holiday romance

Miranda woke on Christmas morning to her niece and nephew crawling into Ariel’s guest bed with her.

“Wake up, Auntie Mira. Uncle Adi says he’s going to drink all the grown-up drinks by himself if you don’t come down soon.” Her nephew Finlay was seven, and an alarming conversational sponge.

“Mom said she’d make him shovel the whole backyard all by hisself if he did that,” Finlay’s little sister Elodie was almost six and took everyone at face value.

“Merry Christmas, sweet beans.” Miranda hugged them close. “Let’s go downstairs and rescue Uncle Adi from mimosas and shoveling.”

“Mira, honey,” her mother hugged her hard. “Ariel told us everything.”

“Michael called just a little while ago,” her father added. “He’s bringing Elliot over here around noon.”

Miranda looked up from her mother’s shoulder. “He is?”

“Seems the boy wants to be with his mom today,” her dad said. “Rough night over there, sounds like.”

Miranda’s heart skipped. “Is he okay?”

Her father chuckled. “For Michael, not Elliot. He said the puppy was up half the night crying or peeing.”

“Adorable, furry karma,” Adrian said, placing a mimosa in Miranda’s hand. “Merry Christmas, Bossy.”

“Merry Christmas, Adi.”

“Adrian, come in here and help Greg with the table,” Ariel’s voice cut through the moment.

Miranda leaned her head on her brother’s shoulder. “Why again did I get Bossy for a nickname?”

Adrian laughed. “Where do you think Ariel learned it?”

“Me,” their mother reminded them. She swatted Adrian on the rear and put an arm around Miranda’s waist. “The kids have devastated their gifts already, but there are a few things under the tree for you, sweetie.”

“Your gifts!” Miranda’s chest tightened. “Everything is still at my house.”

“We’ll worry about that later, honey,” her mom said. “Let’s sit for a minute before Ariel marches us all in for brunch.”

Miranda couldn’t help worrying though. She’d used Justin’s key, but only to pace the floor of his downstairs den waiting for Adrian to come pick her up. She’d forgotten the gifts and the huge box of homemade Christmas cookies, but Adrian remembered to bring Marvin.

“Where’s the cat?”

Her father pointed down the hall to where the playroom was. “Ariel put him in there with a foil pan and some kitty litter Greg had around from an oil spill in the garage. She didn’t want him near the tree or the table.” Her father sighed. “He’s got some food and water. He’ll be okay.”

“Poor Marvin,” Miranda said. “It wasn’t his fault. I never should have left that candle burning when I went to get the sushi. I completely forgot about it.”

“Things happen, my girl. You’re all okay, and that’s what matters.”

The funny thing was, she actually felt okay. She had a splitting headache, her hair needed washing, and she was going to have to re-do the kitchen after the firefighters had opened a wall behind the sink to check for fire spread, but she felt okay. No panic attack, no clammy anxiety.

In fact, she hadn’t had one since the night she met Justin.

The doorbell rang before she had a chance to sit with her parents. 

“Miranda, get the door. Ariel’s shackled me to the silverware,” Adrian called from the dining room.

She made her way to the front hall and opened the door. She figured she looked frightening enough to scare off anyone who was out knocking on doors on Christmas day.

“Justin.” A happy shiver ran along her arms at the sight of him.

He was holding two huge bags of wrapped gifts, most of which Miranda recognized as her own. “Merry Christmas. The rest is in the car.”

“What are you doing here?” She took a bag from him and set it inside the foyer. “How?”

“Your brother left a note with his number and an address. Said to be here at noon for brunch if I could and told me where your key probably was so I could bring all the stuff for your niece and nephew.” His lips turned up wryly. “I probably look like a wreck, but I only stopped long enough to shower and get your things.”

“Justin? Is that you?” Adrian breezed into the foyer and handed Miranda his Bloody Mary. He took the remaining bag out of Justin’s hand and put it inside. “Come in. It’s freezing. Is there more in your car? I’ll grab it.”

While Justin was shrugging out of his coat, Adrian gave Miranda a silent double thumbs up and mouthed cutie. Miranda giggled.

“What?” Justin looked around, coat in hand, at the chic splendor of Ariel and Greg’s house. 

Miranda took the coat and hung it in the coat closet. “My brother. He’s too much.”

“Is it okay? That I’m here? Adrian insisted…And I was worried about you both after last night.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “And we’re going to be okay.”

“How’s Marvin?” Justin asked. “Contrite at all?”

“That cat wouldn’t know contrite if it bit him in the ass,” Adrian said, coming back inside with his arms full of gifts from Justin’s car. “He’s definitely my patronus.”

Justin laughed, obviously charmed by her brother. “Is Elliot at his dad’s?”

“He’ll be here later. I want you two to meet properly,” Miranda said, “so he has someone to talk about his new game with.”

“Come in here, you two. Ariel’s going to have a heart attack,” Adrian called. 

“I’ll teach him everything I know,” Justin said.

Miranda knew he was talking about the video game, but she liked the sound of it, just the same.  “Are you ready for this?”

Justin took her hand. “Almost.”

“Almost?”

“Almost.” Justin looked up at the mistletoe ball hung from the chandelier in Ariel’s foyer. “Merry Christmas, Miranda.”

When his lips met hers, Miranda sank into the sweetest Christmas gift she’d had in years. 

Elodie’s piping voice reminded them they weren’t alone. “Auntie Mira is kissing that man.”

Justin blushed, but didn’t let her go. Miranda laid her head on his shoulder to hide her smile as the dining room burst into raucous applause.

“Bossy, bring him in here. I had Adi set a place. It would be nice if I met the man before I feed him.”

Justin raised a brow. “Bossy?”

