Chapter 1
Monday-December 19
"You're bumping me?" As a writer for an elite travel magazine, Celeste Bell had flown around the world over the course of the past seven years and she'd never been bumped from a flight. She knew it was bound to happen sooner or later; she just didn't want it happening now.
"We paged you three times, but since you weren't at the gate for initial boarding, we assigned the seat to another passenger," the agent explained.
Celeste wasn't at the gate because she'd had to bring her luggage to the ticket counter after changing out of the ugly sweater she'd worn to her office holiday party earlier that day. This season, she'd been avoiding Christmas festivities like the flu, but since participation was mandatory, she reluctantly donned the most hideous apparel she could find: a fluffy white sweater with a cartoonish fir tree emblazoned across the front. The tree was crowned with a blinking LED-powered star, and a dozen miniature, multicolored sleigh bells were strung from its boughs with silver tinsel. The sweater bore an uncanny resemblance to a yuletide craft Celeste had made in first grade from a paper plate, cotton balls, glitter and various geometric shapes cut from red, green and yellow felt. Oh, the things she did for the sake of her career.
"I get it. Symbolism," Brad, the college intern, remarked. Holding a plastic cup of eggnog in one hand and a chocolate mint brownie in the other, he gestured toward her midsection with his chin. "You chose that sweater because your last name's Bell, right?"
The bells were actually Celeste's least favorite part of the sweater, which was saying a lot. Whenever she walked from her cubicle to her boss's office or to the break room and back again, their jingling made her feel like a Clydesdale-it didn't help that she'd gathered her long, thick blond hair into a high ponytail-and drew increasingly annoyed looks from her coworkers over the course of the day.
She intended to switch wardrobes before a colleague drove her to Logan International Airport, but at the last minute, the magazine's editor in chief, Philip Carrington, tasked Celeste with proofreading Brad's post about the Boston Harbor Holiday Cruise. And by proofreading Philip meant rewriting. Brad's draft was so poorly structured, it took Celeste half an hour to reword it, and by that time her coworker was threatening to leave without her.
When she arrived at the airport, Celeste wheeled her luggage into the restroom so she could change. She removed her heavy winter coat, scarf and gloves, and she stuffed them into her suitcase, along with her socks and shoes. Then, she opened her smaller carry-on and checked to make sure she had a travel blanket with her before adroitly exchanging her slacks and ugly sweater for a casual slate-blue swing dress and crochet cardigan. Finally, she slid her feet into a pair of canvas sneakers. Celeste intended to be ready for the tropical Caribbean temps the moment she stepped off the plane.
But first she'd have to step onto the plane.
"Are you sure there aren't any seats left?" It was an inane question, and Celeste could hear the whine of desperation in her own voice.
"I can book you on the eleven thirty-six flight tomorrow morning. Of course, we'll compensate you for the inconvenience, as well."
Tomorrow was December 20. Technically, Celeste didn't need to be in the Caribbean until first light on December 23. That's when the Christmas carnival-or simply carnival, as it was called-for the particular island she was visiting kicked off a daybreak street party known as j'ouvert. The trip was a mix of business and pleasure; after taking a couple days to enjoy a much-needed break, Celeste would spend December 23, 24 and 25 attending carnival and describing its highlights in a Christmas Day post on the magazine's blog. That meant if she didn't leave Boston until almost noon tomorrow, she'd squander nearly a full day of vacation. Even so, Celeste cared less about that than she did about the weather forecast, which warned that a nor'easter was brewing. If it followed its projected course, the storm could pack a wallop in terms of snow accumulation, and who knew how that might affect air travel for the next few days. She couldn't risk it.
"Would you check for flights on other airlines, please?"
The agent's fingernails clicked against the keyboard, her expression impassive. After what felt like an eon, she said, "If we hurry, I can book a seat for you on a flight with our partner airline, IslandSky. There would be a brief layover on Sea Spray Island-"
"I'll take it," Celeste said as the woman continued to speak.
