Marry Me at Christmas

The car was in mint condition with white leather interior. He loved that car. But what he couldn’t wrap his mind around was the fact that Felicia wanted it, rather than him, in the parade.

“You want to borrow my car,” he confirmed.

“Yes. For the parade.” She drew her eyebrows together. “You do know what a parade is, don’t you? If not, I’m happy to explain.”

“I have a basic idea of what’s involved.” The car. Huh. He never would have guessed that. “Okay. You’re welcome to my car.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in touch to make arrangements.”

With that, she hurried away. Jonny stared after her, then shook his head. He was the one who’d wanted to be treated like everyone else. He should be grateful only his car was going to be in the parade.

He continued walking and saw Paper Moon up ahead. The big front windows displayed wedding gowns along with shoes and veils. When he stepped into the store, he paused to glance around.

A few years ago he’d dated a set designer. From her he’d learned how seemingly insignificant details could set the mood or ruin the moment. That a misplaced lamp could produce awkward shadows and that furniture created movement.

Now he took in the high ceilings, the plush furniture, the elegant armoires and shelves. Everything directed the eye toward a kind of dais placed in front of a half circle of ten-foot-high mirrors. He would guess that customers stepped up in front of those mirrors and immediately became the center of attention. Practice for the spotlight of the big day, he thought.

To his left were racks of wedding gowns. An open doorway led to another room, also filled with dresses, but they were for the bridesmaids, he would guess.

“Jonny.”

He turned and saw Madeline approaching. She was still dressed in black—this time a sweater and slim pants. Her hair was wavy, her makeup simple. She looked polished and capable. Reassuring, he thought. Brides would like that.

“Thanks for coming here,” she said as she stopped in front of him. Humor brightened her blue eyes. “All this girlie stuff making you sweat?”

He chuckled. “Not even close. You forget, in my job I have to wear makeup.”

“That’s right. Then I won’t feel guilty for asking you to visit my office.”

“Don’t. I like coming into town and this gave me an excuse.” He looked at the dresses. “They’re like costumes. A woman puts them on and becomes someone else for the day.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right. It is a costume for a rite of passage.” She tilted her head as she smiled at him. “Although if I’m doing my job right, instead of becoming someone else, she becomes a better version of herself.”

“Good for you.”

She was smart, he thought. Easy to talk to. Both of which would be an asset in her career. She would have to get along with a lot of different types of people. Bend to them, find out what they wanted and make it happen.

It had been a long time since that had been his problem. Mostly people did what he wanted. More often than not, they anticipated his needs. After a while, it was easy to forget how to be normal, which was the reason he didn’t have a personal assistant. One was always hired for him when he was filming, but the rest of the time, he made himself deal with stuff like grocery shopping and laundry.

“My office is this way.” She pointed to a narrow hallway, then turned to lead the way.

He followed, his gaze dropping to the sway of her hips. As she moved, he found himself intrigued by the curve of her ass and the length of her legs. As he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been even slightly tempted, he enjoyed the sensation of waking arousal.

On the bright side, that part of him wasn’t dead. Something to remember when the nights got long.

Her office was small and utilitarian. No window—just a few file cabinets, a battered desk, her chair and two others for visitors. A plastic palm tree nestled close to pictures of an older couple, along with a man in his midforties. There was also a younger woman close to twenty. A younger sister, he would guess. And the man?

So much for his brief moment of fantasy, he thought as he pointed to the photos.

“Your husband?”

She turned, then shook her head. “I’m not married. That’s my brother and his daughter, Jasmine. Those are my parents.”

All good news, he thought. “Nice family.”

“Thanks.”

He settled in one of the visitor chairs. “How long have you owned the store?”

“What? I don’t. I’m a partner. Isabel Hendrix owns most of it. She bought it from her parents a couple of years ago. It’s been in her family over fifty years. Paper Moon is kind of a Fool’s Gold tradition.” Her voice turned wistful. “Nearly every little girl grows up imagining buying her dress here.”