My Own Mr. Darcy (15 page)

Matt finally found a
parking place two blocks from Peacock Lane. “Would you like me to get a
carriage?” he asked.

“No. No. I’m very fond of
walking,” I said.

“Then we’ll walk.” Matt
took my hand and soon we were walking down the long, sparkling street. The air
was warm for December and we walked with our coats unbuttoned. We joined a
crowd in front of one of the houses that had its lights set to a synthesized
version of “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” It was fun to watch, but the song about
gathering to adore the infant Christ-child seemed boisterous and unworshipful.

Several doors further, the
homeowner had put a large archway over the sidewalk. It was covered with green
boughs and Christmas lights. In the center of the arch was a large sprig of mistletoe.
I pretended not to see it. Matt hardly seemed like someone who’d be moved by
contrived romantic gestures, especially in such a public setting. We were
directly under the mistletoe when he surprised me. He stopped, took me by the
shoulders and kissed me, not a short quick kiss, either, but a long, expressive
kiss. I could barely breathe when he pulled away and if he hadn’t pulled me
into his arms, I might have lost my balance.

The cluster of people
behind us started to cheer and I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. Matt
quickly snapped back to reality. He nodded at the throng and we began walking
again.

“Wow,” I said. “That was
unexpected.”

“Maybe unexpected, but hopefully
not unwelcome,” Matt said.

“Not at all,” I said
looking up at him. He smiled.

For the first time that
week I felt at ease. Matt was everything I wanted and he’d just shown the first
sign that someday he might openly and completely adore me.

As I fell asleep that
night, dances and kisses and Christmas lights drifted through my mind and
gradually became dreams. Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth danced to Bing Crosby, Matt
and I kissed under the mistletoe on Peacock Lane. Matthew Macfadyen walked
toward me in a long coat as the sun rose and Chad called me his pearl on a
Sunday afternoon.

THE PINK SALAMANDER
was
bustling with activity when I arrived for lunch. A life-sized Nutcracker guarded
the front door. A Christmas tree stood inside the front entry, its branches
covered with books and reading spectacles. Two women stood on ladders at either
side of the arched doorway that entered into the parlor. They attached silver
and red Christmas ornaments to an enormous bough of greenery. A young man was
arranging tall, tapered candles on the fireplace mantle.  Nearly every corner
was decked with ribbons, baubles and evergreen boughs.

“I almost didn’t recognize
the place,” I said when I walked into Matt’s office.

“Do you like it?” he
asked.

“It looks beautiful. Who
are these people?”

“It’s Doxey Interiors. I
heard they do a lot of decorating for Christmas events. Meg hired them when she
was furnishing her condo and she swears they’re the best.”

I tried not to be hurt
that Matt had hired an interior designer to do his Christmas decorating, but it
was hard. Matt knew I’d graduated with a degree in Interior Design and I wished
he’d given me a chance to impress him, or at least talked to me about his plans.

“I could have helped you
decorate,” I said, “and I don’t know what they’re charging you, but I’d have
given you a friends and family discount.” I laughed, trying to keep the
conversation light and the hurt out of my voice.

“I should have thought of
that. I guess seeing you working the teller window makes me forget you’re more
than just a bank teller. Maybe next year.” The reference to something far in
the future pleased me and helped me overlook the jab he’d just made about me
being just a bank teller. “Did you see that tree? I love the books and reading
glasses idea. Genius idea for a bookstore.”

Right. Genius. Who would
ever think of putting books on the Christmas tree at a bookstore?

“Elizabeth, come see what
they’ve done in the other rooms. I told them I wanted something different in
each one.” Matt took my hand and led me up the stairway. In the Women’s Fiction
room was a smaller tree covered with lipsticks, open compacts and necklaces.
The tree in the Children’s Room had a garland of small alphabet blocks and Christmas
candy. “Wait until you see the non-fiction room. Alexis decided to focus on the
cookbooks in that room.”

Let me guess. A tree with
kitchen tools
? Sure enough the tree
was covered with rolling pins, cookie cutters, spoons and whisks. So original.

“This is really nice,” I
said and it was. It just wasn’t quite as imaginative as Matt thought it was.

“I hope we have a good
turnout tomorrow night. I’ve had it advertised all over town. We’ll have Alicia
Espinosa in here. She’s written a raw cookbook.”

“Isn’t that a little
contradictory?” I joked.

“What do you mean?”

“A raw cookbook.”

“Ah, yes. I get it. That’s
funny,” Matt said but he barely registered a smile. “I’m going to have Elliott
Daniels in the parlor and Robert Sabuda will sign his Christmas pop-up books in
the Children’s Room.”

