David lifted the two cups off of the counter and turned sideways, manoeuvring carefully through the crowd of people still waiting for their orders.
"Uh," he said, "I don't see a free seat anywhere."
The coffee shop was completely packed, it was the first day of the year that their annual lineup of holiday-themed drinks were available for purchase and it seemed like half the city had come to get their gingerbread latte or peppermint mocha fix. Emma took the bright red cup David offered her and went over to the condiment bar, adding a few more shakes of cinnamon to her drink. She stirred it in, making a swirl of dark brown spice on the milky surface while David flattened himself against the wall to let by a group of teenage girls carrying cups topped with snowy mountains of whipped cream and decorated with chocolate sprinkles. The couple at the table beside him glanced at their phones and stood up, slipping on their coats and gesturing for him to take their newly vacated seats.
Emma smiled when she sat down opposite him, "I guess we got lucky."
"I'll say. It's a miracle that they were leaving right that second."
David scooted his chair in a little closer and folded his hands on the table, drumming his fingers nervously against the wood. His coffee sat untouched while she placidly sipped hers and waited for him to come out with whatever he obviously wanted to bring up.
"So-" he drawled at last, "I was wondering if you could help me with something?"
"Of course."
"You don't want to know what it is first?"
"My answer will still be yes, David," she replied with amusement.
"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath that made his cheeks puff out comically, "Well, Mary Margaret and I have been dating for a while now, and I want to, I mean, I think it's time that I….ask her to marry me."
The words came out in a rush and he took a deep gulp of his drink as if he needed to fortify himself with the caffeine after such a grand announcement. The news came as no great surprise, Mary Margaret and David were that couple, the ones whose happiness would be sickening if it wasn't so adorable.
"Congratulations! I'm so happy you guys, you're ridiculously cute together, you know that, right?"
His shoulders hunched slightly in his plaid flannel shirt and two spots of colour appeared high on his cheeks as he ducked his head bashfully, "Thanks."
"So, where do I come in?" she asked, even though she had a pretty good inkling of what David was going to request. His recent prayers had not gone unheard.
"I want to propose at Christmas, you know how much she loves the holidays. But I'm having some trouble finding the right engagement ring, will you come shopping with me and help me find something that Mary Margaret will like? Something that preferably wasn't mined with child labour and I won't have to sell my truck to pay for it?"
She reached across the table and gently squeezed his hand, "David, Mary Margaret would love a ring from a gumball machine if you gave it to her."
His blush went even deeper, "Okay, I have a bit more in the budget then a quarter. But, Emma, you'll help me with this, right?"
"You've already got a yes from me, now let's work on getting you another one from Mary Margaret when you pop the question. Have you seen anything at all that you liked?"
David fished out his phone and started pulling up photos of rings and their heads bent together over the screen as they pored over the images of diamonds, modest-sized ones in a variety of different settings. Simple solitaires, Victorian styles, channel set versus flanking baguettes. There was nothing really wrong with any of them, but none jumped out at Emma as being the right one for her friend.
"What about a coloured stone? Like a sapphire, or a ruby? I mean, I know it's a bit different, but I think something like that would really suit her."
He looked up at her suggestion and blinked, "It's kind of funny that you said that, my mother's engagement ring actually had a green stone and she always said she was going to give it to me to give to my future wife. It was a family heirloom, and she had this story about true love following the ring wherever it went."
The noise from all the other customers yammering away around them seemed to dim and fade right into the background. She knew that David's mother had died several years ago and even though the answer was obvious, she prodded gently, "Do you have the ring?"
A shadow flitted across his face, the ghost of old memories lurking behind his light blue eyes, "No. When she got sick it somehow got misplaced, or maybe it was stolen. I looked for it after the funeral, but it had just disappeared and it never showed up again. I was sad about it at the time, but now….Mary Margaret is the one. The one that I never thought I'd find and I finally, really understand what my mom was talking about with all those stories about true love. I'd give anything to have that ring back."
David finished his coffee, hiding behind the cup for a moment as he drained the last remaining dregs while she sat back in her chair with an idea taking shape in her head.
"But what can you do?" he shrugged, putting his now empty cup down, "Hey, I guess we should get back to the office?"
"Before Mary Margaret gets too suspicious," Emma agreed.
They donned their coats and gloves, David holding the coffee shop's door open for her like a gentleman. In the time they had been inside a busker had set up on the sidewalk, keeping the festive mood going by playing The Twelve Days of Christmas on a guitar with the open case at his feet. David rummaged around in his pocket and dropped some money in, making the young man smile and nod his thanks.
"Forget five golden rings, I'll settle for finding one," David muttered to her as they waited for the light to change at the end of the block so they could cross, their collars turned up against the cold gusts of brisk November wind and hats pulled down low on their foreheads, "Oh, and by the way, the budget's dropped by a dollar now."
She threaded her arm through his and laughed, nudging him playfully with her shoulder, "Don't worry, I have faith that we will find the perfect ring for your bride at a price you'll be happy with, my friend."
Mary Margaret rubbed at her temples with both hands, face screwed up in a grimace, "Please tell me we're done."
The small conference table was covered with piles of envelopes, thick green squares all addressed and stamped and finally ready to go. David filched the last slice of pizza from the box they had ordered two hours ago and said, "I'm done, even if we're not."
