Candlelight Christmas

There’s nothing like starting the holidays with a spirited breakfast...

Eggnog Pancakes with Whiskey Butter

1½ cups all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon sugar

2½ teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon nutmeg

1 cup eggnog

2 tablespoons oil

1 egg, beaten

Mix the flour, sugar, baking powder, nutmeg and salt. Make a well in the center, and pour in the eggnog, oil and egg. Mix until dry ingredients are evenly moist.

Pour ¼ cup batter onto a medium-hot griddle. When it’s bubbly on top, flip with a spatula, and continue cooking until lightly browned on bottom.

Recommended: Spray a metal cookie cutter with cooking spray and pour the batter into it to create shaped pancakes. This will elevate you in the eyes of friends and family.

Serve hot off the griddle with whiskey butter and real maple syrup.

Whiskey Butter:

½ cup butter, softened

2 tablespoons bourbon

1 tablespoon maple syrup

½ teaspoon cinnamon

¼ teaspoon nutmeg

Blend everything together. Chill until ready to serve.

[Source: Original; inspired by true events]

Chapter Five

“Sorry, I’m afraid I heard you wrong,” Darcy said to her sister Lydia. “Because I think I heard you say Huntley was planning to come to Thanksgiving dinner.” Darcy and Lydia had met at a lunch counter on Madison Avenue. She was juggling a big work project, but she’d made time to meet with her sister to talk about the upcoming holidays. She was already regretting the decision.

“No, you heard correctly,” Lydia assured her. “You know our families always celebrate the holidays together. It would just be weird if we suddenly stopped.”

“You know what would be weird?” Darcy demanded. “Forcing me to endure Thanksgiving within a mile of my ex. That would be weird.”

“Come on, Darce. There’ll be at least twenty people at dinner. You don’t even have to talk to him.”

I’ll have to breathe the same air as Huntley, she thought, seething. “I can’t believe you think this could work for me on any level,” she stated.

“I’m still married to Huntley’s brother, or have you forgotten? This puts Badgley and me in an incredibly awkward position.”

“And where does it put me?” Darcy shot back.

“At the far end of the room, eating and drinking with friends and family, the way we’ve always done.”

“The way we’ve always done no longer works for me.” Darcy tried to picture herself spending Thanksgiving the traditional way, pretending all was well as she slowly strangled inside. She pictured the gathering—friends, families, relatives, everyone convivial and excited as they set out the good china and their best recipes for the holiday feast. The gathering would convene at the Fitzgerald place on Long Island, in the house where Darcy had grown up. The big warm kitchen, with its old-fashioned hearth and scrubbed Colonial maple table, would be teeming with chattering women and guys trying to steal a sample of pumpkin pie or toasted sage dressing. Though the image made Darcy nostalgic, she knew she’d end up having a miserable day, trying to pretend that all was well, that the breakup had been so civilized that she could stand to be in the same room with Huntley Collins.

“Lyddie,” she said gently, “as much as I love you, I’ll break out in hives if I have to see Huntley.”

“Come on, your divorce was amicable—”

“News flash—there is no such thing as an amicable divorce.”

Darcy struggled with the decision, she really did. Letting down your family simply was not done, not by a Fitzgerald girl. But in the crazy new reality she’d been living since her divorce, letting go had become the more important task. The day before Thanksgiving, she called India. “I’ve been thinking about your invitation. How does your family feel about having stragglers and rejects at Thanksgiving?”

India didn’t miss a beat. “We’d love to have you. You know that.”

Thank God. Darcy was determined to make this Thanksgiving different. She grasped at the invitation. India was being incredibly kind and sensitive. One important discovery Darcy had made in the wake of her divorce was that friends were the people who took care of you when your family let you down.

“We’re in Florida, you know. Can you get a flight?”

“Sure, I’ll get myself down there. It’ll probably have to be early morning on Thanksgiving Day. Standby is easy for solo travelers.”

Darcy told herself she liked being a solo traveler. She did. Going it alone simplified everything. Thanks to her work schedule, she would have to return before the weekend was up, but the prospect of a couple of days of sunshine filled her with a powerful craving.

She needed this. She needed a festive rendezvous with people who didn’t judge her. She needed to sink her toes into the white sand of a Florida beach, far from anything resembling her former life. She needed escape. That was what she was after.

True to her word, she caught a flight at the crack of dawn, and emerged into the tropical warmth of Paradise Cove in Florida just as most people were having breakfast and getting their turkeys in the oven on Thanksgiving morning. India had sent her a text message, asking her to pick up some flowers for the table and letting her know the back kitchen door was open, and to let herself in.

At the airport, she rented a car and made a pit stop at a discount liquor store that boasted extended holiday hours. With the help of the navigator on her phone, she found the O’Donnell residence, a luxurious rambler with its own gardens and orange grove, steps away from a glorious sunny beach. The gated neighborhood was old Florida at its finest and most exclusive, a community of broad boulevards hung with Spanish moss, shiny cars parked in wide driveways, manicured lawns and whimsical names for the houses, like “Pirates’ Cove” and “Gem of the Ocean.” It was all very elite, giving her a glimpse of the wealth and privilege of the O’Donnells.

Darcy decided she could do worse than spend the holiday with people who wanted nothing from her except the pleasure of her company. She just hoped she could be pleasurable enough for them. She had not grown up the way her friend India had. The O’Donnells were vastly wealthy, thanks to Al O’Donnell’s successful worldwide shipping company. They enjoyed the best of everything.

The Fitzgeralds, by contrast, were merely comfortable. With five daughters, and both parents working as college professors, the concept of a second home in Florida—or anywhere, for that matter—was considered a wild extravagance. The Fitzgerald girls had grown up on the fringes of the elite. Darcy had often found herself in the role of the less privileged friend brought along on trips with girls whose families took them skiing in Gstaad or yachting in Cape d’Antibes. She was the kind of friend favored by parents—polite, unassuming, unlikely to overshadow their own daughters. This was fine with Darcy. She’d been lucky enough to see some of the world that way. She’d attended college on scholarship, excelled at sports and ultimately found a best friend in India O’Donnell.

Florida opened its sunshiney, welcoming arms to her. It felt good to be away from the cold, hissing sleet of Manhattan, the crowds and exhaust from traffic cramming the dark, wet streets. Juggling her variety case of booze, with a nice Thanksgiving centerpiece perched precariously on top, she backed into the kitchen, determined not to cause a disaster.

“I’m here,” she warbled. “India? Did you miss me? I brought enough booze to make me forget Huntley Collins and his rotten, soul-crushing kids, as well.”

She maneuvered the cardboard case to a countertop and set it down. Moving the centerpiece aside, she found herself looking at Logan O’Donnell.

Logan O’Donnell, of the big shoulders and red hair and killer smile. Her heart flipped over. She hadn’t seen him since the end of summer in Avalon—but that didn’t mean she’d stopped thinking about him. Far from it; she thought about him every day.

“Oh God,” she said. “Tell me you won’t judge me for saying that.”

He grinned. Yep, killer smile. “I make it a practice not to judge anyone struggling with substance abuse.”

She grinned back at him. She couldn’t help herself. “It’s use, not abuse. Alcohol is useful to me. Helps me get over my rotten marriage and even rottener divorce.”

“So, you were married. To...Huntley Collins? No wonder it didn’t work out. No one could stay married to someone named Huntley Collins.”

“Good point.” Maybe she was being too flippant and dismissive, but it was hard to think clearly around him. At the moment, he was wearing board shorts and flip-flops, and a dusting of sand on his bare chest. She couldn’t keep herself from noticing he was a true redhead, with ginger-colored chest hair that came together in an arrow shape, pointing south. She found herself wishing she’d worn more attractive clothes for her flight instead of the usual yoga pants and shapeless top.

He helped her move the bottles from the case to a sideboard bar—vodka, tequila, rum, bourbon. “You’re bringing coal to Newcastle,” he said. “This is the O’Donnell place. Booze is as plentiful as water.”

