Trading Christmas - Debbie Macomber [54]
Sipping a cup of coffee, she read through one recipe after another, searching for inspiration. The more she read, the hungrier she got.
The phone rang, and she sighed, half wondering if she should answer. It wouldn’t be for her. Still, habit and curiosity demanded she pick up the receiver.
“Merry Christmas,” she greeted the unknown caller.
“Mom?” a small quizzical voice returned.
“Heather?”
“You’re not my mother,” Heather cried.
“This is Faith.”
“Faith!” Heather sounded beside herself. “What are you doing in Washington? Where’s my mom?”
“I came to surprise your mother, only she isn’t here.”
“Mom’s still in Boston?”
“Yes,” Faith said. “Where are you?”
“Boston.”
Faith frowned. “I thought you went to Florida with some guy on a Harley.”
“I did, but we…we had a parting of the ways. Where’s my mother?”
“She’s staying in Charles Brewster’s condominium. I don’t have the address but I understand it isn’t that far from the Harvard campus.”
“Not Professor Brewster?”
“One and the same. Why?”
“You mean to say he’s in Leavenworth, and you are, too?” Heather asked incredulously.
Faith smiled at the comedy of errors. “Yes. I arrived shortly after Charles did. I came with Santa and the elves and then—”
“Who?”
“Never mind, it’s complicated. But listen, everything’s fine. Charles has been absolutely marvelous about all of this. He agreed to let me stay here until my original departure date.” Faith hated to think what might’ve happened if he’d insisted she leave. She might still have been at the airport, waiting for a standby seat.
“You’re talking about Professor Brewster?”
“Yes. Professor Charles Brewster.”
“You say he’s been…marvelous?” Heather seemed genuinely surprised.
“Yes.” In fact, he’d been more than that, but Faith wasn’t about to share any of the details with Heather. “He isn’t marvelous,” Heather insisted. “He gave my roommate a C when she worked hard on every assignment and studied for every test. Well, okay, she fell asleep in his class, but who can blame her? The guy’s boring.”
“I happen to think he’s a fascinating man,” Faith said sharply, “so please keep your complaints to yourself.”
“Faith?” Heather said, her voice dropping. “Are you…interested in Dr. Brewster?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Heather gave a short, abrupt laugh. “You are! I don’t believe it. Just wait until Tracy hears this. Does the professor feel the same way about you? No, don’t answer that ’cause I’ll bet he does.” She laughed again, as if this was the funniest thing she’d heard in weeks.
“It isn’t that amusing,” Faith said, surprised by her need to defend Charles.
But Heather had already moved on to her own concerns. “So Mom’s still in Boston,” she said.
“Yes, she couldn’t fly home without paying a high-priced penalty.”
“That’s wonderful.” Heather sighed with relief. “Don’t say anything to her, okay?”
“Yes, but there’s something you—”
“I want to surprise her, so promise you won’t say a word.”
Faith leaned against the kitchen counter and raised her eyes to the ceiling, resisting the urge to laugh. “You have my word of honor. I won’t let her know.”
“Great. Thanks, Faith. Say hello to the professor for me.”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to be my mom’s Christmas surprise.” With that, Heather terminated the call.
Faith’s smile grew. Heather was about to discover a surprise of her own.
Just then, the front door opened and Charles staggered into the house, his arms stacked high with packages. Blindly he made his way into the dining room, piling the festively wrapped gifts on the table. Bags hung from his arms, and he set those next to the boxes.
“Good grief!” Faith rushed forward to help him. “What have you done?”
“I went shopping.” His smile was as bright as sun on snow. He looked downright boyish, with a swath of brown hair falling over his brow, his eyes sparkling.
“Who are all these gifts for?”
“The Kennedy kids get a bunch of them and there are a couple in here for you and…” He seemed decidedly pleased with himself.
“Charles.