CHAPTER ONE

“Yo, Bufalino! Hold up. The boss wants to see ya before you leave.”

The summons came just as Vincent was about to make a break for it. Hand still on the knob to the door that would have led to freedom, at least for the next few days, he glanced back. “What about?”

The factory floor manager who’d called out to him lifted one shoulder. “Don’t know. Gotta ask him yourself, kid.”

“All right.” With a slump in his shoulders, Vincent turned back to face the interior of the Fuller Road factory that had somehow become his life. For now… He reminded himself this assignment was only temporary.

He was doing this to help the family. Not his biological family, but the family.

Everyone did their part. Played their role. And for now, his was to learn everything there was to know about the vending machine business—and how they could build it into an enterprise safe from the FBI and the Crime Act passed earlier that year. They’d all have to learn to do things a little differently—and a lot more carefully.

Making his way up the stairs to the managerial offices, Vincent opened the door to find not only Swenson Corp’s owner, James Swenson, but his son Henry too.

Vince and Henry were about the same age but that’s where the similarity ended.

Besides Henry and his father being blond-haired, blue-eyed and as pale as a human could be, while Vincent had brown hair and eyes, and an olive complexion that spoke to his Italian roots, there were other dissimilarities.

Henry had grown up as vending machine royalty in the family mansion in Coeymans that Swenson Corp paid for. He’d attended college, and then did a year touring Europe before he finally settled into a managerial position at Swenson Corp.

Vince had been working for his own family back in Apalachin almost since he could walk. Delivering first messages, then packages. He’d take over for his father in the family business one day too, but unlike Henry, Vince had been lucky to finish high school.

Not that he didn’t have the brains for school learning. He did. He just didn’t have the patience. Why sit in a classroom learning shit that wouldn’t do him any good, when he could be out in the real world earning dough?

By fifth grade he was skipping classes to hang out in the back room of the barber shop, learning the finer art of running numbers instead of doing some bullshit math assignment. By the time he was a teen he could do calculations in his head faster and more accurately than any of his teachers. He learned pretty quickly not to tell them that though.

And now here he was, working for the Swensons, both the older and the younger one. Following their rules, toeing the line, all while knowing more about their business—and how to exploit it—than they did.

“You wanted to see me?” Vincent asked.

He wasn’t worried about why he’d been called up to the office. More annoyed.

Vince had to live in Albany in a shitty apartment to be close to work, but with the factory closed for Christmas, he’d been looking forward to getting an early start on the nearly three hour drive to Apalachin for a nice long break.

His mother’s meatballs were as much of a lure as the thought of being home and surrounded by family after living among strangers for the last six months. Both had him making the long trip each weekend. The trip that was being delayed by the two Swenson men now.

“Have a seat.” The elder Swenson tipped his blond head toward the chair next to his son.

Vince smothered a sigh and sat. He didn’t want to sit. He wanted to leave.

“I wanted to personally invite you to our Christmas party,” James began.

“Party?” Vince asked, trying to sound interested when he wasn’t.

“Man, you haven’t lived until you’ve been to a Swenson Christmas party,” Henry told him.

Vince had to disagree. He’d been to some pretty grand parties. Although, they’d all become a little twitchy about large gatherings since the McFall Road raid back in 1957.

Fucking Hoover and the feds had been up their asses ever since.

But so far, not a one of them had come sniffing around the squeaky clean Swenson Corp, even if the all-cash vending machine business might as well have been tailor made for entrepreneurs who wanted to avoid federal scrutiny. And the chances of the lily-white Swenson’s party getting raided seemed about a thousand to one. He’d take that bet any day.

Even so, he’d still rather be home, having a nice Sambuca and espresso with his mom’s tiramisu, than at his boss’s party drinking champagne with his pinky up in the air.

“Thanks for the invitation, but my Mom’s expecting me—”

James Swenson’s gaze met and held his. “You should really be there. There are important people I’d like for you to meet.”

And with that he realized this wasn’t an invite. This was an order. He’d heard similar suggestions his whole life delivered by the boss to those below him in a tone that left no doubt as to what answer was expected. James Swenson had that tone down. Maybe their two families weren’t that different after all.