“It sounds wonderful,” I
said.

When the tour was over we
sat down to eat lunch in the only undecorated space in the bookstore—Matt’s
office. I was pleased to find that Matt had ordered me a sandwich with turkey
and avocado spread. It was actually quite good.

“I have something for
you,” Matt said. “This isn’t your actual Christmas present. I’ll give you that
after the book event tomorrow night.” Matt would be in Arizona for Christmas.

“Ooh, a surprise?” I said.

 “Don’t get too excited.
It’s not a big deal,” Matt said. He handed me a silver gift bag.

“It looks nice,” I said. I
opened the bag and pulled out a package of sheer, black pantyhose. I looked at
Matt, confused.

“They should be the right
size. I asked Meg to pick them up for me.”

It took me a moment to
find my voice. “You had Meg buy me pantyhose?” I asked. The thought of Matt
sending Meg out to buy me pantyhose felt wrong.

“I figured she’d know more
about this than I do,” Matt said. “Are they the right size?”

I turned the package over
and nodded. The size was right but the whole situation felt strange. Was this a
normal thing to do? “I don’t understand. Why would you get me pantyhose?” I
asked.

“I thought you could wear
them tomorrow night.”

A light went on in my
mind. I wanted to turn the light back off because if what it was illuminating
was true, I’d soon be angry.

“Matt, I have clothes to
wear.”

“I was just hoping you
would wear these instead of your colored ones.”

Was he serious? What was
wrong with my colored tights? I loved them. They were fun and playful and different.
I liked the way they looked.

“So you don’t like my
colored tights?” I asked.

Matt hesitated. “They just
look juvenile,” Matt finally said. At least he had the decency to look a little
chagrined.

“If they were only for
children, they wouldn’t make them in my size.” Suddenly I realized why he never
complimented what I wore. He didn’t like my style. That stung but even worse
was the thought of him discussing what I wore with Meg, and sending her out for
pantyhose for me!

Matt sighed. “I’ve
offended you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” I didn’t speak. I’m not
sure if I was more angry or hurt, but whatever it was, I would not cry in front
of him. About tights. I stared at the package of pantyhose in my hand. “It’s
just that tomorrow night is really a big deal and I wanted you to look elegant.
And sophisticated.” Matt’s voice trailed off.

“I think I’d better go,” I
said. The faster I left the less chance there was I’d cry about tights. Why do
I have to be one of those girls who cry when she’s angry?

Matt sat in his seat and
watched me put the pantyhose back in the bag, pick up my purse and walk to the
door. “Elizabeth?”

I paused at the door but
didn’t turn back.

“Don’t be mad at me just
because I want things to be perfect tomorrow,” he said.

I didn’t look at him. “See
you tomorrow,” I said.

I didn’t tell Courtney
about the pantyhose even though she asked what was in my shiny, silver bag. When
I got home, I threw the pantyhose on my bed and shoved the gift bag into the
bottom of the garbage can. I knew Janessa would find this gift inappropriate
and insulting and I was desperate to have the people I loved like Matt.

When I dressed for my date
the next evening, I pulled out what I’d planned to wear—a black A-line skirt
and a black cardigan I’d embellished in college. I’d removed all the boring
buttons and replaced them with mismatched, vintage rhinestone buttons.  Now I
was questioning everything. Would he find the mismatched buttons
unsophisticated? Maybe I should borrow Janessa’s plain, black sweater.

I removed the pantyhose
from their package. Stupid, boring, black pantyhose. I had planned to wear my gray
tights with a silvery shimmer. They were pretty and perfect for the holiday. I
put them on and finished dressing. They looked good. I wanted to wear them.

What would happen if I
didn’t wear the black, sheer pantyhose? Matt would probably be annoyed. But I
was annoyed, too. Maybe he wouldn’t want to date me anymore. That would be just
plain sad. Cause of relationship death: Irreconcilable hosiery preferences.

In the end, I wore my own
embellished sweater but I changed into the black pantyhose. Tonight was
important to Matt and I didn’t want to spoil it for him over something so
trivial. Besides we were exchanging gifts after the signing and I was excited
to give him his present. I didn’t want to spoil the night before he left for
Arizona with a silly argument about tights.

The book event was a
splendid success. Hundreds of people came throughout the night. Matt moved among
the people, charming and attentive. He introduced me to his guest authors and
some of his best customers. The hors d’oeuvres were delicious and I was glad
Matt had listened to me when I’d suggested a Christmas gathering of customers
might be a good time to branch out beyond Eighth Natural Wonder. The savory
platters were delicious and included bacon. The sweet platters were a rich
assortment of cheesecake bites and Christmas desserts.