Finding wings, p.8
Finding Wings, page 8
“You need some help?”
“If you have time.” Her demeanor seemed to brace for his rejection.
“I can stay a while.” He was glad he hadn’t brought Robby’s laundry in with him as he’d been tempted to do. He shed his coat and went over to take the other end of the string of lights she wrestled with. He couldn’t remember the last time the Christmas tree had been up in this room. Usually, if they did anything at all to celebrate, they went to the group home and sat with Robby for the residents’ Christmas party.
“This is looking good, Ma. You want me to put the wreath up on the front door?” He was almost afraid to say anything lest he jinx this almost-cheerful version of his mother.
She eyed him as if trying to decide whether he was being facetious. Apparently he passed the test. “I’m not sure what I did with that wreath. But if you don’t mind checking the attic … it might be up there. To the left of the chimney in that big gunnysack, you know the one?”
He knew. The sack that had held the Stuart family Christmas decorations for the first ten years of his life had looked suspiciously like the sack carried by a Santa whose voice sounded suspiciously like his dad’s. It was a good memory, but one tainted by everything that had happened in the years since.
He worked beside his mom for the next hour, wanting to ask her what had changed, what had brought about the lilt in her step and the soft smile that he’d almost forgotten. But he decided just to let it be. To enjoy the return of the woman he affectionately called “Ma”—for however long it lasted.
He’d do Robby’s laundry himself and not say anything. It was a small thing, really. His resentment had never stemmed from the task itself but from feeling that it was a mother’s place to take care of her children … as long as they were children. And maybe that was wrong of him. Maybe Ma needed a break. Needed some time to take care of herself. And heaven knew he was the only one who could give her that time. Should give her that time. It was the least he could do.
He helped her sweep up the plastic “needles” that had fallen from the artificial tree and stored away the empty box in the garage.
When he came back inside, she was admiring the tree with a look he hadn’t seen on her face in a very long time. Almost a smile. It took ten years off of her face.
“It looks nice, Ma.”
She looked up at him. “It does, doesn’t it? Maybe I’ll buy a couple of poinsettias to put on either side of the fireplace.”
The fireplace was one of those boxes fitted with a fake flame. He hadn’t seen it before and wondered where she’d come up with the money to buy it. He hoped she wasn’t getting in trouble with her credit card again.
“Let me get the poinsettias for you. You want the red ones?”
“Of course. What else is there?”
“I saw some pink and yellow ones in Walmart the other day. At least I think that’s what they were. They were pretty pricey though.”
“You just don’t worry about it. I’ll get what I want. You keep your money.”
He opened his mouth to ask if she planned to have Christmas at her house. But he swallowed the question unasked. No sense ruining her rare good mood. Especially when she’d just given him a brilliant idea.
Despite the forty-degree temperature, Britt wiped her brow and hauled another stack of boxes in from the car. When they’d ordered decorations for the cottage and cabins for this first Christmas for the Airbnb, they hadn’t thought about where they’d store all the ornaments before—and after—the holidays. Quinn and Phee had come to the rescue and let them store everything in the basement of the new house.
They really should have had all the decorations up long before now. But with Phee out of commission, they were doing well just to honor their bookings. For the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, they’d made do with a few pumpkins, cheap garlands of fall leaves, and some candles Joanna found for a quarter each at a garage sale. But recent weekend guests to the cottage had expressed disappointment that there were no Christmas decorations to be found. Britt had blatantly milked Phee’s close call as an excuse, but despite the sympathy their guests expressed, they’d cited “a sad lack of holiday decor” as their reason for giving The Cottages on Poplar Brook Road only a three-star rating. Reviews were crucial, and they couldn’t afford many more low ones like that.
Balancing the stack of boxes, Britt sighed and held the porch door open with one hip as she nudged open the front door. Joanna had left work to meet her at Quinn and Phee’s to help load everything into her car. She was disappointed the three of them couldn’t make an event of the decorating as they’d planned, and a little miffed that the task had ended up falling to her alone, even though she knew Jo was already behind at work thanks to the time she’d taken off to help with Phee. It couldn’t be helped, and she was determined to make the best of it. At least it was a break from sitting with Phee.
She pulled up her favorite Christmas playlist on her phone, put the kettle on for tea, and went to retrieve the last boxes of ornaments.