“Thank you. It’ll be an honor to attend.” Resigned, Vince stood. Then he realized he didn’t know what day the damn party was. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow night. Seven. At the house,” Mr. Swenson supplied.

Fucking Christmas Eve.

Vince drew in a breath. There went the feast of the seven fishes his family would be enjoying without him tomorrow night. He was pissed. His mother would be upset. And his father would tell him to suck it up and do what he had to do. And he’d be right. Because the Swensons probably had the damn mayor if not the governor on their guest list and it never hurt to cozy up to a few local politicians in his line of work.

“Wear your dancing shoes. The local girls are all home on break from college.” Henry grinned.

“Oh. Great.” He wasn’t sure he’d managed an enthusiasm to match Henry’s but he didn’t think they noticed. The old man was simply happy he’d gotten Vince to do what he’d wanted and Henry was no doubt off imagining getting himself some college tail.

And all Vince wanted to do was get home.

CHAPTER TWO

“They’re predicting the first astronauts could walk on the moon by next year and here you two are wrestling yourselves into pantyhose and brassieres.” Agnes shook her head with a huff, while looking every bit like Katherine Hepburn as she lounged on the bed in high-wasted tweed wide-legged trousers and an ivory silk blouse.

A tube of Revlon’s “Cherries in the Snow” lipstick poised in her hand, Myra Calvin watched her college roommate in the mirror. “I’m not quite sure what one has to do with the other.”

Although Myra did have to admit that Agnes looked a lot more comfortable than Linda, who was currently tugging up the waist of her pantyhose.

“I think she’s saying if men are allowed to fly to space we should be allowed to forgo our restrictive undergarments.” Linda, who made up the third in their suite at Vassar, gave one final yank then dropped the skirt of her emerald green dress back into place.

Myra pursed her lips together a final time, blotting the deep red lip stain of her signature color. Satisfied, she spun away from the mirror.

The crinoline underskirt of her red dress gave a swish as she turned to face her two friends. “Just be glad we’re not wearing girdles like my mother used to.”

She was too happy to be home for Christmas break from her first year at Vassar to complain. And she was over the moon to have her two best friends, her roomies, visiting for the night.

Agnes and Linda would have to leave in the morning, of course, to be home with their own families for Christmas Day. But that she’d been allowed to invite them to come with her to the famous Swenson’s Christmas Eve party was just icing on the cake of this holiday. The first year that she actually felt like a real adult.

And now that she was an adult, she was going to have a real drink from the bar instead of from the kiddie table where she’d been sent for cider and cookies every year since she could remember. The Swensons, her parents’ friends from the country club, sure knew how to throw a party.  The Swenson’s house had been built for it—right down to the ball room, if you can believe it.

Did people in upstate New York even have balls back in 1910 when the house had been built?

That was a question for another time—maybe for later tonight at the party if she needed a topic to open a conversation with the Swenson’s son, Henry, who’d graduated from college and now helped his father manage the family business.

Anxious to get going, and maybe a tad bit eager to have Henry notice that she was a grown up now, Myra asked, “Are we ready to go?”

“Not yet.” Linda shook her head and walked toward the mirrored dressing table.

She picked up the tube of lipstick Myra had left there, then she pulled a couple of Kleenex out of the box. Turning, she handed both to Myra.

“Tuck those into your purse,” Linda instructed without explanation.

Myra froze, the items in her hand. Agnes’s eyes widened as she too paused, poised with both hands braced on the mattress she’d been about to rise from.

“Why?” Agnes finally asked. “What did you see?”

Linda rolled her eyes. “I didn’t see anything. I don’t see things. You know I just get feelings about things.”

Agnes nodded. “Yeah. Feelings about things that then come true.”

Linda shook her head. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.” Agnes stood and leveled a stare on Linda. “So what did you feel?”

Myra, having witnessed the results of Linda’s predictions before, some good, some bad, waited for the answer.

Linda let out a sigh. “Fine. Let’s just say it’s a Christmas party. There’s going to be mistletoe.”

“And you think Myra is going to kiss off her lipstick and need to reapply?” Agnes guessed.