Emma was sitting in one of the office chairs, her legs folded under her and her chin propped in her hand, "We made the list and checked it twice, that's all of them."
"Ha ha," David mumbled around his mouthful of cold pepperoni and cheese.
It was the end of another long day for their small charity, Shared Blessings. The Christmas season was always their busiest time of year, not only with the toy and food drives they co-ordinated to help the less fortunate have a bit of merriment in their lives, but December was also the month when the temperature really started to drop and as the nights grew longer and colder it was always the poor and vulnerable souls who were most at risk. The shelters filled up fast and they were always scrambling to find extra beds, cheap, unscrupulous landlords refused to offer adequate heat to their renters, and they spent hours out on the streets handing out wool socks and hand warmers to the homeless and helping tenants who didn't speak or write English very well file official complaints with the city.
Mary Margaret leaned forward and frowned at the name on one of the cards, "Do we really need to send a card to Regina Mills?"
"We do if we want an invitation to next year's gala," Emma pointed out.
They had spent the evening preparing the annual round of Christmas cards for their donors, all signing their names in a mini assembly line and stuffing envelops. They also had a letter that summarized the work they had done over the course of the year with the generous donations they had received. While the mayor had never given them one red cent of her own money, the gala she threw every year resulted in a significant portion of their funding from the attendees, so they had to smile and play nice with Ms. Mills. Publicly, at least.
"Ugh," Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, "We're sending one to that woman, but not one to the anonymous benefactor?"
Emma looked up sharply at that, "Do we need to review what the word anonymous means again, Mary Margaret?"
"But it's not fair! He, or she, or whoever it is has given us so much since we started and it's just not right that they go completely unacknowledged for it."
She was familiar with Mary Margaret's stubborness, that firm set to her chin and the pursed lips whenever she had her back up about something. It was one of the things that made her an excellent social worker, but the identity of their anonymous benefactor had to remain a secret for reasons Emma could never share.
"When you do a charitable deed, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, that your charitable deed may be in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will Himself reward you openly," she quoted pointedly, and added in a softer tone, "We've been over this. They do not want to be acknowledged."
Mary Margaret looked petulant, crossing her arms over her chest, "Yeah, yeah, I know."
David tried to reason with her, hand on her shoulder, "Seriously, sweetheart, whoever this person is we don't want to get on their bad side and have them yank their support just to satisfy our curiosity."
Emma repressed a snort at that. No, they most certainly did not want to get on their benefactor's bad side.
"Let them be anonymous if they want to be. Emma's right, it's not about the recognition anyway. It's about good deeds as their own rewards."
He took the pizza box and empty soda cans away for recycling while Mary Margaret packed the envelopes back into the box they had come in so she could drop the whole lot off at the post office. A few leftover cards were shoved to one side of the table and when David came back in with keys dangling from his finger she snatched one up and quickly scrawled something inside.
"You know who the benefactor is, would you just give him or her this?" she begged, thrusting the card at Emma, "You don't have to tell us their name."
She wordlessly accepted the card and Mary Margaret smiled, bouncing up and down slightly on the balls of her feet, "Thank you."
David put his keys down and picked up the pen, holding out his hand. Emma passed him the card and he added his own message, folding it closed again when he was done and squinting at the image on the front. His eyebrows raised as he held it up and really examined it for the first time.
"You know, I think this is supposed to be you, Emma."
Mary Margaret had the cards custom printed using a picture that had been drawn for them by the twelve year old son of one of their clients. He had been living in a car for over a month with his mom and baby sister when they had been referred to Shared Blessings. It was a sad and sadly common story of an abusive husband, they had fled from him in the car in the middle of the night with only the pyjamas on their backs and the few dollars the mom had in her purse. They had helped the little family get back on their feet, assisting with the restraining order the mom filed against her ex, helping her land a temp job that gave her the means to rent a small apartment. The boy had hardly said two words during all of it, always bent over a piece of scrap paper with a chewed nub of a pencil clenched in his hand whenever they met with his mom. His talent was obvious even in those little doodles that he tossed in the garbage before they left, and Emma had included a sketchbook and some other art supplies in the boxes of housewares and kitchen things and clothes assembled out of donations for them.
He had quietly pressed a page from the sketchbook into her hand when she visited a week after they moved in to see how they were doing. It was a picture of an angel, pointing the way to Bethlehem for the shepherds tending to their flocks in the fields below a dark sky with a single star. The angel had long blonde hair that curtained most of her face, but the shape of the mouth and the curve of the cheek were somewhat familiar.
Mary Margaret shivered while she waited for David to lock up the office, blowing air on her hands and stamping her feet. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders to keep her warm and guided her towards his pickup truck, parked in the lot across the street. Emma fished out her own keys, her car was tucked away in a side alley next to the building.
"At least there's no snow!" David yelled through cupped hands before he opened the truck's door and slid behind the wheel.
She looked up at the night sky, filled with stars. The temperature had been hovering around the freezing mark for several days but they had yet to experience the first snowfall of winter. The discussion had already begun in earnest on whether or not it would be a white Christmas, something the city had just missed out on for the past few years.
Her old Bug slowly wheezed to life when she put the key in the ignition and the engine rattled rather alarmingly. The car didn't really care much for the cold, although she never had to worry about it refusing to start completely. While she waited patiently for it to warm up she slowly pulled the green envelope her friend had pressed on her from inside her jacket and opened the card.