“It’s my contribution to the feast. Along with this amazing centerpiece.” It was a crazy arrangement of birds-of-paradise in the shape of a turkey.

“Nice,” he said. “Mom will love it.”

They finished unloading everything and he stuck out his hand. “Welcome to Sea Breeze. Yes, my parents named their house. I had nothing to do with it.”

She looked around the kitchen—granite countertops, stainless-steel appliances, a view of the flat forever of the Atlantic. “It’s beautiful. Really nice of your family to have me.” She looked around the kitchen again. “Where is everyone?”

“The beach,” he said. “We’re having a beach day.”

“Sounds nice. I’ve never been to the beach on Thanksgiving.”

“I just came back to get the turkey in the oven and get a jump on some of the side dishes.”

“Oh, he cooks, too? I’m impressed.”

“Just wait until you taste my cooking. I’m awesome in the kitchen.”

She thought he’d be awesome in any room of the house. “Wait a minute. I need to alert the media.”

“How’s that?”

“I need to tell them that hell has frozen over. It’s Thanksgiving, and a man is preparing the feast all by himself.”

“Not anymore, he’s not.” He tossed her an apron. “You’re going to help me.”

“Fair enough. I guess.”

“Tell you what,” he said. “Get your beach things on and you can give me a hand in the kitchen. Then we’ll head down to the beach and join the others.”

“Sounds good.”

He helped her with her bag and showed her to a guest room, which was airy and bright with white painted plantation shutters and bedding in tropical prints, a stack of fluffy towels in the adjoining bathroom.

“You should find everything you need here,” he said. “My mom loves having company.”

“This is an amazing room. Better than a five-star hotel.”

“If you forgot anything, you’ll find stuff in the closet—extra swimsuits, robes, flip-flops, you name it. Just help yourself.” As he set her suitcase on the bamboo luggage rack and stepped out, she felt herself, for the first time in forever, feeling happy about the holiday.

She opened her suitcase and studied the contents, feeling a scowl gathering on her forehead. She’d done a lousy job packing, having rushed home from work late the night before. Her swimsuit was old—and admittedly homely, the suit she used for masters swims at the West Village Y.

Of the five Fitzgerald sisters, Darcy was the least stylish, a deficit she freely admitted, and one that usually didn’t bother her. The fashion sense chromosome had missed her completely. She should’ve made her sister Kitty take her shopping for this trip. Kitty was the stylish one; she would have helped Darcy pick out cute sundresses and sandals, maybe a swimsuit that didn’t look like a high school swim team practice suit.

“Oh, that’s right,” she said with a sigh, holding up the sea-foam-colored tank suit, “this probably was my high school practice suit.” What Darcy lacked in style she’d always made up for in athletics. Since she was old enough to walk, she had played sports—swimming, snow sports, water polo, volleyball...if it involved athletics, she was happy to jump right into it.

As she held the suit up to the light, she was appalled to see the fabric had worn through in a couple of key places, including the butt. “Great,” she muttered. “Just great.” She opened the closet and found a plain black tank suit there. It was several sizes too large, but the only other one she could find was a scandalous wisp of fabric. Some would call it a bikini. Darcy called it ridiculous. In the borrowed bikini, yellow with bows on it, she felt conspicuous, but the thing fit like a glove. An extremely skimpy glove.

She hid beneath her cover-up—a hand-me-down from one of the sisters, several years old, frumpy but serviceable—and a pair of sandals that had seen better days. Then she ran a comb through her hair and put on a big, floppy hat, grabbed her tube of sunscreen and her sunglasses.

“Ready for the beach,” she said, joining Logan in the kitchen. “What can I do to help?”

He was putting fresh sprigs of rosemary and sage and pats of butter under the turkey skin while intermittently consulting a video cooking lesson on an iPad.

“Jamie Oliver?” she asked.

“Taught me everything I know,” he said without looking away from the screen. “Love this guy.”

“Have you always been interested in cooking?”

“It’s a relatively new project. I took it up when I became a single dad. I knew I needed to learn how to make something besides quesadillas and microwave burritos. I never wanted to be the dad who raises his kid on takeout and junk food.”

“That’s nice. I need a job.”

“Peel the potatoes?”

“I think I can handle that.”

Working alongside him in the kitchen felt strangely...domestic. And freakishly pleasant. In general, she didn’t enjoy cooking, and lately she didn’t enjoy men, so the pleasantness of the moment startled her.

“You didn’t tell me you were divorced,” he said.

She thought he might have sounded slightly accusing, as if this was something she had a duty to share with him. But that was ridiculous. She’d only met him the one time, at the end of summer. It wasn’t as if she needed to share her life story with him.

But now here she was, in his house—his family’s house—and he’d asked her a direct question. He was just being friendly, she told herself. He had no idea that it was her least favorite question. It was like being asked, “So, how’d you get that giant hideous scar?”

“Yes,” she said simply, knowing she was now expected to elaborate. “I was married for five years.”

He cut an onion into quarters using swift, confident strokes with a sharp knife; then he added the pieces to the roasting pan. “Just asking,” he said. “Didn’t mean to pry.”

“Oh, you weren’t prying,” she told him hastily. It was comforting in a perverse way, knowing the two of them were both divorced. It was like meeting another shipwreck survivor who understood just what the other had endured.

She remembered seeing Logan’s ex at the end of summer, and wondered where he was in the recovery process. She could still picture the look of longing in Logan’s eyes when he’d handed his son over to the ex. And why not? The mother of his child was blonde and beautiful, with a glowing smile. Yikes, Logan might even still be in love with her.

“I wanted to make sure the coast was clear,” he said to Darcy.

“The coast?”

“For when I start hitting on you.”

She swallowed hard. Maybe she was wrong about his ex. “You’re going to start hitting on me?”

He plucked a pinch of salt from a small bowl. “Yeah,” he said. “I might.”

Her chest tightened. She remembered the never-again vow she’d made after her marriage. “How will I know if you’re hitting on me?” she asked, her light teasing tone masking apprehension.

He grinned. “You’ll be the first to know. Anyway, I’m glad you didn’t think I was prying. Prying comes later.”

“I can hardly wait,” she said.

He hoisted the turkey into the pan. “This,” he said, “is going to make you glad I’m single. It’s going to be the most delicious turkey you’ve ever tasted.”

“How did you end up with kitchen duty?” she asked.

“I volunteered. Later, everybody will pitch in.”

“And all hell will break loose?”

He grinned. “Pretty much.”

“So, tell me about the O’Donnell family traditions. Anything unusual?”

“Not unless you consider sibling squabbles, cranky kids and overeating unusual.”

“Oh boy. That sounds extremely familiar. Are you sure we’re not related?” She and Logan had plenty in common. On the one hand, it was kind of cool, feeling so comfortable with him, so quickly. On the other hand, this likely meant a relationship between them would never work. She and Huntley had had everything in common, yet ultimately they’d fallen apart. “What do you squabble about?”

“It’s mainly the kids who squabble these days. Although my old man’s not too pleased with me at the moment.”

“Why not?”

“I made a kind of impulsive career move. Sold my stable, lucrative, predictable, boring business for a crazy, risky, unstable one.”

“Are you talking about that ski resort in your town?”

“Yeah. Cool you remember it.”

“I think it sounds incredible. Congratulations.”

“My family thinks I’ve gone off the deep end.”

“I know the feeling. The first time I disappointed my parents was the moment I was born.”

“What, did you have a tail or something?”

“Ha-ha.”

“I’ve heard those can be removed.”

“It’s what I didn’t have that disappointed them.”

“What’s that?”

“A penis. After four girls, they were desperate for a boy.”

“You have four older sisters. And I thought I had it bad, with India and China.”

“And how is it your sisters were named after exotic foreign countries while you were named after an airport?”