Miranda’s laughter carried them into Christmas brunch.

The End Beginning

Justin waited at the end of Bobwhite Lane to flag Miranda down. She couldn’t be more than a few minutes behind them, and he wanted to be the one to stop her. Things looked far worse than they were.

At number thirteen, her son was sitting in the open cab of Engine 3, wrapped in a blanket, holding Marvin. The cat, despite his role in the unfolding events, was peacefully settled in his boy’s lap, cleaning his paws.

Miranda’s Camry appeared around the corner of Coturnix and Justin took a deep breath. This part of the job was always the worst for him. The car was already slowing, even as he waved. He didn’t need to look behind him to know what Miranda was seeing as she approached. The scene was all too familiar to him–cruisers, an ambulance, the engine…

It didn’t always look worse than it was.

The window started to slide down. “What’s going on? I–Justin?” 

She barely stopped the car before throwing it in park and getting out. He put out an arm to stop her. “Miranda. Elliot is fine. Your house is okay.”

“I need to–Elliot–“ She blinked at him as his words sunk in. “What happened?”

“Hey, breathe.” He stepped into her field of vision, braced her elbows, and spoke firmly to hold her attention. “The cat knocked over a candle in the kitchen. It caught on a cloth or a towel. Elliot did good. He called 9-1-1, the crew said he smothered it with a small rug and got out. He was outside with Marvin when we got here.”

“They’re okay? Can I go over there? Justin, I–“

“I know. Let’s move your car out of the street and walk over together, okay? They’re clearing the scene. You’ll be able to go inside as soon as we’re sure there’s no danger. In the meantime, I’m going to give you two the keys to my place.” He resisted the urge to touch her cheek; he was in uniform and she was in shock. “It’s too cold out here, and you’ve got dinner in the car.”

“I don’t care about dinner, I just–“

“I know, but you’re going to be hungry when the adrenaline passes, and the house is going to need to ventilate before you should be back inside.”

He radioed a colleague to let them know Elliot’s mom was coming through, and moved her car while she walked ahead. Jogging to catch up while carrying a good-sized sushi order was tricky, but he was by her side when she got to her driveway. Elliot saw her coming and jumped down, scattering the cat. Marvin, sensing an ally, leaped from the ground to Justin’s shoulder, digging in with his claws to stick the landing.

Justin winced at the weight and the stabbing claws, but let the cat perch while Miranda and her son held each other. He heard the boy’s tears and Miranda’s shaky reassurance. He even thought he heard her whisper, “Goddamn Marvin.”

When a high-end sedan rounded the corner a few minutes later going way too fast, it didn’t surprise Justin to see the guy from the weekend before hop out of the car. He’d taken the cat and the sushi (which he secured in the fridge before leaving Marvin alone) to his house, but Miranda and Elliot were still in the driveway talking to his chief, a police officer, and the paramedic.

He went to help his crew clean up get back to the station, but it was hard to ignore Miranda’s distressed voice arguing with her ex. His heart sank, watching Elliot shuffle into his father’s car while Miranda cried. 

His crewmate, Lacey Harrington, watched the family drama unfold as well. “Sucks more on Christmas, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He hated the thought of Miranda alone in her smoke-scented house for the night. “She’s got a sister nearby. I wonder if she thought to call her family.”

“What’s going on there, Pearson?” Lacey said softly. “I know she’s your neighbor, but…”

“I really like her, Lace.”

Lacey punched him lightly on the arm. “Then finish your shift and go get her, dummy.”

He sighed. “I haven’t even known her a week, and now I’m just one of the first responders from her Christmas fire.”

“Chicks dig firefighters,” Lacey said. “Why do think I joined up?”

Justin laughed. He’d kept his distance from the station crew since his parents’ passing, preferring the semi-anonymity of his online friends, but Lacey’s good-natured ribbing was a reminder that they were his family, too.

The chief released the engine crew, and led Miranda into the house to go over the damage. She glanced over her shoulder at him as they passed. She’d been strong for her son, but she was all alone now, and he wished he could stay behind and reassure her.

“Chief,” he said. “Hold up.”

He joined Miranda and the Chief near the giant ornament. “Miranda, I’ve got to go back to the station, but Marvin and your sushi are at my place. Make yourself at home there when you’re done with the walk through. Call your sister, okay?”

The Chief nodded–both an acknowledgement and a dismissal. Miranda drew in a shaky breath. “Oh no. Ari…Thank you.”

Justin left her there with the Chief, wishing it was his house they’d visited instead.

Miranda and Elliot both had school right up to the twenty-third, and between work, school, holiday baking, gift wrapping, and fielding text threads from Adrian in which he harassed her about bringing the cute neighbor, Miranda didn’t have a free moment to seek out said cute neighbor.

Every evening, when she got home from picking Elliot up at his robotics club meeting, the lights greeted her, but Justin’s house was dark. She’d never thought to ask what he did for work. 

Christmas Eve was spent running a few last minute errands and packing gift baskets for friends. Elliot abandoned video games for online research about caring for his new puppy. 

As if he sensed a rival, Marvin clung to Miranda like a burr, impersonating a small outboard motor and kneading her with his marmalade murder mittens whenever she slowed down.

Elliot chose sushi for their traditional Twas the Night Before Take-out, and Miranda was on her way back with their haul when she saw Justin’s SUV in the parking lot at the fire station. Remembering the stash of Starbucks gift cards in her glove compartment, she swung into the lot. Closer inspection revealed  and went inside.

“Can I help you?” A young woman in a department uniform was manning the desk.

Could this woman help her? She felt like a fool, following a wild hunch on Christmas Eve, while her dinner waited in the car. “I just wanted to stop in an wish the department a merry Christmas.”

