Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Dedication

Acknowledgments

By Nancy Thayer

About the Author

Chapter 1

Christina Antonioni could spot a shoplifter with her eyes blindfolded and both ears stuffed with cotton. You didn’t run a toy shop for five years without developing a certain intuition. Right now her own private alarm system was pinging all over her body.

The girl was about nine years old, a cute child with messy blond hair falling into her shifty blue eyes. On this cold early December day, she wore sneakers, jeans, and a shapeless wool sweater.

“Merry Christmas!” Christina greeted her with a smile.

“Merry Christmas,” the girl mumbled sullenly. She didn’t look at Christina. With her thin shoulders hunched, she slunk around the little shop, casting a brooding glance at the wooden ferry replicas, lighthouses, books, fairies, and mermaids.

She paused at the mermaid book. Christina knew she would. She knew what girls her age liked. The most fabulous item there, a huge embossed book about mermaids with a faux jewel glittering in the middle, was too big for the girl to steal, and so was the ten-inch, beautifully made mermaid doll on a nearby shelf.

Christina bent down to put something in her glass display case. Through the glass she saw the girl swiftly slide a small mermaid sticker book into the pocket of her jeans.

It was only a five-dollar item. She wanted to let her have it, poor child.

But children should be taught not to steal.

“Please put the sticker book back,” Christina ordered in a firm voice.

The girl jumped. She glared at Christina with her mouth bunched up in defiance. Then, to Christina’s chagrin, her face turned red and she burst into tears.

“It’s not fair!” she wailed. “I only took a little thing.”

“It’s still stealing,” she quietly reminded the child.

“It’s Christmas!” the girl blubbered. “My parents are getting divorced, and my mom and I are staying with my grandfather and I don’t have any toys or dolls here and we don’t even have a Christmas tree! I just want something!”

“Oh, honey.” Christina could tell the girl’s grief was genuine. She stepped out from behind the counter, approaching her as if she were a wounded wild animal.

Perhaps the child thought Christina was going to wrench the sticker book away from her. She jerked it from her jeans pocket and threw it toward the shelf. “There!”

“What’s your name?” Christina asked gently.

Warily, she muttered, “Wink.”

“Wink, thank you for returning the sticker book. I’m sorry to hear about your situation. Tell you what. If you’ll come back later today, around three o’clock, I’ll give you a job. The UPS man arrives then and you can help carry the boxes into the shop. I’ll pay you and you can buy yourself a present here. I’ll give you a discount so you can buy something nice.”

Wink stared at her as if she’d just grown another head. “What if you have the police here?” Her voice quavered and she flushed at the telltale anxiety in her voice.

“You didn’t steal the stickers. You put them back.” Something in her wanted to give this girl her dignity. “Wink, this is a serious offer. I need the help.”

She chewed on her lip, thinking. “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll be back at three.”

She sauntered out of the shop, her shoulders just a little bit straighter.

—

At noon, Christina put a WILL RETURN IN THIRTY MINUTES sign on her door, locked it, and went across the brick avenue to Mimi’s Seaside Souvenirs. Mimi Mattes, Jacob Greenwood, and Harriet Colby were already there, gathered in the windowless back room where Mimi had set up folding chairs among the cardboard packing boxes.

They comprised an informal group they called the Shedders because they each rented one of the weathered, shingled sheds on the wharf that extended out over the water.

Their shops were each a single quaint—and quaint was a compliment—room. Years ago, fishermen had tied up their boats to this wharf and lugged their catches into the relative shelter of these shingled buildings to clean and dress for sale. Later, the long pier was surfaced with bricks, the sheds were turned into shops, and the Hy-Line ferry arrived, carrying people to and from the mainland several times a day.

Because of the ferry, the little sheds were great places for tourists to browse and find one last Nantucket gift to take home. The bad news was the sheds weren’t insulated or centrally heated. There was electricity, of course, and behind their counters the shopkeepers each had a small electric oil-filled heater that made the fiercest winter days tolerable.

