Chapter 1

Kiera

For as long as I could remember, I’d always loved fairy tales. Even before becoming an elementary schoolteacher.

More specifically, I’d always loved Disney’s versions of the classic fairy tales.

Have you ever read Hans Christian Andersen’s original story of The Little Mermaid? There are no singing lobsters, no happy endings. The little mermaid doesn’t sail away into the sunset with her handsome prince.

Nope, not at all.

Spoiler alert!

She sacrifices herself so the prince can live, and the sea witch transforms the little mermaid into sea foam.

Unlike the original fairy tales, Disney leaves you with hope for a happily ever after, hope for a new beginning.

This was all fine and wonderful, but as I stood at the entrance to the hotel ballroom—my glittering silver stilettos feeling as though they were glued to the floor—I questioned if that would be the case for me.

Of course, it will.

Embracing that flicker of hope, I resumed reciting in my head my goal for the evening: Project Kissing Under the Mistletoe. A kiss under the mistletoe from a handsome stranger. A happy-for-now ending to the night—and a baby step toward moving on after my husband’s death a year ago.

I scanned the sea of ball gowns and tuxes and elaborate masks, searching for a particular blonde in a dress of black tulle. That’s right. In addition to the Jingle Balls ball being a fundraiser for testicular cancer, it was a masquerade ball.

My sister waved at me from across the ballroom, next to the grand Christmas tree decorated with a flurry of gold and red ornaments.

Brittany and her husband were the reason I was here tonight instead of back home in San Francisco, knitting mittens for foster kids in Boston. They were the reason I was wearing the mask covering the upper portion of my face and the stunning burgundy gown.

Don’t worry. This wasn’t the anniversary of my husband’s death. That had passed a week ago with me spending the day reading the love notes he used to leave all over our house.

Love notes I’d saved in a big floral box every time I found one.

On the day of the one-year anniversary, I’d sipped a glass of Enchanted Springs Chardonnay, the same wine we’d served at our wedding, and read the notes aloud.

Roses are red, violets are blue, I want to have hot sex with you.

A poet, he was not.

And then there was the note I had saved for last:

If I die before you, I want to be the star in the sky that grants all your wishes.

I inhaled a long, fortifying breath, channeling my inner Disney princess, and wove my way through the throng of merry partiers.

The conversation I’d had with Stephen after I’d found that note sashayed into my head. The conversation where he told me that if he did die before me—way, way, way down the line—he wanted me to fall in love again.

After this, he proceeded to list all the men he thought were viable options, in case they were available at the time.

“But definitely not Stinky Pete,” he’d said.

“I don’t think you have to worry about me ending up with the villain from Toy Story Two.”

Stephen barked a laugh—the laugh he always made when he thought I was being cute and adorable. “I was talking about my teammate. Pete Mundy. His hockey skates smell like he melted Limburger cheese in them.”

I grinned at him and kissed him sweetly on the cheek. “Okay, no, Pete Mundy. Anyone else?”

“Logan Mathews.”

“Is he a yah or a nah?”

“A definite yah.”

“I’m sure his wife would have something to say about that.” Logan had been Stephen’s best friend and teammate in college, and his best man at our wedding. Now, he played in the NHL—with the Chicago Blackhawks, last I’d heard.

“All right, I’ll add him to the list,” I’d said with a grin, even though my heart had been splitting into a billion fragments at the thought of Stephen possibly dying before me.

My sister’s red lips curved into a wide smile under her black-feathered half mask as I approached.

“Kiera.” She beamed at me like I was a baby who’d taken her first wobbly steps. “Let me introduce you to the charity’s biggest supporter and my dear friend.” The way she said it, you would’ve thought she was talking about royalty. “Lucinda, this is my little sister, Kiera. Kiera, this is Lucinda Mathews.” The woman’s surname came out in a hushed whisper.

I bit back the urge to curtsy to the much older woman standing next to Brittany. Lucinda’s gold-and-cream gown, diamond earrings and necklace, and spritz of floral perfume gave her a queenly air.

“Hello, my dear.” Her voice was dry and brittle, like antique parchment paper, yet filled with warmth and a spark of something.

Amusement, perhaps?

Remember the part about me resisting the urge to curtsy?