She was stammering. It felt like a lie. Until she pulled a couple of cards from her pocket and handed them across the desk. “These are for the crew.”

The firefighter smiled. “Thanks, ma’am. That’s a nice thing to do. Fingers crossed we don’t need ‘em tonight.”

“Right. Yes,” Miranda said, unsure of what else to say. Is Justin here? Is he firefighter, too?

“Inky, is that Mrs. Grayson? Cap’s on the horn with Station 5. He’ll be out in a–Miranda?” Justin came through the swinging door to the engine bay and stopped so fast the door banged into him from behind.

“Inky?”Miranda looked again at the young firefighter. “Emma Skewdosky?” She remembered Emma from the high school, not all that long ago. Somehow, over the generations, the pronunciation of the family’s name had become squid-OFF-ski. Her friends had called her Inky.

“Oh, my gosh, Mrs. McCall,” she said. “I love your hair!”

That’s right, I started coloring my gray just after her graduation. Right around the time Mike left. “Thanks, Emma.”

“It’s Ms. Brewer,” Justin said quietly.

She could get used to hearing him say her maiden name, though she’d never felt so far from being any kind of maiden. Emma was blushing scarlet. “It’s Miranda.”

Emma held up the gift cards. “I’m going to go put these in the truck stockings.”

“I’ve got the office,” Justin said to Emma’s retreating back. He leaned against a file cabinet, a shy smile teasing his mouth. “You just dropped in here to leave Christmas presents?”

“I–“ She didn’t have an excuse beyond I just wanted to see you. “I saw you car on my way by, and…”

He stood, pocketing his hands. “And?”

“And I wanted to see you.” She blurted it out. “I’ve been busy all week, but the lights have been so nice to come home to. Your house has been dark, and I wondered…”

He stopped her rambling. “I’m glad you came by.”

“Me, too, I–You are?” Her heart was thumping too slowly, great pounding beats that knocked against her ribs. Surely he could hear them.

“I’ve had night shifts this week. Covering for the crew who have families. I liked seeing the lights up on your house, too.”

He moved the neighbors snow and put up his own lights on her house. He covered for his colleagues so they wouldn’t miss pre-holiday magic. Swoon.

“Are you working tomorrow?” Miranda failed to keep the hope from her voice.

“Yeah, overnight tonight into the morning. Made sense, since I don’t have anyone waiting on me to open a stocking. Y’know?” His words were light, but Miranda heard the loneliness in them. It was a frequency she vibrated at, as well.

“Well, Merry Christmas. I have dinner in the car. I should–“

This time the alarm cut her off. Justin moved so quickly she wasn’t sure how he’d crossed the room. “Sorry. Gotta go. Merry Christmas, Miranda.”

She waited alone in the office until after the sirens and flashing lights were gone. She wondered if anyone was still at the station, but of course there would be someone left on duty. She fished her keys from her pocket and let herself out. 

She was halfway to her car when she heard Emma’s voice from the doorway. “Merry Christmas and thanks for the coffees!”

Sunday morning, Justin woke to a fifty-two degree bedroom, a dead thermostat, and no double-A batteries, which was how he found himself at the big-box home improvement store before breakfast.

If he hadn’t had a hankering for an omelet while navigating the aisles of the store, he might not have swung into the strip mall next door to grab a stool at Midge’s, and if he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have seen the giant ornament in the window of the thrift shop.

He hoped he hadn’t been projecting when he saw disappointment on her face the day before, because it all fell together quite smoothly. He walked into the thrift store while his omelet was cooking, bought the giant ornament, ate his omelet, returned for his prize, and wrestled it onto the roof of his mid-sized urban assault vehicle to bring it back to Quail Ridge.

He’d run extension cords and untangled lights all morning, then arranged the lights and decorations, pausing now and again to dry his eyes–definitely the cold, not bittersweet memories of his mother’s love for the kitschy old wooden decorations–all afternoon. 

By the time the early dark fell and he plugged it all into the outlets on the side of the house, he’d created a vintage seventies-style Christmas lights extravaganza on for Miranda to come home to.

He’d showered, called in a pizza order, and poured himself a beer when Miranda’s headlights cut across his lawn, and it took every ounce of self-control he had left not to throw open a window and holler, “Do you like it?”

Instead, he’d walked down to the garage from the kitchen and gone outside in boots and a jacket like an everyday human. That ruse lasted until he saw her standing in the snow between their houses looking back at her own yard like the woman in those Lexus ads when she sees the car in the driveway.

He opened his mouth to say something clever and witty. “Hey, neighbor.”

Hey, neighbor? Really?

What was it they’d said as kids? Smooth move, Ex-Lax.

She turned a beaming, shiny-eyed smile on him. “It’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful. “I’m glad you like it. I had this crazy fear you’d be all, ‘Take it down!’ and my mother’s ghost would haunt your house and you’d move out…”

Miranda laughed and he realized that, in all the babbling, he’d cracked a joke about his mother’s ghost. A joke his mother would have appreciated, with her sly, gallows brand of humor. He could picture her, the way she’d looked when he was a kid, shoulder pads and feathered hair, smoking a Doral Gold and pouring a glass of the jug Muscatel his grandmother always brought when she visited to toast the lights.

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere.” Miranda reached for his hand. “Thank you.”

Her leather glove was cool against his palm, hear features shadowed by the glow of the lights. The sparkle in her eyes was unmistakable. 

“You’re welcome. It was no problem, really.” 

“It must have taken hours–“ She’d drifted close; they were nearly toe-to-toe.

“Mom.” Elliot stuck his head out the front door. “I can’t find Marvin’s bowl.”

