her number from your phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you returned all the things she left at your house?”

“She never got the chance to leave anything. Sam and I have a rule: no sleepover guests while Holly’s in the house.”

“So when Shelby visited you on the island, where did you and she…”

“We stayed at a bed-and-breakfast.”

“Well,” she said, “I guess it really is over. Are you sure you’re not in denial? It’s normal to feel sad when you’ve lost something.”

“Nothing was lost. I’ve never thought of a failed relationship as a waste of time. You always learn something.”

“What did you learn from Shelby?” Maggie asked, fascinated.

Mark pondered the question carefully. “For a while I thought it was good that we never argued. Now I realize it meant we weren’t really connecting.”

Holly soon asked for another day with Renfield, and Maggie brought him to Rainshadow Vineyard again. As they approached the house, Maggie saw that a small removable ramp had been set over part of the front steps. The top-heavy dog padded up the ramp, finding it much easier than trying to navigate the tall, narrow steps. “Is that for Renfield’s benefit?” Maggie asked as Mark opened the door.

“The ramp? Yes. Did it work?”

“Perfectly.” She smiled appreciatively, realizing that Mark had noticed the dog’s previous difficulty with the steps, and had come up with a way to make it easier for him to go in and out of the house.

“You still trying to find a home for him?” Mark asked, holding the door as they entered the house. He bent to pet and scratch Renfield, who looked up at him with the grin of a medieval gargoyle, tongue dangling.

“Yes, but we’re not having much luck,” Maggie said. “He’s got too many problems. He’s probably going to need a hip replacement at some point, and there’s his underbite, and his eczema. It’s one thing to be high maintenance and cute, but high maintenance and looking like Renfield…no takers.”

“Actually, if it’s okay with you,” Mark said slowly, “we’d like to keep him.”

Maggie was stunned. “You mean on a permanent basis?”

“Yes. Why do you look so surprised?”

“He’s not your type of dog.”

“What’s my type of dog?”

“Well, a normal one. A Lab or a springer. One that could keep up with you when you go for a run.”

“I’ll put Renfield on wheels. Sam and Holly spent the previous afternoon teaching him how to skateboard.”

“He can’t go fishing with you—bulldogs can’t swim.”

“He can wear a life jacket.” Mark gave her a quizzical smile. “Why does it bother you that I want him?”

Renfield looked from Mark to Maggie and back again.

“It doesn’t bother me…I just don’t understand why you want him.”

“He’s good company. He’s quiet. Sam says he’s going to be great at keeping pests out of the vineyard. And most of all, Holly loves him.”

“He needs so much care. He’s got skin conditions. He needs a special diet, and special grooming products, and you’re going to have a lot of vet bills. I’m not sure you understand everything that’s ahead of you.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it.”

Maggie didn’t understand herself, the great swell of emotion that rolled through her. She lowered to her haunches and began to pet the dog, keeping her face averted. “Renfield, it looks like you’ve got a home now,” she said, her voice husky.

Mark knelt beside her and cupped his hand under her chin, and urged her to look at him. His blue-green eyes were warm and searching. “Hey,” he said softly. “What is it? Second thoughts about giving him away?”

“No. You’ve just surprised me, that’s all.”

“You didn’t think I could make a commitment even when there are obvious problems ahead?” His thumb stroked over her cheek. “I’m learning to take life as it comes. Having a dog like Renfield is going to be inconvenient, messy, and expensive. But most likely worth it. You were right—there is something noble about him. Ugly on the outside, but damned if he isn’t full of self-esteem. He’s a good dog.”

Maggie wanted to smile, but her chin quivered, and the flood of emotion was nearly overwhelming her again. “You’re a good man,” she managed to say. “I hope someday you’ll find someone who appreciates you.”

“I hope so, too.” The words were edged with a smile. “Can we get up off the floor now?”

When Mark asked what Maggie’s plans for Thanksgiving were, she told him that she had dinner with her parents in Bellingham every year. With the exception of the turkey, which her mother made, the rest of the meal was a huge potluck, with everyone contributing their best side dishes and pies.

“If you want to stay on the island this year,” Mark said, “you could spend Thanksgiving with us.”

Maggie experienced that feeling when she caught herself reaching for something that she had already decided not to allow herself: the last cookie on the plate, the one glass of wine too many. Spending a holiday with Mark and Holly was too much involvement, too much closeness. “Thank you, but I’d better stick to tradition,” she said, forcing a quick smile. “My family’s counting on me to bring mac and cheese.”

“The mac and cheese?” Mark sounded forlorn. “Your grandmother’s recipe with the four kinds of cheese and the bread crumbs?”

“You remember all that?”