She checked the watch that encircled her thin wrist.  A band of braided gold with a face of nacre, small and delicate, it was a gift from her father, upon her graduation from University.   She was the first woman in the family to go to University, and the only one of her sisters to complete her Master's degree.  Her father had been so proud, as any man would be of his sons, of her, his shining daughter.  Fïona touched the carved crystal, it was a memory stone for her, and then looked back at the mirror.  Her short cropped, reddish brown hair was in place, and a touch of lipstick completed her look.  After years of teaching children, she had mastered the pleasing but tasteful look of the elegant lady teacher.  It was no change for her to step from the schoolroom to the museum, this time as docent of the Montréal Musée d'Arts.  Two minutes to meet the group of eager students that would be gathered at the front desk. 

Since her divorce, Fïona had rediscovered the freedoms she had been born to enjoy.  Perhaps it was because she was oldest daughter, having to navigate many firsts in her family when they moved to Canada.  She was a natural leader, and she could move in ease in so many circles of culture.  The museum director was an old friend, and had long ago asked her to consider the position there when she was retired from teaching.  It took three years before she called, three years of recovering from divorce and heartbreak.

A note had been slipped under her coffee cup when she wasn't looking, Meet me by the Van Gogh.  She looked around, who would leave this for her?  She picked up  a cranberry pistachio biscotti, one of her treats for the holiday party.  The strains of  "Last Christmas" played in the background, and she watched the blossoming flirtation between two coworkers play out by the punch bowl and under a string of garlands.  The Van Gogh exhibit tugged her heartstrings, reminders of her long lost love Brahm.  Summers in Amsterdam spent teasing and playing, and then poof! He was gone somehow and she was engaged to another man.  When he found her again, sigh, she was a mother of two and struggling to keep her marriage together.  When she found him again, he was a celebrating new husband with a much younger Dutch wife.  

Fïona put down her cup, and headed out for the exhibit.  The museum would close in less than an hour, and no new visitors would be allowed in.  Only the stragglers remained, and the docents and guards would walk through and nudge them along soon enough.  She finished the biscotti, carefully wiping the crumbs on a blue cocktail napkin, and smoothed out her white wool blazer.  A gold pin of a cupid shooting a heart made of rubies was pinned to her lapel.  She left for the exhibit, and was almost there,  when her supervisor intercepted her.  "Blëh blëh blëh, Fïona," he said, while she looked past him and around to see signs of someone waiting for her.  Soon enough, the last group was out the building, the doors closed and no one was there.  She made her way to the locker room and pulled on her thick down coat, scarf, hat and mittens.  Christmas was tomorrow, and this was her first year alone.   

Just as she was checking out, and putting her security badge back in her purse, another paper fell out of her pocket.  It was the same as the first, robin's egg blue paper, lettering written with a calligraphic hand.  Meet me in the park on the way home.  Who was this?  Who knew what park she would walk through, what was her way home?  She didn't feel afraid though, and the park was next to her tall apartment building.  She had planned to walk there anyhow, to pick up some last minute trimmings from the market nearby, some flowers for her neighbor and just a little camaraderie.  She had recently lost her best friend, Selim, her beloved cat.  It would be impossible to not ache for him, and she knew she would be alone the next two days.  Her children were away, and her sisters with their own families.

As she approached the park, next to Ibraham's market, she thought she saw a figure waving to her and she approached.  Out of the shadow stepped her old college friend, Sarah, with a big hug and smile, gushes of holiday blessings.  It took only a moment for Fïona to recognize that Sarah had just seen her by accident, this was not a planned meeting.  They exchanged pleasantries and kisses and Joyeux Noëls.  No one else was there when she exited the park, and it was dark.  Fïona entered Ibraham's and greeted him and his wife warmly.  

They were the enduring couple of the old world, a reminder of her own history.  Emigrated from Turkey and settled in Montréal, a successful shop owner and his wife.  They had known Fïona since she was a young girl, and now all these years later, she was stopping in for a warm chocolate with cardamom while she shopped for her treats.  She rang up her purchases and wished the couple blessings for themselves and their family for the holidays, and a fruitful and safe new year.  Ibraham handed her change with the receipt.  As she put it in her wallet, a blue slip of paper fell out and onto the floor.  She picked it up, excited and nervous, her heart pounding.  