You must be an angel-
The first line written in Mary Margaret's neat handwriting had her closing her eyes while she shook with silent laughter. She could only imagine the look on Killian's face if she was to actually present the card to him. He'd probably chuckle at the irony of it...eventually.
"Oh, infernal one, I miss you."
He must be gone by now - if there was a time of year that demons disliked the most, it was Christmas. The old carols of faith and hope being sung again on every radio station and in every shopping mall, the nativity displays, the general festive air and talk of goodwill towards men, it all probably set his teeth right on edge. He usually decamped for somewhere much less...jolly, during the month of December.
Every year he invited her to join him.
Every year she declined.
It was their holiday tradition.
She tucked the card back away and flicked on her turn signal, pulling out at a break in traffic and heading home for the night. A voice drifted from the radio when she switched it on and she hummed along with the words absently as she drove without really paying attention to the song.
Oh, I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas is you
David was getting discouraged.
He did a good job of hiding it, but as Christmas crept closer and closer and they still hadn't found the right engagement ring for Mary Margaret - Emma could see the tension in his shoulders when he was hunched over his laptop in his office, checking shopping websites and auction listings whenever Mary Margaret stepped out. They had visited several stores together and looked at dozens of rings, but found nothing that fit both his limited budget and Mary Margaret's somewhat retro, fifties schoolteacher-ish sense of style.
"It's hopeless," he muttered when she arrived for the annual tree-trimming and cookie decorating party the couple threw every December at their loft-style apartment. David took her coat while his girlfriend was busy setting out bowls of frosting tinted in all the colours of the rainbow and trays of plain gingerbread men on the dining table, chatting away happily with the friends who had already arrived.
"Have a little faith," Emma replied, patting him on the arm and helping herself to a mug of hot chocolate ladled from a crockpot placed on the sideboard. Mary Margaret had also supplied a fat glass jar full of mini marshmallows with a little silver scoop and a taller one with a fragrant bundle of cinnamon sticks to garnish the drinks, David wasn't kidding when he had said she loved the holidays.
"We're going to wind up dating forever because I can't find a single ring to propose to her with with."
"David, there's still time."
He frowned and started to protest, "But Emma-" only to be interrupted by Mary Margaret handing him a pair of snowman patterned oven mitts and asking him to pull out the tray of sugar cookies that had just finished baking. She slipped her arm through Emma's, a red plaid apron tied neatly over her green plaid dress and a pink flush on her round cheeks.
"Has David seemed a bit...down, lately, or is it just me?"
Mary Margaret spoke quietly, eyes locked on David's back as he bent over to open the oven door. A fresh waft of cookie-scented air filled the room and he let out an, "Ow, that's hot," when he tried to grab at the tray with a dishtowel first instead of the mitts.
"Well, it might be the most wonderful time of year but it's also the busiest in our line of work," Emma deflected, "He's probably just tired."
Her friend didn't look convinced but she nodded slowly, watching David juggle a hot baking tray in one snowman-covered hand and a spatula in the other, "Yeah. That could be it."
"I'm sure he's fine, Mary Margaret. C'mon, let's go decorate some cookies."
They crushed candy canes and piped icing and sifted cinnamon sugar and drizzled melted chocolate onto the little cutout stars and sleighs and trees, the children ate more cookies than they actually decorated while the adults also all snuck one or two (or three). David wound up with a streak of pink frosting across his cheek that he pretended not to know was there, ducking Mary Margaret's attempts to wipe it off until she finally pinned him against the fridge and he stole a kiss when she rose up on her toes to thumb the sweet residue away. Christmas music played merrily in the background all afternoon and the loft was full to bursting with friends and laughter and joy.
Emma sat on the staircase with another mug of hot chocolate and a candy cane she had rescued from the "to be crushed" pile, watching Mary Margaret carefully unwrap the tree topper from a mound of white tissue and hand it to David. He was perched somewhat precariously on a stepladder next to the tall Douglas fir, fully decorated with multicoloured balls and the construction paper chains the kids had made after gorging themselves on the cookies.
"Drumroll please!" David called. The guests all started making their best approximation of one, slapping hands against thighs and humming loudly as he lifted the large gold star with a flourish. It was set on the highest branch and twisted into place, Mary Margaret switched on the lights and the whole tree lit up at once to a resounding cheer, twinkling bright in the place of honour it was accorded in the living room. David climbed down the ladder and Mary Margaret welcomed him with a big hug. His eyes met Emma's over her shoulder and she smiled at her friend, lifting her glass in a toast and mouthing at him, "We'll find it."
He smiled back before burying his face in Mary Margaret's shoulder and lifting her up off her feet with both hands wrapped around her waist. He spun her around in a circle while she squealed in surprise, one shoe falling off her foot.
Emma laughed along with the rest and took a sip from her mug, an oversized red novelty thing shaped like Santa's bottom half with Old Saint Nick scrawled across the ample curve of his jolly behind. Like all saints, Nicholas had been canonized for the many divine miracles he performed. He had once provided three poor sisters with dowries so they could finally marry, anonymously filling up their stockings with gold when they hung them above the fire to dry. David wished to pledge his troth to his intended, and though times had changed from the days when one couldn't become engaged without the money or property to set up a new household he still wanted to present Mary Margaret with a symbol of his devotion and make a public declaration of their impending union.
