A Bright Red Ribbon

by Fern Michaels

Genres: Holiday books; Short Stories

Synopsis

The perfect Christmas gift from the pen of the beloved #1 New York Times–bestselling author of Santa Cruise.

Being dumped by your boyfriend on Christmas Eve is not the kind of surprise Morgan Ames was hoping to unwrap. Still, that’s exactly what she found under the tree two years ago. What was even more surprising was that she promised she’d wait two Christmases for his return—tonight—and she always keeps her promises. But a sudden snowstorm has other ideas, including a romantic turn Morgan never imagined . . .

Previously published in I’ll Be Home for Christmas

Praise for the writing of Fern Michaels

“Tirelessly inventive and entertaining.” —Booklist on Up Close and Personal

“Fast-moving . . . Entertaining . . . A roller-coaster ride of serendipitous fun.” —Publishers Weekly on Mr. and Miss Anonymous

“A page-turner and one of the author’s best romantic suspense tales to date.” —Fresh Fiction on Mr. and Miss Anonymous

Release date: December 1, 2012

Publisher: eKensington

Print pages: 130

Sample

Even in her dream, Morgan Ames knew she was dreaming, knew she was going to wake with tears on her pillow and reality slapping her in the face. She cried out, the way she always did, just at the moment Keith was about to slip the ring on her finger. That’s how she knew it was a dream. She never got beyond this point. She woke now, and looked at the bedside clock; it was 4:10. She wiped at the tears on her cheeks, but this time she smiled. Today was the day. Today was Christmas Eve, the day Keith was going to slip the ring on her finger and they would finally set the wedding date. The big event, in her mind, was scheduled to take place in front of her parents’ Christmas tree. She and Keith would stand in exactly the same position they stood in two years ago today, at the very same hour. Romance was alive and well.

She dropped her legs over the side of the bed, slid into a daffodil-colored robe that was snugly warm and pulled on thick wool socks. She padded out to the miniature kitchen to make tea.

Christmas Eve. To her, Christmas Eve was the most wonderful day of the year. Years ago, when she’d turned into a teenager, her parents had switched the big dinner and gift opening to Christmas Eve so they could sleep late on Christmas morning. The dinner was huge; friends dropped by before evening services, and then they opened their presents, sang carols and drank spiked eggnog afterward.

Mo knew a watched kettle never boiled so she made herself some toast while the kettle hummed on the stove. She was so excited her hands shook as she spread butter and jam on the toast. The kettle whistled. The water sputtered over the counter as she poured it into the cup with the black rum tea bag.

In about sixteen hours, she was going to see Keith. At last. Two years ago he had led her by the hand over to the twelve-foot Christmas tree and said he wanted to talk to her about something. He’d been so nervous, but she’d been more nervous, certain the something he wanted to talk about was the engagement ring he was going to give her. She’d been expecting it, her parents had been expecting it, all her friends had been expecting it. Instead, Keith had taken both her hands in his and said, “Mo, I need to talk to you about something. I need you to understand. This is my problem. You didn’t do anything to make me . . . what I’m trying to say is, I need more time. I’m not ready to commit. I think we both need to experience a little more of life’s challenges. We both have good jobs, and I just got a promotion that will take effect the first of the year. I’ll be working in the New York office. It’s a great opportunity, but the hours are long. I’m going to get an apartment in the city. What I would like is for us to . . . to take a hiatus from each other. I think two years will be good. I’ll be thirty and you’ll be twenty-nine. We’ll be more mature, more ready for that momentous step.”

The hot tea scalded her tongue. She yelped. She’d yelped that night, too. She’d wanted to be sophisticated, blasé, to say, okay, sure, no big deal. She hadn’t said any of those things. Instead she’d cried, hanging on to his arm, begging to know if what he was proposing meant he was going to date others. His answer had crushed her and she’d sobbed then. He’d said things like, “Ssshhh, it’s going to be all right. Two years isn’t all that long. Maybe we aren’t meant to be with each other for the rest of our lives. We’ll find out. Yes, it’s going to be hard on me, too. Look, I know this is a surprise . . . I didn’t want . . . I was going to call.... This is what I propose. Two years from tonight, I’ll meet you right here, in front of the tree. Do we have a date, Mo?” She nodded miserably. Then he’d added, “Look, I have to leave, Mo. My boss is having a party in his town house in Princeton. It won’t look good if I’m late. Christmas parties are a good way to network. Here, I got you a little something for Christmas.” Before she could dry her eyes, blow her nose, or tell him she had a ton of presents for him under the tree, he was gone.

It had been the worst Christmas of her life. The worst New Year’s, too. The next Christmas and New Year’s had been just as bad because her parents had looked at her with pity and then anger. Just last week they had called and said, “Get on with your life, Morgan. You’ve already wasted two years. In that whole time, Keith hasn’t called you once or even dropped you a post card.” She’d been stubborn, though, because she loved Keith. Sharp words had ensued, and she’d broken the connection and cried.

Tonight she had a date.

Life was going to be so wonderful. The strain between her and her parents would ease when they saw how happy she was.

Mo looked at the clock. Five-thirty. Time to shower, dress, pack up the Cherokee for her two-week vacation. Oh, life was good. She had it all planned. They’d go skiing, but first she’d go to Keith’s apartment in New York, stay over, make him breakfast. They’d make slow, lazy love and if the mood called for it, they’d make wild, animal love.

Two years was a long time to be celibate—and she’d been celibate. She winced when she thought about Keith in bed with other women. He loved sex more than she did. There was no way he’d been faithful to her. She felt it in her heart. Every chance her mother got, she drove home her point. Her parents didn’t like Keith. Her father was fond of saying, “I know his type—he’s no good. Get a life, Morgan.”

Tonight her new life would begin. Unless . . . unless Keith was a no-show. Unless Keith decided the single life was better than a married life and responsibilities. God in heaven, what would she do if that happened? Well, it wasn’t going to happen. She’d always been a positive person and she saw no reason to change now.

It wasn’t going to happen because when Keith saw her he was going to go out of his mind. She’d changed in the two years. She’d dropped twelve pounds in all the right places. She was fit and toned because she worked out daily at a gym and ran for five miles every evening after work. She’d gotten a new hairstyle in New York. And, while she was there she’d gone to a color specialist who helped her with her hair and makeup. She was every bit as professional looking as some of the ad executives she saw walking up and down Madison Avenue. She’d shed her scrubbed girl-next-door image. S.K., which stood for Since Keith, she’d learned to shop in the outlet stores for designer fashions at half the cost. She looked down now at her sporty Calvin Klein outfit, at the Ferragamo boots, and the Chanel handbag she’d picked up at a flea market. Inside her French luggage were other outfits by Donna Karan and Carolyn Roehm.

Like Keith, she had gotten a promotion with a hefty salary increase. If things worked out, she was going to think about opening her own architectural office by early . . .