Her phone pinged from her pocket, and she hurried to deposit the stack of boxes on the kitchen counter at the main cottage. She was expecting a text from the spokeswoman for a group of women who hoped to book the entire venue for two nights in January. They’d specifically requested to cook all their own meals, which would simplify things greatly. And the income from a complete booking for the whole weekend was always a boon to their dwindling bank account. They needed more bookings like that.
She sighed as she fished her phone from her pocket. They’d been doing so well until Phee had to go on bed rest. Not that they were in danger of not being able to pay their bills. But all three of them felt better when there was a little cash to spare in their savings account. They hadn’t drained it yet, but they weren’t adding to it either.
Her phone sounded again, and she clicked to view the message at the same instant she saw Rafe Stuart’s name on the screen. He wasn’t supposed to text her until next week. She read the text with wildly mixed emotions. Part of her would be relieved if he was texting to say “forget the whole thing.” But a bigger part of her would be deeply disappointed. She’d never felt about any man the way she felt about Rafe after only spending a few hours with him.
Mom would have said it was dangerous to form such a hasty opinion about a person you might end up being married to someday. Not that Britt was going to rush into anything with this guy. But she’d waited so long for even an invitation, she was not going to let this one get away.
She read his text: “Would this be a good time to call you?”
Intrigued, she texted back a simple “yes.”
Her phone rang almost immediately. She took in a breath and clicked Accept.
“Hey, I hope I’m not bothering you.”
Oh, that voice … She could drown in it! She composed herself. “No. You’re not. Sorry I’m out of breath. I’ve been lugging boxes in from the car.”
“You’re moving? See, I knew you’d try to get out of our date.”
She laughed. “What date? I wasn’t aware we’d been able to find a day in the next decade when we’re both free.”
“Funny you should mention that. It’s exactly why I’m calling.”
CHAPTER 11
OH?” BALANCING HER PHONE AGAINST one shoulder, Britt went to close the door to the enclosed porch and then the one between the porch and the house. “Now why … exactly … are you calling?”
“I think I’ve solved our problem.” She could hear the smile in Rafe’s voice.
“Oh you have? Have you added a new month to the calendar?”
“No, but that’s not a half-bad idea. We could call it Brittober.”
“Or Rafetember.”
His laughter made her feel so clever. “Somehow I don’t think that’s going to go over very well with whoever’s in charge of world calendars. But maybe we don’t need an extra month. Maybe we just need to figure out how to use this one better.”
“I’m all ears.” She was intrigued. And relieved that it appeared he wasn’t calling to cancel anything.
“You said the reason you couldn’t go out with me this weekend is because you have to decorate for Christmas?”
“Yes …”
“Well then. Only hours ago, I finished helping my mom decorate her house for Christmas. It looked pretty good when we were finished, if I do say so myself, and I was struck by something my favorite author once said.”
“Wait? Your favorite author?” She smiled to herself. This guy and his Mark Twain. But she happily played along. “I thought you didn’t like to read.”
“I don’t. So it wasn’t too hard to choose a favorite author from among the four I’ve read.”
She smiled into the phone. “I bet I can guess who it is too.”
“And I bet you’d be right.”
“Mark Twain?”
“You got it. And he says you shouldn’t wait, because the time will never be just right.”
“Mark Twain says that, huh? Present tense? Funny, I thought he was dead.”
Rafe didn’t miss a beat. “A lot of people did. To which Twain replied, ‘Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.’”
Britt remembered hearing that one. Being a native Missourian and growing up in a town named after the man, they’d studied him in school in almost every grade. “So you and Mark are good buds then?”
“Just kidding. He’s dead. For a while now. But an author lives on through his books.”
“Or her books.”
“Right. Anyway, if you’ll let me finish …”
“Knock yourself out.”
“So, I wondered if maybe you could use some help. Decorating. Would it help if I came and helped you this weekend? We could kill two birds with one stone.”
“Two birds? Don’t tell me … Mark Twain?”
“No, silly. That’s an ancient idiom.”
“Oooh, idiom? That’s a big word for somebody who’s only read four books in his entire life.”
“Four authors. There’s a difference.”
“Point taken. So these two metaphorical birds would be helping me put up decorations and … ?”
“And spending time with me. I mean together. Spending time together. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not all about me.”
She laughed. “I like the way you think. The two birds part. I could use the help. But when were you thinking?”