“Quirky folks. I just feel lucky they didn’t call me Madagascar or Sri Lanka.”

“Yet another thing we have in common—quirky parents. Mine are English professors. My sisters and I are named after literary figures. I guess that makes them quirky but predictable.”

“Darcy. I can’t recall a Darcy from college English.”

“Hint—it’s a surname.”

He gave a short laugh. “As in Fitzwilliam Darcy? You’re named after Mr. Darcy?”

“It gets worse. My sisters are Mary, Kitty, Lydia and Lizzie. My full name is Darcy Jane.” She punctuated the list by plopping chunks of potato into a pot of cold water.

“Don’t tell me Lydia is married to a reverend...”

“Worse. A motivational speaker, who happens to be the brother of my ex.”

“And suddenly it all comes clear. You came to Florida to escape the dubious pleasures of the family Thanksgiving.”

“Exactly. It’s so much easier to get along with other people’s families.”

“Agreed. And can I just say, this dinner is going to be epic.” He slid the turkey into the oven. Then he looked around the kitchen and wiped his hands on a tea towel. “We’re finished for now. There’s nothing more to be done for about three hours. Let’s hit the beach.”

He flashed that killer smile again. Oh, why did he have to have a killer smile?

Chapter Six

Working alongside Darcy Fitzgerald in the kitchen didn’t suck. Logan freely acknowledged that. He kind of liked talking to her. He kind of liked her, as much as or maybe more than he had last summer. This was surprising, because he rarely—make that never—felt even a spark of interest in a girl who came preapproved by his family.

Yeah, he liked her, but she wasn’t his type. Life was simpler without the complication of a divorce survivor. And she didn’t even look like his type, particularly at the moment, in the floppy hat and shapeless robe. That layered-on style made her look like a human coat tree. Still, she had a fun personality and a cute smile. She was the type of girl to have as a friend, nothing more.

“Time for the beach,” he said. “You’re going to love it.”

“Lead on, Kemosabe.”

He walked through the breezeway and held the back door for her. His folks’ place had all the perks—an infinity pool and lush gardens, a small grove of orange and calamondin trees, a tennis court, a golf course bordering one side of the yard and on the other side, a scenic path through a bird marsh leading to the beach.

“Not too shabby,” she remarked, pausing to get a phone picture of a group of roosting flamingos.

“We spend every Thanksgiving here. The setting is not exactly traditional, though.”

“Traditions are overrated,” she said.

“Yeah? Which ones?”

“The ones that throw you together with people you don’t get along with and force you to pretend to have a good time.”

“Ouch.”

“Those are the traditions I’m talking about.”

“Well, when you put it that way...”

“Sorry.” A grin flashed beneath the wide brim of the hat. “Obviously my divorce did a number on me. I’ll get over it. I take it you got through yours.”

“More or less intact. The hardest part is splitting Charlie’s time. Makes me mental.” He ground his back teeth, thinking about the past couple of months. “The worst part for me is that he’s moving with his mother and stepfather to Japan.”

“Whoa, Japan?”

“My ex’s husband is in the air force. They’re moving right after Christmas, and they’ll be away for three years.”

“Sounds challenging.”

“It’s totally screwed up, but I’m going to have to make it work. Charlie has been flying on his own back and forth between his mom and me for the past couple of years, so he’s an old hand at it.”

Having to shuttle back and forth between parents had turned Charlie into an independent traveler. But the grin that lit his face each time he saw Logan was all little boy. The fact was, every time Logan saw his little boy walk through the arrivals door at the airport, with his backpack and roll-aboard in tow, travel documents in a packet around his neck, he nearly lost it. Yet for Charlie’s sake, he held himself together, told the kid he was proud of him. The Unaccompanied Minor guide could barely keep up with him as Charlie ran to fill his father’s arms. Logan never tired of feeling that rush of love and relief washing over him the moment they were reunited.

“If he’s an old hand, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“But an overseas flight? I’m nervous as hell about how he’ll handle it.”

“Is Charlie nervous?”

“Good question.”

“I bet he’ll surprise you. I was a great adventurer as a kid, always up for anything.”

Logan found it easy to picture her as a kid, with pigtails and scraped knees. Then he thought about his son. “Charlie’s supercautious sometimes. Last summer, there was zip-lining at Camp Kioga, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Not even when every other kid went for it.”

“I’m no expert, but I bet fear of the unknown is common in kids. Come to think of it, it’s common in adults, too.”

“You’d love zip-lining,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“Just a hunch.”

She smiled and ducked her head. Her smile did something funny to his insides. Then, as they reached the end of the path leading to the beach, she said, “Well, this is a great place to come home to. He’s a lucky kid.”

“That’s a nice thing to say. I hope he feels lucky.”

“Why wouldn’t he? Look where we are.” They stepped onto the sun-warmed sand together. He heard her catch her breath as she clapped a hand atop her head to keep her hat from sailing away in the breeze.

“Amazing,” she said, surveying the expanse of brown-sugar sand. The area was bordered by private cabanas. Closer to the surf, the sand was dotted with umbrellas and family groups. Kids played in the waves, and barefoot couples strolled along together. “So this was your childhood playground? It’s fantastic here.”

Their first stop would be at the O’Donnell cabana—yes, the O’Donnells had been homeowners at Paradise Cove for so long that they had their own cabana, something available only to longtime residents. It bore the traditional canvas stripes and the interior was roomy, like an old-fashioned salon with potted tropical plants and a ceiling fan, upholstered chaises and a small fridge stocked with drinks. On the side, the surfboards were lined up according to size.

In the distance, Charlie and his cousins were boogie-boarding in the waves. “Charlie’s the one in the red trunks,” he said, pointing him out to Darcy.

“I remember him from last summer.”

“Dad!” yelled Charlie. “Yo, Dad!” He jumped up and down, waved his board and rushed into the surf, his cousins surrounding him.

“Looks like he’s having a great time.”

Logan nodded. Charlie moved with a lithe athleticism that reminded Logan he wasn’t a little boy anymore. Every time he saw his son after an absence of any length, he marveled at how much his boy had grown and changed. Not just the inches and pounds, but the attitude, as well. Thanks to the Japanese lessons he’d been taking, he had the rudiments of a new language, a taste for seaweedy snacks and real ramen. He’d told Logan he was excited about living overseas, taking train rides and field trips to pagodas and temples. It’s lucky, Logan told himself, his mantra these days. There were perks for Charlie in having two separate families. The chance to experience life in a foreign country with his mom. The chance to go surfing at Thanksgiving with his dad.

Still, the custody arrangement frustrated the hell out of Logan. Even just a couple of months made a difference. Charlie’s haircut was different. He wore clothes Logan had never seen.

“He’s getting to see the world,” Logan said to Darcy. “It’s hard, though, feeling like I’m missing out on my son’s life.”

“You’re not missing out now,” she said. “He’s right here, and he’s having the time of his life.”

“Good point. Let’s go over and say hi to everyone.” Around the cabana, his parents, sisters and brothers-in-law were arranged on chaises and canvas sling beach chairs, drinks in hand.

“They look like a fashion layout in a travel magazine,” remarked Darcy.

“Yeah? They were, once,” he said. “We were.”

“Really?”

“Town & Country, 2002. My mother’s finest moment.”

She laughed aloud, as if he was joking. He wasn’t joking. Appearing in the pages of a glossy lifestyles magazine had been a peak experience for Marion O’Donnell. More than anything, his parents valued appearances. They wanted the world to see them as the best at everything—a success in business, driving the best cars, sending their kids to the best schools, the unequaled best at being a family.

To this day, they had no idea how much pressure that put on a kid.

Logan was a grown-up now. He was past all that and he’d never point the finger of blame. But sometimes he admitted there were several unexamined reasons he’d been so screwed up.

“Did that mess with your head?” Darcy asked. “Having to look like a magazine family all the time?”

She was reading his mind. “Hell yeah, it did.”

“Why do parents do that?”

