This Holiday Magic Read online

  It took everything in Renee to not snatch the card from the viper’s hand and rip it to pieces. To Trey’s credit, though, he didn’t accept it.

  “I don’t think so, Jazmin. We’re done.”

  The seductress’s mouth quirked up and she returned the card to whatever cache she had in her bra. “Your loss, Trey,” she said before turning to walk away.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Renee said drolly.

  “Now that it’s been clearly established that we’re both hot, how about we go somewhere else?”

  “Let’s roll,” she said.

  After collecting their coats and getting into his truck, they sat in the parking lot of Trance with the vehicle warming in the cold December air.

  “You mind telling me what was going on in there?” Renee said.

  “Sorry,” Trey said, rubbing his eyes. “Unlike you, I’m not used to that sort of place. It’s been a while for me.”

  Renee drew her wrap closer and turned toward him. “Unlike me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He glanced at her. “Well, uh, you know. Your, uh, I guess your job regularly takes you to places like Trance.”

  Renee’s brow furrowed. “My job?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, I’m cool with it, I guess. Everybody’s got to make a living.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not exactly sure what we’re talking about here, but just what is it you think I do, Trey?”

  “Look, Renee. We’re both adults. It’s really none of my business.”

  “What do you think I do for a living, Trey?” she asked, her voice stern.

  He met her gaze head-on.

  “At first I thought you were a stripper,” he said.

  Renee sucked in her breath.

  “But then, after seeing all the men coming and going from your place, I, well, I thought you were…”

  “You thought I was a hooker!”

  Trey had the grace to wince. “Actually, call girl came to mind.”

  For a moment, Renee stared at him. All she managed was “Wow. Just wow. And what, exactly, is the difference?”

  “Renee, I…”

  But before he could get out his next words, she convulsed. Trey thought she was having some sort of attack and reached for his phone to call 9-1-1.

  Then he realized she wasn’t in the middle of a seizure. She was actually laughing. Doubled over laughing. She looked over at him and fell forward in her seat again, leaning against the passenger door and trying to catch her breath. Every time he thought she was done, she’d sit up, glance at him and start laughing again.

  “I take it you’re not a call girl,” he said drily.

  “Oh, oh,” she said, trying to stem the laughter and sit up. But another look at him and the giggles persisted.

  Trey was glad she was taking it in such good humor. He knew plenty of women—as in every single one of his female cousins—who would have either slapped him or never forgiven him for making that sort of allegation.

  Renee was wiping at her eyes with her index finger.

  “Trey Calloway, you just made my day.”

  He looked at her askance. “Most women would have been insulted.”

  Noises of amusement were still coming from her mouth, but she was able to answer him. “If you hadn’t proven my point, I would be.”

  “What point?”

  She turned in the seat, crossing her legs as she did. “Up here, buddy,” she said when his gaze lingered on the long length of leg that captured his attention. When his gaze again connected with hers, she asked, “Was it the outfit on Sunday?”

  “You looked like you were on your way to a strip club as the star performer.”

  Her grin widened and she slapped her thigh. “I told Melody it was too over the top.”

  Like the detail man he was, Trey didn’t let her stray from the topic at hand. “What point did I make, and who is Melody?”

  Shaking her head, she opened her mouth to speak and then started laughing again.

  “Wait, before that,” she said. “The men. You said you saw men coming and going from my place.”

  “Yeah. I guess they’re not your customers?”

  “Men in expensive cars?”

  “Yeah.”

  That answer brought forth another round of giggles. “Peter and Jeremy are going to love that one.”

  Fed up, Trey reached for the gearshift.

  Her soft hand on his stayed the motion. “I’m sorry.”

  “Mind letting me in on the humor?” His tone carried little of it.

  “Peter and Jeremy are a couple of my close friends from college.”

  “Please tell me they’re gay.”

  She grinned. “Sorry. At least Peter isn’t. And I’m not a stripper,” Renee said. “But thanks for the backhanded compliment. I stay in shape by working out at the Y. And I’m definitely not a call girl. Ick to that, by the way.”

  “So what is it you do?”

  She grinned. “I work in retail.”

  “‘Retail’? Like a store?”

  She nodded. “A consignment store, to be exact. It’s called Return Engagements. I moved down here from Durham to Cedar Springs to open and manage the newest location.” She let out a little chuckle. “I say ‘down here’ like Cedar Springs is hours away from civilization. But really, from our old place to the new house is only forty minutes or so.”

  “Cedar Springs has a much slower vibe,” he said. “So tell me a little more about this, uh, consignment store.”

  She gave him a look, but let his hesitancy go.

  “It’s on Main Street. It’s a small chain, six stores, all in eastern North Carolina, but the owner, Melody, wants to expand and offer franchises.”

  “And you specialize in a clientele that…?” He let the question hang, clearly not willing to make another leap of an assumption that he’d regret.