Lifting one shoulder, Linda said, “It’s a possibility.”

Agnes let out a breath. “All right. As far as your predictions go, that one’s not so bad.”

Myra let out a breath of her own. They’d known each other for about six months. The moment Vassar had sent out housing assignments and the three learned they’d be rooming together and that they all lived within a few hours of each other in New York State, they’d gotten together.

They’d been fast friends ever since. And Linda had been dropping little—and not so little—predictions from the day of their first meeting.

When she’d warn them a teacher might be planning a surprise test, they were grateful. Comforted even to have Linda as an early warning system so they knew when to study and when they could slack off.

But the time she felt something big, something bad, was about to happen, and admitted her fear to them during their first meet-up ever in June, and then Robert Kennedy was assassinated the following day—that was less than comforting. It was downright scary.

So yes, Myra had to agree with Agnes. If tonight’s prediction from Linda was just that there might be a kiss under the mistletoe at a party where the Swenson’s handsome son would be in attendance—Myra would accept that. Happily.

Unsnapping the clasp on her clutch, Myra did as Linda had instructed and tucked the Kleenex and lipstick into her bag. Snapping it closed again she glanced at her two best friends. “All right, then. We’d better get going. We need to scope out that mistletoe.”

And the boy she’d hopefully be kissing.

CHAPTER THREE

As a light flurry fell from the night sky, Vincent stood and stared up at the facade of the Swenson house, illuminated by spotlights spaced evenly across the entire front. That was his view after the long drive through acres of property before he got to the house and the uniformed staff waiting to open his door and park his car for him.

The three story stone and wood home was decorated for the season. The largest bow-bedecked wreaths he’d ever seen, outside of the stores in Manhattan, hung from each window. The effect was ostentatiously understated. Quiet wealth. Old money.

He wasn’t a stranger to wealth. What he was, was a stranger to people like this.

Large amounts of cash crossed palms in his world too, but they tended to hide it. Unlike the Swensons, who obviously enjoyed flaunting it…and whom the Feds didn’t have a beef with.

With a sigh, he headed up the stairs, where the front door was opened before he even reached it. His coat was taken, even though he would have rather kept it, and a drink was placed in his hand without his having asked for it. He sniffed the creamy yellow liquid and wrinkled his nose. Eggnog, he supposed.

For this he was missing his mother’s Christmas Eve zuppa di pesce.

“Vince. Let me fix that up for you.” Henry Swenson appeared next to him, a flask in his hand. After a quick glance around them, Henry dumped a good amount of what looked like whisky into the eggnog.

“Thanks,” Vincent said, even though he preferred his liquor without eggs or cream in it.

“So let me give you the run down. We’ve got the business friends over there.” Henry tipped his head toward the open door of what looked like a library or maybe an office, judging by the shelves of books and the desk. “The family—cousins, aunts, uncles and such—hang out in the living room, near the appetizers and the bar.”

Vincent followed Henry’s glance and saw the group clustered around a platter of shrimp.

“The politicians are usually late to arrive and early to leave. They show their face, press the flesh then move on. And the country club set is…” Henry glanced at the doorway. “Fashionably late, as usual, I see. That’s the Calvins coming in the door now. But whoa, nelly. Who’s that? It looks like little Myra, their daughter, has done some growing up over the past year. And she came with friends.”

Henry’s obvious interest had Vincent turning to glance at the front door and the group entering.

Three young women entered behind an older couple. Two dark haired girls and a third, a blonde, who faced away from him as she surrendered their wraps to the staff. Once the doorway cleared of the crowd and the staff had swept away the coats and filled their hands with more of the unwanted egg nog, he saw her.

And she saw him. Who was that, indeed. He was more than interested in finding out.

Her lips were as red as her dress, and both were equally enticing, but not as much as the blue-eyed beauty herself who locked gazes with him before her friends pulled her attention away.

“Henry! Can you come in here, please?” The unwelcome summons came from James Swenson.

Henry sighed and turned to Vince. “You wanna come say hi to Dad?”

Spend the night talking business with his stuffy old boss when he could be getting to know the blonde better? To hell with that. “I’ll, uh, be there in a minute.”

