Never Stop Believing: The Perfect Date, #10

By Donna McDonald

The Holidays Can't Get Much More Perfect!

 

Singer, Natalie Bright, sings for her supper, and for her grandmother's supper too. With bills to pay and her grandmother's illness to fight, life takes all the energy she has and then some. Love is something she tried once in her twenties and it didn't work out. Natalie's never stopped believing in Santa, but she's not very hopeful when it comes to finding love.

 

Several years ago Dr. Jet Rahman lost the love of his life who was also his best friend. Now his work fills the empty space inside him, and what's left goes to his five-year-old daughter. Does he believe he can find love again? He certainly believes starting over is possible when you find someone who's a good match for you. He and Natalie though? Well, they're not a totally brilliant idea, but kissing her makes him more hopeful than he's been in a very long time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Donna McDonald
• Release date: Dec 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781950619337

Donna McDonald

Donna McDonald published her first romance novel in March of 2011. Fifty plus novels later, she admits to living her own happily ever after as a full-time author. Her work spans several genres, such as contemporary romance, paranormal, and science fiction. Humor is the most common element in all her writing. Addicted to making readers laugh, she includes a good dose of romantic comedy in every book.

Book preview

Chapter One

What are you humming? Sounds like a pop song. After training in the classics, that’s nearly a sin.

Natalie turned to smile at the woman who’d raised her. She was not engaging in a music debate this morning, especially not since pop and jazz paid most of their bills.

Is this a cane day, Bibi? she asked as she blatantly ignored her grandmother’s question.

Santa Baby had been in her head when she woke up this morning. She was going to have to look up the lyrics before her first practice. And she was going to have to call around to see if she could find a suitably sexy costume for someone with generous curves—something Marilyn Monroe-esque that made the most of her ample boob-age. She was thinking of a short red dress trimmed in fur.

Her grandmother waved her free hand as she continued her slow trek to the small dining table in the kitchen nook. The table didn’t fit the rest of the house, but it had belonged to Bibi’s grandmother. Bibi’s mother had paid to have it shipped to Ohio from England. Despite its inferior quality, Bibi loved it for the memories and did all her kitchen upgrades around it.

Most days are cane days. What infirmity the disease doesn’t cause, old age makes sure I get. I’m losing the battle of life, Natalie. You’ll be on your own soon.

Natalie plated their eggs and toast and carried their breakfast to the table. After setting down their food, she hugged her grandmother as she helped her lower her body into a chair. She gathered the butter and marmalade while her grandmother got situated to eat. The last thing Natalie put on the table was a Brown Betty pot containing her grandmother’s favorite British Breakfast tea.

When her grandmother fiercely frowned, Natalie automatically frowned back. Her mother had said she came out of her womb frowning exactly like Bibi.

What is it, Bibi? I promise I made the tea exactly the way you taught me.

And exactly the way she had for the last six years she’d lived in her grandmother’s home.

Her grandparents finished raising her after her parents died. Natalie had left at eighteen to go to Europe and study. Her heart had been full of dreams and schemes back then.

She’d returned to live with her grandparents at thirty, soul-battered and disillusioned. Her marriage to Cole spanned a blessedly brief period of five years in her mid-to-late twenties.

Neither career nor love had worked out as Natalie had planned, but her great-grandfather had survived World Wars I and II. Brights did not surrender to fate.

After her grandfather died in his sleep three years ago, both of them ended up alone. Judy helped, but she couldn’t replace the love of her grandmother’s life. Bibi grumpily grieved him still. Judy didn’t begrudge the woman that. Neither did Natalie.

Finish what you’re doing and sit, girl. It hurts my old neck to bend back far enough to look up at you. You’re not a short woman.

Her aging grandmother had shrunk from her previously impressive five-feet-nine height to Natalie’s five-feet-seven one in the last few years. Five-feet-seven wasn’t all that tall in her opinion, but Natalie grabbed her coffee and went to sit across from her grandmother.

Are you okay, Bibi? Did you have a bad night?

Her grandmother swept a hand toward breakfast. "No. It’s this—all this."

Natalie stared at their morning feast. It was a modest spread, but filling and nutritious. With the day she had ahead, she’d be lucky to stop for a smoothie between tasks. Having a substantial breakfast had become critical to keeping up with her crazy schedule.

If you want something different for breakfast, Bibi, all you have to do is ask.

And that’s what I’m talking about.

Her grandmother spread her long arms and gripped the sides of the table with hands that rarely stopped quivering. Bibi’s muscle control was growing worse, but her doctors said there was no more they could do for someone her age.

I feel like a failure. You should be sharing this meal with your husband and children, not with a shaky old woman like me.

