No Christmas Like the Present by Sierra Donovan Page A

so naturally.
    But in all that time, she couldn’t remember hours disappearing as fast as they just had with Fred.
    Crazy talk. Fred wasn’t here to date her, and the sooner he was out of her life, the better. Maybe following through with things like carols and eggnog would fulfill enough of his mission for him to go away, and he wouldn’t even show up tomorrow night.
    She told herself that was what she wanted.
    Returning to the living room, she put on the hokiest country Christmas music CD she could find. It sounded like just the thing to send any self-respecting Englishman running for the hills.
    It wasn’t so easy to dispel him from her thoughts.
    Getting ready for work the next morning, Lindsay reached into her closet, and somewhat to her surprise, came out with her brightest red sweater. She pulled it on and studied the reflection in her bathroom mirror with a critical eye. The vivid red fit the season, but it washed out the color of her hair, a bland shade that was neither blond nor brown. To compensate, she spent some extra time on her makeup, bringing a touch more color to her cheeks and eyes. It helped. But something was missing. The next thing she knew, she was hunting through her jewelry box for her old pair of dime-store candy cane earrings.
    She ended up late for work, but no one seemed to mind once they saw she’d brought two plates of fudge.
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    â€œSo how’s your merry gentleman?”
    Jeanne sauntered into Lindsay’s little cubicle of an office and perched on the corner of her desk, a square of fudge in hand.
    Lindsay couldn’t help smiling. She had to admit it was a good description of Fred. “He’s fine. Helped me out with the fudge, as a matter of fact.”
    â€œIt’s extra good this year. Not that it isn’t always. But you know what I mean.”
    Lindsay knew, all right. The fudge had been disappearing fast all morning—particularly the batch Fred had made, although the fudge with almonds usually went more slowly.
    Jeanne lazily swung one leg up and down. If any man had been in the room, Lindsay knew he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off that unconscious, coquettish swing of her calf. “I can’t believe you never mentioned him,” she said. “Where’d he come from?”
    How to answer that? England, over a hundred years ago. Or out of her television screen. She certainly couldn’t talk about “Headquarters,” whatever that was. “A friend of a friend. He’s just visiting for a little while.”
    â€œMaybe he’ll like it here.” A playful glimmer appeared in Jeanne’s blue eyes. “He sure seemed to like you.” She polished off her last bite of fudge. Almond, Lindsay noted, before it disappeared into Jeanne’s mouth. “He was asking all about you. Then, next thing I knew, I was telling him all about my cats.” She rolled her eyes. “The funny thing is, he acted like he was actually listening.”
    Lindsay thought of Phil and his model ships. “He’s good at that. Listening, that is.”
    â€œSounds like a keeper to me.” Jeanne stopped swinging one long, slender leg, and started with the other. Matt passed by and almost walked into the wall of the next cubicle as he turned to look. Lindsay wondered if Fred had noticed Matt’s intentions toward Jeanne, too.
    Oblivious to the broken nose she’d nearly caused, Jeanne went on. “If you got married, would that make him a U.S. citizen?”
    Lindsay felt her face grow hot. “I doubt it.” Jeanne always seemed to be in a hurry to see a relationship turn serious. Little did she know how unlikely it was in this case. It would be pretty hard, after all, to go into a commitment with a man who could appear and disappear at will.
    Now was a good time to change the subject. Lindsay asked, “How’s it going with you and Brad?”
    â€œSame old, same old. I’m