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“She’ll come,” Mr. Henry said, straightening his bow tie.
“Her middle name is probably wishy-washy,” Brennan said.
“Actually, it’s Paige,” she said, smiling at the gentlemen assembled.
Brennan didn’t even bother looking embarrassed at being caught talking ill about her behind her back. He raised a smug eyebrow. “And she arrives.”
“As I knew she would,” Mr. Henry said, holding out a hand to her. “An honorable woman is above even rubies.”
Brennan snorted. She shot him a withering look. “But only to her husband.”
“Touché,” Mr. Henry said, taking her hand. “You remember Gator, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she said, nodding toward the crafty-looking assistant—or whatever he was for Mr. Henry.
After a few moments of introducing her to the elves and the older gentleman who’d played the role of the Henry Department Store Santa for the past fifteen years, Mr. Henry stepped away to take a phone call. Gator trailed after him, leaving her with Brennan.
For a moment, they were as silent as the live oaks surrounding them.
“Any further problems with Simon?” Brennan asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing around at the busyness of the scene. The streetcar driver gave orders to a couple who were festooning the car in Christmas lights. Brennan seemed even more aloof than on Monday, as if he’d had a stern talk with himself about being a proper businessman who did not partake in festivities.
“Nope. Guess he found a better situation.”
“Good.”
“Yes, it’s good to have my couch back…and my TV.”
He nodded. Then silence sat on them. A strange awkward silence, sort of like being in a room where a comedian bombs or a doctor gives bad news. She didn’t know why it felt that way. Maybe Brennan’s dread of the task at hand. Maybe the fact she still felt out of breath and uncomfortable around him. Maybe it was the weather. Or the way the last rays of light fell as the sun sank over the Mississippi River in the distance.
Mr. Henry approached, interrupting…well, nothing. “Time to roll—it’s nearly six and it will take a good thirty minutes to get downtown. I will be waiting for you on the dais along with the mayor. Mary Paige, you and Brennan will bring the ceremonial torch—the flambeau—to the stand and place it beside the unlit tree.”
“There will be a stand,” Brennan clarified.
“Yes, then you will be seated while the St. Bartholomew’s choir sings several Christmas carols. There will be a welcome from the mayor, a reading by the archbishop, and then finally I will announce Mary Paige as the face of Christmas for Henry Department Stores. Then both of you will together light the tree at seven-thirty.”
“Why both of us?” she asked.
“Well, usually I do it,” Malcolm replied. “But Brennan is the future of MBH. It’s time he assumed some company responsibilities. And you are an important part of our season, aren’t you?”
Mary Paige looked at Brennan, who wore a grumpy look at the directive. He made a face and then said, “I spend every day at the office, so I’m certain I’ve already assumed some company responsibilities, ones more important than lighting a Christmas tree.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong. This is a family and a New Orleans tradition. If you want—”
“I get it. Tradition, frivolity, and lots of blinking lights. Ho, ho, ho,” he said, taking a few short steps to where Gator stood eyeing an elf. Something about the way his grandfather dangled his future as the possible CEO seemed to bother Brennan. Or maybe it was the entire holiday.
Mr. Henry looked at her. “Are you ready, my dear?”
“I suppose. Oh, and here is the signed contract. There was only one day I must bow out—the Gosslee-and-Associates Christmas mixer is on the same night as the St. Thomas’s Bingo Bash. Otherwise, I should be able to attend all of the events.”
“Wonderful,” Mr. Henry said, tucking the folded contract into his breast pocket and whistling. Izzy, wearing an elf hat and a doggy smile, leaped out of the streetcar and sat at attention. Mr. Henry tossed the dog a kibble treat then attached a leash to her collar. “Izzy will ride with you. Thought the children might think she was cute.”
He handed Brennan the leash and, without further word, Mr. Henry walked toward the Lincoln Town Car Gator had idling in a no-parking zone.
Brennan’s expression at being saddled with the tiny elf was classic horror.
She almost laughed.
But she didn’t, mostly because she was afraid her laughter would send Brennan stomping off, leaving her to face the streetcar, Santa, and the city business district armed only with a wiener dog.
