Her Christmas Wish

“Thank you.” She carefully—and somewhat reluctantly—extricated herself from his embrace. “It’s good to see you, too.”

The sharp pain of Marissa’s elbow in her side reminded Alina they weren’t alone. “This is my friend, Marissa Alvarez,” Alina said. “She’s a nurse at the hospital. I hope you don’t mind I brought her along.”

“No, that’s great. This is my friend Marty Padgett.”

For the first time Alina noticed the man standing next to Eric. She stared at him, and might have stopped breathing for a second. Marty was tall and broad and very blond, with a face like an angel.

“Hi, Alina.” Marty offered a meaty hand. “I bet you don’t remember me, but I’ve seen you at the hospital.”

She took the hand he offered, and waited for the tingle she was sure would surge through her—the signal that this was the man her grandmother had predicted would make her happy. Just because she didn’t really believe in the prophecy didn’t mean she’d pass up a chance at true love, happiness and the whole romance package.

But she experienced no particular sensation, except that Marty had kind of a weak handshake for such a big guy.

“Let me show you where everything is and introduce you to some people.” Eric took her arm and led her across the yard. Marissa and Marty trailed after them.

Alina glanced over her shoulder and saw that Marissa had her arm linked with Marty’s and was flirting with him in that open, friendly way of hers. Men always liked Marissa, with her fall of long dark hair and friendly smile.

The little procession halted in front of a half-dozen men and women who’d gathered in the shade of a spreading oak. “Everyone, this is Alina Allinova and her friend, Marissa Alvarez.” Eric turned to Marissa. “This is my brother John and my brother Bart and their wives, Renee and Sabina, and my sister Sofia and her husband, Guillermo.”

“Like you’re going to remember all that, right?” A stocky thirtysomething extended a hand. “Just remember that I’m the older, handsome brother,” he said. “Bart here—” he jerked his thumb at a slightly younger man with curly dark hair “—he’s the clown. Eric is the baby.”

“Some baby.” A slender woman with artfully streaked blond hair rolled her eyes and offered her hand also. “I’m Sofia, married to this big lug.” She nudged the shoulder of a short, barrel-chested man who grinned at her fondly. “We have three little boys running around here somewhere, but don’t bother trying to keep them straight. They’re all little wild men.”

“Sofia is closest to Eric in age,” John said. “She’s the youngest sister, but the bossiest.”

“Men need someone to tell them what to do.” Sofia gestured to her brothers. “They pretend to protest, but they’d be lost without us.”

Alina smiled and shook hands and tried to keep track of the many people and names. “How did an ugly sucker like my brother end up with two beautiful women as his guests?” Bart asked. “Tell the truth, ladies—did he bribe you to show up?”

“Can I help it if I got all the charm in the family?” Eric winked at Alina and she felt a warm tickle of attraction.

“It’s very nice to meet you all,” she said.

“We’ll have a little girl talk later,” Sofia said. “I want to hear all the dirt on my little brother.”

“Ignore her. There is no dirt.” Eric took Alina’s arm. “Come on. I want you to meet Mom and Pop.”

At the mention of his parents, Alina’s stomach gave a nervous shimmy. What if they didn’t like her? What if they were upset their son had invited a stranger to their home like this?

“Who is this?” demanded a short, broad man with Eric’s dimpled smile as the trio approached. He wore a black apron that proclaimed him King of the Grill.

“Dad, this is Alina Allinova and Marissa Alvarez,” Eric said.

“Bienvenidos,” Mr. Sepulveda boomed. “Welcome.” He shook both their hands. “Eric should bring such pretty women home more often.”

Alina flushed, touched by such an effusive welcome. “Thank you for hosting us,” she said, hoping she had the words right. She still struggled with English sometimes.

“Yes, this is a terrific party,” Marissa said. She made a sweeping motion with her hand, taking in the tables laden with food, groups of laughing children and crowd of adults gathered in the shady yard.

