A Fairytale Christmas by Susan Wiggs

lit José’s face banished the last of Jack’s doubts. “Go for it, man,” he said. “Tell Maria I’m waiting out here.”
    To pass the time, he bought a pack of gum and wandered to the broad glass display window with a view of the nursery. There were just three babies there, sound asleep and incredibly tiny in their clear bassinets.
    Like a kid looking in a candy-store window, Jack leaned against the glass and stared and stared. And stared. Man, he loved babies. Loved kids. He’d always wanted kids of his own, but in order to have that, he needed a certain component in his life. Namely, a wife.
    And in all the years since Annie, he had found only one woman in the world he wanted to marry.
    The problem was, she hated his guts.
    “You know, it’s funny how some things work out,” said a soft, feminine voice from behind him.
    Jack went rigid. He almost didn’t dare turn around. He forced himself.
    There stood Madeleine, her white coat draped over her arm and the faintest of smiles on her face.
    “Maddy?” he asked, resisting the urge to grab her. “What are you doing here?”
    “I’ve been here for a while. With Maria.” She glanced down the corridor. “Not in my nice clean ivory tower writing checks.”
    His face flushed. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
    “If not for you, Jack Riley, that’s where I’d still be.”
    He spread his arms. “Welcome to real life.”
    She looked down the hall again. “That boy—José—he seemed awfully young.”
    “They both are,” said Jack. “But we have to believe they’ll work hard to make it—”
    “Hey, Riley!” A metal door swung open down the hall. Swathed in green surgical scrubs, José yelled, “It’s a boy! A boy! Merry Christmas!” José disappeared back inside.
    Jack felt the most ridiculous grin spread over his face. He saw the same look of pure happiness on Madeleine’s face. Now she wasn’t Grace Kelly or Doris Day or anyone but herself, with a special magic unique to her. The woman he loved.
    “Wow,” he said, holding out his pack of Juicy Fruit. “Let’s celebrate.”
    She laughed and took a stick of gum.
    “Almost midnight,” he said. “Come here.” He drew her out a rooftop door marked Patio. It was the outdoor smoking lounge for the maternity ward, but no smokers were out braving the cold night.
    “I thought we’d see Santa Claus,” he said, scanning the sky. “No such luck.”
    “It’s beautiful.” Her eyes shining with wonder, Madeleine looked down at the gleaming river, the profile of the Brooklyn Bridge, the winking Manhattan skyline looking its finest for Christmas Eve. She glanced back over her shoulder. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
    “Yeah,” he said, his gaze never straying from her face.
    Her smile fled. “Let’s not talk about—”
    “We have to talk about it.” He took a step toward her. “I saw your editorial. Peeked at the mechanicals. Are things really that bleak? That hopeless?”
    “Look at the facts, Jack,” she said fiercely. “Look at what a game you made of fooling me.”
    “Look how easily you fell for a good suit and a smooth line,” he countered.
    “You set me up, Jack! Like I didn’t have feelings, didn’t mind being manipulated because you and some tailor were feeling playful one night.” She stared off at the glittering skyline. “I admit, I was a sitting duck. Pathetic. Just ripe for Prince Charming.”
    He grasped her by the shoulders. As delicate as she looked, she felt surprisingly solid. “Look, this is real life now, not some goddamned fairy tale. It’s messy and painful and
real
. If you can’t deal with—”
    “Jack?” she said, interrupting him.
    “Yes?”
    “Shut up.”
    He did, and gladly, for she stood on tiptoe and wound her arms around his neck. He kissed her with all the frenzied passion that had been clamoring in his heart. He was half afraid she would shrink from the intensity of it, but instead she welcomed him, opening her mouth to his,pressing her warmth