Henry accepted that with a nod and headed off, while Vince spun the opposite direction.

He downed a good portion of the creamy drink topped with whisky for courage then ditched his glass on the nearest table. He smiled when he saw the girl of his dreams do the same on the other side of the room. Her two friends still flanked her like bodyguards and he wished she’d ditch them like she had the egg nog.

Luck was on his side. The two friends broke off into the living room, heading for the bar, but the blonde remained behind to say hello to an older woman. Mrs. Swenson, maybe? Vince had never met her but she was dressed—and carried herself—as if she were the lady of the house.

And luckily, as hostess, the woman had other guests to attend to, leaving the blonde alone. Before she could follow her friends, Vince sprang into action. Taking advantage of his long legs, he crossed the wide hall and was standing in front of her before she had a chance to turn to follow her friends.

“Hi,” he said, wondering where his usual suaveness had disappeared to.

“Hello.” She cocked up one brow as she raised her gaze to meet his. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

No, but he was sure glad to see her now. “I just started working for the Swensons this year.”

Ugh. That made him sound like some lowly peon, beholden to the rich family for his livelihood when that wasn’t how things were at all. Time to change the subject.

“I’m Vincent,” he said.

A small smile tipped up her lips. “Myra.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“And you.”

“So what happens at this thing usually?” he asked.

“You’re looking at it.” She smiled.

“Hmm. Surprising. I figured a party with this much mistletoe hanging around would get a little wild.” He glanced up.

She tilted her head way back and followed his gaze, her eyes latching on the large bunch of mistletoe suspended from the hallway’s chandelier by a red ribbon directly above them. “Huh. I hadn’t noticed that.”

He was no longer looking at the mistletoe. Instead, his complete focus was on her. Her long porcelain neck as she gazed up. The lush plump of her lips, so tempting. The deep blue of her eyes as she finally looked back at him.

Vincent didn’t know what came over him but there in his boss’s house in the middle of a party filled with strangers he found himself leaning low. When she rose on tiptoe, her head tilted back, her eyes on him, her lips slightly parted, he didn’t stop himself. He closed the distance and pressed his lips to hers.

Somehow he regained his common sense and managed to pull away from her sweet lips. She drew in a big breath, raising the creamy tops of her breasts exposed by the neckline of the dress high.

Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and tugged.

“Where are we going?” she squeaked.

Somewhere that there wasn’t a bunch of rich people to stare at them. He made his way through a maze of rooms and still hadn’t found any privacy. Desperate he pulled her outside onto a covered porch. He closed the door and once it had blocked out the noise of the party inside he heard the distinct crackling of a fire.

Rounding the corner he saw a roaring blaze burning in a large brick fireplace built right there into the wall of the house. A fireplace. Outside. On the porch.

For once he was grateful for the excesses of the old money rich as they stood in front and absorbed the warmth of the fire.

He pulled her closer. The light of the flames danced across her face as she gazed up at him, silently waiting.

He wanted to know everything about her. More than her name. Who she was. Where she’d been all his life. What she wanted from her future. Would she spend it with him?

But he wanted to kiss her more. So he did. And she kissed him back.

He learned the taste of her mouth. The scent of her perfume. The curve of her waist and hips as he gripped her tight.

By the time he pulled back, her lipstick was smeared, no doubt all over his mouth as well as hers, and he couldn’t care less… until he heard the opening of a door and voices. He tugged her around the corner of the porch and they hid in the shadows until the voices passed.

She was shivering now they were away from the fire.

As much as he hated to say it, he had to. “We should get back inside.”

She nodded and they walked back around the corner.

“Wait one second.” He pulled out a handkerchief and fixed her lips the best he could.

She smiled and took it from his hands, reaching up to wipe his mouth next.

“Thanks,” he said when she was done.

“Sure.” She handed him back the handkerchief. “Shall we?”

“Yeah.” He let her walk ahead and as much as it pained him, he told her to go in first so no one would notice them walking in together looking like they’d just kissed the hell out of each other.

