Patchouli For Christmas by Bren Christopher Page B

and there. The scent of pine filled the air and underlying it, a slight aroma of cinnamon and apples. He wondered if that came from candles or someone actually baking. Regardless of the origin, it made his stomach rumble, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since early morning.
    They made small talk as they left the hall and strolled through the spacious living area to the private elevator. Michael glanced out the wide glass doors leading to the rooftop patio of the penthouse. The lights of the city brightened as twilight fell. No wonder his stomach growled. How had it gotten so late?
    The living and hall areas already held several paintings as well as wreaths. Lovely, benign landscapes, he noted with a suppressed sigh. He paused by the giant Christmas tree filling one corner of the large foyer leading into the living room.
    Surveying the area, he tried to ascertain which of the pictures and other decorations would have to be removed to make room for the new work. “How many of your grandson’s paintings do you want to hang?”
    “I’m sure I don’t know, dear. Whatever he wants to show.”
    The voice on the phone hadn’t sounded interested in showing much of anything. Michael bit back another sigh.
    “I’ll call him,” Mrs. Kendrick continued. “He has a loft in SoHo. You can help select the paintings first thing tomorrow. Why, it’s only two weeks until Christmas. If I rely on him to do it, he’ll be at one of those meetings to save the whales or the rainforests or whatever, and he’ll just forget.”
    Terrific . As if Michael had nothing better to do tomorrow morning. He’d have to call the florists and push his appointment to the afternoon. Pulling on his leather jacket, he prepared to brave the chill of a December evening.
    At the elevator doors, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. She appeared to be studying him. He shifted, a little uncomfortable under a gaze which no longer seemed entirely friendly. Mrs. Kendrick gave his arm a final squeeze and then let him go when the elevator doors opened. As he stepped inside, she pressed the button to hold the doors open.
    He turned to face her as she added, “Oh, and Michael… One more thing.” For a moment, steel glinted in her faded brown eyes. “You’re a handsome, charming man, and Jude is a bit…sensitive. Like you, if you know what I mean. But not quite as worldly and experienced as you are, dear. I do hope you won’t take advantage.” Then she stepped back, releasing the button.
    By the time he figured out that he had just been warned off someone he’d never met and had absolutely no interest in, the doors had closed in his face, leaving him and his stunned expression alone in the elevator.
    * * * *
    Sensitive ? Was that the polite word for it back in her day?
    Michael still fumed the next morning as he got off the subway and headed to the building in trendy SoHo, where all the trendy artists lived in their big, trendy, artists’ lofts. He paused outside the building and took a deep breath.
    He couldn’t figure out why the comment bothered him so much. Not because of the delicate reference to being gay. Mrs. Kendrick seemed to love her grandson regardless of his being “sensitive.” No. It was the implication that Michael wasn’t good enough to have anything but the most professional relationship with her grandson. Well, he might not be rich, but he owned his own business, and business was good. Especially this time of year.
    Or maybe he had it wrong. There had been the crack about being experienced. Where had that come from? She couldn’t know about his rare trips to the club to pick up a one-nighter when he became desperate for a little company.
    Did she really think he would try to seduce her innocent Jude? He snorted. He already didn’t like the guy and didn’t have time for a relationship anyway. Not with a business to run.
    It stung, though. He couldn’t deny that. He genuinely liked and respected Mrs. Kendrick, and he’d thought it