Mimi had the biggest shed so the Shedders met there for a quick lunch most days, exchanging gossip and helpful information. The chamber of commerce had a message system to alert merchants of potential shoplifters, and Christina wasn’t sure whether to inform them about the girl.

Huddled next to the heater, Christina described her confrontation with the child.

“Poor child,” Mimi Mattes sighed. In her fifties, widowed, Mimi was as round and cheerful as a snowwoman, with short, curly white hair and sparkling blue eyes. “You did the right thing, Christina. I don’t think we need to send out an alert.”

“I agree,” Jacob chimed in. He was in his thirties, an odd, handsome, yet somehow dorky guy who ran Nantucket Wind Man. Jacob sold kites, wind chimes, weather vanes, and scientific equipment such as barometers, thermometers, and anemometers. “In fact, I have an idea,” he continued. “Let’s give the kid a real Christmas. Let’s each put a gift in a bag. Christina can surprise her with it at the end of the day. I’ll donate a handheld electronic weather gauge.”

“Lovely, Jacob!” Mimi clapped her plump, dimpled hands. “I’ll give her a Christmas sweatshirt. Sounds like she can use it.”

Christina nodded enthusiastically. “You guys are the best. I’ll give her the mermaid sticker book she was drooling over.”

Three expectant faces turned toward Harriet, who gazed sourly back. Harriet was new to the wharf. She’d come from Connecticut, and one evening when they all went out together for drinks, she confessed she was there to find a wealthy husband. Her shop, Nantucket Couture, was a bit of a joke to those who lived on the island, since the island’s couture pretty much consisted of a bathing suit and flip-flops. Still, people needed something for the summer parties, and Harriet made a killing then. This season she concentrated on clever gloves, shawls, and caps.

“I don’t carry merchandise for children,” she reminded them, shuddering delicately at the thought of the little savages. Harriet could get away with her attitude because she was gorgeous. Blunt-cut blond hair brushed her shoulders, sea-green eyes slanted like a cat’s, and her figure was exceedingly vavoom.

Christina admired Harriet’s looks, and some days she envied them; who wouldn’t? Still, Christina’s own abundant brown curls tumbled romantically down her back; she’d been told she resembled a Pre-Raphaelite heroine. In college, she’d almost gotten engaged to a man she’d dated for a year, but at graduation they decided to go their separate ways. At twenty-five, she’d dated a really good guy, Jamie Locke, but when he proposed to her, she turned him down, as nicely as she could. Christina believed in true love. She was holding out for what she privately called the Big Bang. If the universe could start that way, so could her married life. She wanted to meet The Man and know at once, with a kind of emotional explosion, that he was The One.

Harriet shifted on her chair. “All right. I’ll give her some money.” She reached into her Prada bag and pulled out a dollar bill. “Here, Christina.”

“A dollar?” Christina snorted with laughter. “Don’t go wild, Harriet.”

“Look, if I gave every pathetic kid a dollar, I’d be bankrupt,” Harriet argued.

“I’ll tell you what,” Christina said. “Give me another dollar. I’ll give you a discount on the mermaid sticker book and you can give her that.”

Harriet drew back in horror. “Well, I don’t want to see her!”

“You don’t have to interact with her,” Christina promised. “I’ll tell her it’s from you.”

“Whatever.” Harriet sighed, ferreting around in her bag for another dollar bill.

—

At three, the UPS truck trundled over the bricks and stopped outside Christina’s Toy Shop.

“Hey, there, Christina, how are ya?” Chuck, the driver, jumped down and began to unload boxes.

“Good, Chuck. You?” Christina came out of her shop with a smile for the driver but a sinking heart. Wink hadn’t returned.

“Lots of work these days. It’s a busy season,” Chuck told her, heading for the back of the truck. He slid the panel door up.

A cough caught Christina’s attention. She turned to see Wink standing at the corner of her shop, staring down at the bricks, shoulders clenched.

