She started to nod her head, then looked him in the eye. “I don’t want to go home.”

Chapter Thirteen

chapter thirteen

Elaine St. James was the last person Tony thought he’d be spending Christmas Eve with. At the same time, she was the only person he wanted to spend Christmas Eve with. He led the way out of the underground parking and up the block to his building, situated on a quiet Park Slope street. He glanced at the silent woman beside him. She was coming into his home, into his life. He hoped he hadn’t left the place too much of a mess.

The old brownstone wore garlands of holly on the stair rail and around the door. In the foyer, someone had suspended a sprig of mistletoe over the mailboxes. There was a Santa hat on the newel post. The scent of bayberry candles spiced the air. It was late, so they didn’t speak until they were inside his third-floor apartment.

He let her in and watched her, trying to gauge her reaction. At some point in his life he had figured out how not to be a slob. The place didn’t look too bad or smell like a hamster cage.

But it also didn’t look like the kind of place Elaine St. James belonged in. She was like some exotic flower standing there, completely out of her element. But then she smiled.

She took off his parka and handed it over. “Thanks,” she said. “I would have frozen without it.”

The fancy coat she’d given her friend was probably worth a month’s rent.

“So...am I keeping you from something?” she asked, surprising him by seeming a little nervous.

“I skipped mass tonight,” he said. “But I suppose that can be forgiven, seeing as how we had to help out your friend.”

She nodded and gave a little shudder. “I hope she’s going to be all right.”

“Helluva thing, seeing your friend like that.”

“I’m not sure she was ever my friend, but I’d never want to see her hurt herself.”

“That’s up to her. You did a good thing, Elaine.”

“Did I? What about at lunch, when she asked me for an advance and I turned her down? That’s what started this whole mess.”

“You don’t always get it right the first time. Nobody does. How about you have a seat?” He indicated the brown corduroy sofa. His scrawny Christmas tree was set up on a table in the window, a little lopsided thing sagging with too many colored lights.

He left a message on his parents’ answering machine as he poured two glasses of wine—he hoped she liked red—and handed one to her. “So, are you all right?” he asked.