When he walked in, just moments later, she was nowhere to be found, but Henry spotted his entrance and grabbed him, dragging him into his father’s office to meet someone he couldn’t care less about.

That was all right. He knew her name. Myra Calvin. And he’d never forget it. He’d find her again. If it was the last thing he did.

CHAPTER FOUR

The high from that kiss fueled Vincent for the whole long drive home the following morning.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t manage to get more than a few glimpses of her throughout the rest of the party. Myra was forever in his heart. Indelibly etched into his mind.

And come next week when he was back in Albany and back at work at Swenson, he’d find her again.

He’d never wished away days off from the factory before. He sure was now, hoping time sped by until he could see her again. Ask her on a proper date. Get her alone. Taste her sweet mouth.

Images of what else he’d like to do to her carried him all the way to Apalachin and his parents’ home.

He might have missed Christmas Eve, but Christmas morning was just as he remembered it from his childhood. The snow-dusted nativity scene on the front lawn. The tree inside, dripping in tinsel and surrounded by presents. And his mother in the kitchen.

The aroma of good strong coffee hit him first as he opened the front door. The kind of coffee he couldn’t get in Albany. His mama’s coffee.

His mother was a sight for homesick eyes in her apron. A sheen of sweat shone on her face as she stood over a pan of hot oil for the frying of the eggplant for the parmigiana.

“Merry Christmas, Mama.”

“Vincenzo, buon Natale!” Abandoning the pan on the stove, she rushed toward him, embracing him in a full body hug.

She pulled back and let loose with a string of Italian which translated into her displeasure at his having missed Christmas Eve dinner, as she swatted his arm and turned back toward the stove to attend to the sputtering oil in the pan.

The image of Myra there in the kitchen, in the stained apron, preparing a Christmas meal for him was like a record scratch across his brain. It was much easier to envision her in his bed than in their kitchen.

Myra was probably used to people cooking for her. Serving her. Cleaning for her. If she married a man like Henry Swenson, and it certainly seemed as if Henry was keen on the idea last night as he drooled over his first glance of her, that was the kind of life she’d have.

In contrast, Vincent tried to imagine introducing the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, porcelain-skinned country club-raised woman to his Sicilian mother.

He could hear her mumbled rant now. The only consolation in his imagined introduction would be that Myra wouldn’t understand what his mother was saying. Or maybe she would. Who knew if she spoke Italian? Or French. Or hell, Latin. She could have traveled anywhere and learned anything during her fancy college education, just like Henry Swenson.

Feeling less merry than he had before arriving home, he accepted the espresso and slice of panettone from his mother, who continued to relay the events of the night before when the aunts, uncles, cousins and other non-blood family members had gathered for dinner.

Her story about Uncle Joe nearly coming to blows with cousin Sal over some slight from a decade ago was interrupted when his father walked into the room.

“Son. You’re home.”

Vincent stood and gave the man the respect he deserved, both as his father and in his position in the organization. “Yes, sir.”

“How was the party?” He pulled out a chair and sat, waiting without asking for his mother to deliver a coffee to him.

“Good. I met the governor.”

His father had a poker face earned and honed over a lifetime, but Vince didn’t miss the flash of pride or maybe surprise cross the old man’s face.

He nodded. “Good. Good. That’s why you were there. You made sure they knew who you are?”

“The Swensons introduced me by name.” And Vince had seen the spark of recognition at the Bufalino name in every man he shook hands with. Whether what he saw was respect or fear didn’t matter. Both or either would please his father.

“You’ve been there six months. Time to move on.”

What?  “Papa? Move on?” His heart pounded.

Of all the shitty timing. He’d suffered working as a damn manager at a vending machine factory for half a year and now, just when he’d met Myra and had something to look forward to, his father was pulling him out? Bringing him home, three hours away from the girl he couldn’t stop thinking about.

“I need you to head to Chicago. Tony Accardo’s got a position for you out there.”

Chicago? Working for Tony Big Tuna Accardo? This was even worse than bringing him back to Apalachin.

“You don’t want me to stay at Swensons?” he asked holding on to a tiny spark of hope.

