“We all did.” His lips form the words, but I can see the truth behind them. The idea, his. The initiative, his. The heart ... his.
I rarely know what to say, but this is different. The words aren’t refusing to form because my brain isn’t cooperating or because fear and panic have stolen them. They aren’t coming because my heart is so full there isn’t any room left for words.
Jeremy holds his hand out to me. “Let me be your tour guide as we travel around the world in eighty minutes.” He winks.
The light tease is enough to break me of my trance. My muscles cooperate again, and I close my fingers around his. He tugs me closer, and I have to keep myself from leaning all the way into his side.
“The first stop on our trek across the globe is none other than Australia.” He leads me to the right.
A wireless speaker is set on a table. It blends in with coconut shells on top of a cloth printed in tropical leaves. A fake palm tree no more than two feet tall is lit up with multicolored lights and has a Santa hat on top. A version of “Jingle Bells” plays, but instead of dashing through snow in a horse-drawn sleigh, the lyrics sing of going through the bush and kicking up dust in their rusty Jute.
Frank grins. I’m not sure which is more surprising—seeing him in a Magnum P.I.–style shirt with Santas on a beach drinking outof pineapples, or the fact that he seems to be extremely comfortable in such attire.
“G’day.” Frank’s greeting doesn’t sound like an American doing a poor Australian accent. He sounds good.Thatmight be the most surprising. “Can I interest you in some prawns?” He indicates the large shrimp cooking on the grill.
Jeremy looks at me, brows raised in question.
I feel bad, since so much thought has been put into each destination. “I’m allergic to shellfish.”
“No worries.” Frank doesn’t seem to be put out at all. He sidesteps away from the grill to stand behind a white-domed confection spilling over with decadent-looking berries of red, green, and blue. “How about a slice of one of Aussie’s favorite desserts?”
My mouth waters just looking at the treat fit for a bakery window. “What is it?”
Frank beams. “Pavlova. It’s a meringue with a crisp crust and a light, chewy center topped with strawberries, kiwi, passionfruit, blueberries, and fresh whipped cream.”
My eyes widen with each descriptor. “That sounds heavenly.”
He plates the pavlova, then leads us to two lawn chairs opened beside the sandbox. After we sit, he hands us our desserts, then pulls out his phone. The sound of ocean waves crashing on the shore adds to the ambience. He sets down the phone and grins. “One more thing.”
As he walks away, I wonder what else he could possibly have up his sleeve. I already feel transported to the beach. Sand, the sound of the ocean, a Christmas palm tree. What more could there be?
Frank wheels out a large lamp and positions it directly over my head. In seconds, I feel like the sun is beating down on me.
I smile up at Frank in gratitude. Honestly, I never would’ve thought he had this level of selflessness and kindness in him. It just shows that people are always more layered than we give them credit for. “Thank you, Frank.”
He smiles and backs away.
“Did you and your mom ever ‘travel’ to Australia for any of your Christmases?” Jeremy asks as he spears a kiwi slice with his fork.
I shake my head. “We never made it south of the equator. It’s funny, I haven’t given much thought to half the world celebrating Christmas in the summer. While we’re bundled up around the fireplace, watching the snow fall, they could be at the beach, picnicking and barbequing.”
I make sure to get a little of everything on my fork—meringue, fruit, and cream—then take a bite. The meringue is sweet but balances with the tart tang of the fruit and the smooth creaminess of the whipped cream. I take three more bites in quick succession before I slow down enough to focus on anything else.
When I look up, Jeremy is grinning at me. “Safe to assume you like it?”
“It’s divine,” I say around the last strawberry.
“Ready for the next stop on your tour?”
Jeremy takes my plate from me, and I extricate myself from the beach chair. His hand is warm on my lower back as he steers me to the next country. I measure my steps to feel the pressure increase along my spine. Maybe to slow time as well. This must be how Cinderella felt dancing with the prince. Wanting the night to last forever.
Rosa is backlit by two large paróls hanging behind her. A white five-point star shines from the middle, each point touching the circle surrounding it wrapped in a shimmering garland of red and gold, thick strands of ribbon hanging like tassels off the bottom. On her table sits the small nativity scene that has decorated the office for the last couple of weeks. Mary and Joseph now stare lovingly down at baby Jesus lying in the manger.
“They finally found their way to Bethlehem,” Rosa says, noting my line of vision.
I look up at her and smile. “They sure did.”
“My mother and I made this especially for you. It’s our favorite Christmas treat.”