“Not sure. I’m trying my best not to repeat the pattern with my own kid.” He paused and regarded Charlie, who had abandoned his boogie board and was now staggering around with a red plastic bucket on his head. “I don’t think my kid struggles with perfectionism.”

“Good for you. And him.”

“Come on. Let’s let everyone know you’re here and then go for a swim. Er, do you like swimming?”

She lit up with a smile. “Yes, I do. I do indeed.”

He wasn’t sure why she found that funny. “Hey,” he called out, approaching the cabana, “Look who I found skulking around the house.”

India squealed and jumped up to hug Darcy. Yes, his sister was a squealer. And it didn’t seem to matter how old she got, she squealed whenever she was excited. “You made it! I’m so glad.”

To his relief, Darcy did not squeal back. “Thanks for having me,” she said, addressing Logan’s folks. “Your place is beautiful. I really appreciate being here.”

“We’re so pleased you could come.” His mother’s smile was a beacon of welcome. She clearly approved of Darcy Fitzgerald, Logan could tell. He always knew when his mom was merely being polite or when she was genuinely pleased. Darcy was the type his mother liked—a girl from a “good” family, whatever that meant—educated, classy. A girl most likely to turn into a woman like Marion O’Donnell.

Logan sometimes took a perverse pleasure in bringing home women who didn’t exactly fit the O’Donnell mold. He’d had one girlfriend with more piercings than a pincushion, and purple hair to boot. Another was multiethnic, with rainbow hair and tribal tattoos, and the most recent was a performance artist who worked in edible paints. He had loved each one, but ultimately, one or the other pulled back. Something wasn’t right or didn’t match up; somehow their hearts just weren’t in sync.

At the moment, there was no one.

It was not for lack of trying. God knew, he loved women. He loved the companionship, the rush of emotion, the sex. He wanted to be in love. Through the years, he’d watched his friends pairing up, moving in together, moving on... And sometimes in the deepest, quietest part of the night, he felt a gaping hollow of loneliness. He tried not to want more than he had—good friends and family, and above all, Charlie.

Still, the biggest lesson he’d learned from being a dad was that he was a family man, through and through. It felt like a special kind of hell sometimes, going it alone, because he wanted to commit himself fully to someone. He wanted a family. More kids, for sure—brothers and sisters for Charlie.

His life wasn’t stacking up that way, though. He met women, he dated them, hit it off with them, got laid. And it was fun enough. For a while. Then it would hit him that the fun had gone away, they weren’t making each other happy the way he longed to be happy. He’d wake up in the night and realize it wasn’t the girlfriend he wanted, but what he thought she could give him.

While Logan was silently bemoaning the barren state of his love life, Darcy was engulfed in greetings. His dad was already fixing her a “morning Mojito,” his specialty, made with twenty-three-year-old Cuban rum, an indulgence supplied illegally by one of his shipping clients.

True, she didn’t look like his type, but when she let loose with her easy laugh or dug her bare feet into the warm sand, Logan couldn’t take his eyes off her. Whatever it was—loneliness or horniness—it made Darcy Fitzgerald look like a roast turkey leg to him. And he was one hungry pilgrim.

“A toast,” said Al O’Donnell. “Welcome to Sea Breeze.”

“Thank you.” She took a tiny sip of her drink. “I’m thinking of becoming a professional mooch. Al, this is delicious. I didn’t think I liked rum.”

Logan’s dad beamed. “You’ve been drinking the wrong kind of rum, then.” Al O’Donnell loved treating worthy people to fine things.

“I’m going to have to pace myself if you’re starting the party this early in the day,” said Darcy.

“Thanksgiving is all about overindulging,” Marion assured her.

“My parents party harder than we ever did,” India said.

“Aunt India says she wouldn’t have made it through college without you,” said Bernie, Logan’s know-it-all niece.

Darcy set her drink on a table. “She’s exaggerating.”

“Am not,” said India. “You coaxed and tutored me through comparative lit and advanced calculus.”

“You didn’t tell me you were a brainiac,” Logan said.

“You didn’t ask. And if you had, I would have denied it.”

“Surf’s up,” said Logan. “Want to try surfing? Who’s up for a ride?”

“I’ll join you,” said his brother-in-law Bilski. China’s husband was a classic guy’s guy. He and Logan were buddies.

“So will I,” said Darcy.

Logan was startled at her readiness to try it. “Okay. India’s board would probably work for you. It’s nice and big, for stability.”

She nodded, but picked up a small, nimble short board. “This will do.”

“It’s a thruster,” said Logan. “Not a good choice if you’re a beginner.”

She smiled. “I’ll give it a shot. I have pretty good balance.”

Logan decided not to argue. She’d find out soon enough whether or not the board would work for her.

“I’m ready,” said Bilski. He took a piece of wax from a tub and went to work on his board. After they’d covered their boards with a thick coat of wax, Logan gave the surf’s-up sign and waded out into the ocean with his favorite board, a thruster.

He turned back to say something to Bilski, and all the words, along with all coherent thought, drained out of his head. Darcy Fitzgerald was the unexpected cause of his brain damage.

At first he didn’t even realize it was her. Then he saw the big floppy hat and shades left by her beach bag. She’d taken off the big shapeless coverup to reveal the hottest bikini bod he’d seen since...maybe ever. His sister’s charming but frumpy friend had suddenly turned into a goddess. He tried not to gawk, but damn. She might not be his type, but she sure as hell was built like his type.

Oblivious of his stare, she bent over to strap the leash of the board around her ankle.

“Oh, sweet mother Mary,” whispered Bilski. “Remind me I’m a married man.”

“Daddy! Daddy!” Fisher’s shrill voice pierced the air. “I made you a wig out of seaweed. Come try it on.”

“There’s your reminder,” said Logan, without taking his eyes off Darcy. She arched her back slightly and shook out her hair. Then in a graceful movement, she bent down again, displaying that perfect ass, and picked up the board. Logan tried not to groan aloud.

This, he realized, was going to go well. Extremely well. He had been surfing these waters since he was a kid. He knew every wave, every break pattern. She was going to need help. He was the guy to coach her. He’d span his hands across her waist, feel those nice taut abs...

As she approached him, amazing in the yellow bikini, he wondered if he should warn her about her top—or bottom—coming off in the waves.

Naw.

He lowered his board to conceal his excitement.

“Ready?” he asked her.

“As I’ll ever be.” Her eyes sparkled as she regarded the waves.

India bustled forward with a rash guard. “Put this on,” she said, holding out the shirt.

Killjoy, thought Logan. But the rash guard was skintight, concealing nothing. “So, the best breaks are over there,” he said, pointing. “If you start in the white water, you’ll have fun. The green waves are amazing here, but you might want to work up to them.”

“Dad! Check it out!” Charlie splashed toward him through the surf, kicking up a storm of water, spraying both Logan and Darcy. Charlie waved his sand pail. “I caught a mullet!”

“Well, jeez, buddy,” Logan said, “you got us both soaked.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“You remember Darcy?”

“Yeah, from summer. Hi.”

“Hey, Charlie.”

The kid stared, his mouth slightly open. He was ten years old, just starting to exhibit the signs of female-induced brain damage. He fumbled with the pail. “Want to see my mullet?”

“How could I resist such an invitation?” She leaned over and peered into the bucket. It was all Logan could do to keep his eyes off her tits. “That’s pretty cool,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Charlie. “So, Dad, can I keep him?”

“A mullet? A freaking mullet?”

“I mean, just to watch him, you know.”

“You crack me up.” Logan tousled his son’s damp and salty head.

“You crack me down.” Charlie grinned, the exchange a familiar one.

Logan felt a wave of affection for the kid. Charlie wasn’t a little boy any longer. Gone were the round apple cheeks and high-pitched voice. In his place was a funny, smart, sometimes cheeky kid—one who was not immune to yellow bikinis.

“Just don’t let it drown,” he said.

