Page 60 of His Spirit of Christmas

“The mall? Uh-uh. We’re going to Saks or Henry’s and buying something worthy of a millionaire.” Mitzi sat beside her and picked up Mary Paige’s hand, examining it closely. “You could stand a manicure, too. Oh, and maybe a Brazilian wax. Lots of guys love when you’re all bare down there.”

“Oh, my heavens, Mitzi.” Mary Paige pulled her hand away and reared back against her extra fluffy pillows. “I’m not waxing down there.”

“Well, at least give him a landing strip.”

Mary Paige threw a cross-stitched throw pillow at her crazy friend.

Mitzi ducked. “Hey, don’t get mad because I know what guys like.”

“I know what guys like, too,” Mary Paige groused, looking around for her tennis shoes.

“What?”

“Girls who know the difference between a holding penalty and an offside penalty. Girls who cook like their mamas. Girls who—”

“Give them blowjobs.”

“You aresobad.” Mary Paige grabbed her favorite fuzzy hoodie and pulled it over her head.

“All part of my charm,” her friend said. “Let me grab my boots and wallet, and I’ll make sure you knock this man’s socks off.”

“I don’t really want to knock his socks off.”

“His pants, then?”

“I think you’re the one who needs some action. Seriously, you’re obsessed with sex.”

“I know. It’s been too damn long.” Mitzi’s cheerful expression shuttered for a moment, and Mary Paige could feel her friend’s deep sorrow.

Since her diagnosis, Mitzi hadn’t dated or hung out with her regular friends at the pub down the street. For some reason, though she remained positive about her prognosis, she wouldn’t resume the unfettered, carefree life she’d once embraced, electing instead to hang out with Mary Paige and watch movies or help her mother with the catering business. Mary Paige suspected the loss of both her friend’s breasts had affected her more than she’d let on, causing her to narrow her world as much as possible. Mary Paige couldn’t seem to budge Mitzi from the street where they lived, so she was surprised to have an accomplice for her shopping spree.

“Meet you on the stoop in five,” Mary Paige said.

Forty-five minutes later after spending ten whole minutes looking for a parking spot downtown, they browsed through Saks eyeing the sale racks.

“I feel guilty not shopping at Henry’s.”

“Why?” Mitzi asked, raking through the mismatching pants, sweaters, and skirts on the fifty percent-off rack. “You don’t owe them anything.”

Mary Paige shrugged as she pulled out a sweater in a nice shade of cranberry and held it up. “Guess not. But I’m spending their money on a competitor’s wares.”

“Then spend your money. You have a job, don’t you?” Mitzi grabbed the sweater from her hand. “Screw this sale crap. Let’s go over there.” She pointed to the couture section, where a mannequin wore a tight electric-yellow dress with strategically placed cutouts.

“That’s a little much.”

“Come on, M.P. Don’t you wanna look like a total Betty?”

“You’ve been watchingCluelessagain, haven’t you?”

Mitzi laughed. “Stop changing the subject. You need to look hot. Scorching. Babelicious.”

“Why? I’ve never fit any of those descriptions. I’d rather look like me.” Mary Paige sighed, returning the sweater to the rack.

“Okay, enough of the I’m-so-plain-and-simple-I-make-my-own-soap routine. Every girl likes to feel hot. So, let’s move in that direction,” Mitzi said, pointing a finger toward the section that likely contained not a single garment for less than a hundred bucks. “Because this is your opportunity to wash the taste of that bum Simon out of your mouth with a guy who will treat you right.”

Mary Paige stopped between a stand of bathing suits and one of business suits. “Who says he’ll treat me nice? What’s so great about being an afternoon amusement for Brennan Henry?”

“Negativity from Mary Paige Gentry?” Mitzi spread her hands out and looked around as if she didn’t know where she was.

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