Natalie visibly rolled her eyes at the dramatic statement, shook her head, and then took a bite of her eggs. She ate in silence for a minute. Finally, she lifted her head and mock-glared at her grandmother, who seemed itching to start an argument this morning. Having a permanent man in my life is not one of my goals, Bibi. Men cheat and leave you for someone prettier or skinnier. Or someone richer. I can’t leave that one out. I don’t have time for such nonsense anymore.

One man left you—only one. You gave up on men too soon, Bibi insisted as she too started to eat.

"Yes, but you never left me. You never gave up. You paid for my music training even after my voice teachers told you my talent was mediocre. If anyone deserves for me to cook them breakfast every day, it’s you," Natalie said in the firmest tone her extremely trained vocal cords could manage.

Bibi shrugged at the praise while she ate, but they both knew Natalie meant every word.

It pleased her that Bibi’s hands got a little less shaky with every bite. Or at least, that’s what Natalie believed. That small win was enough to justify her choice to give up her condo and move in with her grandparents to help.

Your divorce was final three years ago, Natalie. The right man can show you heaven, just like the wrong man can show you hell. And you know what Sir Winston Churchill said about hell…

"If you’re going through hell, keep going," Natalie recited in her best imitation of a man’s gruff voice. She’d had no choice but to learn the Churchill quote because it was one of Bibi’s favorites. If she had a nickel for every time Bibi made her repeat it over the years, she would never have to work again.

You didn’t follow his advice, girl. You’re still going through hell for someone who’s worth less than a wad of chewed gum stuck to your shoe, Bibi stated flatly.

Natalie swallowed a bite of toast. No one could insult her ex-husband, Cole, quite like her grandmother could. Comparing Cole to a wad of chewed gum stuck to her shoe was brilliant.

She grinned at her grandmother over the remains of their meal. Why don’t you ever quote Americans, Bibi? Your mother was English, but your father was an American soldier. You were born in Cincinnati.

I know what you’re doing, Natalie. You’re trying to change the subject.

She was, and that strategy typically worked with her grandmother. I don’t want to talk about Cole anymore. Yes, marrying the man was a mistake. Did you not notice that I haven’t made another one like that since I divorced him? See, Bibi? I learned my lesson.

Well, you should have made a dozen more mistakes by now. That’s what unmarried women in their thirties do. They date a bunch of frogs until they find their proper prince. It works that way in real life as well as in fairytales.

Natalie sighed and gave up trying to eat. My schedule is hectic—you know that. I tried online dating, and the guys who emailed me back were all creeps. If I met someone nice, I would probably go out with them. I’m not circulating in the right places to meet them. One day maybe I will be.

You could let me pay for that high price dating agency in town. They’d probably take care of your lack of social circulation problem.

"What dating agency? Oh… you mean The Perfect Date? Natalie chuckled at the idea. They’re way out of my price range. Neither of us can afford that. I’d rather take care of the house."

You’re singing for that agency, and they aren’t paying you squat for your time and energy.

I’m singing one song for the Christmas charity drive. I cut my rate for them on purpose. They took bids for singers, and I wanted to be the one to do it. They’re televising my performance, which will be both good and free publicity for me. I love doing the PBS show, but you know it doesn’t pay all that well. We talked about this, Bibi.

Yes, I know we have. From those conversations, I concluded you follow your heart more than your head. Luckily for you, I’m leaving you an inheritance. If you keep being so frugal with the pittance you make from your craft, I’m sure it will pay enough to feed your ten cats when you’re my age.

Ah… the Bright sarcastic wit is gracing us this morning. It always makes my day.

Pot. Kettle. Black, Bibi sang as dragged her favorite teapot close.

Natalie rolled her eyes before looking away to pray while Bibi poured her tea. It was the only time she grew fearful of her grandmother’s weakness. Not because she worried about the Brown Betty teapot’s fate. Bibi’s well-used, imported teapot had survived a multitude of drops and spills since her grandmother’s diagnosis six years ago.

No, what Natalie worried about was worse.

If Bibi dropped the teapot while pouring—as she sometimes did—her grandmother officially would be done with breakfast. Since she had a PBS recording to finish this afternoon and a jazz gig this evening, she wouldn’t be home to make sure her grandmother ate again today. Judy would try to coax her, but Bibi could be stubborn. They’d already gone through one round of hospitalization for dehydration. Natalie had no intention of letting that happen again. Maybe she could talk Bibi into dining out soon. No one needed to be confined to their house for so long, regardless of their affliction.