  She understood the unspoken question. “I have no idea if Return Engagements customers are strippers or by-the-hour escorts,” she said. Looking at him, she chuckled again. “Although I suppose fishnet stockings and stripper platforms could give one pause.”

  “Ya think?”

  “We have monthly Sunday-morning sales-team meetings,” she said. “The stores are closed and that’s really the only day that works for everyone. The theme for this one was ‘Outfitting your pleasure.’”

  “Uh, Renee, so far none of what you’ve said…”

  “‘Outfitting your pleasure’ means the stores aim to have any type of clothing for any occasion in stock and available. We drew slips of paper and each manager had to come to the meeting dressed in the style of whatever was on the slip of paper.”

  “And you drew ‘streetwalker’?”

  “I was supposed to be a socialite out for a night of partying.”

  Trey rolled his eyes.

  Renee punched him in the arm. “I thought it looked kind of hookerish, too,” she admitted.

  “What were the other, er, costumes?”

  “Suburban mom going Saturday-afternoon shopping. College student on a budget. Traditional grandma going to church or a tea party. Hipster artist, and vintage aficionado. I wanted the vintage look, but got… Well, you saw what I got.”

  “I’m sorry about what I said,” Trey told her.

  “Don’t worry about it. I will, however, let the sales team know that my interpretation of the theme was exactly as I’d feared.”

  This time when he put the Navigator in gear, she didn’t object.

  Trey handled the streets and the vehicle with ease and it didn’t take long for them to reach the Cedar Grove subdivision.

  “Where’s Kelly tonight?” she asked when she realized they were headed home.
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  “At my aunt’s. She and my uncle love having her around. What about Keisha?”

  “One of my best friends is babysitting. But neither of them like that word. They call it ‘hanging out.’”

  When Trey pulled into his driveway, a late-model Jaguar was parked at the curb and Renee’s sedan was in her driveway. It hadn’t escaped his notice that she’d explained away her clothes and her job, but not her late-night company. Peter and Jeremy. He’d never met either man, but was pretty sure he didn’t like either of them.

  He couldn’t be sure, but he thought the Jag was the same one he’d seen the other night. But he had to remember, despite his “caveman” actions earlier that night, he didn’t have any claim on her.

  He killed the ignition and turned to her.

  “Renee…”

  “Trey…” she said at the same time.

  He motioned for her to go first.

  Renee smiled, the action demure and sexy for its nonsexual indication. “I was going to ask if maybe you’d like to start over. Go out someplace that isn’t filled with loud music…”

  “And aggressive exes?”

  “Speak for yourself, Trey Calloway. I’d never seen that man before in my life.”

  He grinned. “All right. I like that idea. How about lunch? That way the girls will be in school and sitters won’t be an issue. And,” he added, “it can be someplace downtown near your, uh, store.”

  She shook her head. “It’s a date. And, Trey Calloway, you can pick me up at Return Engagements so you can see that it really is a consignment shop and not a front for a prostitution ring.”

  He cocked his head a bit. “That’s the third time.”

  She paused in reaching for her bag that she’d placed on the floor. “The third time what?”

  “That you’ve called me by my full name.”

  She dipped her head, and he was sure he’d caught a blush.

  “I just like the way it sounds.”

  With that admission, she opened her door and slid out of the high seat of the Navigator before he could get out to open the door for her.

  It wasn’t until he’d watched her safely enter her house and he went into his that he reflected on how extremely glad he was that Renee wasn’t a stripper or a call girl. It was bad enough that he’d had the hots for her for the past month. While both professions had certain…merits…the last thing he wanted to do was move. And he’d absolutely have to if that sort of element had established itself right next door to him.

  * * *

  Over the next twenty-four hours, Renee had little time to think about what her next-door neighbor thought of her wardrobe and actual profession.

  “I don’t want to go back to that school!”

  Keisha was throwing a fit, the third one this week. Renee knew she had to get to the bottom of whatever was going on before the problem escalated. Keisha had already missed the school bus and Renee was calculating how much time she had to get Keisha settled down and dropped off at Cedar Springs Primary School before she, too, was late to work.

  The eight-year-old was sitting on the edge of her bed in full pout. She’d showered and had put on a pair of jeans and one sock. A turtleneck sweater, her shoes and other sock had been thrown across the room.

  Renee called on all the reserves she had as well as the training she’d received from Dr. Hendrickson, the child psychologist Keisha saw twice a week. They would get through this crisis, just like they’d gotten through the others, she reminded herself.

  Renee sat on the bed next to Keisha and took a deep breath, calming herself. Blowing up was exactly what Keisha wanted, so that was out of the question. Instead she scooted closer and tugged one of Keisha’s hands until she clasped it in both of her hands.

  “Keisha, honey, whatever is going on at school, we can work through it together.”

  “We can’t!” the girl wailed and yanked away.

  She stomped over toward her dresser and stood there, looking down at her feet.

  “Tell me what happened,” Renee prodded.

  Silence.