“Wink!” Christina called brightly. “You’re here. Thank heavens. Chuck, this is Wink. She’s going to help carry in the boxes for me.”

“Good for you, kid!” Chuck said. “But you know, I can carry them inside.”

“Not today, thanks,” Christina said firmly.

“Okay with me. Here, take this one.” He handed one of the smaller brown boxes to the girl.

Christina went inside. She showed Wink where to stack the boxes behind the counter.

The girl’s face turned red with effort, but she didn’t complain, and Christina refused to feel pity, because the merchandise was mostly small objects, and the brown boxes they arrived in were small, too.

After Chuck left, a customer stopped by, so she asked Wink to wait a moment for her pay. The woman bought a miniature wicker picnic basket with child-size plates and utensils strapped neatly in place for her granddaughter and left.

“You worked about fifteen minutes,” Christina said to Wink, who was leaning on one of the boxes, looking expectant. “At twenty dollars an hour, that makes your pay one quarter of an hour, which is five dollars.” She put a five-dollar bill on the counter next to her.

“Five dollars?” The girl’s shoulders slumped.

Christina wanted to explain that she hadn’t even worked fifteen minutes, and the UPS man would have carried all the boxes into the shop by himself, and in this economy she cherished every five dollars she possessed.

But it was Christmas. “Also, I have a present for you, Wink.” She handed her the gift bag.

Or tried to. Wink drew back, as if afraid to touch the bag. “I-I-I don’t have anything for you,” she stuttered.

“Oh, sweetie, that’s all right. Here. Take it. I think you’ll like it.”

Wink took the bag, peeking down into it as if afraid a snake hid there, coiled to strike. Her eyes widened as she spotted the weather gauge, sweatshirt, and sticker book. She took the sticker book out, setting the bag down so she could hold it with both hands. Her lower lip trembled. Furiously, she blinked back the tears welling in her eyes.

“Awesome,” she breathed. “Thank you, um, Miss Christina.”

“You are most welcome, Wink. Merry Christmas.” This is what Christmas is all about, Christina thought. She almost cried, too.

Wink’s face brightened even more. “And I can use my five dollars to buy my mom a present!”

“Excellent idea,” Christina said.

Wink turned to face Christina, her chin high, her dignity fully restored. “Miss Christina,” she asked, “could I hug you?”

“Miss Wink,” Christina replied, “I would like that very much.” She crouched to be eye level with the girl.

Wink threw her arms around Christina and squeezed her hard.

Christina swallowed a big gulp of emotion. Someday she would have her own children. Until then, this was one of the sweetest embraces she’d ever known.

Wink released her, grabbed her presents, took the five-dollar bill from the counter, and headed for the door. “Merry Christmas!” she called, and raced away down the wharf, out of sight.

Chapter 2

“You guys are a pair of suckers,” Harriet said, rolling her eyes.

It was the next day. The Shedders were eating lunch again at Mimi’s, huddled around the heater. Christina had described giving Wink her gift. Mimi and Jacob were delighted, but Harriet scoffed at their sentimentality.

“She’s probably a little scam artist,” Harriet continued. “She probably does this at all the shops.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist,” Jacob told her.

Harriet glanced at Jacob and sighed. “I’ll try, but it’s hard.”

Christina changed the subject. “I’m not going to take an entire half hour today. Tomorrow the Christmas Stroll starts. The shoppers are out. Are you guys doing good business?”

Mimi nodded. “The sweatshirts are flying out of here, especially the ones I had made up with Santa riding the back of a whale.”

“I’m almost sold out of pinwheels,” Jacob reported.

“Pinwheels are hardly going to pay the rent,” Harriet reminded him.

“True,” Jacob agreed. “But the expensive science stuff is selling, too. Plus, lots of people are taking pamphlets about wind energy.”

“Oh, groan,” Harriet said. “Can’t you stop saving the world for one day? Don’t you need to make a buck?”

