Tanya Michaels: Mistletoe Hero

It was rare for something so controversial to happen here in Mistletoe, and the whole sordid tale had grown into local legend. Making Gabe some sort of cross between Don Juan and a yeti.

“Why do you think he’s stayed all these years?” Arianne asked. She knew Gabe’s father still lived in Mistletoe, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen them together publicly. Were they close?

“Whatever the truth is, it’s a sad story.” Quinn rolled her shoulders back as if trying to shrug off impending gloom. “What made you ask him out, Ari?”

“Don’t know, really. Like you said, I’ve noticed how attractive he was. This just happened to be the first time I found myself alone with him. Why not ask him out? It’s how I’d approach any other guy who interested me.”

Lilah and Quinn shot her pointed looks. Gabe Sloan was so not “any other guy.” He was in a category unto himself.

“Will it be awkward next time he comes into the store?” Quinn asked. “That’s one of the reasons I’m hesitant about Patrick, or any man associated with the school. I have to be there every day, cheerful and patient for the kids, I can’t risk creating an uncomfortable work environment.”

“I don’t feel awkward about his rejection at all,” Ari insisted. “And I can prove it. You guys say we need some extra muscle to help with the festival? I know just the solution.”

Her friends gaped at her as if she’d lost her ever-loving mind.

“What? Haven’t you seen his biceps?” she demanded. “The festival is a community tradition. He’s part of the community.”

“Not in the strictest sense,” Lilah argued gently.

“Then, maybe it’s time he was.” Arianne’s natural determination had kicked in; there was little chance of anyone dissuading her now.

She thought of her large, close-knit family and the warm, nurturing sanctuary Mistletoe had always been for her. It pained her to think of her comforting hometown being something more sinister for Gabe. For whatever reason, he’d chosen to stay-maybe because of his family ties or maybe just because he, like her, was a stubborn cuss, refusing to be driven out by furtive speculation.

Whatever the reason, if he planned to remain, it only made sense that he’d eventually want to perform a role in their shared society besides supporting player in a fourteen-year-old tragedy.

Ari brightened. She’d been feeling a bit melancholy lately as the golden summer days shortened into the early darkness of fall. It was probably just the natural letdown now that all the activity surrounding Lilah’s wedding-Ari had been the maid of honor-and preparations for Rachel’s baby-Ari had helped repaint the nursery and had been the backup Lamaze coach-were behind them. For almost two years, it seemed as if her family had been frenzied with events, and she suddenly found herself at loose ends as she watched her brothers move on with their lives. They no longer needed her advice and help. But perhaps she’d stumbled across a new challenge worthy of her considerable energy.

Gabe Sloan didn’t know how lucky he was.

“Hi. Mind if I sit here?”

Gabe choked on a bite of his pulled-pork sandwich. Where the devil had she come from? Glancing at Arianne Waide’s pixie features, he speculated that perhaps she’d used fairy dust to simply materialize here.

Before he could answer that he did mind-and that there were at least half a dozen unoccupied tables nearby-Arianne sat on the wooden bench opposite him. She impatiently moved aside the tabletop roll of paper towel between them. The restaurant didn’t boast impressive interior decor, but the barbecue was phenomenal.

If Gabe were a better person, he’d think it was a shame more people didn’t know about this hidden treasure. By all rights, it should be just as crowded as the Dixieland Diner. But he was selfishly glad he never had to wait in a long line during the lunch hour and that he wasn’t jostling elbows with locals like Arianne.

“I’ve come to ask you a favor,” she declared.

“What is wrong with you?” This time he knew he hadn’t done anything to encourage her attention. So what was she doing stalking him to the far side of town at his favorite hole-in-the-wall?

“Careful.” She wagged her index finger at him. “Last time we spoke, your manners were a bit rough, but I’m willing to overlook that and start fresh.”

“How nice.” Was she deranged? The explanation seemed likelier with each passing moment. “To what do I owe this magnanimous oversight?” Whatever he’d done to earn it, he’d make sure not to repeat.

“I’m naturally kindhearted,” she drawled.

Looking alarmingly as if she were settling in for a prolonged conversation, Arianne propped her elbows on the table and rested her cheek on her fists. It was the kind of posture that should have appeared youthful. Except that when she brought her arms together like that, it pushed together a surprising amount of cleavage in the scooped neckline of her fuzzy green sweater. He couldn’t recall what she’d been wearing Wednesday night, but he was sure it had been looser. And that it hadn’t seemed so damn touchable. Annoyed that he’d even noticed, he clenched his fingers into a fist on his thigh.

In spite of her small stature and wavy locks, she was definitely all woman. A woman whose company I didn’t ask for .

“Look, kid, I’m not kindhearted. I’m an ill-tempered misanthrope. Fancy word for someone who doesn’t like people.”

Most females would get huffy over his condescension and implied aspersions on their maturity. Arianne widened her smile.

“I understand,” she assured him. There was so much commiserating sincerity in her tone that it took him a moment to realize she was reflecting his patronization right back at him. “You’re a genuine ogre. Probably live in a swamp, hang out with a talking donkey-”

“You have an odd strategy for asking favors,” he informed her as he stood.

“You’re leaving?” She shot an incredulous glance toward his plate, which still held most of his onion rings, the last quarter of his sandwich and a pickle spear.

“Lost my appetite.”

“In that case.” She reached unabashedly for an onion ring, closing her eyes and making a near-purring sound in her throat. Once she’d swallowed, she beamed at him in approval. “Wow, those are good.”

“I know.”

“Why don’t I eat here more?” she wondered aloud, popping another hand-battered onion ring into her mouth. With a final resigned glance at the food, she stood, too.

Gabe had the terrible suspicion that she’d fall in step with him and trail him wherever he went. That if he went to the parking lot and drove away, she might actually follow; if he tried to evade her by going into the men’s room, she’d simply wait him out. He doubted he could squeeze through the window.

“I should have been clearer earlier,” she said, her voice suddenly brisk and businesslike. “When I said I came to ask a favor, that was true, but it’s not just how you can help me, it’s how we can help each other.”

The old cynicism burned in his gut. If she suggested in husky tones that she could scratch his back if he scratched hers, he would lose all respect for her. And it startled Gabe to realize that even though he barely knew her and had spent the majority of this encounter wishing she’d disappear in a puff of smoke, he did respect her. She had an…implacability that was commendable.

That slight admiration kept him from telling her point-blank to get lost. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a busy afternoon ahead of me-we don’t all work for our daddies. You have thirty seconds.”