  Biting back a sigh, Renee got up and went over to Keisha. She stood behind the girl, put both hands on her shoulders and pulled her to her for a semblance of a hug.

  When Keisha didn’t pull away, Renee counted it as progress.

  Slowly she turned the girl in her arms and gave her a proper hug.

  “Keisha, I’m not going anywhere. You are mine and I love you.”

  “I know, ” Keisha mumbled against the sweater Renee was wearing over white jeans.

  Renee walked Keisha back to the double bed and sat them both at the foot of it.

  “What happened?”

  “They don’t like me.”

  Well, this was indeed progress, Renee thought. If Keisha was concerned about other kids liking her, it meant she cared in the first place.

  “Who is ‘they’?”

  “The kids in my class.”

  “Why do you think that?” Renee gently asked.

  “They’re all like Kelly.”

  That brought Renee up short. Kelly? Kelly Calloway from next door? Before she could ask for a clarification, Keisha was talking, the words tumbling out at a frenetic pace.

  “They all go to dance class and that’s all they talk about. What they wore. What they did. This tutu and that tutu. And I hate them! I hate them all!” She then burst into tears.

  Renee pulled Keisha into her arms and rocked her.

  She’d known that moving in the middle of a school year had the potential to be problematic, and going from the inner city to a quiet street in a suburban city was like moving from New York to Mars. She needed to get to the root of the issue here.

  “Would you like to take dance lessons?”

  “I don’t know,” Keisha mumbled in response.

  Renee knew from experience that meant yes. She mentally calculated how much dance lessons might cost in addition to the art lessons she wanted to surprise her with for Christmas. She made a note to check with both the YMCA and the Common Ground Recreation Center to see if either offered the lessons at a possible discount.

  “Come here,” Renee said, tugging Keisha’s arm. The girl reluctantly followed.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the bathroom. I want to show you something.”

  Renee pushed open the door to the hall bathroom. The mess inside resembled the aftereffects of a tornado in a small space, but she ignored the wet towels and soap on the floor and continued to the clothes hamper.

  She paused with Keisha in front of the big mirror. “Do you see what I see?”

  “No.”

  The obstinate word almost made Renee smile. But she maintained her serious mien. “I see a beautiful girl who can achieve anything she wants to. I see a smart girl who aced her spelling test and her math test. I see you, Keisha Thompson.”

  “Armstrong,” Keisha corrected.

  This time, Renee’s smile was broad and it blossomed from her face straight to her heart, where she had so much love for the little girl in front of her. “We’re working on that, okay?”

  Keisha nodded.

  Then something dawned on Renee. “Is that it?” she asked. “Do all the kids at school have the same names as their parents?”

  Keisha nodded again. “I’m the only one in my class whose mom isn’t her real mom and who doesn’t have a dad.”

  The “real mom” part hurt—as it always did.

  And Renee doubted that she was the only single parent of a child at the primary school, but she wouldn’t dare get into a debate with Keisha right now.

  “I don’t even remember my real mom that much,” Keisha said.

  “You have her picture,” Renee reminded her.

 
“But it’s like it’s somebody I don’t know,” Keisha said. “Just a face. And the face in the picture is smiling. She never smiled. At least not at me. I remember that part.”

  Not for the first time since Renee had become Keisha’s foster mother, she cursed the woman who had given birth to a daughter but preferred men and drugs.

  Suddenly and notwithstanding the costume for work, Trey Calloway’s supposition that she was a hooker or call girl wasn’t so funny. It was too close to the truth that had been Keisha’s existence before Child Protective Services had rescued her from the apartment that had become a crack and heroin den. Keisha had been rescued before she had been forced to turn tricks to feed her mother’s habit. The woman had been willing to barter her daughter for crack cocaine and heroin. The fact that there were sickos out there who would prey on a five-year-old galled Renee to the core.

  Keisha had been left alone to fend for herself for weeks on end in her young life. Her mother either out on the streets trying to score enough money for her next rocks or too high to realize that her child needed attention.

  To say Keisha had abandonment issues was putting it mildly.

  They’d made a lot of progress together in the more than two years they’d been together. Renee had hoped that the demons that had chased Keisha when she was younger had been slain by Renee’s unconditional love. But some of the monsters still lurked in the shadows, jumping out when least expected—like at eight o’clock in the morning.

  Renee smiled at Keisha and then pointed at their faces in the mirror.

  “Then this is the image I want you to remember,” Renee said. “You and me. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, what about school?”

  “I guess I’m late.”

  “Yep.”

  Keisha looked around the bathroom, then bent to pick up the towels abandoned in heaps. “And I guess I need to clean up this mess.”

  “Yep.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  The hesitant question nearly broke Renee’s heart. She took the towels from Keisha’s hands, folded them over the rack and drew the girl into her embrace. “I’m never mad at you, Keisha. Never.”

  It took them another twenty minutes to get out of the house and head to school. Renee checked in at the office and explained Keisha’s tardiness to the school secretary.