His father shook his head. “You’ve done all you can there. More than I expected. Fucking Rockefeller knows your name now. The damn New York State governor. Nope. You’re done there. Time to move on. You’ll leave for Chicago after the first of the year.”

“For how long?” Vince asked, the few bites of sweet bread he’d eaten sitting like lead in his stomach.

“Six months.”

Okay. That wasn’t too bad. That would bring them to June. By then, Myra should be back from college for summer break. He could make an excuse to drive to Albany to visit Henry. Pay his respects to Henry’s old man. And see her, for a real date this time.

“In June you’ll come home,” his father continued. “Along with your new bride.”

Vince knocked his coffee cup over when his hand jerked at those words.

“Who?” he managed to choke out.

As his mother rushed over with a dish towel, his father answered, “Rosanne Accardo.”

Big Tuna’s daughter.

How could he say no to a direct order to marry the consigliere’s daughter? The answer was clear. He couldn’t.

CHAPTER FIVE

Linda had been right. Again. Myra had needed that tube of lipstick and Kleenex at the party after the most amazing kiss—kisses, plural—she’d ever experienced.

Not that she had all that much experience in kissing boys. She didn’t. Certainly no experience like that with him.

Vincent was definitely not a boy. He was all man and he made her feel like a woman.

She wanted more. Of him. Of that feeling… and she knew right where to find it.

Doubt was like a black cloud blocking out the winter sun as she stood in front of the entrance of Swenson Corp, her cashmere coat wrapped tightly around her against the biting wind.

It wouldn’t look weird she was here, right? She just wanted to thank the Swensons for the lovely party and for opening their home to her friends.

That she hadn’t shared her plans with Linda or Agnes proved she was unsure. She didn’t want Linda to predict this questionable plan turning out badly. Nor did she need a lecture from Agnes about how college is for more than husband hunting and how Myra should be concentrating on planning her future career.

What they both wouldn’t understand was the spark. Electricity arced between her and Vincent from the moment they locked eyes—and lips. It was like nothing she’d ever felt. It had carried her all the way here, where her certainty over this possibly ill-conceived plan had fled completely.

“Myra?”

She startled at the sound of her name and turned. There stood Henry Swenson, flashing straight white teeth at her in a surprised smile.

Just a few years older than her, he was tall, blonde, and fit. The star quarterback of his college team and just as proficient on the golf course and the tennis courts. Henry Swenson was the golden boy she’d followed around the country club like a love sick puppy when she’d been younger.

But after meeting Vincent and after that kiss, did Henry’s shine seem just a tad bit less bright?

“Henry. Hi.” She pasted on a smile and pretended like it was the most normal thing in the world for her to be standing on Fuller Street outside the vending machine factory.

“What are you doing here? I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s great to see you again.”

“I, uh, was in the city for some errands and thought I’d just stop by and say hello. And thank you for the party.”

He beamed bright. “That’s great. Let me buy you a cup of coffee. There’s a diner not far…”

“Or you could give me a factory tour,” she suggested, hoping Vincent was inside.

He paused. “You’d like that?”

“Oh, yes. I’m fascinated by the manufacturing industry. It’s the backbone of the American economy.” She wasn’t aware she was capable of spewing such lies but there they were.

Henry pursed his lips and bobbed his head. “You certainly are a surprise, Myra Calvin.”

Unsure what to say to that, she said, “Uh, thanks.”

As Henry reached for the doorknob, Myra figured out a way to further her personal agenda.

“So, are you expanding the company? I met your new employee at the party. I think his name was Vincent or something…”

Henry glanced back and nodded. “We’re always looking to expand. And yes, Vincent certainly is a character. But a good worker. Smart. Determined. It’s a shame we’re losing him.”

Her heart stuttered. “Losing him?”

“Yeah. He gave notice right after the party. He’s taking a job in Chicago.”

“Why would he go all the way there to work if he had a job here?” she asked, hearing the odd tone in her voice she hoped Henry didn’t notice.

Holding the door open for her, Henry said, “He mentioned his fiancée lives in Chicago.”

Myra tripped on the doorstep.

Henry caught her. “Whoa. Watch your step. Don’t want you getting hurt. We’ve got a tally running. No accidents or injuries on site for over a hundred days now. Dad’s very pleased.”