"-then you'd continue to New York City and from there you'd fly nonstop-"
"Yes, thank you, that's what I want to do." Celeste didn't care about the small print; she just needed to get on that flight.
A few more minutes of keyboard clicking and then Celeste was off and running, dodging fellow travelers and circumventing airport vendors as she darted toward Terminal C with her carry-on bag in tow, the sweater inside it jingling all the way. As she ran, she recognized it wasn't really the need for an extra day of relaxation that spurred her on. Nor was it solely that she'd made a professional commitment to cover the carnival. No, what really urged Celeste forward was the fear that if she didn't leave now, right now, it would be too late and then there'd be no escaping for Christmas.
And escaping was her primary purpose in volunteering to immerse herself in a Caribbean carnival while all of her coworkers were celebrating Christmas with their families. From the rollicking parades and music to the lively dancing, vibrant costumes and mouthwatering food, the carnival wasn't likely to evoke memories of the calm and cozy but joyful Christmases that Celeste used to celebrate. On the contrary, going to the Caribbean would keep her from thinking about how it had been just over a year since her mother passed away. And it would take her mind off the fact that she was still lonely. Still alone.
Just thinking about not thinking about it made her lungs contract.
Or maybe it was the exertion of tearing through an overly dry, hot and crowded airport trailing an unwieldy piece of luggage in her wake. As fit as she was, by the time Celeste arrived at her gate she was gasping. Light-headed, she hardly registered that the descending ramp the agent directed her to follow led outside to ground level where the plane awaited her on the tarmac.
Celeste skidded to a standstill. The realization hit her like a gelid gust of air: it's a prop plane. When it came to prop planes or Christmas festivities, it was almost a toss-up as to which distressed her more. Almost but not quite. Pressing her dress flat against her legs so it wouldn't fly up in the wind, Celeste numbly soldiered forward, the end of her ponytail lashing sideways at her face.
She climbed the four ladder-like steps and entered the dimly lit interior where a flight attendant-or was he the copilot?-reached to take her carry-on for stowing while simultaneously issuing safety instructions. Overcome with either regret or relief, Celeste plunked herself into the seat closest to the door, fastened the buckle around her waist and closed her eyes. She was finally on her way.
Nathan White stole a quick glance at the only other passenger on the plane as she collapsed into the seat across the very narrow aisle from him. Then he took a second, longer look. Considering her short dress and delicate sweater, he assumed she was traveling from somewhere warmer. California, maybe? Slender but athletic-yes, heÕd glimpsed her strong, shapely calves-she appeared younger than his thirty-six years, although it could have been her ponytail giving him that impression. Her long nose, slightly pointed chin and the generous spray of eyelashes curving toward her brow created an elegant silhouette.
Ordinarily, Nathan would have at least said hello, since they were literally bumping elbows, but as soon as the woman snapped the metal halves of her seat belt together, she snapped her eyelids shut, too. Fine by him. He had too much on his mind to give her another thought.
As the plane taxied onto the runway and began its arduous ascent into the choppy air, Nathan stared out the window and ruminated on his trip to Boston, where he'd just received good news and bad news, and even the good news was bad news. A continuation of bad news, that is.
Massaging his right temple, he thought back to September. That's when the community center, where he was the executive director, lost the majority of its funding for both its lease and operational expenses. The primary benefactor, a billionaire who owned a summer mansion on Sea Spray Island-or "the island," as the locals referred to it-passed away unexpectedly. Due to several omitted pieces of information, her will-including the legacy gift she'd intended to leave to the center-was deemed invalid. Long story short, her children indicated their intention to withdraw all financial support effective January 1, when the center's five-year lease was scheduled for renewal.
Nathan teamed with the board of directors in a mad scramble to solicit donations, but the major philanthropists in their network either already contributed to other needs at the center or they dedicated their resources to projects elsewhere. The center's last hope was the grant Nathan had applied for earlier in the year from a foundation in Boston. That's why he'd gone went to the city this morning.