She watched her friends with her hands cupped around the mug and a warm feeling that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate. Saint Nicholas had worked his miracle for the poor sisters all those long years ago, and Christmas was a time when every angel had a few extra hidden up their sleeves.
All she needed was just the right moment to work hers.
Classic rock blared from the radio in David's truck and rain splashed on the windshield, a cold grey drizzle that had been falling off and on for the last few days. They were making the rounds to several grocery store where they had collection boxes set up, loading all the donations of mac and cheese and peanut butter and baby food into the truck to take back to the food bank. Mary Margaret was supervising the volunteers as they sorted and organized each new load, separating out all the various cans and jars into care packages for the needy.
They pulled into the parking lot of a discount supermarket located near several low-income apartment buildings and Emma's attention was caught by a prayer coming from someone inside the store. While David and the store manager hauled the donations to the curb and started packing everything securely in the truck's bed, strapping the boxes down with bungee cords, she made the excuse of needing to use the store's washroom and slipped through the sliding glass doors. A clipboard appeared in her hands when she rounded an endcap piled with cans of cranberry sauce and into the next aisle. Boxes of candy and bags of chips crowded the shelves, and from the other end came a man pushing a shopping cart and two young children in tow. The cart held only a few groceries, milk, store brand cereal, a loaf of cheap bread, a few cans of soup. One of the kids stopped and glanced at the shelf full of cookies, tugging on the man's sleeve and whispering, "Is there enough money, Dad?"
He consulted a piece of paper in his hand and his lips moved as he ran his finger down it, obviously adding up prices in his head. Regret crossed his face and he looked down at his worn running shoes with a sigh, "I'm sorry Nick, not this time. Maybe next week."
The boy nodded while his sister pulled the sleeves of her too-long sweatshirt down over her hands, the hope in her eyes snuffing out as quick as a candle being doused.
Emma strode up to them and lifted the clipboard into view, "Excuse me sir, do you have a few minutes to answer a customer satisfaction survey? You'll receive a five dollar store gift card as our thank you for participating."
"I don't...a five dollar gift card?
The kids started elbowing each other with excitement as their father straightened up and gave a nod, "Uh, sure, I guess."
She fired off a few simple questions, "How often do you shop here? Do you find the staff friendly and helpful? Are you a member of any other grocery store's reward program?" and wrote his somewhat hesitant answers down before clipping her pen to the board and handing over a small, white envelope.
"And there's your gift card. Thank you for your time today, sir, and Merry Christmas!"
He turned the envelope carefully over in his hand and repeated it like he wasn't even aware of what he was saying, "Merry Christmas."
They waited until she was gone to start talking about how to spend the five dollars, "Can we get them now, Daddy?...Ava, you guys will have to share. We can get one box and then we'll get a pack of bologna with the rest...Dad, Dad, this one's on sale buy one get one free!"
She could hear them clearly despite their attempts keep their voices down, and she made her way out of the store with a smile. When the man actually opened the envelope and saw that a fifty dollar gift card was tucked inside instead of a five dollar one, she heard the unspoken prayer of grateful thanks even louder.
"You look happy," David remarked when she slid back into the passenger seat next to him.
"It's Christmas, David."
The radio came back on when David turned the key in the ignition, classic rock taking a break while the DJ gave the latest weather forecast. More rain, with a scant chance of snow in the next few days, "Looks like it'll be a wet Christmas instead of a white one, folks." The windshield wipers swept back and forth across the glass with a squeak as they headed for the next store, and Emma felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw the text notification - "K. Jones" had sent her a picture text. With the phone angled so David couldn't see the screen (in case Killian was sending her one of those pictures again) she opened the message and saw that it was a postcard-worthy shot of a white sand beach with the turquoise ocean visible in the distance. A pair of empty lounge chairs were set on the sand under an oversized umbrella, towels folded neatly over the backs.
A message popped up under the photo.
Wish you were here - K.
She didn't reply, turning the screen off and sliding the phone back into her pocket. What was there to say?
Traffic was light, the rainy weather not offering much incentive to go outside and it didn't take long for them to reach their next pickup location. It was as unlike the neighbourhood they had left behind as could be, wide, tree-lined streets full of large, executive homes. They pulled into an open-air plaza with a line of upscale boutiques in a row and a high-end grocery store, the kind where famous cookbook authors held book signings and everything was either organic or made by local artisans or both. A placard in the window advertised free-range turkeys and four different kinds of pumpkin pie for the holidays.
"We're a bit early," David said, glancing down at the clock in the dashboard, "The manager's not expecting us for another half hour."
"Time for some ring shopping then."
He looked where she was pointing, at a jewelry store tucked in between a cupcake bakery and a place that sold children's clothing and gifts imported from France.
"Emma-"
But she was already out of the truck and striding across the parking lot, avoiding every puddle with ease. She could hear the muffled curse and the slam of the door as David also got out and followed her.
"Emma, I can barely afford to park in this place, let alone shop here."
He peered in the clothing store's window, eyes going wide, "Two hundred dollars for a sailor suit? What kid wears a sailor suit AT ALL these days, let alone a two hundred dollar one?"
