Page 71 of Twelve Days and Twelfth Night

“Maggie made this for me.” Rose fiddled with her yellow sweater. “I like yellow.”

“I do too,” Prescott said. “Like the sun.”

Rose’s smile shone nearly as bright.

“Come, sit down.” Maggie eased Prescott onto the sofa beside Rose, and Maggie perched on the sofa arm.

“I brought this for everyone to share, plus extra for you to take home.” Prescott opened his bag and pulled out three boxes of Showley Brothers candy.

“Cluster Ruffs.” Mrs. Oliver pressed fingers to her lips. “Oh, I’ve missed them.”

Maggie kissed the top of Prescott’s head. Apparently he’d done well. “Here’s your gift.” She set a slim box in his hand.

Inside lay a wide, ebony pen encased in a rubber grip. “Perfect for a writer,” she said. “See how big it is? The stationer thinks adding the grip will help.”

“It will.” He hefted it and marveled at how it didn’t slip from his fingers. “Thank you.”

“I’ll have it engraved with ‘Joseph P. Duke.’” She settled another kiss on his head. “Where’s my gift?”

“Maggie . . .” her mother said.

Maggie giggled and jiggled his shoulder. “Well?”

Prescott gave her an innocent smile and pointed to the candy. “Cluster Ruff?”

Her mouth fell open, rimmed in red lipstick he yearned to kiss away. “Prescott!”

He selected a piece of chocolate. “I’ll give it to you at Frank and Vi’s wedding.”

“But that’s two weeks away!”

“Twelve days. The twelfth day of Christmas.”

A pout pushed out one pretty lip. “Won’t you even tell me?”

“It’s a secret.” He took a bite of chocolate and nuts and maple cream. “You’re right, Mrs. Oliver. These are good.”

“A secret,” Maggie said. “Isn’t that ironic?”

“It is. But I know you’ll like it. Optimistic of me. Arrogant even. But I did ask for advice.”

“From . . . ?”

“From me, Maggie-mine,” Mr. Curtis said with a pleased smile. “And from Ria.”

“You know? Ria knows?” Maggie gaped at her grandfather and drummed her fingers on her crossed knees.

Mrs. Oliver stood. “Come, girls. Time to start the potatoes.”

“But he’s—”

“He’s not telling.” Prescott gave her his most serious look. “I see why you enjoy meddling. It’s kind of fun.”

“Oh my goodness.” She planted a kiss on his cheek and followed her sister to the kitchen. “What have I done to you?”

What had she done indeed? She’d shown him the bright side, and now he intended to live in it.

Thursday, January 6, 1944