“Whenever you were planning to decorate. I have this whole weekend off, so just name a time. I’ll even stop and get takeout. You’re okay with cheeseburgers?”
“I love cheeseburgers.” He could have suggested Liver-and-Onions-R-Us and she would have said she loved it.
“Alrighty then, burgers it is.”
“I know beggars can’t be choosers, but I have to have everything done before our guests check in tomorrow night.”
“Oh. Well, then I guess we need to get hoppin’. When were you planning on decorating?”
“I don’t suppose you’re free right now?”
“Now? Like tonight?”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be. I can get started and—”
“No. Tonight is great. You know what they say: Never put off till tomorrow what may be done day after tomorrow just as well.”
“What? Who says? That doesn’t even make sense.”
He chuckled. “It doesn’t, does it?”
“No. And I don’t know who said it, but I have a feeling it was you-know-who.”
“None other.”
“Just so you know, if we were FaceTiming, you’d see me rolling my eyes.”
“I don’t blame you. So, what time should I come?”
“Beggars can’t be choos—” She stopped short. “Please don’t tell me I just quoted Mark Twain?”
That got a laugh. “Well, if it was, it didn’t make my list.”
“How long is that list, anyway?”
“You don’t want to know.” He cleared his throat. “Now, back to the question at hand. What time should I come?”
“Well, would now work?” She made a face, glad he couldn’t see her. “The thing is, guests start checking in tomorrow around four, and I just brought the boxes of decorations over from my sister’s house, and it kind of got me in the mood. To decorate. But I can get started and you can help me finish whenever you can … as long as it’s done by tomorrow afternoon. There’s plenty to do.”
“Boxes, plural? Good grief. I did my mom’s house in an hour. Are you outlining the river in lights or something?”
“Oooh. That’s a great idea!” She laughed. But she could picture just how gorgeous that would look. “Our part of the river is only a tributary,” she explained. “But no. We won’t be lighting the riverbanks. But remember, there are three houses to decorate out here. We don’t have to finish all three of them while you’re here. If we just get the main cottage done, I’ll be thrilled.”
“Oh no, I said I’d help, and I’ll stay till the bitter end.”
“You might want to bring your jammies then. Oh—” Her breath caught. “That did not come out right.”
He laughed. “I know what you meant. How about this: I’ll come and help for a few hours this evening. If we get along, work well together, maybe I can stay a little later. I don’t have to be to work until eleven.”
“Sounds like a plan. We’ll see how we work together. Um, I might have to ask you to lay off the Mark Twain stuff though.”
“What? Woman, you’re taking away my best material!”
She might not have liked another man calling her “woman” that way, but coming from that voice … he could make just about anything sound perfectly divine and wholly appropriate.
By the time Rafe picked up burgers to go and approached the driveway to The Cottages on Poplar Brook Road, the temperature had dropped fifteen degrees and the wind had picked up. He drove up the lane in a swirl of yellow and red leaves. Sparkles of light from the river behind the cottages reflected against his windshield and added to the charm of the place. It was a nice property. Nicer than Britt had made it out to be. He could almost picture how it would look come spring. And though autumn had quickly turned to winter in Missouri, he could easily imagine what it must have looked like at the peak of fall.
He eased his car toward the largest of the three older houses. At the far end of the drive, he could see the roof and Tyvek-covered bones of the new house going up. He couldn’t help imagining Britt there, on the phone in a panic that day her sister had almost lost the baby. He felt guilty that he was so grateful to not have been on that run—even though, God knew, it was almost as difficult being on the phone with her, fearing he wouldn’t tell her the right things to save the baby. It had felt like he was reliving his worst nightmare that day. It was only his training that had kept his voice so steady while he talked to Britt, but he considered it a small miracle that she seemed to have no clue he’d been so undone.
He shook away the memories. He’d come to spend time with the prettiest girl this side of the Mississippi, and he didn’t need these dark thoughts clouding their time together. Especially given that it had practically taken an act of Congress to clear a space in their calendars.
He noticed lights on in both the small cabins, but Britt’s Escape was parked in front of the larger cabin—she’d called it the cottage—so he parked beside her and locked the car, then felt a little foolish doing so, given the property’s rather remote location on the outskirts of town.