She pulled him towards the jewelry store with a hand on his elbow and gestured to the gilt lettering painted on the glass, "Look, family owned and operated, custom designs, vintage and estate pieces. What do you have to lose?"
The bell over the door jingled when she pushed him into the store and the well-dressed blonde woman behind the counter looked up and offered a practiced smile as she greeted them, "Welcome! I'm Kathryn, how can I help you today?"
David mumbled something that sounded vaguely like, "justbrowsingthanks" and bent over one of the softly lit display cases with a flush on the back of his neck. For a small shop there was a large selection, gold chains, watches, earrings, cufflinks, even less common items like letter-openers and fountain pens. And a whole long case that took up an entire wall and was full of nothing but engagement rings.
Kathryn slid smoothly over and unlocked the case as soon as David showed interest in her wares, pulling out velvet trays and talking about carats and cuts and clarity while subtly trying to get an idea of how much he was looking to spend. He took out a few of the rings to look at them more closely, but put each one back with a shake of his head.
"There's some rings over here."
Both of them looked over at the sound of her voice and Kathryn nodded, "Oh, those are our estate and consignment pieces in that case. We have some lovely antique items and unique-"
The store's phone rang, cutting her off. She excused herself to answer while David came over, pulling at his shirt collar with a nervous gulp and whispering, "These prices are a bit...steep."
"They've got a sign in this one. Thirty percent off."
It wasn't all rings, the display held a variety of items that all had that aura of belonging to another time. Cameo pins and pocket watches, strings of jet beads and even an old fan with yellowing feathers and a mother-of-pearl handle. It reminded Emma of lavish palaces and grand balls, old memories of days long gone, but never truly forgotten.
David put his palms flat on the glass and leaned over, taking in the large, square gold signets, the oversized cocktail numbers with their clusters of diamonds, the sweet little heart-shaped promise rings. His eyes went wide and then narrowed, and his head jerked up.
"This one. Can I see this one, please?"
Kathryn already had the key out, clearly sensing a sale was about to be made. She unlocked the case and pulled out the small box David was jabbing at, index finger tapping on the glass.
"It's a bit unusual, but it's quite charming, isn't it? Funny, I don't remember this one coming in, otherwise I might have been tempted to keep it for myself."
She leaned forward and lowered her voice, "Now everything in this case is already thirty percent off but we have another shipment coming in tomorrow that I really need to make some room for, so I can knock another ten percent off the price if you purchase it today."
It was probably one of the oldest tricks in the books but David clearly wasn't even listening. He took the ring out of the box and set it on the dark cloth Kathryn had spread out on top of the display case to make the merchandise pop. The round green stone sparkled under the lights, angled just so to bring out the fire within, and the platinum band was polished to a high shine. Small letters engraved inside could just be seen when he rolled it around in his fingers.
T L
His jaw twitched and his voice cracked, "I'll take it."
Kathryn put the ring back in the box and snapped the lid shut, "Wonderful. I'll check you out right over here, sir."
He had a slightly dazed look on his face, silently handing over his credit card when he was given the total price. With the extra discount applied it came in well under his budget, and Kathryn handed him the small glossy shopping bag with a smile.
"A Christmas present for someone special?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah," David replied, letting out a breath and his shoulders dropping as he visibly relaxed, "Yeah, it is."
"Well, good luck, Mr. Nolan."
The bell rang again when they left the store and immediately David was pulling out the gold-coloured tissue paper Kathryn had carefully placed inside the bag and wadding it up in one hand as he fumbled for the ring box at the bottom.
"Emma, I don't believe it. This is my mother's ring, the one I told you about!"
"Oh?"
He flipped the lid back and pulled it out, "And I don't mean it just looks like her ring, this is her ring. Remember I said that she had a story about true love following the ring wherever it went? Look at what's engraved inside."
She peered down at it and read off the two letters that were etched into the metal, "T L."
"I always thought it was just the initials of whoever in the family originally bought it or something to do with the manufacturer and that whole true love story was just something she made up because it fit. T and L, true love. But now...it's a miracle that I found this. If you hadn't seen the store and pushed me to go in...Emma, it's a freaking miracle!"
The ring sat in David's palm, she reached up and closed his fingers around it, giving his hand a squeeze with a warm feeling swelling in her chest, "Well, if anyone deserves a Christmas miracle, it's you and Mary Margaret."
They loaded up the boxes from the grocery store, accepting a few last minute donations from several shoppers who saw what they were doing and rushed to grab more items off the shelves. David had an enormous smile on his face the whole time, thanking the people for their kindness as they pressed the bags of pasta and canned veggies into their hands, the ring box tucked safely in the inner breast pocket of his brown leather jacket as he hefted everything into the truck. He kept patting the spot where it resided as if to reassure himself that it was still there, right next to his heart.
"Well, I got my wish, but what do you want for Christmas, Emma?"
He gave her a sideways look as he drove, his blue eyes bright with curiosity and fingers tapping thoughtfully against the steering wheel.
"The same thing I want every year. Peace on earth, goodwill towards men. A partridge in a pear tree."
"Ha, ha. C'mon, I'm serious."
She reached out and idly traced a pattern on her window that looked vaguely like a snowflake, "Some snow would be nice."