“It’s a fish. It’s not gonna drown.”

“When you keep a fish in a small amount of water, it runs out of oxygen and could suffocate.”

Charlie’s face fell. “I’m letting him go, then.”

“Okay. That’s a good decision. Now, I need to give Darcy a surf lesson—”

“Dad.”

Logan turned to Darcy, but she was gone. Concern shot through him. Maybe she’d been swamped by a wave, caught in a riptide. He shaded his eyes to check the lifeguard station.

“Dad—”

“Not now, Charlie.” Logan’s voice was sharp with command. “I need to find Darcy.”

“But—”

“Not another word.”

At that, Charlie grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face the horizon. He pointed at something out on the water.

Holy crap. Darcy was lying prone on her board, paddling out to the break—completely alone.

Logan bolted into action, rushing through the surf and jumping on his board to paddle after her. She hadn’t even been here an hour. He’d be a lousy host if he drowned his guest.

She had somehow managed to put a good bit of distance between them. She seemed like a strong paddler, using swift, deep strokes, the kind that would give her aching shoulders tonight. When a white wave barreled toward her, Logan called out a warning—having the board swept away could be scary and dangerous.

She surprised him by sinking in front of the wave, then passing the board overhead and coming up on the other side.

Okay, he thought, his worry easing. She knew a little something about how to get out to the surf. Still, he needed to catch up with her before she reached the green water. The waves were not exactly tame today. He paddled full speed but didn’t catch her, and the noise of the pounding surf made yelling pointless. She rode up one side of a mounted wave and down the other, disappearing into a trough.

In the distance, a big roller took shape, gathering momentum.

She stopped paddling and turned her board.

No, oh, hell no.

“Darcy!” he yelled, though he knew she couldn’t hear. “Wait up.” He whistled to get her attention, to no avail.

He imagined the worst—she’d get battered by her surfboard, sucked out to sea, slammed under the force of the wave—and he felt responsible, letting her head blithely out into the open surf alone. “Damn it,” he said, paddling furiously in the direction he’d last seen her.

Then a movement flickered in the rise of the wave, and he stopped dead, bobbing on his board. His mouth dropped open as she went surfing past, giving him the cowabunga sign, a grin of delight on her face, her killer body, slick with salt water, flashing past, her hair streaming out behind from the speed, Botticelli’s Venus made flesh.

Logan stared like an idiot, mesmerized as she surfed up and down the tube, expertly carving turns, her feet seemingly glued to the board. She rode as if the water were a mountain of glass instead of an undulating tube, skimming one hand into the surface for more control. She flashed momentarily behind and then rose on the other side. At last, the white water caught up with her and she dove headfirst into the surf.

He still couldn’t move, riveted by the performance. It had been a long time, way too long, since a woman had taken him by surprise.

Too late, he saw an enormous wave rolling straight at him. Though he bailed over the side of his board, the force of the wave slapped him to the bottom of the ocean.

“This,” Logan said, “is what is known as a post-feast stupor.” He was slumped on the sofa in his mother’s designer living room, his feet propped on her designer coffee table. A football game—the third of the day—was playing on the TV, the crowd noise a low murmur punctuated by cheering. In the next room, Charlie was playing Parcheesi with his cousins. Inez, the housekeeper, was in the kitchen with his sisters, storing away the leftovers and cleaning up after the big meal.

Darcy, equally slumped, turned to him. “You mean you don’t want to go surfing again?”

He chuckled, the picture of her surfing like a goddess playing over and over again in his mind. “What, you don’t think you schooled me already?”

“I wasn’t trying to school you. I just love to surf and don’t get to do it often enough.”

“Where did you learn to surf like that?”

“Long Island. I was a lifeguard at Cupsogue Beach all through high school. Then in college, I did a study year abroad in Australia, just a bus ride away from Bondi Beach.”

“Very cool.” Logan had always sensed a special kind of sexiness in athletic girls. There was something about their confidence that appealed to him. And Darcy had it in spades.

“What about you?” she asked. “You looked pretty good out there yourself.”

“I’m surprised I never ran into you at Cupsogue,” he confessed. “It was one of my favorite places to go when I was shirking chores in the summer.”

“I probably blew the whistle at you when you were a skinny kid getting too close to the jetty,” she said.

She was the same age as his older sister, he thought. Four years older than him. “You should have said hi,” he pointed out.

“Maybe I did. Or maybe we weren’t meant to meet until now.”

For some reason, he liked the idea that they’d been circling closer and closer, unaware of each other until now. He’d never felt quite so comfortable around a woman before. She was just easy to be with. And now that he had the indelible image of her in his head—yellow bikini, board glued to her feet, long hair streaming—she was more interesting than ever.

The brothers-in-law perked up when there was a big play in the game. Al pounded his beer bottle on a side table. “Damn, that’s sweet,” he said. “I always thought you should have gone out for football in high school, son.”

Logan chuckled, though he wasn’t amused. “As I recall, I stayed so busy with soccer there wasn’t time for anything else.”

“You make time for what’s important to you,” said Al.

Logan was determined not to rise to the bait. “Right now I’d like to make time for Mom’s pumpkin pie.”

“Ah, sounds fantastic,” said Bilski.

“I’ll go start hovering in the kitchen,” said Ethan, the other brother-in-law, rising from the sofa with a groan.

“How about you?” Logan asked Darcy. “Pumpkin pie, or pecan?”

“Pumpkin all the way.”

“Hey, I heard a rumor of pie,” said Logan’s niece, Bernie. The rest of the nieces and nephews, along with Charlie, came charging into the room.

“I have a secret weapon,” said Inez as Ethan wheeled out the dessert cart. “I put whipped cream on top and sprinkle it with chopped maple glazed pecans.”

“I can’t make up my mind,” Charlie said.

“Inez, you’re killing me,” said Logan.

“You’re awesome,” said Charlie, wedging himself on the sofa between Logan and Darcy.

Thanks, pal, thought Logan. Thanks a hell of a lot.

“Arigato,” Charlie added.

“He knows lots of words in Japanese,” said Fisher.

“Yeah,” said Goose. “Charlie speaks Japanese now.”

“Are you getting excited about moving to Japan?” Bilski asked him.

“It’s gonna be pretty rad.” Charlie shoveled in a big bite of pie.

“What are you looking forward to the most?” asked China. She was a teacher, adept at getting kids to talk.

“Dunno,” Charlie said. “I’m not there yet. My Japanese teacher said I’m gonna like the food and the culture. What’s culture, anyway?”

“It’s everything,” said Bernie. “Duh. Mom, when can we go to Japan to visit Charlie?”

“We can’t,” said her older sister, Nan. “He lives with his other family there, and they’re the enemy.”

“Are not,” Charlie snapped.

“He’s right,” said China. “They are not the enemy. Where in the world did you get that idea?”

“After people split up, they’re enemies,” said Nan, with firm authority.

“That’s just silly. Tell Charlie you’re sorry.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Sometimes I feel the same way,” Charlie admitted, mumbling past another bite of pie.

Logan lost his appetite. He ached for the kid. Was there any way to protect him from feeling torn loyalties? Any way to protect him from the life Logan and Daisy had given him? He hadn’t asked to be born to two people who weren’t meant to be together. All he wanted was to be part of a family, a regular kid. But Logan wasn’t sure it was his job to make the kid feel okay about moving halfway around the globe.

“Hey,” he said, “you’re in Florida, you stood up on a surfboard today, you had an epic Thanksgiving dinner and pumpkin pie. So life is good.”

“Yeah.” Charlie nodded agreeably enough.

“We have a lot,” said Logan. “A lot to be thankful for.”

“Yep.”

“Friends and family,” China said.

“Full bellies and Florida sunshine,” Marion added.

“And pie that makes me forget the whole world,” Darcy said. “Marion, I really appreciate being here with you guys.”

“I wish you could stay longer,” said Logan’s mother.