He rang the bell. Within seconds, she opened the door and a cloud of aromas wafted out. Cinnamon, vanilla, almond, and pine—everything Christmas should smell like. It occurred to him that those scents were what had been missing from Ma’s house. He made a note to buy her an early Christmas present of a scented candle or some of those bags of leaves and pine cones they sold to make houses smell good. The latter might be better, so she didn’t burn down the house.
He held out the white bag. “Dinner is served.”
“Wonderful. Come on in.” She set the bag on the kitchen counter. “Thanks so much for picking up supper. And I made cookies for dessert. Chocolate chip.”
“So I smell. Everything smells amazing.” He inhaled through his nose to prove his appreciation.
She beamed. “I love the smells of Christmas. Do you want iced tea or hot?”
“Just water’s fine.”
As she took his coat and hung it on a hook near the front door, a black-and-white cat sauntered into the room. Rafe curbed a smile. He had this cat to thank for meeting Britt in the first place. She picked up the cat, who purred loud enough for Rafe to hear it from where he stood. She stroked the cat’s large head. “This is Melvin.”
“I remember Melvin.”
She laughed. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve met! How could I forget?”
Melvin stretched out a paw and gave a playful swat in Rafe’s direction.
Britt pulled him back. “You’re not allergic, are you?”
“Not that I know of. Never had a cat.”
“Well, don’t judge all cats by Melvin.”
“That bad, huh?”
“No!” She drew the animal protectively to her. “That good. He is seriously the best cat you’ll ever meet. Well, except when it comes to breaking vases in the middle of the night.”
“He’s a handsome fellow.”
“He is, isn’t he? He was my mom’s—our mom’s—but I kind of claimed him.”
He put out a hand to pet the cat, then withdrew it quickly. “He doesn’t bite, does he?”
“Melvin?” Her voice went all baby talk. “Not this widdle pussy cat. You wouldn’t bite a flea, would you, Melvin?”
He laughed and stroked the cat, happy for an excuse to be near the cat’s owner. She smelled pretty amazing too.
Britt set Melvin on the floor and washed her hands before pouring water and distributing burgers and fries between two plates. She carried them to the round table in the dining nook, and he followed with their water glasses. She said a brief blessing over the food, and they made small talk while they ate.
When they were finished, she rose and offered him cookies from a fancy plate.
“If you have time.” Her demeanor seemed to brace for his rejection.
“I can stay a while.” He was glad he hadn’t brought Robby’s laundry in with him as he’d been tempted to do. He shed his coat and went over to take the other end of the string of lights she wrestled with. He couldn’t remember the last time the Christmas tree had been up in this room. Usually, if they did anything at all to celebrate, they went to the group home and sat with Robby for the residents’ Christmas party.
“This is looking good, Ma. You want me to put the wreath up on the front door?” He was almost afraid to say anything lest he jinx this almost-cheerful version of his mother.
She eyed him as if trying to decide whether he was being facetious. Apparently he passed the test. “I’m not sure what I did with that wreath. But if you don’t mind checking the attic … it might be up there. To the left of the chimney in that big gunnysack, you know the one?”
He knew. The sack that had held the Stuart family Christmas decorations for the first ten years of his life had looked suspiciously like the sack carried by a Santa whose voice sounded suspiciously like his dad’s. It was a good memory, but one tainted by everything that had happened in the years since.
He worked beside his mom for the next hour, wanting to ask her what had changed, what had brought about the lilt in her step and the soft smile that he’d almost forgotten. But he decided just to let it be. To enjoy the return of the woman he affectionately called “Ma”—for however long it lasted.
He’d do Robby’s laundry himself and not say anything. It was a small thing, really. His resentment had never stemmed from the task itself but from feeling that it was a mother’s place to take care of her children … as long as they were children. And maybe that was wrong of him. Maybe Ma needed a break. Needed some time to take care of herself. And heaven knew he was the only one who could give her that time. Should give her that time. It was the least he could do.
He helped her sweep up the plastic “needles” that had fallen from the artificial tree and stored away the empty box in the garage.
When he came back inside, she was admiring the tree with a look he hadn’t seen on her face in a very long time. Almost a smile. It took ten years off of her face.
“It looks nice, Ma.”
She looked up at him. “It does, doesn’t it? Maybe I’ll buy a couple of poinsettias to put on either side of the fireplace.”
