Read Online High Heels and Holidays by Kasey Michaels - Free Book Online Page B

here. It’s better here. Alex would want to know where we are, don’t you think?”
    â€œWhere did you say Alex is, Sterling?” Maggie asked as she stood up, stretched, then walked over to admire her tree, hoping she sounded only politely interested, and not like she wished Sterling would go find Alex, and then the two of them could go somewhere. Like to the moon. Right after one of them told her what the hell was going on.
    Alex had “joined” her for breakfast, which meant that he’d come strolling in with the morning newspaper and a suggestion that she consider bacon and scrambled eggs as a fine start to another lovely crisp, sunny December day.
    The pans were still soaking in the sink, damn him, and she’d given in to the urge to try the homemade plum jam Socks’s mother had sent over a month ago and she’d been pretending hadn’t been sitting in the cabinet. Stop smoking, gain ten pounds, lose two, eat plum jam, and gain back three. It was just the way the world worked....
    She’d kicked Alex out at noon, after a morning spent discussing the debacle that had been their trip to England, and within moments Sterling was at the door, volunteering to help her with the rest of her Christmas decorations. Not one to turn down a volunteer, they’d spent the next hour setting out Maggie’s favorite pieces, winding fairy lights around two of her fake potted plants, and then dragging all of the empty boxes to the freight elevator and back down to the basement storage area. After that, Sterling pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and sat down at the game table in one corner of the room, as if digging in for the duration—whatever the duration was.
    When Sterling didn’t answer her question, Maggie finished adjusting one of the crystal bells on the Christmas tree and turned to look at him. He was wearing the Santa hat again, and admiring his reflection in the mirror. “You look very nice, very festive. Getting in the spirit, are you?”
    Sterling frowned, pulling off the hat. “I don’t think so, no,” he told her, dropping back onto one of the couches. His sigh was deep, and heartfelt. “It’s all this crass commercialism, you understand.”
    Biting back a grin, Maggie decided it was time to pull up a couch of her own and try to take a peek inside Sterling’s mind. “Crass commercialism? Where did you hear that, Sterling?”
    He spread his hands. “Everywhere. It’s all about gifts, and decorations, and more gifts and . . . well, and more gifts. It’s all very depressing. Almost enough to put a person into a sad decline.”
    â€œYes, I can see that,” Maggie said, rubbing her chin. “What would you like Christmas to be about, Sterling?”
    He shrugged, looking at her over his gold-rimmed glasses. “I’m not sure. I . . . well, I just don’t think your Santa Claus helpers should be selling watches and purses and such on street corners, do you?”
    â€œYou mean they should be giving them away instead?”
    Sterling’s expression went unnaturally stern. “No, I don’t think I mean that at all, Maggie. But should Santa Claus be selling things?”
    â€œI’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said, reaching for her nicotine inhaler. She was pretty sure she’d been a nicer person when she smoked. “There are other Santas, you know, Sterling. Santas who collect money for, uh, for those less fortunate.”
    â€œTell me,” Sterling said, leaning forward on the couch, and Maggie found herself giving him a thumbnail sketch of holiday charities and holiday Santas, all of which served to return a smile to Sterling’s unusually sad face.
    â€œOkay,” she then said, clapping her hands together as she got to her feet. “Now what do you say we give the tree one last inspection, and then I think I’ll go take a shower?”
    Sterling got to his feet