"You just made it," the girl at the register said, eyeing him and smiling.
"I did, didn't I?" he agreed, smiling at her.
Putting his groceries in what passed for a backseat in the Healy, he headed for Walt's and got two sundaes.
"Only one person in town does Forbidden Chocolate with marshmallow and butterscotch," Walt said, "and that's Emily Shanski. You must be the boyfriend Pve been hearing about."
"Guilty as charged," Michael Devlin admitted with a smile. "I'll take coffee ice cream with chocolate and marshmallow."
"You got it," Walt replied, making up the two sundaes to go and bagging them.
"What do I owe you?"
"It's on the house," Walt said. "Tell Emily I said 'Merry Christmas.' I've known her since she was born, you know."
"I'll tell her, and happy Christmas to you," Michael Devlin said as he departed the little ice cream shop with the two desserts. Driving back to the house, he remembered how nice it was to grow up in a small town-the warm feeling you got in the shops knowing people's names and families. And it was obvious that, as quietly as Emily Shanski lived, she was well-known and well liked by the people of her hometown of Egret Pointe. He hadn't felt a twinge of embarrassment at all when people had identified him verbally as "the boyfriend." It had tickled him. Emily had been so discreet, and yet it would appear that everyone in Egret Pointe knew all about them, and it didn't bother Michael Devlin one bit.
Getting back to the house, he brought the groceries inside and checked on Emily. She had fallen asleep in the den again. He put everything away, setting the sundaes carefully in the freezer. Then he made them turkey sandwiches on rye bread with mayo. He fixed individual bowls of salad and dressed them with a raspberry vinaigrette he found in the fridge. Lastly he brewed a large pot of tea in the big brown teapot that had belonged to Emily's grandmother, Emily O. Setting everything on a tray, he brought it into the den and put it down on the table.
"Wake up, sleepyhead," he said, shaking her gently and kissing her brow. She was very hot. Dry and hot. Not good, he thought.
Emily opened her eyes. "You really are here," she said. "I didn't dream it, did I? Get the meat? And my sundae?"
"Got everything. Walt says, 'Merry Christmas.' The sundaes were on the house," he told her.
"He always did that when I was a little girl," Emily said. "What did you do, Devlin? I didn't know you could cook."
"I can't, really. And this is nothing fancy. I just made us turkey sandwiches and salad, angel face. The turkey breast was already cooked." He handed her a plate.
She still wasn't really that hungry, but she nibbled at half of the sandwich and a few mouthfuls of salad to please him. When he returned from the kitchen after taking their supper things back, she had fallen asleep again. The telephone rang, and he grabbed it before it could awaken her.
"Devlin?" It was Rina Seligmann. "You got here."
"Traveling at Christmas is not advised, Rina," he told her. "I got on the red-eye. Since I had left the car at the airport I just drove straight out. I've done her shopping and fed her-she didn't eat much, and she's asleep again."
"You're a good man, Mick," Rina said quietly. "Is she taking the pills Sam left her last night?"
"Yeah, but she's still got a temperature, I believe. She's hot and dry," he said.
"Keep her warm," Rina advised. "With luck the fever will break tonight or tomorrow. Still coughing?"
"Yep. And she smells of Vicks." He chuckled. "Reminded me of me grannie."
Rina laughed. "I doubt Emily has ever remotely reminded you of your gran, Vicks or no Vicks. I'm glad she had the sense to use it. It's old-fashioned, but it will help break up that congestion in her chest. Sam will come over tomorrow in the afternoon," Rina said. "If you need him before, just call. Good night, Mick."
"Good night, Rina." He hung up the phone.
"Who was that?" Emily asked sleepily.
"Rina, checking up. Are you awake enough to go up to bed?"
"Uh-huh," she said, struggling to her feet. "Where's my sundae?"
"In the freezer. You can have it later. Now you have to go to bed," Michael Devlin said, helping her upstairs and into her bed. "I'll be back. I want to clean up first."
"You're a great editor, a great lover, and it would seem a great houseman too," Emily half whispered.
He went back downstairs again to clean up, and when he had finished he sat down in the den, with its little Christmas tree on the table in the bay window and the crackling fire in the hearth. He was home. And the woman he loved above all else was asleep upstairs in her bed. He had been delayed in London for two reasons, one of which was to purchase Emily's Christmas present. He knew what he wanted, and it had taken the jeweler some extra time to find it, but he had. Michael was through with indecision.
He sat for some time until finally the fire had burned down to glowing red-orange embers. It was Christmas Eve, and everything around him felt magical. The clock from St. Luke's struck ten. Santa would be on his way, Michael Devlin thought with a small smile. Give me just a little time, Santa, he said silently. Then, standing up, he went upstairs, washed, got into his pajamas, and climbed into bed with Emily. She murmured softly and burrowed into him. Wrapping his arms about her, he knew that he had been given the greatest Christmas gift he had ever received.
Emily awoke to a bright, sunny day. She could hear Devlin in the shower and rolled over, smiling. She ran the tips of her fingers over the indentation his head had made in the pillow. She was sweaty, but she knew her fever was finally breaking.
"Happy Christmas, angel face," he said, coming into the bedroom, a towel about his loins.
"Damn, you look all fresh and clean, and I am so scuzzy. I think my fever's breaking, Devlin. I'm suddenly hungry, and I want a cuppa."
"Let me get my clothes on, and I'll go down and bring you one," he said.
"And my sundae too," she said.
He laughed as he dressed, pulling on his jeans, and a soft crewneck sweater. "Ice cream for breakfast, angel face?"
"Why not?" she asked. "It's Christmas. I'll come downstairs, but first I need a shower too."
"Is that wise if the fever hasn't broken yet?" he asked.
"Go make tea, Devlin. You're starting to sound like Rina," Emily chided him.
He left her, and Emily jumped out of bed and hurried to shower, tucking her hair in a cap to keep it dry. Drying herself thoroughly, Emily pulled on a pair of peach-colored fleece sweatpants, a matching tee, and over it a peach fleece sweatshirt. She ran a brush through her hair. It didn't look too bad, considering. Sliding her feet into her sheepskin slippers, she padded down the stairs. She felt suddenly normal. The fever had obviously broken while she was in the shower.
"In the den, angel face," he called to her, and Emily joined him.
"Two sundaes?" she said, surprised.
"One for you and one for me," he told her. "Tea?"
"No, ice cream first. My fever is gone, Devlin."
He popped the lid from a sundae container and handed the dessert to her with a spoon.
Emily accepted it, digging her spoon into the ice cream, and then suddenly she stopped and stared. Sticking out of the whipped cream atop the sundae was a diamond ring. Carefully she set the sundae down on the table and pulled the ring away from the cream. The diamond was a square-cut, with two rectangular baguettes on either side. The stones were set in platinum. Emily licked the cream from the band, rubbed it against her shirt, and put it on her finger. Holding out her hand she admired it, and then she said, "Well, this sure beats a cherry, Devlin. Yes."
"I haven't asked you yet," he said.
"Just take the yes," she told him.
"No," he said. "I am going to ask you, Emily Katherine Shanski, if you will do me the honor-the great honor-of becoming my wife. Now you may answer."