As if on cue, a splash of muddy water hit the windshield from a passing SUV driving through a puddle and David had to turn the wipers on again, "Yeah. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like that's going to happen."
He fiddled with the truck's heat and then fussed with the radio, twisting the dial back and forth when the classic rock cut out. Emma leaned her head back in the seat and watched the drops hit the glass as the rain really started to pour. Her phone rested in her lap, the screen dark and silent.
Wish you were here - K
David settled on a station at last, music filling the cab as a voice crooned through the speakers.
Bells will be ringing this sad sad news
Oh what a Christmas to have the blues
My baby's gone I have no friends
To wish me greetings once again
Choirs will be singing "Silent Night"
Christmas carols by candlelight
Please come home for Christmas
Please come home for Christmas
The Cathedral of Saint Raphael was lit up with floodlights, shining bright against the stone facade and illuminating the stained glass windows that flanked the main doors. It was Christmas Eve, and several services had already been held to celebrate the holy miracle of that humble birth in Bethlehem so many centuries ago. The usual early morning Mass attended by just a few of the faithful became three packed services held one right after the other under the direction of the junior parish priests, voices high and cracking with nerves and palms damp with sweat under their flowing robes as they faced the long rows of pews all full of expectant faces staring back at them. Father Hopper took over in the afternoon for the children's pageant, delivering a short sermon while Emma helped the shepherds find their stuffed sheep in the box of props and fixed plastic headbands with halos bobbing on top that were sitting askew on the heads of the kids in the choir. They were all dressed as angels, each with a small flashlight to hold during their much anticipated performance.
"It's not working! It won't turn on!"
One little girl was nearly getting hysterical, thumping her uncooperative flashlight with the heel of her hand and shaking it wildly in a vain attempt to get it to work.
The choir director, Sister Astrid, flicked the switch back and forth a few times and muttered under her breath when it failed to magically turn on, "Of course I forgot the extras in the car. There's no time to get them now."
Emma held out her hand, "Let me try?"
The bulb sputtered at first and refused to give off little more than a dim amber glow, but then the light slowly brightened to full power and she handed it back to the little girl, bending down and straightening the cardboard wings strapped to her back.
"There you go."
The girl sniffed and wiped her running nose very unangelicly on her sleeve, hiccuping, "Thanks, Emma."
Sister Astrid herded her back in line and shot Emma a relieved smile over the girl's head, "You're a miracle worker."
The pageant went off (mostly) without a hitch, proud parents crowding the front pews with their cameras at the ready and waving madly at their sons and daughters when they filed out and took their places in the chancel. All of the flashlights worked, their illumination making the tinsel halos and hot glue-gunned wings look almost like the real thing. Their voices were pure and sweet, rising high in the nave as Sister Astrid guided them through each song. One of the shepherds accidentally knocked his sheep over the edge of the makeshift stage, and the little boy playing the angel who appeared to them in the fields absolutely bellowed his lines at the top of his lungs, punctuating every other word with a fist pump to the ceiling.
"FEAR NOT! FOR BEHOLD, I BRING YOU TIDINGS OF AMAZING- NO WAIT...GREAT JOY!"
His face was nearly purple with the effort by the time he was done, bending over with his hands on his thighs and gulping down huge breaths of air while a tremor of suppressed laughter ran through Father Hopper's shoulders as he watched the pageant from the side of the altar and the audience tittered with their hands to their mouths.
David and Mary Margaret found her after the service, Emma didn't miss the way Mary Margaret's eyes lingered on the children when they came out in their coats and mitts to join their waiting parents, candy canes from Father Hopper clutched in their hands and a few stubbornly refusing to take their halos off and put their winter hats on.
"The invitation is still open, you know," Mary Margaret said, looking away from a little girl with dark ringlets dancing on her shoulders and cherubic cheeks with a slight pink flush on her own.
The couple was going to her parents' house for dinner and had invited Emma to join them. Several times. Eva, Mary Margaret's mother, was the very definition of a welcoming and gracious hostess who would happily set another place at the table. But she had demurred the offer and she did again, thanking them and changing the subject quickly.
"Still no snow, huh?"
"Bing Crosby is a big fat liar," David joked, slipping his leather jacket on, "But at least the rain stopped."
Mary Margaret spied Sister Astrid coming out with the last of the children and went over to talk to the young nun. She held her gloves loosely in one hand and Emma saw that her ring finger was still bare. David followed her eyes and patted the front of his jacket.
"Got it right here. I'm going to ask her tonight, her parents have a bottle of champagne ready to open as soon as she says yes. Or if she says no, I'll just lock myself in the bathroom and drink it all myself or something."
"David, she is not going to say no."
She stood next to him, nudging against his shoulder with hers as they watched Mary Margaret chat with Sister Astrid and trade hugs with her friends in the congregation. He smiled, finding her hand and giving it a squeeze, "I know. It's no less terrifying, though."
After another round of hugs and Mary Margaret fussing with the scarf around David's neck before pulling out a pair of fuzzy white earmuffs from her bag and setting them on her head, the couple left Saint Raphael's arm-in-arm with a final wave and call over their shoulders of, "Merry Christmas!"
Emma was already anticipating the excited phone call she was sure to receive in a few hours, probably accompanied by a picture of the engagement ring sitting on her friend's finger. David was still incredulous about how they had managed to stumble over it seemingly at random, he had even called the jewelry store to try to find out more information about where it had been all these years. But they told him that they couldn't find any record of the ring in their file and there were no returns on sale merchandise.
