On Strike for Christmas Read Online Free Page B

Yuck.
    Frowning, she pulled up in front of a two-story tract mansion and opened her car trunk. Nestled inside it were Tupperware containers filled with bite-size wraps, chocolate-dipped fruit, white chocolate shortbread, the minicakes, and Joy’s stuffing-filled phyllo appetizers, only needing a quick reheating. She never provided drinks, which was fine with the woman who had hired her. Julie’s husband, Dave, had that under control.
    Joy barely had her first container out of the trunk when the front door opened and Dave came bounding down the walk. “Hi, Joy,” he called. “Let me help you.”
    A man eager to celebrate the season—what a stark contrast to Bob!
    â€œThanks for doing this,” he said as they carried goodies up the front walk. “Julie told me you normally take December off.”
    â€œI do,” Joy replied. Usually she was busy baking cookies for her own family and friends and neighbors, throwing and attending parties, and enjoying the season. With Bob in charge this year there might not be much to enjoy. She sighed inwardly.
    â€œWell, I’m glad we got you,” Dave said, ushering her up the front walk. “This is our first Christmas in the new house and we wanted to do it up right.”
    We. That was how celebrating the season should be done. Not as a me and a reluctant he.
    They were in the house now. Dave set down his pile of containers on the kitchen’s granite countertop and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Boy, I can hardly wait to try some of this.”
    His wife smiled indulgently. “How about first bringing in the rest of it for Joy?”
    â€œI’m on it,” he said, and bolted out of the room.
    â€œHe’s so excited,” Julie confided.
    Joy felt a stab of jealousy. Bob had never gotten excited about a party, not in all the years they’d been married. Of course, he always had fun once the guests arrived. But excited? No.
    Well, she reminded herself, he got excited about the things that mattered. The birth of their children, her first catering job. She still had the chef’s apron he bought her for the occasion. And he always got excited when it was time to plan a vacation, throwing himself into the details of the planning. All she had to do was show up and have fun.
    If only he would show up when she planned things for the holidays.
    â€œOkay, that’s the last of it,” Dave announced, setting Joy’s box of serving trays on the counter. “What else can I do?”
    â€œMake us both a drink,” his wife suggested. “How about a peppermint fizz?” she asked Joy.
    â€œIt’s my own invention,” Dave bragged.
    â€œIt’s sounds lovely,” Joy said, “but I never drink when I’m on duty.”
    â€œI’ll have one,” said Julie, and he brightened and hurried off to where he’d set up a bar in the living room.
    â€œThis is going to be wonderful,” Julie predicted as Joy began pulling out trays of goodies.
    Joy smiled. Even if her Christmas wasn’t going to be much, she could at least make someone else’s special.
    Soon the house was full of guests, all talking and laughing, and raving over Joy’s food. As she set out a tray of chocolate-dipped fruit she couldn’t help noticing how Julie and her husband shot smiles back and forth across the room. Like Mr. Fezziwig and his wife, she thought.
    There was a Mr. Fezziwig inside Bob somewhere, Joy just knew it. But he had no desire to get in touch with his inner Fezziwig. What would Charles Dickens do?
    She had no idea. Bob was the writer.
    Â 
    Joy ran errands on Monday. Her first stop was the drugstore to take advantage of the in-store special and get some therapeutic chocolate. She was strongly tempted to buy one of the really cute rolls of wrapping paper she saw at the end of the Christmas aisle. But she resisted. She had some left from last year stored in the garage, and