And that's why he had a headache now.
"As you're aware, the community center's proposal was one of two finalists under consideration. Because both projects were so strong, we had an extremely difficult time choosing between them," the foundation rep had begun by saying, and Nathan held his breath. "We always regret when we have to decline supporting such a worthy cause as yours."
Nathan exhaled, speechless.
"It's unlikely, but if the winning organization forfeits the award for some unforeseen reason, it will be offered to the community center," the rep continued, but Nathan knew the chances of that happening were somewhere between zilch and zip. "So, we'll wait until we've crossed all our Ts with the other finalist before we send you an official written notification of our decision. It should be by December 26. Or December 27, at the latest, since we're required to award the first installment of monies before midnight on December 31. Regardless, we hope you'll apply again next year."
Next year there won't be any need to apply, he thought.
Because the community center was located on Main Street's prime real estate, in order to secure the five-year lease, the proprietor required a down payment of a full year's rent on January 1. Without their previous benefactor's funding, their organization simply didn't have that kind of liquid assets. They'd be forced to vacate the premises by February 1, and since they had nowhere else to go and virtually no operational budget, Nathan would be out of a job.
He winced. That's where the so-called good news came in. His other purpose for being in the city today was to follow up on an interview for a position as the director of an exclusive community center-more like a club, really-in a wealthy Boston suburb. Even though he'd informed his current employer that he was job searching as a contingency plan, Nathan had felt disloyal when he half-heartedly submitted his rŽsumŽ last month. But he really hadn't expected it to turn into anything. More accurately, he hadn't wanted it to turn into anything; he loved his current position.
He knew he should have felt elated, or at least grateful, when he was offered the position, which came with a salary that was
35 percent more than he was earning now. But he had his eight-year-old daughter to consider. Almost three years after her mother's death, Abigail had finally come out of her shell. In fact, she was thriving. Nathan was concerned that if he uprooted her from their community, she'd withdraw again, as skittish as a hermit crab.
But jobs on the island were scarce and he had a mortgage to pay. He supposed he could sell the house, and he and Abigail could stay at his sister and brother-in-law's inn through the off-season, but then what would happen come spring, when all the rooms were booked? No, living at the inn temporarily wasn't prudent, especially since a better option had all but been presented to him on a platter. Opportunities like this one didn't come around often. He'd have to accept it.
What else can I do? he agonized. If there was another solution, he was going to have to figure it out fast. He had agreed he'd let the Boston community center know whether he was going to accept their offer by December 26, since they needed the new director to begin in late January. Some Christmas season this is turning out to be-
"Ugh," the woman next to Nathan uttered as the plane jounced several times in succession.
He swiveled his head to see her pressing her stomach and almost imperceptibly rocking her shoulders, the way Abigail did when she felt carsick. Nathan reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and produced a mint.
"Thanks."
As she unwrapped it and slid it into her mouth, he took note of her ring finger; it was bare. Not that it mattered-Nathan had given up on having a romantic relationship, much to his sister's disappointment. For two years after his wife died, he wouldn't even consider dating again. However, last spring his sister had made a mission of setting him up with every unmarried woman who lived on the island year-round-all seven of them-but other than geographic location, they shared absolutely nothing in common.
Then, in July, he met a teacher from upstate New York who summered on the island, and the two of them actually hit it off pretty well. But when he brought her home so she could get to know Abigail, his daughter went into high-stress mode. She bit her fingernails down to the quick, started having nightmares and even wet her bed a couple of times. The pediatrician said it wasn't unusual for a child whose parent had died to experience anxiety when the other parent began dating again. Nathan figured since Abbey was old enough to remember her mom, she might have felt like her mother was being replaced. Or, she might have been afraid she'd "lose" her father to a relationship, just as she'd lost her mother to death. Maybe she was simply overwhelmed by the possibility of another change occurring within their family dynamic.
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