Miranda dropped his hand and spun in the direction of her house. “Look under the china cabinet the movers left in the living room. He’s been playing hockey with it all weekend.” The door closed again with out a reply. She took a small step back as she turned back to Justin and said softly. “Goddamn Marvin.”

“He bats his bowl around?”

“Like Wayne Gretzky,” Miranda giggled.

Justin really liked the cat’s style. Because his whole day was straight out of the sitcom playbook, the pizza delivery car pulled up just then.

“You were about to have dinner,” Miranda said. “I’m sorry.”

“Just pizza. No big thing.”

“Still,” she said. “I should let you go inside. It’s cold. And I need to figure out something for Elliot and me.”

Halfway back to his own door, he remembered about Armageddon Impact. “Hey, did the gamer speak help?”

She blinked at him for a beat before realizing what he meant. Her face fell. “I didn’t even stand a chance, but who can compete with a puppy for Christmas?” She pushed her hands deep into her coat pockets. “Goodnight, Justin. And thank you again for the lights.”

He had the strangest feeling she was saying goodbye.

Miranda rang Michael’s doorbell with the same sick feeling she had evening Sunday night since he’d left his apartment near the university where he’d taught to live out here in the ‘burbs with Sharli. The only difference on this particular Sunday evening was that instead of returning to the cozy second and third floor condo they’d once shared, a block from both her ex-husband’s new digs and the campus, she would drive home to Quail Ridge.

Sharli answered the door. “Hi, Miranda. How’s Ariel?”

They did this dance every Sunday as well. Sharli desperately wanted to be part of her sister’s orbit. Ariel had influence; she influenced everything she touched, from the internet to the PTO, and Sharli’s custom scented candle business was only afloat because Michael kept it that way.

“She’s well. Busy. My brother’s in town. Can I come in? It’s freezing.”

“Of course.” Sharli swung the front door open and called over her shoulder. “E-dawg, your mom’s here.”

E-dawg? The image of her brother counting on his fingers popped into her head and she suppressed a laugh. Elliot bounded down the stairs, “Mom! Guess what? Dad and Sharli are getting a puppy!”

“Are they? That’s great.” She glanced briefly at Sharli who was hovering near the giant Christmas tree that occupied the great room. Michael appeared from the direction of the kitchen, wearing an apron over his khakis and button down.

“Miranda.”

“Michael.” She picked up Elliot’s backpack. “A puppy, huh?”

“A boy should have a dog.” Michael delivered the aphorism as he would a lecture in one of his classes.

“And Dad says they’re picking her up on Christmas Eve, so I can meet her Christmas Day!”

“We’re spending Christmas Day with Aunt Ari, and Uncle Adrian is going to be there, too,” Miranda reminded Elliot, while managing to pin Mike with a nasty look. “You’re supposed to be spending Christmas Eve here with Sharli and your Dad.”

Sharli looked deeply uncomfortable, her gaze bouncing between Miranda and Mike like the chair umpire on a tennis court. “But, Mike, we have to drive to Connecticut to get the dog on the twenty-fourth. I thought you said–“

“Elliot, can you double check your room and make sure you didn’t forget anything?” Miranda waited until Elliot and his ever-rolling eyeballs slouched away down the hall before addressing her ex’s girlfriend. “I’m sure he told you I’d be fine with switching days, because he assumes no one’s obligations are as important as his own, but we agreed on the holiday split in June, and my family made travel plans accordingly, including my parents, who are flying in to spend the holiday at my sister’s house.”

Mike interrupted. “Miranda, be reasonable. How often does a boy get a dog?”

“It happens every day, Michael. All over the world. And you know that.” She shouldered the bag. “If you can’t host your son for Christmas Eve the way you promised, he can come on Boxing Day.”

“No, I’m coming here on Christmas to meet the puppy.” Elliot reappeared in the hallway, his chin set stubbornly. Like his father’s, Miranda thought with dismay. 

Michael put an arm around their son. “Don’t be unreasonable, Miranda.”

“I can see Uncle Adrian on the day after.” Elliot’s lip trembled, just a bit, like it had when he was little and trying not to cry. “A puppy, Mom.”

Miranda’s heart kicked over and sweat beaded along her hairline. She could feel the heaviness seeping into her extremities, and shadows moved into the corners of her vision. She drew a long breath in through her nose. Not now. Later. Not now. Later.

“Please, Miranda.” Sharli was desperately trying to diffuse the situation, which only made Miranda angrier. 

Interestingly, the rage pushed back at the panic. “Fine. I’m leaving at eight on Christmas morning to go over to Ariel’s. You can pick him up before then.”

“So early?” Sharli said.

“YES!” Elliot shouted, hugging his dad. “Wait, eight? Mom! I’m gonna have to get up at like five to open presents.”

“We’ll discuss it in the car.” Miranda turned and opened the front door without a word, shoulders squared against inevitable collapse. At least she only had a ten minute drive before she could fall apart.

They didn’t discuss anything in the car. Elliot plugged into his twenty øne piløts playlist and studiously ignored her.

Miranda had double check the street sign when she turned down Bobwhite Lane, because she couldn’t find her house at first. Number thirteen was lit up like…Christmas. 

“You decorated the house?” Elliot forgot to be crabby with her, pressing a hand to the glass as they turned into the driveway. Strands and strands of twinkling white lights illuminated the shrubs along the front walkway, the roofline was outlined in colors, a collection of vintage cutouts posed around the yard, and a huge, sparkly, red ornament the size of a small doghouse rested in the snow near the front door.

“No…” She stopped the car in the driveway and climbed out. “I didn’t do this.”