It would seem my body failed to get that message. Luckily, I’d had spent years perfecting the skill as a kid, back when I believed in fairy godmothers and dreamed of one day marrying my own prince.

Lucinda chuckled, and I felt my face heat as I straightened.

“And this is my grandson, Grayson.” She gestured with a wave of her hand to the tall, dark-haired man next to her. His half mask was simple and black. If the way his tuxedo embraced his body was any indication, the man made keeping in shape a top priority.

I held out my hand for him to shake—because heck if I was curtsying for him. But instead of shaking it, Grayson lifted my hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to it.

At the feel of his mouth against my skin, my body shouldn’t have reacted like hot lava swirled within its depths. My breath shouldn’t have hitched with sudden longing. And my lips shouldn’t have tingled, craving to taste his mouth on mine.

None of those things should have happened—with a stranger, no less. A stranger who might not even be single.

Desire wasn’t alone under the hotel chandeliers, their lightbulbs twinkling like stars. Hanging out with it was regret. Regret in knowing that Stephen was looking down from heaven and shaking his head at me, disappointed that the stranger I wanted to kiss under the mistletoe wasn’t on the list of approved men he’d jokingly created.

“Brittany mentioned you’re an elementary schoolteacher,” Lucinda said.

I nodded and smiled warmly at the thought of my students. “That’s right. I teach second grade.”

“Oh, such a delightful age. My great-granddaughter is in that grade. Such a precocious little thing, just like her father was at that age.”

My gaze flicked to Grayson, but he gave no indication the child belonged to him. So maybe she was his niece.

He chuckled, drawing my attention to his mouth. Don’t look at his mouth. Look away from his… “I’m sure her father will be thrilled you said that. I know for a fact that he took great pride in keeping you on your toes.”

She flashed him her perfectly straight, angel-white teeth. “I daresay you’re right.”

“And what about you?” I asked Grayson. “What do you do for a living?”

“This and that” was his non-answer.

Truth? I sort of appreciated that he was evading the question like a spy at a royal tea party. I preferred the mystery surrounding him. It made him even sexier—not that he needed help in that department as far as I could tell.

“Brittany also mentioned you live in San Francisco,” Lucinda said to me.

For a masked ball, where our identities were a secret, my sister was certainly spilling the jelly beans when it came to all there was to know about me.

Please tell me you never mentioned my deceased husband.

“That’s right,” I said.

“She mentioned you used to live in Boston—”

I sensed she was going to say more, but Grayson coughed as though clearing his throat, and her words came to an abrupt halt.

She threw him a subtle smirk. He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

“Do you live in San Francisco?” I asked him. My tone was edged with a curiosity I shouldn’t have felt. I really didn’t want to know anything about him. If I found out too much, the magic of the moment would be reduced to glitter.

“No, Chicago.” His deep, sexy voice left my insides quivering like leaves caught in a stiff breeze.

“That’s quite the drive just to attend the ball.”

“You might say I happened to be in the neighborhood, and my grandmother asked if I would attend as her date.”

Aww, that’s so sweet.

“My poor Alfred died ten years ago from testicular cancer,” Lucinda explained, “which is why this charity event is important to me. And why awareness and early detection is vital.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said to them both, praying Brittany didn’t decide this was a good time to inform them about my dead husband.

Luckily, she remained silent on the topic.

“Thank you, my dear,” Lucinda said. “I was fortunate to have a supportive family and friends to help me get through it. And you know the best part?”

I shook my head, clueless at what it could be.

“Just because you lose someone you loved doesn’t mean you’ll never love again.” She winked at me, confirming she did know the truth. What else had my dear sweet sister shared? My social security number? “I found a new prince, and I’m just as much in love with him as I was with my sweet Alfred.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” My words had more to do with her falling in love with someone new than the chance of that happening to me again.

I shifted on my feet and twisted toward the orchestra, now playing a new piece.

I could almost imagine Cinderella and Prince Charming waltzing to the music with the other couples dancing.

“Would you like to dance?” The question was a low murmur against my ear, and my insides quivered once again, in a way that would make a bowl of Jell-O envious.

Available in ebook, print, and audiobook

Decidedly with Luck is a standalone romance. All the books in the series can be read in any order.

© Stina Lindenblatt 2020