The fireplace was one of those boxes fitted with a fake flame. He hadn’t seen it before and wondered where she’d come up with the money to buy it. He hoped she wasn’t getting in trouble with her credit card again.
“Let me get the poinsettias for you. You want the red ones?”
“Of course. What else is there?”
“I saw some pink and yellow ones in Walmart the other day. At least I think that’s what they were. They were pretty pricey though.”
“You just don’t worry about it. I’ll get what I want. You keep your money.”
He opened his mouth to ask if she planned to have Christmas at her house. But he swallowed the question unasked. No sense ruining her rare good mood. Especially when she’d just given him a brilliant idea.
Despite the forty-degree temperature, Britt wiped her brow and hauled another stack of boxes in from the car. When they’d ordered decorations for the cottage and cabins for this first Christmas for the Airbnb, they hadn’t thought about where they’d store all the ornaments before—and after—the holidays. Quinn and Phee had come to the rescue and let them store everything in the basement of the new house.
They really should have had all the decorations up long before now. But with Phee out of commission, they were doing well just to honor their bookings. For the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, they’d made do with a few pumpkins, cheap garlands of fall leaves, and some candles Joanna found for a quarter each at a garage sale. But recent weekend guests to the cottage had expressed disappointment that there were no Christmas decorations to be found. Britt had blatantly milked Phee’s close call as an excuse, but despite the sympathy their guests expressed, they’d cited “a sad lack of holiday decor” as their reason for giving The Cottages on Poplar Brook Road only a three-star rating. Reviews were crucial, and they couldn’t afford many more low ones like that.
Balancing the stack of boxes, Britt sighed and held the porch door open with one hip as she nudged open the front door. Joanna had left work to meet her at Quinn and Phee’s to help load everything into her car. She was disappointed the three of them couldn’t make an event of the decorating as they’d planned, and a little miffed that the task had ended up falling to her alone, even though she knew Jo was already behind at work thanks to the time she’d taken off to help with Phee. It couldn’t be helped, and she was determined to make the best of it. At least it was a break from sitting with Phee.
She pulled up her favorite Christmas playlist on her phone, put the kettle on for tea, and went to retrieve the last boxes of ornaments.
Her phone pinged from her pocket, and she hurried to deposit the stack of boxes on the kitchen counter at the main cottage. She was expecting a text from the spokeswoman for a group of women who hoped to book the entire venue for two nights in January. They’d specifically requested to cook all their own meals, which would simplify things greatly. And the income from a complete booking for the whole weekend was always a boon to their dwindling bank account. They needed more bookings like that.
She sighed as she fished her phone from her pocket. They’d been doing so well until Phee had to go on bed rest. Not that they were in danger of not being able to pay their bills. But all three of them felt better when there was a little cash to spare in their savings account. They hadn’t drained it yet, but they weren’t adding to it either.
Her phone sounded again, and she clicked to view the message at the same instant she saw Rafe Stuart’s name on the screen. He wasn’t supposed to text her until next week. She read the text with wildly mixed emotions. Part of her would be relieved if he was texting to say “forget the whole thing.” But a bigger part of her would be deeply disappointed. She’d never felt about any man the way she felt about Rafe after only spending a few hours with him.
Mom would have said it was dangerous to form such a hasty opinion about a person you might end up being married to someday. Not that Britt was going to rush into anything with this guy. But she’d waited so long for even an invitation, she was not going to let this one get away.
She read his text: “Would this be a good time to call you?”
Intrigued, she texted back a simple “yes.”
Her phone rang almost immediately. She took in a breath and clicked Accept.
“Hey, I hope I’m not bothering you.”
Oh, that voice … She could drown in it! She composed herself. “No. You’re not. Sorry I’m out of breath. I’ve been lugging boxes in from the car.”
“You’re moving? See, I knew you’d try to get out of our date.”
She laughed. “What date? I wasn’t aware we’d been able to find a day in the next decade when we’re both free.”
“Funny you should mention that. It’s exactly why I’m calling.”
CHAPTER 11
OH?” BALANCING HER PHONE AGAINST one shoulder, Britt went to close the door to the enclosed porch and then the one between the porch and the house. “Now why … exactly … are you calling?”
“I think I’ve solved our problem.” She could hear the smile in Rafe’s voice.
“Oh you have? Have you added a new month to the calendar?”
“No, but that’s not a half-bad idea. We could call it Brittober.”
“Or Rafetember.”