Mimi smoothly intervened. She stood up, which never failed to get attention, since all two hundred and some pounds of her was clad in her wildly patterned Christmas sweater. “Children,” she said sweetly, “no fighting. It’s Christmas. I, for one, am going to finish my sandwich at the counter. I can hear people milling about outside.”

Christina, Jacob, and Harriet packed up the remainder of their lunches, said goodbye, and braved the frigid December wind as they crossed from Mimi’s Seaside Souvenirs to their own shops.

A gaggle of mothers waited outside Christina’s shop, stamping their feet to keep warm as the wind off the sea flapped their scarves and mufflers.

Christina threw open the door. “Come in!” she called cheerfully.

Christina never did finish her sandwich. Stroll Weekend, the first weekend in December, brought in crowds.

The mothers bought mermaids, pirates, seagulls, and seals. They bought treasure chests, books, puzzles, and wooden lighthouses. Shrieking with happiness at finding the perfect stocking stuffer, they seized up sticker books, wooden pull-toys, and replicas of the Nantucket Rainbow Fleet sailboats.

Christina rang up sales, tucked gifts into bags, answered questions, pointed directions, and chatted with her customers. At one interlude, she found time to flick on her CD player, filling the air with Christmas carols, and the music gave her the energy to work as fast as she could all afternoon.

It was after five when the crowd thinned out. Christina usually closed at six, but today and tomorrow she’d stay open until no one else arrived.

Night had fallen. Darkness surrounded the wharf, while the winter wind increased, blustering and shoving against the thin walls of the shop, splashing harbor water loudly against the wooden floor. Out here on the wharf you could feel the full force of winter, the depth of the dark. Christina was grateful for the cheer of the Christmas lights outlining the other shops, twinkling companionably in the blackness. Everything would be much more romantic if it would snow. Snow always laced and frosted the windows of homes and shops, turning them all into presents. But no snow yet.

Christina walked around her shop, straightening the shelves, getting ready for the next day. She was just thinking of locking up for the night when a woman entered.

The woman’s ears flashed with diamonds beneath her fur hat. She was young, only a bit older than Christina, and very pretty, except for the disdainful expression on her face.

She held up a bag. “Did you give these things to my daughter?”

Christina hesitated. She’d never, ever, had a parent complain before. “I’m not sure,” she responded mildly. “Could I see what you have?”

The woman dumped the bag upside down on the counter. Out clattered a sweatshirt, a weather gauge, and the sticker book.

Stunned, Christina protested, “These were gifts for Wink.” And Wink, Christina felt certain, didn’t have a mother who went around in diamonds.

“I see. Well, that’s very sweet of you, but completely unnecessary. I’m returning them. You can give them to some child who needs them.”

A man entered the store, a sheepish expression on his handsome face. Like Wink and the angry woman, he had thick blond hair and blue eyes, thickly fringed with brown lashes. “Delia,” he said quietly. “Please.”

His wife—Christina assumed she was his wife—ignored him. Looking down her nose at Christina, she smiled condescendingly. “You see, my daughter, Winifred Bittlesman Lombard, is the granddaughter of Oscar Bittlesman!”

Even Christina, who paid little attention to such things, knew that Oscar Bittlesman was wealthy. Years ago, he’d been the talk of the town when he had bought a house on the cliff worth ten million dollars, and three years ago, unlike all the other millionaires, he starting living there year-round.

He had also bought the wharf property and all the buildings on it. Christina and the other Shedders were on tenterhooks, waiting to see if the new owner would raise the rent.

“So,” Delia continued, “we are more than capable of providing Winifred with plenty of gifts.”

“I’m sure you are,” Christina began. “I apologize if I somehow insulted you. I didn’t know Wink’s last name, and she indicated that her family couldn’t—” She stopped. She didn’t want to get the girl in trouble with this proud woman. “She was sad that her parents are getting divorced,” she concluded truthfully.