Meet me tonight for dessert.  

Any other night, she would be nervous to read such a note, but somehow her heart lifted up and her steps carried her swiftly up the stair.   She thought perhaps it was her youngest, come to spend the holidays with her after all.  They had long played little games of hide and seek with each other, and marveled over mysteries and whodunnits together.  This must be her handiwork.  

Fïona unlocked her apartment, the lights were on and it was warm.  Flowers decorated the table, and some Christmas lights had been draped over the victorian windows facing out to the street.  Nat King Cole played in the background, she hadn't heard that music in years.... many years.  Had there been a CD she had forgotten about?  Her daughter was not in the kitchen, and she thought she heard a sound from the bathroom.  She went over to the table and saw it had been set for two, with candles and polished service, sparkling glasses and a bottle of Merlot.  In the center was a plate of her tomatiebröd.  This didn't make any sense.  Over the plate of appetizers was left another note, in blue, with the commandment

Meet me in your heart!

She turned suddenly with surprise as the door from the bathroom opened.   There stood Brahm, all glorious 193 centimeters of him, perhaps a dusting or two of silver where there was usually more gold.  His soft hair curled gently behind his ears, fine wire rimmed glasses that were the same as their university days together.  Not much had changed, really, and she could feel her body light up like a Christmas tree in love. 

"Is it really you?" she gasped, barely above a whisper.  "My daughter will be here... " Then she connected the dots and realized it had been him, all this time, pulling her strings to him, luring her to this meeting.  The neighbor must have let him in.  Fïona looked at the flowers she had just purchased, a spray of eucalyptus and holly and berries, still wrapped in the paper from the store.  She hadn't even taken off her coat, and Brahm was just wearing a soft silk sweater and corduroys.  "Oh, Brahm!"  She cried out and threw herself into his  open arms.  

His eager hands pushed off the coat, unwound the scarf, and threw them to the floor.  He held her to him until time disappeared, then pulled back and looked at her.

"Is it really you, my love, my darling Fïona?  I have dreamed of you for so long" and he kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her nose, her chin, and finally her lips.  The heat had not subsided in all these years, and the flames of this Yule time fire roared into full blaze.  "I can't believe I have finally found you at last".  He pulled her onto the couch with him, and just held her to his chest, while she kicked off the boots and removed the layers of wool that were no longer necessary for keeping her warm.  

The kissed and laughed and shared and ate, he hand fed her the little bruschettas, and told the story of his late life.  She listened, as always, with a kind heart, to his sorrow and his joy and his dreams.  She told of her new life as a docent, and of her writing, and her sorrows and joys and dreams.  It was magical just to smell him again, to hear his heart beating, to feel his hands hold her where she had longed to be held.  Where she had forgotten she could be held.  Her body flushed like that of a University girl, and her cheeks blushed at the memories of the hot nights together they had shared.

Dessert was chilled glasses of brandied chocolate mousse, a specialty of Ibraham's wife, and they had been sold out that night when Fïona had asked for them.  She realized why there had been a twinkle in her eye when she said, "Sorry, no luck".  Brahm had known Sarah as well, and perhaps had made a plan to put her in Fïona's path.  He had always loved to play games with her, never cruel, but always a little boyish.  She laughed and laughed that night, so much, her face breaking into smiles upon smiles like waves, and her heart beating to the rhythm of those waves breaking inside her.  Brahm was her first love, and at this moment she felt he could be her last.  

The bedroom door was open, and revealed soft candlelight and bottle of champagne chilling by the bed.  There were two more glasses, and a plate of strawberries with chocolate.  Brahm took his ladylove by her hand, and pulled her gently to the room.  Soft petals were strewn about, and the covers pulled back to reveal soft brown satin sheets draped over with a white velvet coverlet.  He must have been into her linen closet, she thought... and was glad to know he had remembered how much she cared for these things, these small but happy details.  He kissed her again, slowly lifting the chemise over her shoulders and threw it to the floor.  She lifted off his sweater and helped him undo the corduroys.  They stood in full candlelight across from each other, time had changed little and life had changed everything- everything but their deep, abiding love for one another.  Fïona slid between the satin sheets and pulled her lover to her.  It was going to be the most joyous of Christmases, after all.