Elliot and his backpack headed toward the ornament, but Miranda followed the ends of the lights, not to the exterior outlets on her house, but into a pair of heavy duty extension cords running across the yard and into Justins’ outlets.

The shaking that threatened all the way between Mike’s house and home receded on a wave of gratitude. 

“Mom, toss me the keys. Marvin’s hungry.”

“Right.” She was standing on the property line in the snow, grinning like a fool over twinkle lights. She dug into her coat pocket for the keys and was about to go rescue Marvin from his hunger, when Justin wandered out of the garage.

“Hey, neighbor.”

Sister Sundays always began with breakfast cocktails. They didn’t always begin with unexpected knocks on Miranda’s sister’s front door.

“Surprise!” Miranda’s brother Adrian called out from Ariel’s foyer. 

Miranda set down her mimosa and rushed out to the hallway to hug him. She held his shoulders and looked him over. Even in his late-thirties, he had a boyish energy that animated his fair features. Miranda envied his fresh-faced good looks; lately her reflection seemed desperately in need of a spa day.

“What are you doing here?”

Ariel followed her into the foyer. “I hired him to do a photoshoot for Mommy-Go-Lucky.”

“Nepotism much?” Miranda laughed. Her sister’s parenting-advice site was currently at the top of the internet heap, with an editorial board and a stable of paid writers, a far cry from the blog she started when her kids were born.

Adrian shucked his coat; almost immediately he moved to Ariel’s side. Miranda wondered if they were even aware of the emotional gravity that anchored them to one another. Or that they were almost too similarly gorgeous to look directly at. 

Adrian ruffled Ariel’s chic shag. “That, and it means I’m here for Christmas. All part of her nefarious plans.”

“You’re staying?” Miranda reached for the pair of them. “Elliot will be thrilled.”

Adrian peered down the hallway, as though his nephew might pop out of the powder room any moment. “Where is Boy Wonder today?”

Ariel’s expression darkened. “Michael’s house. That candle-pimping tart he’s shacked up with is probably trying to bond with him. She’s closer to Elliot’s age than Michael’s.”

Adrian started counting on his fingers. “Actually, she splits the difference exactly.”

“I made Bloody Marys for you,” Ariel said to Adrian, sensing Miranda’s discomfort. She shot her twin a look. “Take off your shoes.”

“Fine,” Adrian grumbled. “But then I want to know when Mira’s going to bring home a sugar baby of her own.”

“You’re disgusting,” Miranda said, wrapping an arm around her baby brother’s waist.

“I’m adorable,” Adrian said, walking them into the kitchen. “And equal opportunity. I wouldn’t mind a sugar baby for myself. Preferably one who looks like Harry Styles.”

“Yes, well, I’d love for Idris Elba to turn up on the doorstep looking to whisk me away from all this,” Ariel gestured to the bespoke kitchen she and Greg put in the year before, “but I’ll settle for Greg.”

“Foxy,” Adrian said. He poured himself a pint glass of Bloody Mary from the pitcher on the island, then grabbed the mimosa pitcher and topped off his sisters’ glasses. “So’s Greg.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“You are disgusting.” Ariel’s insult was without venom. She turned on Miranda. “But he’s got a point. When are you going to bring someone for Christmas dinner? Are you even attempting to date?”

Miranda sighed, searching the fizz atop her drink for an answer that would satisfy her siblings and coming up short. She hated to be a downer, but the truth burst out. “I can’t date. I’ve had panic attacks after every date I’ve been on since the divorce. It’s no good.”

“Men are terrible,” Adrian said. He squeezed her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Mira.”

Ariel was a little less sympathetic. “Maybe the dates aren’t the trouble. Maybe the right guy just hasn’t come along.”

“It’s all the same if it ends with me in a sweaty, clammy paralysis.”

Adrian snorted. “If you’re going to get sweaty after a date–“

“Don’t.” Ariel shut him down like the professional mother she was, before returning her attention to Miranda. “Are you still seeing your therapist?”

“Aren’t I the older sister?” Miranda said.

“Older doesn’t necessarily mean more pulled together,” Ariel said. “You can’t waste your life–”

“I’m not wasting anything, Ari. I have–“

“Needs.” Adrian toasted his sisters. “You have needs, just like the rest of us. Time get them scratched.”

Ariel set her glass down hard. “Are you trying to be foul?”

Adrian laughed. “When did I ever have to try?”

“I think you’re talking about itches, Adi. Itches get scratched. Needs get met.”

Adrian crooked a brow at her. “Not yours, Bossy.”

“Just because I don’t jump my cute neighbor five seconds after I meet him doesn’t mean my needs aren’t being met.” She anger-drained her mimosa, regretting it almost instantly as the bubbles hit the back of her throat.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Adrian perched on the stool next to her. “Cute neighbors are good.”

“Stop it.” Miranda dropped her flaming cheeks into her palms. “I literally met him Friday night. He helped me with Elliot’s Christmas gift, and offered to snowblow my driveway.”

“That’s hot.” Adrian hugged her. “You should hit that. Unless he’s a total uggo.”

“Are you fourteen?” Ariel leaned over the island, propping her chin on one hand. “Mira, I swear to god, aliens put him in Mom’s womb with me.”

“You wish. I got all the fun genes. Ari got all the serious ones.” Adrian threw a walnut from a tastefully arranged bowl. It bounced off Ariel’s nose and plopped into her drink.

Miranda couldn’t help laughing. It was like watching two sides of a coin sniping at one another. They were forever themselves, her beautiful devoted siblings; they loved her without reservation, but she would never be part of their exclusive club of two. Sometimes she envied them, sometimes she thought it might be exhausting.