His laughter made her feel so clever. “Somehow I don’t think that’s going to go over very well with whoever’s in charge of world calendars. But maybe we don’t need an extra month. Maybe we just need to figure out how to use this one better.”
“I’m all ears.” She was intrigued. And relieved that it appeared he wasn’t calling to cancel anything.
“You said the reason you couldn’t go out with me this weekend is because you have to decorate for Christmas?”
“Yes …”
“Well then. Only hours ago, I finished helping my mom decorate her house for Christmas. It looked pretty good when we were finished, if I do say so myself, and I was struck by something my favorite author once said.”
“Wait? Your favorite author?” She smiled to herself. This guy and his Mark Twain. But she happily played along. “I thought you didn’t like to read.”
“I don’t. So it wasn’t too hard to choose a favorite author from among the four I’ve read.”
She smiled into the phone. “I bet I can guess who it is too.”
“And I bet you’d be right.”
“Mark Twain?”
“You got it. And he says you shouldn’t wait, because the time will never be just right.”
“Mark Twain says that, huh? Present tense? Funny, I thought he was dead.”
Rafe didn’t miss a beat. “A lot of people did. To which Twain replied, ‘Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.’”
Britt remembered hearing that one. Being a native Missourian and growing up in a town named after the man, they’d studied him in school in almost every grade. “So you and Mark are good buds then?”
“Just kidding. He’s dead. For a while now. But an author lives on through his books.”
“Or her books.”
“Right. Anyway, if you’ll let me finish …”
“Knock yourself out.”
“So, I wondered if maybe you could use some help. Decorating. Would it help if I came and helped you this weekend? We could kill two birds with one stone.”
“Two birds? Don’t tell me … Mark Twain?”
“No, silly. That’s an ancient idiom.”
“Oooh, idiom? That’s a big word for somebody who’s only read four books in his entire life.”
“Four authors. There’s a difference.”
“Point taken. So these two metaphorical birds would be helping me put up decorations and … ?”
“And spending time with me. I mean together. Spending time together. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not all about me.”
She laughed. “I like the way you think. The two birds part. I could use the help. But when were you thinking?”
“Whenever you were planning to decorate. I have this whole weekend off, so just name a time. I’ll even stop and get takeout. You’re okay with cheeseburgers?”
“I love cheeseburgers.” He could have suggested Liver-and-Onions-R-Us and she would have said she loved it.
“Alrighty then, burgers it is.”
“I know beggars can’t be choosers, but I have to have everything done before our guests check in tomorrow night.”
“Oh. Well, then I guess we need to get hoppin’. When were you planning on decorating?”
“I don’t suppose you’re free right now?”
“Now? Like tonight?”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be. I can get started and—”
“No. Tonight is great. You know what they say: Never put off till tomorrow what may be done day after tomorrow just as well.”
“What? Who says? That doesn’t even make sense.”
He chuckled. “It doesn’t, does it?”
“No. And I don’t know who said it, but I have a feeling it was you-know-who.”
“None other.”
“Just so you know, if we were FaceTiming, you’d see me rolling my eyes.”
“I don’t blame you. So, what time should I come?”
“Beggars can’t be choos—” She stopped short. “Please don’t tell me I just quoted Mark Twain?”
That got a laugh. “Well, if it was, it didn’t make my list.”
“How long is that list, anyway?”
“You don’t want to know.” He cleared his throat. “Now, back to the question at hand. What time should I come?”
“Well, would now work?” She made a face, glad he couldn’t see her. “The thing is, guests start checking in tomorrow around four, and I just brought the boxes of decorations over from my sister’s house, and it kind of got me in the mood. To decorate. But I can get started and you can help me finish whenever you can … as long as it’s done by tomorrow afternoon. There’s plenty to do.”
“Boxes, plural? Good grief. I did my mom’s house in an hour. Are you outlining the river in lights or something?”
“Oooh. That’s a great idea!” She laughed. But she could picture just how gorgeous that would look. “Our part of the river is only a tributary,” she explained. “But no. We won’t be lighting the riverbanks. But remember, there are three houses to decorate out here. We don’t have to finish all three of them while you’re here. If we just get the main cottage done, I’ll be thrilled.”
“Oh no, I said I’d help, and I’ll stay till the bitter end.”
“You might want to bring your jammies then. Oh—” Her breath caught. “That did not come out right.”