Natalie finally steeled her nerves enough to look back at her grandmother, who was now sipping her tea. The iron will Bibi claimed to have inherited from her military father showed itself in the stranglehold her grandmother currently had on a dainty teacup with painted butterflies flying on it.

Natalie felt a real kinship with Bibi’s teacups. Besides steadying her for tasks, her grandmother’s iron will frequently became fixated on finding Natalie a husband. The woman seemed determined to live long enough to see Natalie married again.

At thirty-seven, Natalie didn’t have time to feel sorry about her marriage ending so poorly. Instead, she focused on her work. It took all her time and energy to keep the utilities paid in her grandmother’s six thousand square foot house. Natalie also worked on earning enough to pay for a daytime companion when she had to be away.

Could her grandmother pay all the bills by herself? Yes, she could—for a while. But they’d both learned that hospital visits weren’t cheap, and medical insurance didn’t cover it all. When her grandfather died, his contribution to their family income had gone away.

And who knew what troubles the future held? Natalie didn’t want Bibi to have to go into a nursing home. They’d have to sell the house to pay for it, and that was not okay.

She would do a lot to keep that from happening. The house was home to both of them, not just home for Bibi. Security was what she worked for, and what Natalie worried about most was her ability to continue doing it. Who had time for dating guys who likely wouldn’t be worth more than a dinner or two? Not her.

Plus, even if she was interested in someone, finding someone good enough to pass Bibi’s standards for husband material would be next to impossible. Her grandfather—God Bless him—died and left behind an enormous pair of shoes for a man in her life to fill. Cole hadn’t filled them. Cole hadn’t even filled one shoe’s worth.

Natalie sighed inwardly—she’d learned not to let her physical frustration out—while she carried her dishes to the sink. A friendly voice called a greeting as her grandmother’s ‘personal assistant’ let herself into the house with her key.

Good morning. We’re in the kitchen, Judy, she called back, her voice carrying easily through the front of their quiet home.

Bibi pounded the table. Natalie Bright, stop yelling. You might strain something vital and not be able to sing.

Morning all, Judy said as she came into the kitchen.

Natalie grinned at Judy’s wink before she headed to the still half-full coffeepot. She sighed internally again, feeling grateful. God bless Judy for helping mitigate Bibi’s unhappiness with her perky brand of home health assistance. Who wouldn’t be unhappy in Bibi’s case, though? Her grandmother was one disease progression away from spending the rest of her life in a wheelchair.

Natalie returned to the table. She lifted the Brown Betty and poured Bibi a refill before leaning down to kiss her huffing grandmother’s cheek.

I have a gig at the club tonight, Bibi. Don’t wait up for me and please have some dinner before you take your night meds. Judy’s going to make that casserole we like. I’ll have some when I get home.

You worry too much about me eating.

I worry because you don’t always behave when it comes to taking care of yourself. Be nice to Judy today. She’s taking you to get your hair done.

Why should I bother? Who’s going to see my hair? Bibi asked with a scowl.

Judy and I will see it. Our eyes are reason enough, Natalie stated. She’d almost perfected Bibi’s signature haughtiness.

Good thing you’re a singer and not a comedian, or the lawn would never get mowed.

Judy laughed. Good one, Matilda. How about I phone ahead and warn the hairdresser you’re in one of your moods today? Let’s give her a sporting chance, eh?

Winking at Judy for using Bibi’s proper name in her chastisement, Natalie headed to her room to dress.

Chapter Two

I had no idea we were so busy. I’m running out of energy just making notes, Mariah complained as her ink pen zipped across the legal pad.

Try a tablet. People can type much faster than they can write.

Technology serves us well, but I prefer not to let it rule my every activity. I like to see my handwriting on paper. Crossing off things on my lists makes me feel like I’m working hard—much harder than deleting them electronically, Mariah said, grinning at her chuckling co-worker. "Stop laughing and tell me what’s left. What’s the next big thing on The Perfect Date’s calendar?"

As her chuckles faded, Della consulted the tablet in her hand. The next big thing is a dress rehearsal for our televised Christmas charity spot. That happens late next week. We need to identify the Santas and make sure they block out time to work with us.

It’s one song. How many Santas do you need?

Four, Della replied, then reconsidered. Well, we needed five, but Iris found a perfect one already. His name is Christopher Rudolph, and that man won’t need anything to look natural in a big red Santa suit. He has a white beard, white hair, and eyes the color of the sky.

Does he shake like a bowl of jelly when he laughs? Mariah asked.

Della giggled. I’ve never met the man. He must be one of your special clients. I thought I knew everyone in the database, but I missed the one who looks like Santa. What can I say?

"A client who looks like the galactic average Santa doesn’t come to