Wink’s mother rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh, dear. All you people love to gossip about us!”

“What?” Delia Bittlesman Lombard’s attitude was getting up Christina’s nose. “I really don’t think—”

“You don’t need to think. Just don’t give anything to my daughter again.” Tossing her head, elbowing the man in her hurry, she strode from the store, her fur coat sailing out behind her like the wings of a flying squirrel.

“I apologize for my sister,” the man said.

Christina blinked as her mind processed this information. So this tall, handsome, and seemingly rational man was not the crazy woman’s husband.

“She’s not usually like that,” the man continued. “The divorce is upsetting for her and she’s unsettled, spending Christmas on an island where she knows no one. Stress brings out the worst in her.”

Christina kept silent. She didn’t want to say, Oh, that’s all right. She was trembling from the encounter. She neatly folded up the tousled sweatshirt and smoothed the cover of the sticker book.

“Please forgive us,” the man said. Coming toward her, he held out his hand. “I’m Andy Bittlesman, by the way.” With a charming smile, he added wryly, “Oscar Bittlesman’s son, and I can’t do a thing about that.”

He’d made her smile. She took his hand. “Christina Antonioni.”

“Nice name.” He continued to hold her hand in his larger, warmer one.

Was he flirting with her? For all she knew, he was married. Or more likely enjoying a moment of noblesse oblige. Throw the peasant a bone and keep her happy.

“How’s Wink?” Christina asked, gently sliding her hand away from Andy’s.

“She’s been better,” Andy admitted. “Her parents’ divorce is difficult for her. I think it’s worse because she’s an only child. We thought it would be fun for her to spend Christmas on the island, but we didn’t count on the cold. She can’t play on the beach or go swimming. There’s no snow for a snowman. And she doesn’t know any other kids.”

“Have you taken her to the library?” Christina suggested. “There’s a marvelous children’s wing.”

“Well, no,” Andy said, “we haven’t thought of that. I’ll tell Delia.”

“Tell her about the Whaling Museum, too. It’s a fabulous place for kids Wink’s age. It’s got a real whale skeleton hanging from the ceiling.”

“That sounds great. I’d like to see it, too.”

“And when the weather’s decent,” Christina added, caught up in Andy’s enthusiastic response, “you can walk up to The Creeks at the end of the harbor. And along the wharves. Dolphins have been spotted there recently.”

“Really? Cool.” For a moment Andy stood daydreaming. Lowering his head, he peered up at her from beneath his long lashes. “I don’t suppose you’d like to come along, too?”

Christina couldn’t help herself—it was a stimulus-response kind of thing—her eyes flew to his left hand. No wedding ring.

“But you’re probably busy,” Andy continued, suddenly flustered. “Or married. Or at least engaged.” He was looking at her ring finger, too.

Christina laughed. “Not married. Not engaged. But overwhelmed. The month of December is crazy busy.”

“Oh, well, sure, I understand.” Andy cocked his head, studying Christina. “How about in the evenings? Could I take you out to dinner?”

“Oh,” Christina protested, suddenly embarrassed. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t have to, but I certainly would like to,” Andy told her.

“Well…” Christina paused. “Don’t you have to get back to the city?”

“Not until I’ve taken you out to dinner, Christina Antonioni,” Andy Bittlesman said.

His smile was like an arrow straight into her heart.

Christina felt herself blush. She’d never been so instantly attracted to anyone since…well, she’d never been so instantly attracted to anyone. It was terrifying.

“How about tomorrow night?” Andy asked. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a delicious meal after a hard day’s work in a toy shop?”

Christina checked to see if he was being sarcastic about the “hard day’s work” bit, but his smile was genuine.

“All right,” she conceded. “Yes, it would be lovely to go out to dinner.”

“Great! Should I pick you up here?”

“Um, no. I’ll need to go home to drop off some things.” And, she thought, take a shower, change clothes, put on lipstick, eyeliner, perfume…

“What’s your address?”

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