“Let’s see the story boards for your shoot,” Miranda said, knowing it would distract the pair of them from her non-existent love life.

It worked, and the rest of her Sister Sunday passed peacefully enough until it was time to go get Elliot. Ariel waylaid her in the powder room.

“We love you, Bossy. We just want you to be happy.” She tucked Miranda’s hair behind her ears. “And maybe for Michael to get abducted by Adrian’s real family.”

“I heard that,” Adrian chimed from the foyer.  

“I love you both.” Miranda slipped past her sister. “And I promise, I’ll be okay. See you at Christmas dinner.”

Adrian waited, Bloody Mary in hand, in the doorway until she was in her car. She rolled down the window to wave goodbye in time to catch his parting advice.

“Bring the neighbor for Christmas!”

…to be continued.

Sure, it was only four or five inches of snow, and he bet Miranda was up to shoveling it, but he wanted to make something easier for her. She hadn’t said much about her personal life over wine and virtual space missions, but he’d listened to what she hadn’t said as much as what she had.

Definitely divorced. Confirmed by the way she rubbed at the empty groove on her left ring finger when she was thinking. The ex sounded like any number of successful corporate douchebags he knew; the guy kind of had to be, for letting a woman like that walk out of his life. Or worse, leaving her behind.

He thought her wheat-colored hair would float around her shoulders if she pulled it out of her sensible low ponytail. She had wise eyes and a quick smile, both of which betrayed hints of anxiety and weariness, the kind he understood all too well.

She loved her son and the cat, despite her charmingly foul-mouth when it came to Marvin’s antics. She knew books and picked things up quickly. By the time she’d left, she had a more than rudimentary understanding of the entire Spectre Armada franchise, never mind the Armageddon Impact game itself.

She looked equally great in old yoga clothes and a puffy winter jacket and jeans.

He’d done all the sidewalks, traveling counter-clockwise around the neighborhood until he got to her driveway, thinking the whole time that it was nice to share a glass of wine with a woman who didn’t automatically dismiss his hobby as infantile, even if she was doing it to improve her relationship with a seventh grader. By the time he finished her driveway, he was trying to figure out ways to make it happen again.

Next time, he’d shave, put on a clean shirt, ask her if she was into childless, middle-aged divorced guys and making out.

In your dreams, Pearson. Your neighbor is as far out of your league as Captain Jex to an ensign aboard the Arcadia. And you’re a giant dork who should find out what he inside of a gym looks like.

Miranda’s garage door creaked and groaned, riding up its tracks to reveal the woman herself. She’d traded the puffy coat for a knit sweater that looked like a blanket with sleeves; she was holding two steaming mugs, one red and one green.

Justin took out his earbuds, letting them dangle while he cut the engine. “Almost done here.”

“Got time for a hot chocolate break?” She sipped from the green mug. “Or is that lame?”

“Always have time for cocoa.” He took the red mug from her. “Marshmallows? Score.”

Giant. Dork.

Miranda bit her lower lip. “I always feel a little silly, but I love them. Elliot likes whipped cream, from a can.”

Justin met her gaze through the steam. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“It’s fine, but–“ she blew over the top of her cocoa, “I like the real stuff better.”

“But, instant gratification,” he pointed out.

“It’s hardly difficult, but so worth the wait.”

Were they even talking about food anymore? His head was spinning. Change the topic before you embarrass yourself!

“I have to ask. Your accent, where are you from?”

She sighed, but her smile reached her eyes. “Diplomatic brat. We lived in Denmark for six years when I was a child, then we lived in Singapore for a few years. My mom ended her government career and took a job at a TV production company in Vancouver, which is where we were living when I graduated from high school. My father is British. She married him while living there.” She paused, searching his face and apparently seeing the question he was about to ask, because she answered it. “I was actually born in Boston. She insisted we all be born in the U.S. During her third trimester with my brother and sister, she packed me up and flew home. My dad was working in Singapore and had to stay until she delivered the twins.”

Justin sucked a marshmallow from the top of his hot chocolate. “Wow.”

“I know. So, it’s an everywhere and nowhere mishmash of what my ear picked up when I was young. I always think I do such a good job at regular American.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m not offended. In fact, I only do that––play it down––because Mike wanted me to. He didn’t like people paying attention to my exotic accent when he wanted to have the spotlight.” Her brows knit, as though she were puzzling that out for the first time.

“Exotic?” He laughed. “More like classy, mysterious, I don’t know…like Katherine Hepburn or Elizabeth Taylor in an old movie.”

She blinked and a hint of a blush rose on her cheeks. “You’re flattering me.”

“Is it working?”

“That depends.” She held the mug in two hands, though if it was as cool has his, she wasn’t getting any warmth there. “Are you going to ask me for help stringing your lights for the festival? Because no amount of flattery will convince me to get up on a ladder.”

“I don’t decorate.” He hadn’t meant to shut her down; the short reply slipped out before he had time to soften it. “My dad used to do it for my mom, but I––“

“I understand.” She held out a hand. “Are you finished with that?”

He was, but he didn’t want the conversation to be over. He wanted to make it up to her. “Yeah. Thanks. It was delicious.”

She took the mug. “You’re welcome.”

Justin turned back to the snowblower, but it occurred to him she might had been fishing for help with her own lights. “Hey, if you need help with yours, you know where to find me.”

She shrugged, but missed the mark for nonchalance. “A big lights display isn’t in the cards for me. I sunk everything into the Quail Ridge address.”

He didn’t like the sadness––the weariness he’d heard the night before––that crept into that vintage film star voice. “Use mine.”