“We like to entertain,” Mr. Sepulveda said with a modest shrug of his shoulders. “Join us anytime.”

“And this is my grandmother Torres.” Eric led them to a bent, plump woman with a crown of silver braids. “Abuelita, this is Alina Allinova and Marissa Alvarez.”

Mrs. Torres nodded regally, and said something to her grandson in Spanish.

“She doesn’t speak English.” Marty leaned closer to Alina and whispered. “Though I suspect she understands it well enough.”

With a stab of pain, Alina thought of Baka Fania, who had died two years before. She, too, had never learned English, saying that since she was good at reading people’s hearts, she had no need to understand their tongues, as well.

Mrs. Torres stared at Alina as if trying to read her heart. Alina managed a weak smile. Mrs. Torres said something and Alina looked to Eric for a translation. “She said she’s pleased to meet you,” Eric said. Though something in his manner made Alina suspect those had not been the old woman’s exact words.

Eric kissed his grandmother’s cheek, then led them and Marty to a shaded arbor crowded with benches and lawn chairs. “And this is my mother,” he said, introducing an older blonde who wore a long flowered skirt and white blouse. Though lines around her eyes and mouth testified to her age, Mrs. Sepulveda had clearly been a beauty in her younger years. “Mama, this is Alina Allinova and Marissa Alvarez.”

Mrs. Sepulveda smiled warmly. “It’s so nice to meet you both,” she said. “How do you girls know Eric and Marty?”

Alina was slow to answer, overwhelmed at meeting so many new people at once. Marissa jumped in to fill the silence. “Alina’s a respiratory therapist and I’m an RN at the hospital,” she said.

Mrs. Sepulveda studied Marissa thoughtfully. “Are you related to Frank and Millie Alvarez?” she asked.

“I don’t think so. My family is from Pueblo.”

“I have a lot of friends in Pueblo. Why don’t you girls sit here beside me and we’ll find out if we know any of the same people. Eric, fetch us something to drink.”

While Marissa and Mrs. Sepulvida conversed in a mixture of Spanish and English, Alina took a seat on a nearby bench. Marty joined her. Here was her chance to get to know him better. “How do you know Eric?” she asked.

“We work together—I’m a paramedic, too.”

“Then I’m amazed I haven’t run into you at the hospital. I’m sure I’d remember.” Because of her grandmother’s prophecy, every blond man she saw made an impression on her, but she had no memory of this one, though he’d claimed to have met her before.

“You’d be amazed how many people don’t remember me. I guess because I’m kind of quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person, too,” she said. When she’d first come to the United States, she’d avoided speaking because she’d been worried about betraying her ignorance of English, though she’d studied the language for years. But even at home she had always preferred listening to and watching others, never needing to be the center of attention. “And I like quiet men,” she added. “Better than ones who talk too much.”

“Eric doesn’t talk too much,” Marty said. “He’s a great guy.”

Eric again. The man who really made her heart race. But she felt she owed it to her grandmother to at least give Marty a chance. “Eric is very nice,” she murmured. “But—”

“He’s a lot of fun and really down-to-earth, too,” Marty continued. “In spite of being such a daredevil.”

“I don’t understand.” Alina wasn’t sure what the term meant.

“It just means someone who likes to take risks. Eric likes skiing out of bounds or in extreme terrain, and in the summer he races motorcycles and climbs mountains—that kind of thing.”

She hated the idea of Eric risking his life on a motorcycle. She’d recently cared for a young man who’d been seriously injured in a motorcycle accident. She pushed the thought away. She shouldn’t focus on Eric, the handsome risk-taker. She needed to get to know Marty, to determine if he was the man who would make her happy for the rest of her life. “What do you like to do when you’re not working?” she asked.

“I’m going to school, studying to be a minister.”

“A…a minister?” Not what she’d expected. The opposite of being a daredevil, she supposed.