He laughed. “I know what you meant. How about this: I’ll come and help for a few hours this evening. If we get along, work well together, maybe I can stay a little later. I don’t have to be to work until eleven.”
“Sounds like a plan. We’ll see how we work together. Um, I might have to ask you to lay off the Mark Twain stuff though.”
“What? Woman, you’re taking away my best material!”
She might not have liked another man calling her “woman” that way, but coming from that voice … he could make just about anything sound perfectly divine and wholly appropriate.
By the time Rafe picked up burgers to go and approached the driveway to The Cottages on Poplar Brook Road, the temperature had dropped fifteen degrees and the wind had picked up. He drove up the lane in a swirl of yellow and red leaves. Sparkles of light from the river behind the cottages reflected against his windshield and added to the charm of the place. It was a nice property. Nicer than Britt had made it out to be. He could almost picture how it would look come spring. And though autumn had quickly turned to winter in Missouri, he could easily imagine what it must have looked like at the peak of fall.
He eased his car toward the largest of the three older houses. At the far end of the drive, he could see the roof and Tyvek-covered bones of the new house going up. He couldn’t help imagining Britt there, on the phone in a panic that day her sister had almost lost the baby. He felt guilty that he was so grateful to not have been on that run—even though, God knew, it was almost as difficult being on the phone with her, fearing he wouldn’t tell her the right things to save the baby. It had felt like he was reliving his worst nightmare that day. It was only his training that had kept his voice so steady while he talked to Britt, but he considered it a small miracle that she seemed to have no clue he’d been so undone.
He shook away the memories. He’d come to spend time with the prettiest girl this side of the Mississippi, and he didn’t need these dark thoughts clouding their time together. Especially given that it had practically taken an act of Congress to clear a space in their calendars.
He noticed lights on in both the small cabins, but Britt’s Escape was parked in front of the larger cabin—she’d called it the cottage—so he parked beside her and locked the car, then felt a little foolish doing so, given the property’s rather remote location on the outskirts of town.
He rang the bell. Within seconds, she opened the door and a cloud of aromas wafted out. Cinnamon, vanilla, almond, and pine—everything Christmas should smell like. It occurred to him that those scents were what had been missing from Ma’s house. He made a note to buy her an early Christmas present of a scented candle or some of those bags of leaves and pine cones they sold to make houses smell good. The latter might be better, so she didn’t burn down the house.
He held out the white bag. “Dinner is served.”
“Wonderful. Come on in.” She set the bag on the kitchen counter. “Thanks so much for picking up supper. And I made cookies for dessert. Chocolate chip.”
“So I smell. Everything smells amazing.” He inhaled through his nose to prove his appreciation.
She beamed. “I love the smells of Christmas. Do you want iced tea or hot?”
“Just water’s fine.”
As she took his coat and hung it on a hook near the front door, a black-and-white cat sauntered into the room. Rafe curbed a smile. He had this cat to thank for meeting Britt in the first place. She picked up the cat, who purred loud enough for Rafe to hear it from where he stood. She stroked the cat’s large head. “This is Melvin.”
“I remember Melvin.”
She laughed. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve met! How could I forget?”
Melvin stretched out a paw and gave a playful swat in Rafe’s direction.
Britt pulled him back. “You’re not allergic, are you?”
“Not that I know of. Never had a cat.”
“Well, don’t judge all cats by Melvin.”
“That bad, huh?”
“No!” She drew the animal protectively to her. “That good. He is seriously the best cat you’ll ever meet. Well, except when it comes to breaking vases in the middle of the night.”
“He’s a handsome fellow.”
“He is, isn’t he? He was my mom’s—our mom’s—but I kind of claimed him.”
He put out a hand to pet the cat, then withdrew it quickly. “He doesn’t bite, does he?”
“Melvin?” Her voice went all baby talk. “Not this widdle pussy cat. You wouldn’t bite a flea, would you, Melvin?”
He laughed and stroked the cat, happy for an excuse to be near the cat’s owner. She smelled pretty amazing too.
Britt set Melvin on the floor and washed her hands before pouring water and distributing burgers and fries between two plates. She carried them to the round table in the dining nook, and he followed with their water glasses. She said a brief blessing over the food, and they made small talk while they ate.
When they were finished, she rose and offered him cookies from a fancy plate.