“What? No.” She shook her head as though he’d proposed she amputate a limb. “I couldn’t possibly––“

“You said that about the snow removal.” He put a hand on the snowblower’s handle. “Seriously, they’re yours. I’ll even come over with a ladder. Tomorrow?” That was time enough to shave and wash some decent looking clothes.

“I can’t tomorrow. I’m spending the day with my sister before I pick Elliot up at Mike and Sharli’s.”

“No problem.” He hid his disappointment with a––hopefully charming, not goofy––grin. “You know where to find me.”

Miranda woke Saturday morning to the preternatural stillness of snowfall. Marvin was next to her, doing a reasonable impression of a bear-skin rug and purring as though his last life depended on it.

She scratched his ears and ran her hand along his fur. “Good morning, Marvin.”

He flicked his tail by way of response.

“‘Mom, can I please get a cat?’ he said. ‘I’ll do all the work, I swear,’ he said.’” She spoke aloud to cat as much as to the empty house. “Maybe I should drop your litter box off at Mike and Sharli’s place? See how he feels about that.”

Marvin continued to snooze, so Miranda got out of bed alone. While her coffee brewed, she followed the link Justin texted her the night before and paid for the game via the developer’s website. As a precaution, she printed out the game code and stashed it in her desk drawer. She could always wrap it up and put it under the tree for Elliot to open.

She and Marvin had stayed at Justin’s for a couple of hours. He showed her the nuts and bolts of the game, down to how to set the controls up to keep unwanted players out, and launched into a solo side-quest to give her an idea of the scope of the game.

She found herself in a wildly immersive third-person world that Justin navigated the way she navigated the hallways of the high school five days a week. She watched him take out a gang of golden-skinned hover-bike gangsters with some kind of vaporizing weapon he said was pretty standard issue for in-game kills. 

She was gearing up to leave when someone from his crew pinged him on Discord––now she knew what that meant––so she’d stayed on to watch his squad in action, curled up in a papasan chair near his gaming table, cradling her wine, like an adult version of her teenaged self watching her boyfriend play guitar in the basement playroom, cradling a Sprite in a theme park glass.

When he’d offered to walk her the twenty feet home, she’d refused, but only because it was snowing. She’d looked back from her front door to see him standing inside his. He waved goodnight and disappeared into the blue-lit room where she now knew he’d be raiding some kind of fuel factory with his friends well into the night.

Outside, the sun was up, sparkling on four inches of fresh powder, but there was rain in the forecast, followed by overnight lows in the twenties, which would mean an inch of slick cement-like slush if she didn’t deal with it. Armed with a brand new snow shovel, Miranda opened the mud room door. As if summoned, Marvin sauntered in, yawned hugely, and hopped up on the washer to eye the door to the garage.

“No way, Buster. You’re grounded.” She picked up the cat, deposited him the in the den, and closed the door. 

She’d cleared half her driveway when a silver SUV slowed at its end. The window glided down and Justin leaned across the front seat. “Morning.”

She stopped pushing snow and waved as he pulled into his driveway. He’d skipped shoveling, she noted, as his tires crunched over the previous set of tracks in otherwise unblemished snow. The garage door closed behind him, but a few minutes later, the other side rose.

Justin reemerged with a snow-blower. He left it idling and made his way across the yard to her. “I usually do all the sidewalks down to the corner of Coturnix. With the exception of us, the median age around here is about seventy. They’ve known me since I was a kid, and I know none of them should be out here in the cold clearing it themselves.” He blew on his hands, which were bare, despite the work gloves peeking out of his jacket pocket. “So, you don’t need to bother with your sidewalks, and I’m happy to do your driveway, too. I can do the rest now, and next time, don’t worry about it unless you need to be out before I get to it.”

“Justin, I couldn’t…”

“Why not? I’m literally out here anyway, and it’ll take me maybe five minutes to clear.”

It wasn’t as though she was going to get a better offer. Wasn’t that one of her problems, according to Mike, that she couldn’t be gracious about accepting help?

“Thank you.”

He beamed. Miranda finished shoveling the lane she was in, then retraced her steps back to the garage. For the first time since she’d moved in, she really considered her neighbors. Bobwhite Lane was a short cul-de-sac with seven houses. Hers and Justin’s were on the round end, at a slight angle to one another. She wondered how many of the residents had raised their children their, and if they’d all played in the cul-de-sac. She imagined pick-up games of street hockey or basketball, bike riding, probably sledding. There were definitely some hills in the neighboring state park.

If they were all her parents’ age, maybe there would be grandchildren to ride bikes, and sled, and play games in the street.

All the things she hoped Elliot would still have a shot at.

Justin left the garage door open and led Miranda––pretty name––through the laundry room and into the den. He hadn’t socialized with anyone on Bobwhite Lane since he was a kid, but the feeling of our houses are all the same or mirrors of each other came back to him on a wave of nostalgia. He packed that away quickly, since nostalgia had a funny way of opening the door to grief.

When his parents were alive, this room had been his dad’s den. TV, fireplace, Barcalounger, screen door to the back patio where the grill lived…To fill the massive void, Justin filled the room with his gaming equipment, leaving the room looking like a well-worn, Seventies-Cyberpunk villain’s lair.

In the middle of the lair, Marvin sprawled, delicately cleaning his paws and looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

He turned to Miranda, shrugging an apologetic shoulder at the room. “The doors are all unlocked behind you, if you want to take the cat and make a run for it.”

Instead of running, she was peering at his 31.5-inch, curved monitor, displaying the launch lobby for Armageddon Impact, including his avatar, a lieutenant in the black-ops section of the Spectre Armada, who stood facing the camera, gently breathing, sidearm holstered while he waited to be sent into the game. 

Justin stood a little straighter, tightened his stomach muscles; he suddenly wished he looked a little more like ComdrEllustin13.