Logan checked his watch. “That reminds me. My shift is about to start.”

“How’s that? Are we eating in shifts now?” asked Bilski.

“Charlie and I are going to help serve dinner at Ryder House. It’s a place for kids who aren’t with their families.”

“Are they orphans?” asked Bernie.

“Some of them, yes. And some are just there temporarily. They come from lots of different circumstances.”

“Can I come?” Bernie asked.

“If you want to help,” he said, looking around the room. “Anyone else?”

“I’ll join you,” Darcy said. “I need to find a way out of this food-induced trance.”

The SUV was full, with Charlie and three of his cousins buckled in the backseat and Darcy in the front. The cargo area was loaded with boxed pies Logan had ordered the day before from the Sky High Pie Company, his contribution to the community feast. The afternoon light of South Florida gilded the neighborhood in a dreamy sheen, but as they left Paradise Cove behind, the scenery shed its charm, like the sad aftermath of a parade.

In the backseat, Nan led everyone in a chorus of “Over the River.” There were no rivers in sight, no white and drifting snow, just a depressing series of strip centers that all looked virtually the same—nail salons, pawnshops, coin laundries, payday loan outfits.

The Ryder Center was surrounded by chain-link fencing. Although the welcome sign proclaimed it “A Place For Hope,” an air of despair hung like Spanish moss from the trees. This was where people brought children they no longer wanted or couldn’t care for. The social workers and volunteers were passionate and committed, but sometimes there just wasn’t any substitute for family.

“Is this a regular commitment for you?” asked Darcy.

“Yep. I’ve been bringing Charlie here to help out ever since he was old enough to serve a wedge of pie.”

“That’s nice,” she said.

“Is it?” He pulled in by a small fleet of vans with the Ryder logo on the side, a silhouette of a candle cupped in two hands. “I always find myself wishing I could do more.”

“There’s always more to do,” she murmured.

“I feel sorry for the kids who live here,” said Bernie. “I’m kind of bashful about meeting them.”

“Kids are kids,” said Logan, opening the back of the SUV. “There’s usually a pretty good party going on here.”

Everyone helped carry the boxed pies to the serving area. The feasting had been going on all day, with a rotating series of kids and volunteers. Some of the children were long-term residents of Ryder House, while others came for the day. People were gathered around tables decorated with flower arrangements, crepe paper turkeys, cornucopia and candles. The buffet line moved slowly along a sideboard laden with a feast with all the trimmings. At one end of the room, a bluegrass ensemble played background music.

“Ready to help out?” Logan asked, handing out aprons to Charlie, the nieces and nephews. “We’re on the pie detail.”

“Okay.” Like his cousin Bernie, Charlie seemed timid around the other kids, though eager to help out. They went to the dessert table and got to work, carefully placing small slices of pie on white china plates and setting them out for people to eat.

There were smiles and subdued thank-yous, although an air of melancholy pervaded the atmosphere. Some of the older kids seemed chastened by the understanding that they were receiving charity. Logan served a slice of berry pie to a boy who looked to be about Charlie’s age. His clothes were clean but worn, and he had a peculiar world-weariness that made him seem much older. He furtively took his dessert, mumbled a thank-you and shuffled away to a table.

I will never complain again about my life, thought Logan.

He noticed that Darcy wasn’t serving food, but had hunkered down in the play area, supervising a game of Jenga blocks. She seemed so vibrant, surrounded by kids, relaxed in their presence. It made him wonder about her comment last summer, when she’d claimed she was averse to children.

She was something of a puzzle to him. An intriguing puzzle. A puzzle he found far more attractive than he should.

Maybe it was deprivation, plain and simple. He hadn’t dated anyone this fall. In the first place, he hadn’t met anyone he wanted to date. In the second place, he’d been way too busy with Saddle Mountain. True to his word, he’d created an investor group and they’d acquired the ski area. The transfer was going smoothly, but it was a lot of work. All-consuming work. It left little time for a social life. He’d been working twelve-hour days, seven days a week, since signing the papers, and this holiday was his very first time off. The mountain was slated to open for skiing in a week. It kept him busy to the point of exhaustion. Yet the project fulfilled him in a way his insurance business never, ever had.

The ensemble played some traditional tunes while some of the younger kids ran around, pretending to dance.

“Time for the hokeypokey,” announced a guy on the microphone. “Come on, everybody, don’t be shy. Let’s bust a move!”

Logan scanned the room, and noticed Darcy bearing down on him.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, apprehensive about the glint of mischief in her eyes.

“You heard what the guy said,” she told him. “Don’t be a chicken.”

“Yeah, Dad,” said Charlie. “Don’t be a chicken.”

Resigned, Logan took off his apron and set it aside. “You’re coming, too, buddy.”

“No way.” Charlie stuck out his chin. “No w-a-y.”

Darcy was having none of it. She grabbed Charlie with one hand and Logan with the other. “Let’s go, boys.”

Feeling all kinds of foolish, Logan joined the raucous circle and forced himself to do the hokey-freaking-pokey.

Darcy was ridiculously into it, and in spite of himself, he couldn’t take his eyes off her when she did the “shake it all about” part. Damn.

When Charlie saw his cousins and some of the older kids joining in, he got over his bashfulness and let himself go. Within minutes, he was in the center of the action, laughing and shaking, surrounded by children who seemed to forget, if only for a moment, that they were homeless, neglected, troubled, abused.

Logan caught Darcy looking at him, and she laughed. “Now, that,” she said, indicating the mass of squirming, laughing kids, “is what it’s all about.”

Chapter Seven

Darcy got up early the day after Thanksgiving. The lovely guest room at Sea Breeze didn’t feel like the real world to her. That, at any rate, was something to be thankful for. A quick check of her phone showed that she’d missed a few calls and text messages from her parents and sisters. She shrugged them off; she’d return their calls later, maybe from the airport.

In some respects, being away from her family this Thanksgiving had been unexpectedly painful. She couldn’t help resenting Huntley for supplanting her at the Thanksgiving table. Even as she’d toasted and feasted with the O’Donnells, she’d caught herself thinking wistfully of her dad’s gentle humor, her mom’s perfectly seasoned stuffing, her sisters’ gossip and laughter. She missed their chatter and her parents’ banter, and the deep, elemental security of being part of a family. But having Huntley there would have put a damper on everything.

The best way to keep from stumbling over the past was to move forward, she reminded herself. That was her whole rationale for braving the holiday travel crowds and coming to Florida in the first place. She got up and went to the window, opening the plantation shutters and looking out over the gardens.

There was a unique sort of beauty in the tropical morning. The air was warm already, and according to the tide chart posted on the wall above the writing desk, the surf was going to be perfect. She slipped into her borrowed swimsuit, cover-up and flip-flops and headed down to the beach.

In the morning quiet of the garden, Darcy woke her mouth up with a calamondin plucked straight from the tree, wincing at the taste of the bittersweet peel and tart center. Then she plucked a couple of oranges and tucked them in her bag.

“Can’t stay away from the beach, can you?”

She turned, already blushing. “Oh, hey, Logan.”

“Hey yourself. You’re up early. It’s not even seven.”

“I wanted to get a little more beach time in before I have to go. I have to get back to New York this evening.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Mind? Mind? “That’d be great,” she said.

They walked in silence—a silence she found to be quite companionable. For no good reason, she felt very comfortable with Logan. He was easy to be with, easy to talk to. Easy on the eye, though she pretended to look around and not at him. The air was sweet with the smell of magnolias and the sea, and a light breeze brought with it eddies of warmth.

“Your folks have a great spot here,” she remarked.

“Yeah. We’re really lucky.”

“Some would say spoiled.”

“Yeah, okay. Spoiled. But in a good way.” He flashed a grin.

“True,” she said. “That was really nice last night, helping out at the children’s center.”

“Thanks for coming along. But I thought you were allergic to kids.”

