Arlene James - Deck the Halls

No, a woman like that wouldn’t be cowering. More likely she was standing there with a baseball bat ready to bash in his head if he so much as turned the doorknob. Clearly, a prudent man would retreat.

Despite recent evidence, Vince Cutler was a prudent man.

He turned and walked swiftly along the landing, then quickly took the stairs and swung around the end of the railing toward his truck. A certain amount of embarrassment mixed with chagrin dogged him as he once more climbed behind the wheel, his errand an obvious bust. Yet, a smile kept tweaking the corners of his mouth as he thought about the woman upstairs.

She was all dark gold, that woman, dark gold and vinegar. Spunky, that’s what she was. He recalled that the top of her head had come right to the tip of his nose. Considering that he stood an even six feet in his socks, she had to be five-seven or eight, which would explain those long legs. It occurred to him suddenly that he didn’t even know her name; that, more than anything else, just seemed all wrong.

As he turned the big truck back onto the street, he also turned his mind to mending fences. She still had his mail, after all, and he couldn’t let things lie as they were. Good manners, if nothing else, decreed it. The question was how to approach her again. Frowning, he immediately sought solutions in the only manner he knew.

“Lord, I don’t know what happened to my good sense. I scared that girl. Please don’t let her sit there afraid that I’d hurt her. The whole thing was my fault, and if You’ll just show me how, I’ll try to make up for it.”

Just then he drove by a minivan with the tailgate raised. It was parked in an empty lot and surrounded by hand-lettered signs touting Tyler roses, buckets of which were sitting on its back deck. A strange, unexpected thought popped into his head, one so foreign and seemingly out of nowhere that it startled him, and then he began to laugh.

That’s what happened when you relied on God to lead you. As his daddy would say, when you ask God for guidance, you’d better get out of the way quick. Now all he had to do was pick his time and his words very carefully. That was to say, very prayerfully.

Vince polished the toe of one boot on the back of the opposite pants leg, not a work boot this time but full-quill ostrich, one half of his best pair of cowboy boots. Armed to the teeth with two dozen bright red rosebuds, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and rapped sharply on the door. He counted to six before the door opened this time.

Green eyes flew wide, but he thrust flowers and words at her before he could find himself facing that door again.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t meant to frighten you or seem disrespectful.” When she didn’t immediately slam the door in his face, he hurried on. “I guess I just lived here so long that it seemed perfectly natural to walk inside. I didn’t think how inappropriate it was or how it would seem to you.” She frowned and folded her arms, giving her head a leonine toss. He found himself smiling. “Honest. I feel like a dunce.”

“You’re grinning like one,” she retorted, and then she sniffed.

His smile died, not because she’d insulted him—he didn’t take that seriously—but because she’d obviously been crying.

“Oh, hey,” he said, feeling like a real heel. “You okay?”

She swiped jerkily at her eyes and lifted her chin. “Yeah, sure I’m okay. You going to beat me with those flowers or what?”

“Huh?” He dropped his arm then quickly lifted it again, saying, “These are for you.”

One corner of her mouth quirked, and humor suddenly glinted in those clear green eyes. “Yeah, I figured.”

“For, uh, your trouble.” He shifted uncertainly. “The mail and all.”

“And all?” she echoed, arching one brow.

He gave her his most charming smile and waggled the roses in their clear plastic cone. “I said I was sorry.”

She reached out and languidly swept the flowers from his grasp, drawling, “Right. Thanks. I suppose you want your mail now.”

He nodded and fished a folded card out of his pocket, offering it to her. “I’ve already turned in one, but I thought you might want to drop that in the box yourself, so you’ll know for sure that it’s done.”

She glanced at the change-of-address card, and that brow went up again. “That’s you? Cutler Automotive?”

Nodding, he dipped into the hip pocket of his dark jeans and came up with a couple of coupons. “That reminds me. Maybe you can use these sometime.”

She tucked the change-of-address card into the roses and took these new papers into one hand, cocking her head to get a good look at them.

“Hmm,” she said, reading the top one aloud, “Fifty percent off service and repairs.” She looked him right in the eye. “This on the up-and-up?”

“Absolutely.”

“No catch? I don’t have to spend a certain amount or agree to some extra service?”

“Nope. You just present the signed coupon, we knock fifty percent off your bill.”

“No strings attached?”

“We don’t accept photocopies,” he pointed out, calling her attention to the smaller print at the bottom of the paper. “But that’s it.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied. “Okay. Great. If you wait right here, I’ll get your mail.”

“These feet are not moving,” he promised, but the instant she turned her back, he craned his neck to get another look around.

She’d done wonders with the old place. Despite the dated furniture and faded fabrics, the apartment had a homey, put-together feel about it that he quite liked, and he told her so.

“Never looked this good when I lived here.”

She laid the flowers on the counter and turned to face him. “No?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “Guess I just don’t have the knack.”

“What guy does?”

“None I know of, not many women, either, from what I can tell.”

“You pay attention to that sort of thing, do you?” she asked, seeming surprised. It had sounded a little odd, now that he thought about it.

“Lately, I do. Since the move.”

“Ah.”

She bent and extracted a small shopping bag from the cabinet.

“This is it,” she said, carrying the bag toward him. “Two more pieces came just today.”

He reached through the open doorway to accept the bag. It was stuffed with papers.

“I’m sorry about this. I usually take better care of business.”

“I just hope there aren’t any overdue bills in there,” she said dryly.

“Naw, I try not to have any of those.”

“We all try,” she quipped wryly, but he detected a troubled note.

“Not all,” he said, wanting to reassure her somehow. “You’d be surprised how many people make no attempt to pay their bills.”

“Maybe they can’t.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but if they try, we work with them.”

She tilted her head and her brows bounced up and down at that. “Cutler Automotive, you mean.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Huh.”

After a second or two it became apparent that she wasn’t going to say anything else, and he couldn’t for the life of him think of any way to rectify that. He shuffled his feet in place.

“Well, you have a nice evening.”

She reached for the door. “Yeah, you, too, if you can with all that to go through.” She nodded at the sack in his arms. “If any more comes, I’ll send it on your way now that I have a good address.”

“I don’t mind coming after it again,” he assured her quickly, “if you’ll just call.”

“I’ll send it,” she stated decisively.

Defeated, he nodded. “Okay. However you want to handle it.”

“That’s how I want to handle it,” she said flatly, backing up to push the door closed. “So long, Vincent Cutler.”