"No, I don't want to return it, I just want to...hello? Hello? Crap, my phone just died. I could have sworn I charged it this morning."
Emma left his office while he was hunting fruitlessly for a charger in his desk drawer, smiling to herself. Miracles were best left unexplained.
Midnight Mass was the final service of the night, and Emma arrived back at the cathedral just as the clock struck half past eleven. Church attire had become far more casual over the years, white gloves and veiled hats long giving way to jeans and hoodies, but it was still traditional for people to dress up on this holy night and she had donned a knee-length sleeveless wool sheath dress in winter white. Her hair was twisted back in a knot, with a simple gold chain around her throat and her keys and phone tucked into a small clutch. She used the cathedral's side entrance, the one reserved for the clergy and the church employees. No one ever questioned why she was allowed a key to that door - not that she actually needed one to enter any church, locked or not. The pews were already starting to fill up and by the time the service started it would be standing room only.
"Another full house."
Father Hopper looked up when she rapped lightly on his open office door, shoving his glasses back up his nose and nodding at her statement, "The bishop will be pleased. Might help him get over his flu faster. Come in, Emma, come in."
She pulled her phone out from her clutch and showed him the photos David had texted her an hour ago. In the first one Mary Margaret beamed at the camera, holding up her left hand with the ring proudly on display. In the second they had their cheeks pressed together, David giving a jaunty thumbs up while Mary Margaret held a flute of champagne.
She said yes!
The priest read the text, a fond smile on his face, "Such wonderful news. A true blessing. You know, I'm really not supposed to play favourites when it comes to scheduling weddings, but tell them that they can have any date they want. After all, they have friends in high places."
He stood up from the desk and handed her back her phone, giving her a conspiratorial wink. Father Hopper didn't know the full truth of his statement and she clicked the phone back off, keeping her amusement to herself.
"I'll let them know. I'm sure Mary Margaret and her mother already have it all planned."
Father Hopper produced a bottle from the cabinet against the wall and two highball glasses, "A toast then, to the happy couple. And a bit of liquid courage for my next sermon. This is always the big one."
He poured a generous finger into each glass and Emma picked hers up, tapping the rims together and agreeing, "To Mary Margaret and David."
The liquor ran easily down her throat while Father Hopper shuddered and made a face after downing his, "Sometimes it's very difficult not to commit the sin of blasphemy."
She looked at the gaudy label on the bottle and rolled her eyes, "Then buy something better than cheap hooch, Father."
Her phone buzzed while he putting the glasses in the little sink down the hall from his office and she lifted it up, expecting to see another text from the newly engaged couple. But instead of "Mary Margaret Blanchard" or "David Nolan" the notification read "K. Jones" instead, and she felt her brows knit together in confusion. It was Christmas Eve, why would Killian be texting her tonight, of all nights? She swiped across the screen and brought up the full message.
A photo was attached, a close-up of an unmistakable brown paper Chinese takeout bag sitting on a familiar coffee table next to an unopened bottle of wine and two long stemmed glasses. The little dots appeared on the screen, showing that he was in the process of typing something.
Wish you were here.
"Emma? Is something wrong?"
Father Hopper stood in the doorway, concern on his face. She hurriedly clicked the phone off and shook her head, "No. No, nothing's wrong, it's just….a late dinner invitation from a friend who I thought was out of town for the holidays."
"Go."
"What?" she blinked, "By the time Mass is done it will be-"
He put his hand on her back and gently ushered her into the hall, pointing her towards the exit, "I meant you should go now. No one will doubt your devotion, Emma, after all you've already sat through one of my sermons today and I'm not quite sure if I can top the angel we all heard on high and loud. Besides, it's Christmas. It's the night to be with the ones you love."
The choir was warming up when she emerged from the back offices and made her way down the aisle, pausing in the vestibule to pull her phone out from her clutch. For a moment she hesitated, looking down at the screen.
Organ music began to play, a familiar refrain as the voices started to sing.
O holy night,
The stars are brightly shining
She tapped out a message and hit send, Fifteen minutes. Did you get extra eggrolls?
His answer was almost immediate, Of course I did, because I know a certain angel is secretly a glutton. See you in fifteen minutes then.
A cold gust of wind blew across her legs when she went through the heavy main doors, the song becoming muted behind her as she made her way down the wide stone steps.
Fall on your knees, o hear the angel voices...
Killian answered the door at his condo, barefoot and dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt.
"What happened to the beach?"
One shoulder lifted in a shrug, "Too many damn tourists. It's getting dreadfully overrun down there, I need to find a new island to visit at this time of year."
"Uh huh," she said, stepping around him and into the foyer, "So you came back early and ordered Chinese?"
"Very little else is open tonight, for some reason."
The door closed with a soft click and his fingers wrapped around her wrist, tugging gently. Her heels put them at almost the same height and blue eyes looked straight into hers, crinkling slightly at the corners when the demon smiled, "So then, blessed one. Shall we dine?"
Emma kicked off her heels and curled her legs under her on his sofa, watching him pull the little white takeout boxes from the paper bag and unwrap the chopsticks.
"How many eggrolls did you order?" she asked, as more kept appearing from the bag.