“I guess I like them in small doses. Especially when they’re at a place like Ryder House. It’s nice to help.”

“Agreed. I’ve been really lucky in my life, and I never want to take that for granted. It feels like a special privilege to help out.”

“You’re right. I’ve heard it called a ‘helper’s high.’ Otherwise known as doing the hokeypokey.”

He chuckled. “You’re a good sport.”

“I like to think so.” She passed through the arch of beach roses and dune grass and stepped onto the sand, which was still slightly cool and damp from the night.

“We practically have it all to ourselves,” she said, enchanted by the shifting blue of the water, the slight pink tinge of the morning sky.

A few hundred yards away was a lone jogger, heading up the coast. In the other direction was a woman doing yoga poses. The rest of the beach belonged to the seagulls and sandpipers.

Logan stopped at the cabana and took out two boards, along with a couple of bars of wax. They applied the wax to the already-bumpy surface of each board.

“Okay,” he said when they finished. “Surf’s up.”

She nodded and peeled off her oversize tunic, knowing without looking at him that he was checking her out. His gaze felt like a waft of heat on her bare skin.

He didn’t even pretend not to stare. “Sunscreen?” he asked, offering her a tube.

“Thanks.” She spread the cream everywhere she could reach while he did the same. Then she donned her rash guard, a tight jersey shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves.

“You missed a spot,” said Logan. “Turn around.” He went down on one knee and smoothed his hands down the backs of her thighs.

She was startled by the sensation of his bare hands on her skin. It had been so long since a guy had touched her, she’d nearly forgotten what that felt like. And until this moment, she hadn’t realized that she missed it.

She was flustered by the time he finished and stood up. “Thanks,” she said, hoping her thoughts didn’t show on her face. She’d never been good at playing it cool.

“My pleasure.” He picked up his board. “Really.”

She followed him to the surf. The warm water swirled around her ankles in a rhythm that pulled at her, reminding her of why she loved the ocean—the steady movement, the timeless rhythm, the mysteries beneath, the raw curl of power. “Let’s go ride some waves.”

“You’re going to show me up again,” he accused.

She laughed. “Watch and learn.”

They waded out together and then mounted their boards to paddle out to the green water. The waves were aggressive, but beyond the first break, the ocean was calm, shifting with a cradling motion.

“Beautiful morning,” he said, sitting astraddle and watching the incoming rollers.

“It is. Let’s try this one.” She indicated a nice glassy mound coming toward them.

“You got it.”

They paddled in tandem, and when the momentum took their boards, they both stood up. She laughed aloud, loving the sensation of being propelled by the surge. The first ride of the day made her glad to be alive. She’d taken her stepchildren surfing a few years ago. She couldn’t keep herself from remembering that. This morning, though, the memory didn’t hurt.

They rode for about an hour. Beyond the break, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. A series of large, dark shapes flurried just under the surface, moving fast, a raft of liquid shadows.

“Hey, Logan!” she yelled, looking around for him. Her heart pounded.

He had seen, too, and seconds later, the dark shapes broke the surface and leaped into the air in a graceful arc. Darcy was transfixed, and then she broke into laughter. “Dolphins,” she cried. “I’ve never been this close to dolphins.” The animals leaped again, and she could feel the rush of wind and spray as they passed. It was magical. There was no other word for it.

The animals didn’t seem to mind their proximity. They surged past, the muscular undulations of their bodies stirring the water, then causing shower after shower as they breached. She felt both intimidated and reverent, privileged to be part of their world. In that moment, the sense of wonder was so powerful it reminded her of being a child again.

The dolphins leaped several more times, and then disappeared out to sea. Darcy’s gaze caught Logan’s and she could see that he was every bit as enchanted as she was, sharing the same sense of wordless wonder. The fact that they had witnessed it together bonded them in some intense way. Unforgettable moments had a habit of doing that.

He signaled to her to indicate an incoming wave, and they rode it in together, side by side, to the shallows. She whipped her wet hair out of her face and grinned at him. “Well,” she said, “I guess that’s something you don’t see every day. I’m just... God, it was overwhelming. I have no idea what to say. I’m speechless. I mean, I’m babbling. But really, Logan, I—”

He stopped her with a kiss. It was just that fast. One moment she was attempting to blather on about swimming with the dolphins, and the next, he had cradled her face between his hands and was kissing her with a raw, searing passion that took her breath away. For a second, she went stiff with startlement, and then she melted against him, feeling the unfamiliar shape of him, tasting him for the first time, exploring the texture of his lips, wishing it would go on for a very long time.

“Oh,” she said when he finally lifted his mouth from hers. “Oh my.” Still at a loss for words, she stared up at him, wanting him to kiss her again, wondering if he wanted to. He tasted delicious, of salt from the sea and his own unique flavor. It was exciting and sexy and wholly unexpected. She had not kissed a man in ages. She was glad the one she was kissing happened to be Logan O’Donnell.

He smiled down at her. “I’m glad we shared that.”

She wasn’t sure he meant the dolphins or the kiss.

“Me, too,” she said, and she knew which one she meant.

“Are you sure you have to leave today?” he asked.

Ah, so tempting. Then she took a deep breath. It was just a kiss, she reminded herself. It was only a kiss. “Yes. I have a work thing.” She bent over and unstrapped the ankle tether of her board.

“On a holiday weekend?”

She straightened up and nodded, furrowing a hand through her hair. “It’s weather-dependent. There’s a photo shoot that needs snow and ice, and that’s the prediction for tomorrow and Sunday.”

“Sounds awesome. Where’s the shoot?”

“Lake Placid,” she said. “It’s a snow sports shoot.”

“Cool. So, do you do photography?”

“No. I’d love to learn one day.”

“It’s overrated,” he said quickly, almost harshly. He caught her quizzical look and added, “My ex is a photographer.”

“I don’t think it’s contagious,” she said.

“Yeah, sorry.” He passed her a towel. Their hands brushed, and they looked at each other briefly.

Again, she thought. Let’s try kissing again. To her disappointment, he picked up her beach bag and started back toward the house.

“So, what do you do on the shoot?” he asked. “Stylist, or...?”

“I’m, uh, the subject,” she said, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Sorry, what?”

“The subject.”

“Like, you’re a model?”

“I’m one of the athletes,” she said, somewhat insulted by his surprise. She knew she wasn’t model-pretty, but she wished he thought she was.

“Now I’m confused. I thought you were in advertising.”

“I am. I’m in sports marketing,” she said. “It’s a specialized field. I work with sponsors, and the shoot is set up to show off their gear.”

“What do you mean, you work with sponsors?”

“As a sponsored athlete.”

“Seriously? What kind of sport?” he asked, holding the back door for her. The kitchen, though deserted, was fragrant with the morning’s first pot of coffee.

“Snowboarding is my specialty. I’ll be testing gear and apparel, and there will be photos and videos for the sponsors’ catalogue and website. Hence the need to shoot when the weather is cooperating.” She helped herself to a cup of coffee and poured one for him.

“You snowboard to test and promote your sponsors’ gear, and that’s your job.”

“Yes, some of the time.” She started feeling a bit defensive, as if he was judging her. There was a lot more to her job, but this weekend, that was it in a nutshell.

Logan lifted his coffee mug in salute. “That is made of awesome.”

She laughed. All right, so he wasn’t judging her. “The job’s not that much fun every day, but I can’t complain.”

“Coolness. The more I get to know you,” he said, “the more I like you.” He put a couple of English muffins in the toaster. “Peanut butter, strawberry jam or both?” he asked.

“Be still, my heart.”

Oh, this was bad. Because she liked him, too, but he was everything she wasn’t looking for—a single dad, a man who had said, practically at their first meeting, that he wanted a big family. The idea made her stomach tighten with tension.

“You’re going to love hanging out with me,” he said, slathering the English muffins with peanut butter and jam, and handing her one

“What makes you think I’m going to hang out with you?” She took a bite of the warm, gooey muffin. It was almost as delicious as kissing him.