“The cat seems fine.” Miranda was still squinting at his monitor. “Is that Armageddon Impact?”

“Yeah.” Okay, this was interesting. “Do you play?”

She snapped out of her inquisitive trance with a little laugh. “No, but Elliot––my son––he wants to get it. I was going to get him the download for Christmas, but his father says it’s too violent.”

“Nah.” He could hear himself dragging out his soapbox. “I mean, there’s some shooting, but it’s all futuristic sci-fi stuff, no gore, and kills aren’t the point. It’s kinda RPG, mission-based. You develop a character over time and complete objectives. You can play with a crew on a starship, or do solo stuff, so if you don’t want him talking to internet weirdos, chat and social stuff can be shut off in the settings.”

Miranda drifted toward the monitor. “Did Marvin interrupt you? Were you…completing an objective?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. How lame was he, that he’d been planning to raid a syntholeum refinery on Clarisca Prime on a Friday night? “Not really. I was mucking around with my crew. I play with a bunch of people I’ve known from other gaming servers. We’re sorta between major campaigns right now, so we’re taking small quests and resourcing for this new map that’s supposed to come out in January.”

“I know this one,” Miranda said, turning to him with a broad grin. “Serentian V. It’s all Elliot talks about…” Her grin faded. “When he’s talking to me at all.”

Justin remembered the couple of years when he’d considered his mom the single lamest person on this or any planet. He also remembered a secret desire that she care about the stuff he was interested in, but she hadn’t wanted to hear about grunge music, Myst, or how actually awesome Philip K. Dick’s stories were.

“You want to crack the cool teen shell?” 

She fidgeted with her fingers; the corner of her lip quirked. “Is that even possible?”

“I promised the finest boxed wine I’ve got. Let me grab you a glass and I’ll take you on a tour of the game. The next time it comes up, you just casually drop any knowledge you pick up here. If I’m right, you’ll have a foot in the door.”

He jogged upstairs and dispensed two cheap wineglasses-full of surprisingly palatable Cabernet, and carried them downstairs. Miranda had discovered his dad’s bookshelves, now a bit cluttered with his reading habits. The double bookcase housed his father’s collection of espionage and conspiracy fiction, from mid-century pulp novels to John LeCarré and Daniel Silva. Justin’s books were crammed into the spaces above his dad’s.

He really didn’t want to think about emptying those shelves.

“Your wine.” He crossed to her and handed her the glass. “Now, let’s explore the quadrant and give you some talking points.”

“To research,” Miranda said, offering a little toast.

Miranda made it as far as her laundry room, located just off the garage that was a mirror image of the man next door’s–she hadn’t even gotten his name, before the panic attack came. She slumped down in front of the washer and focused on breathing in and out, even as her vision closed and her heart raced in her chest.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there pushing air in and out of her lungs before she could reliably move her limbs again. She hadn’t had one in months; almost long enough to forget how weak they left her. 

Before Mike left, she’d thought panic attacks were people being melodramatic. Her first one landed her in the ER thinking she was having a heart attack.

Not daring to look at her reflection, lest she lose what nerve remained to her, Miranda fished through the dryer for clean yoga pants and her softest sweatshirt. She slipped her feet into the sheepskin boots she kept by the garage door and grabbed her phone from her purse. Who knows what the pajama-clad cat whisperer next door was thinking, she’d been gone so long.

A tiny voice in her heart whispered that she ought to be thinking about how cute he was under the layer of bachelor neglect that clung to him like the lichen on the north side of her new house. The face under the scruff was handsome and kind. He wasn’t so tall as to be intimidating, and in possession of a very huggable, reasonably-fit-at-first-glance dad-bod.

Which was irrelevant, because dating––like so many other things––gave her panic attacks. Thanks, Mike.

She took the shoveled path to save her boots and returned to the scene of Marvin’s crime to find her neighbor had already righted the wire shelving and replaced the Rubbermaid bin.

“You didn’t wait for me.”

He shrugged. “Really it’s no big thing. I should get rid of the lights anyway.” A shadow crossed his features. “And the paint is no good anymore. Once you take Marvin home, I’ll close the garage and crack the cans open so they dry out.”

When had she gotten so old that a man who treated his refuse responsibly was a turn on? And where was Elliot’s demon familiar?

“Where is the cat?”

He pried the lid off a pain can’t with a screwdriver from the nearby workbench. “Batting a prawn around what passes for my den.”

He might care about the planet–or following the rules?–but what kind of man let a cat play with seafood in a furnished room? “If he retches that up in the night, I’ll bag it up and leave it on your doorstep.”

He laughed out loud. “I’d have no right to complain. Do you want to come in for a glass of wine or something? If you stay a bit, maybe he’ll barf it up here and save you the trip.”

In front of her friends, or Mike, she’d have pretended to be grossed out, but all bets were off with her strange neighbor who drank wine in his pajamas and shared his leftovers with destructive house cats. She giggled; the lightness was welcome. 

He fidgeted with with a can handle. “I’m sorry. That’s probably weird.”

His anxiety was as appealing as his recycling; it spoke to hers in a language she understood. “Not if we introduce ourselves before we drink to my pet’s digestive abilities.”

He stopped prying open cans long enough to give her a baffled––and embarrassed––half-smile. “Justin. Pearson.”

“Miranda McC––“ She stopped. That hadn’t happened in a while. “Brewer. Miranda Brewer.”

He scrubbed a hand across his five o’clock shadow. “Come on in, Miranda Brewer. I just cracked a box of Cabernet with our names on it.”

She waited a beat for the wave of cold sweat and racing pulse, but it didn’t come. “Okay, Justin. I will.”