Killian sheepishly scratched behind his ear, "A dozen."
"A dozen," she repeated, breaking her chopsticks apart, "How many other angels did you invite for dinner, infernal one?"
He patted her gently on the knee, "Just you, darling."
Unlike practically everywhere else in the city, all decked out with trees and lights and music, his condo looked the way it always did. But then, demons did not celebrate Christmas. Killian put on a movie, a big-budget action thing with a nonsensical plot and plenty of superfluous explosions, and opened the bottle of wine. They ate lo mein and kung pao chicken and Killian pretended not to notice every time she took another eggroll, lifting his wineglass to his lips to hide his smile.
When the takeout boxes were more empty than full and the third or fourth car chase was taking place on the TV screen (she lost count), Emma stretched out on top of Killian on the couch, seeking the warm skin that lay underneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt. She lightly scratched her nails down his stomach and watched his eyes flutter shut, before his hand cupped the back of her head and guided her down to his mouth.
The wool sheath bunched up at her hips as his knee slid between her legs, they kissed languidly, unhurriedly, the taste of the wine between them and the flickering light from the TV dancing over Killian's face when she pulled back and looked down at him. The room was plunged into darkness when the movie ended and the credits started rolling on the black screen. Emma ran her hand over Killian's jaw, feeling the rough stubble under her fingertips and leaving behind a trail of gold in her wake. Her turned his head and nuzzled against her palm, the light growing stronger.
"It never burns. Why is that, Emma?"
She didn't answer, leaning down again to nip at his neck and tug his earlobe between her teeth. His hips tilted into hers and she could feel him, hard and ready under his jeans.
"Bedroom."
"Here's fine," she mumbled, hand playing with the strip of skin just above his waistband and slipping a single teasing finger under the fabric.
"No," he said, shaking his head, "Not tonight. Bedroom."
Their fingers laced together when they stood up from the couch and she followed him from the living room and up the stairs to the second level of his penthouse. He flicked on the hall lights and something hanging on a ribbon above the open door to the master suite caught her eye.
"Mistletoe? Isn't that against the rules?"
"I'll take my chances."
He pressed her against the frame, kissing her soundly under the little bunch of greenery and berries. Her dress pooled at her feet and the T-shirt was yanked over his head. His skin was always warm and she pressed against him, breasts to his chest as they backed up towards the bed. Denim peeled smoothly down his thighs, followed by the dark boxers, and the muscles twitched under her hands when she took him in her mouth.
"Fuck!"
His hips thrust up as she sucked, her hair falling loose and spreading across his stomach. Emma could feel his fingers twist in the long strands, while her own cupped between his legs to stroke and fondle.
Killian pulled her away from his lap before he got too close, rolling her onto her back and burying his face between her breasts, skimming over the material of her bra with his tongue.
"How fond are you of your underwear, angel?"
She looked down, "Oh, don't you dare!"
His chuckle vibrated against her skin but for once he didn't scorch and burn her clothes, removing them easily instead with his clever fingers that then slipped through the growing wetness after travelling back up her inner thigh. Her gasp was swallowed by a kiss as he quickly found every spot that made her legs open wider and her back arch.
"Now, Killian, I need….now."
Wet, open mouthed kisses were peppered across her breasts and up her neck and then he was pushing inside, one hand under the curve of her ass and the other seeking hers in the sheets above her head. Their fingers clasped again as he rolled his hips, his breath coming in harsh pants between gritted teeth, "Always so wet for me, always so fucking good, Emma...fuck!"
He threw his head back when his climax hit, she could feel the pulse inside of her and then he collapsed back down, head pillowed on her breast and arm wrapped tight around her waist.
Emma dressed quietly while he slept, sheets pulled down to his waist and one arm flung over his face. She had a busy day ahead of her, the soup kitchen would be serving full turkey dinners to all comers starting promptly at noon, and she would have a kitchen full of eager volunteers to organize and oversee to make sure everything ran smoothly. Mary Margaret and David would be there, David's name had been picked out of the hat and he would be donning the Santa suit this year to hand out the gifts that were all wrapped and waiting for the kids. Some had been donations, some had been bought by Mary Margaret with the extra money the charity had received from its mysterious anonymous benefactor, as they always did in December.
He never said anything about it.
Neither did she.
It was their holiday tradition.
By the time she was ready to go he had rolled onto his side, still asleep and with his arm stretched across the bed, fingers reaching for something that wasn't there.
Or someone.
"Merry Christmas, Killian," she whispered, brushing the hair back from his face and kissing him gently on the forehead. She knew he wouldn't be surprised when he woke up and found she was gone.
The guard on duty at the desk in the lobby was also asleep, sitting back in his chair with his hat pulled over his face and his feet propped up. The chime that was supposed to ring whenever someone went through the front doors was silent when she turned the handle and stepped outside, and he remained oblivious to her presence.
Snow was falling, drifting towards the ground in the yellow glow from the streetlights and defying what every weather report had predicted over the last few days. She tipped her head back up to look, feeling the flakes land on her cheeks and dust in her hair.
This was not her miracle. But it was a miracle nonetheless. She could feel it in the air.
Emma closed her eyes and stepped off the curb, out of the circle of light and vanishing into the dark with the faint sound of the flutter of wings and the chime of distant bells.