“Because I have a ski resort. I mean, I’m part of the investment group, but I’m the controlling partner and general manager.” He paused and watched her savoring the muffin, seeming to focus on her lips. Then he picked up a napkin and gently dabbed at the corner of her mouth. “You inspired me,” he said simply.

It was the last thing she expected to hear from him. “Huh?” she said, with peanut butter charmingly stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Last summer, when you talked about taking risks.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.” She was flustered...but flattered.

“So in the future, if you need a location for doing your gear testing and photo shoots, I can offer you carte blanche at Saddle Mountain. Come check it out some time. Come soon.”

“Now, that,” she said, “is made of awesome. I’ll definitely tell my team. We’ve got a project going with a new snowboard company, and we’ll be doing a shoot sometime in December.”

“You ought to come give Saddle Mountain a try. We’ll give you VIP privileges.”

She polished off the English muffin, unable to recall enjoying a breakfast more. “Wow. I guess knowing the controlling partner is a perk.”

“Controlling partner?” Al O’Donnell came into the kitchen. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Darcy sensed it was her cue to leave. “I’d better hit the shower.”

“Don’t run off,” said Al, looking a bit sheepish. “Logan and I can talk about this later.”

“Or not,” Logan said good-naturedly, pouring coffee for his father. “Actually, I—”

A cell phone on the counter chimed. Logan checked it, and his face changed entirely, turning marble-hard with tension. “Sorry, I have to take this. Excuse me.” Grabbing the phone, he stepped out to the backyard.

Darcy took a sip of coffee. She slid the cream pitcher across the counter toward Al. Your son just kissed me, she thought. And then: I liked it. She hoped she wasn’t blushing too much. “Ah,” she said, “that awkward moment when one has no idea what to say.”

Al chuckled. “Nonsense. I didn’t mean... Logan doesn’t seem to understand how proud I am of all he’s accomplished.”

“Have you explained that to him?”

“Maybe not directly, but he knows.”

Darcy wasn’t so sure of that.

“We talked about that resort,” Al said. “That Saddle Mountain place. I was hoping it was just a passing fancy. I didn’t think he’d actually go for it. Sounds like a leap off the fiscal cliff to me.”

She didn’t say anything. This was between the two of them. Yet Al seemed to want to talk. He seemed like a good guy—blustery, bossy, but kindhearted. India adored him. And he was certainly good-looking, big and athletic, his abundant red hair fading at the temples. When she regarded Al, she could picture Logan thirty years from now. Scary thought—she enjoyed picturing Logan thirty years from now.

“He’s always been too fond of skiing and snowboarding,” Al said, pacing back and forth. “People think that just because they love something, they can make it their life’s work.”

She laughed. “Al. Listen to yourself.”

“Okay, but still. If you saw your kid about to step off a cliff, wouldn’t you be concerned?”

“Logan seems pretty sturdy to me. I wouldn’t worry.”

“Why’re you worrying about Dad?” asked Charlie, coming into the kitchen. His face was still sleep-soft, making him look even younger than ten.

Darcy was struck by an urge to reach out to him. Kids needed hugging. “For somebody who doesn’t like kids,” Logan had said, “you sure like kids.”

“Should I worry about Dad?” Charlie asked, absently scratching his cheek.

“Of course not,” said Al, giving him a kiss on the head. “You have a great dad.”

“You can say that again.” Logan came back into the kitchen, phone in hand. “I’ve got a little news, Charlie-my-man.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows shot up.

“Your buddy André?”

“From Camp Kioga, yeah! What about him?”

“He and his sister are going to be spending Christmas with us.”

“Cool!”

“What?” asked Al, another thunderous frown darkening his face.

“Christmas at Willow Lake,” said Logan. “How does that sound?”

“We always have Christmas here,” said Al.

“And now I really am hitting the shower,” Darcy announced. She truly did not want to be in the middle of this. It sounded like a family matter. It sounded eerily like her own family—the arguing, the affection, the power struggles, the sense of caring, sometimes caring so much that it hurt.

Chapter Eight

Logan heard the clack of suitcase wheels on the adobe tile of the foyer, and knew Darcy was about to depart. Fresh out of the shower, he leaned toward the mirror to make sure he hadn’t missed a spot shaving, then hurried downstairs to tell her goodbye.

He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted her to stay. He wanted to kiss her some more, for sure. He wanted to make out with her, run his hands over that amazing, athletic, taut body, inhale the flowery smell of her hair, taste the strawberry jam on her lips...

Not possible, though. She had to rush back to the city and Lake Placid and her work project, while he had to wrap up the holiday here, tell Charlie goodbye until Christmas and get back to Avalon for work. Most of all, he had a project that was going to take all his energy and focus. He had to prepare to look after Maya Martin’s children.

It was probably for the best that he and Darcy had been interrupted before they even got started.

But holy crap. It was going to be a long time before he forgot about that kiss.

Darcy was in the foyer with his sisters and mother, doing a final check—phone, boarding pass, rental car key. “This has been such a fantastic stay,” she was saying. “Thank you so much for having me.”

“Wish you could have stayed longer,” said India, who then turned to Logan. “Right, Logan?”

“Of course.” He grinned at his sister, wondering if she’d guessed her matchmaking had worked, even just a little. Then he moved past her. “Glad you were here for the holidays,” he told Darcy.

“Me, too.” She held him with that direct look of hers. “Thanks again for including me at the children’s center. Oh, and the surfing. And the dolphins.”

“I can’t take credit for the dolphins,” he said.

“You saw dolphins?” India asked.

“Yep, while surfing,” Logan said. “Let’s go back with the kids this afternoon, see if we can spot them again.”

“It was unforgettable,” Darcy said softly, and he noticed a touch of color in her cheeks. Then she said her goodbyes to everyone else.

After she’d gone, Logan decided to bring up the topic of Christmas with his parents and sisters. He hadn’t intended to drop two bombs at once, but circumstances made it necessary.

“We’re having Christmas here,” his mother said. “Just like we always do.”

“I’ve got a different idea,” he told her. “Avalon. Everyone’s coming to Avalon this year.”

“Where will we stay?” his mother asked, uncertainty shadowing her eyes. “There’s no way you have room for us all.”

“The lodge at Saddle Mountain,” he said. “I live there now.”

“What?” His mother stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

“I sold my house and moved up to the mountain.”

“And when were you going to tell us about this?”

“It all happened fast. I got a full-price offer as soon as I listed my house—a couple from the city who want a place near Willow Lake. I moved up to the mountain week before last. The residence there is old, but huge. It’s been operating as a B and B.” He’d sunk his profits from the house sale into the resort, where nearly all his resources went these days.

“What about your insurance business?” his mother asked, her face pale with distress. “Logan, you worked so hard to build it up, and you were doing so well.”

“I’m keeping a stake in it as a silent partner, but someone else is running it,” Logan said. “I’m putting all my energy into the resort now.”

“What?” His mother regarded him, aghast. “You did what?” She turned to her husband. “I thought you said you talked him out of it.”

“I believed I had,” Logan’s father said.

“Look, could we talk about this another time?” Logan said. “How about we discuss Christmas plans?”

“We already have plans,” his mother said. “The Costellos are having their usual Christmas Eve party at the Paradise Cove Clubhouse, and I’m cochair of the church breakfast.”

“Plans are made to be changed,” Logan said. “So I’ve heard.”

“I invited Darcy to spend the holidays with us,” India said. “Do you just want to throw her in the mix, as well?”

Darcy of the smoking-hot body and razor-sharp wit? Hell yes, he did.

“I bet she likes snowboarding as much as surfing,” he pointed out.

“The kids might like it for a change,” said China. “I can’t remember the last time they had a white Christmas.”

“I can definitely promise you that,” Logan said, sending his sister a nod of gratitude. “It’s going to be awesome. A perfect Christmas.”