Swallowing away the bitter taste, she said, “Sorry. I’m just a klutz.”

His hand still on her arm, his gaze met hers. “No. You’re beautiful and smart and have all the poise and elegance of Jackie Kennedy Onassis.”

Heartbroken, betrayed, confused and shaking from the news that Vincent had a fiancée, the last thing Myra could handle right now was Henry Swenson’s compliments, as sweet as they were.

“Thank you,” she managed in a breathy voice.

“Hey. Some of my friends and I were going to hit up a big New Year's Eve party. Would you want to maybe go with me?”

Oh, no. He was asking her out. She scrambled for a reason to decline. “Um, I was planning on being back at college for New Year's Eve.”

“You go to Vassar, right?”

She nodded.

His smile broadened. “That’s perfect. The party’s at the Poughkeepsie Grand Hotel. Just down the road from Vassar. I can pick you up and drop you off. Door-to-door service. You can’t say no to that. Come on. It’ll be fun. You can invite your two roommates too. We’ll have a blast.”

Vincent was gone. Not just from the state but from her fantasies of the future now that she knew he was engaged.

That kiss, amazing as it had been, had been a lie. The memory, sharp and painful, stabbed her in the heart like the sharpest of blades.

And here was Henry, the guy she’d had a school girl crush on for years. He was here. He was interested. He wasn’t engaged.

She had no good reason to say no to him, even with as hard as she tried to come up with one. So she said, “Okay.”

“Good.” Henry bobbed his head, smiling. “Good. Now, let’s get to that tour, shall we?”

CHAPTER SIX

“I’m having deja vu,” Myra said as she glanced around the Swenson’s front hallway.

Vincent had the same feeling. They were older now. Her, widowed but still carrying Henry Swenson’s last name. Him divorced from Roseanne but still civil since they shared a child. But other than that, it might as well have been 1968 again. The guests, the house, the music, the decorations, even the light snow falling outside had a familiar feel to it, all these decades later.

The mansion was all decked out for Christmas—rich people style. Meaning there were greens and candles and oranges studded with cloves. There wasn’t a piece of tinsel or a twinkle light anywhere in the front hall. And there definitely wasn’t a plastic lighted nativity scene on the front lawn like he, and his parents before him, always had.

He turned back to Myra and smiled. Her hair might be gray now instead of blonde, and fine lines marked the passage of time around her blue eyes, but she was still the most beautiful sight in the room. “Thinking about that party, and our first kiss?”

“It’s been a long time since that kiss.”

“Fifty-four years,” he agreed with a nod.

“Please don’t remind me that I’m so old.” She let out a sigh.

“Why not? You built a good life with Henry, God rest his soul. Swenson Corp is still going strong. You have a successful son. A beautiful granddaughter. Your grandson Cal’s a good man. And of course, there’s this house.” He ticked off all the things that she had. Things that Henry Swenson had given her, instead of him. “You wouldn’t have any of this if you’d married me back then.”

Her gaze met and held his as she lifted a shoulder. “Who’s to say what would have happened if things had turned out differently then?”

“Who’s to say? Your friend Linda with the witch powers, probably.” He snorted.

She chuckled. “Perhaps.”

Cadence, young, blonde and exuberant, bounded into the room, her tiny dog held in one hand. “They’re here!”

“Who, dear? You’ll have to be more specific. There are dozens of guests coming tonight,” Myra explained to her granddaughter.

“All of them,” Cadence answered, while not really providing an answer at all.

But it was revealed when Cal Junior and Prudence, fresh off the plane from California, walked in chatting with the crew who’d driven in from Apalachin—Rocky with his daughter Roxy and Vincent’s son, Vinny Junior.

More voices in the hall heralded the arrival of Linda and Agnes, who entered the room right behind the others.

“Oh, my. It is everyone,” Myra commented.

“It seems so. Maybe it’s time to let them in on the surprise?” Vincent suggested.

Myra sniffed. “They certainly are going to be surprised. Honestly, Vince, at our age? What were we thinking?”

