Chapter One

Grace Hendrick blushed furiously when the doorbell snapped her out of an all-too-familiar daydream at ten till noon.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered, setting aside her faithful old laptop. It wasn’t as though whoever was at the door had caught her masturbating. So she was slightly worked up over an erotic fantasy—few would suspect a woman her age even had such fantasies, much less did something about them.

Of course, if anyone rummaged around in her laptop and saw all the stalled-out romance novels she’d tried to write over the last thirty years, they’d get an uncensored look at her fantasy life. Perhaps it was time to start deleting them before she died and left Stella to discover her Aunt Grace’s kinks and aspirations the hard way.

Taking off her reading glasses, she stood up from her recliner and stretched, wincing at the ache between her shoulder blades. Working from home was lovely, especially on days like this, but being hunched over her keyboard for hours at a time was not. If she didn’t get back into an aquaerobics class soon, she was going to petrify like so much aging wood. And if she didn’t get those final essays graded and her grades turned in on time, she wouldn’t get tenure. Then she might not be able to afford an aquaerobics class.

She stepped into her slippers and pulled her sweater around her as she headed for the front door.

The three gingerbread men on the floor stopped her in her tracks.

“Percy, you silly cat,” she sighed, bending to pick them up.

Hearing his name, the sleek silver tabby sauntered out from under the Christmas tree, brushing against her legs as she rehung the ornaments from higher branches.

“When are you going to get a clue, young man?” she scolded. “These are felt, not gingerbread. And do you really think I’d let you eat them even if they were actually gingerbread? You’d have the runs for a month.”

The doorbell pealing repeatedly reminded her there was someone at the door. A very persistent someone. Who in the world would be out in a snowstorm?

Opening the door just a bit, she peeked out through the crack. The young lady who stood on the porch was certainly dressed for the weather—only her pink-tipped nose, rosy cheeks and pretty blue eyes showed between her sparkly purple cap and scarf. “Yes, may I help you?”

“Happy birthday, Grace,” she said, holding up a white-frosted cupcake with a candle on top. “I have a present for you.”

Grace’s eyes widened. Although the wind was gusting and snow fell hard enough to obscure the houses across the street, the candle’s flame never flickered. Just as she opened her mouth to marvel, it occurred to her that it must be one of those trick candles that had to be put out in water.

“I’m sorry,” she said, opening the door wider. “Do I know you?”

The young lady laughed. “No, I’m just getting acquainted.”

“Oh, I heard a young couple had bought the Murray place,” Grace said, stepping back and pulling the door wide. “Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you, but I can’t stay.” She held out the cupcake. “Would you mind trying a bite before I go? It’s a new recipe and I’d really like to know what you think.”

Grace smiled as she took it. “It’s so sweet of you to come around in weather like this.” In fact, it was almost unbelievable that any of the neighbors had known or cared enough to tell the newcomer today was her birthday.

“Don’t forget to make a wish before you blow out the candle.”

Grace laughed. “My dear, I’m sixty, not six.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh, but you have to!”

She looked so worried that Grace was immediately contrite. “Well of course, that’s fine,” she said quickly. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, but it’s Marina.”

“How lovely.”

The girl was still looking at her expectantly, so Grace put her mind to the task at hand. It wasn’t too hard to come up with a wish—she’d been living one in her mind when the doorbell rang. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. I wish I could have one more night with Jared. Then she opened them again, puckered up and blew on the flame. Much to her surprise, it went right out.

Marina clapped her mittened hands enthusiastically. “Oh goody! You’ll get your wish!”

“From your lips,” Grace said, working to keep the dryness out of her tone.

“Now tell me, how does it taste?”

By this time, snow was beginning to accumulate on the rug, but Grace obliged the girl, peeling back the Christmasy cupcake paper and taking a bite of the white cake. “Mmm, coconut. My favorite,” she said, licking a bit of frosting off her upper lip. “It’s wonderful, thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Tugging off a sparkly mitten, Marina pulled a small white card out of her coat pocket and handed it to Grace. “Sorry to rush off, but I’m late for another engagement. Merry Christmas, and enjoy your birthday!” She trotted off down the sidewalk and disappeared into the snow just a few yards from the house.

Tucking the card into her robe pocket with a bemused smile, Grace bumped the door closed with her hip while she peeled the cupcake. After she’d polished it off and disposed of the paper and candle, she went in search of her glasses. Finding them right where she’d left them, she sank into her well-worn recliner and pulled out the card. On one side, her name was written in bold, uniform calligraphy. On the other was a short poem.

You made your wish, and so polite!

Now I will grant you one more night…

Grace blinked. “One more night…” How could the girl possibly have known that she’d wished for a night?

For just a moment, hope fluttered in her breast, but common sense asserted itself immediately. What did she think, that Marina might be some sort of fairy godmother? If anything, she would have to be her fairy goddaughter. And since when is your name Cinderella?

“More like Seniorella,” she muttered under her breath. Grace almost laughed out loud at the visual. Well, she’d lost nothing by making the wish and she wasn’t going to complain—after all, it was the only birthday cake she’d had in years and pretty damn good, to boot. The card might be a bit out there, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Speaking of cards, why hadn’t she grabbed the mail while she was up?

Even knowing there was probably nothing but bills and holiday sales circulars, she scurried back to the door and stepped out onto the porch. When she reached into the mailbox, she thought at first that it was empty. But then her fingers found a postcard.

Yes, Seniorella, you guessed it right—

Now love them ’til the stroke of midnight.

Her knee-jerk English professor response was, Another trite little rhyme. Then her eyes widened. Seniorella? She whipped her head from left to right but the girl was nowhere to be seen. Shaking like a leaf, she turned to step back into the house and slipped on the frosty concrete. The last thing she saw was the card flying out of her hand.