He turned her to face him. “Bite your tongue, woman. What do you mean our age? There’s no age limit on love.”

Leaning low, he pressed his forehead against hers then glanced up when he realized where they were standing. Under the chandelier in the hall where a bunch of mistletoe had been hung again just like it had been fifty-four years ago. And now, just like then, he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

He pressed his lips to hers and heard her sigh. Felt her lean in, pressing against him. There was no age limit on the pleasures of the flesh either. And though he wouldn’t be discussing that with her family or his, he did have to discuss something with those there witnessing a kiss far too passionate for where they were.

Breaking away, he smiled when he saw her ruined lipstick. With a thumb, he rubbed away the red smudge surrounding her lips before pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of his suit jacket and wiping his own mouth.

“To be continued later,” he promised and couldn’t help but notice her eyes were slightly out of focus as she nodded.

God, he loved this woman. Always had. Always would. But now that she was finally his, the love had blossomed into something larger than he’d ever imagined possible. And it was more than past time to make it official.

He turned and faced the crowd. Cal had greeted his sister and then moved to kiss his grandmother’s cheek. While Myra’s son Calvin Senior had appeared from out of his office to shake hands with the newcomers as staff began circulating with trays of champagne. The time couldn’t be more perfect—and the ringing of the doorbell interrupted the moment before Vincent could say a word.

Rocky, standing closest to the door, said, “I’ll get it.”

The panicked staff shot worried looks at their boss as one of the invited guests tugged the massive front door open. When the open door revealed the new arrival, who was wearing all black with a very distinctive white collar, Rocky turned to face Vincent and Myra.

“Hey, Myra. We gonna have a mass here tonight? Does that mean I don’t have to go to church tomorrow?” Rocky chuckled before turning back to the priest. “Just kidding, father. Merry Christmas. Come on in and get warm.”

When Cal Junior sent a quizzical glance toward his grandmother, Vincent said, “It’s time.”

She nodded and the look in her eyes transported him back half a century, to the young girl she’d been when he’d first messed up her lipstick with his kiss.

Drawing in a breath, which was harder than it should have been as his chest constricted with emotion, he shook Cal Junior’s hand. “Son. Good to see you.”

“You too. Grams. A priest?” Cal asked after pressing a kiss to his grandmother’s cheek.

“Your grandmother and I need to tell you something. Need to tell all of you something,” he’d raised his voice and angled his body to include the others. The hall quieted. “You were asked to arrive early today because this isn’t the Swenson’s annual Christmas party. It will be later, when the rest of the guests arrive, but right now, Myra and I would be honored if you’d bear witness to our wedding vows.”

Cal’s eyes widened. “Jesus. You two can sure keep a secret.”

Vincent let out a sniff. “You’re surprised?”

It wasn’t a hard secret to keep. The only other people on earth who knew were Myra’s son and Vincent’s son who they’d both felt deserved a head’s up and then had sworn to secrecy. And the priest, of course, but who was he going to tell?

Cal’s laugh was short. “I guess I shouldn’t be. You’re here all the time now. And I heard you’re helping Dad out with running the factory.”

Vince shrugged. “It’s about time Vinny Junior started to step up and handle things back home.”

Cal nodded. “What I am surprised about, is  that my grandmother is beating me and Pru to the altar.”

“Your grandmother and I aren’t in our twenties anymore, son. Nothing good can come of putting things off,” Vince admitted.

“Don’t worry, Calvin. Next year, you and Pru will have your wedding here. It will be like a new Swenson family Christmas tradition.” Myra smiled.

As Myra’s friends Agnes and Linda made it across the hall to congratulate them, Vincent glanced over the heads of the crowd, to a corner where his son, Vinny Junior, and Myra’s granddaughter, Cadence, seemed to be getting pretty cozy as they chatted alone. And damned if there wasn’t another bundle of mistletoe hanging in the doorway just to their right.

Damn. The way they were looking at each other, he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a third Swenson wedding the following year after Cal’s. Maybe he should consult Myra’s witchy friend Linda about it.

Vince liked to be forewarned about his surprises, even if finding Myra again after all these years had been the biggest and best one of his life.