Carrie Weaver - Home For Christmas

While he paced the room, Nancy concentrated on running the figures—something she should have been able to do in her sleep. But today, her fingers and her brain couldn’t seem to connect.

When she was done, she gave him a figure that made him blink. “I qualify for that much? I don’t need anything huge, just a normal house with a backyard and all that.”

“This is what it takes to buy ‘a normal house with a back yard and all that.’”

Whistling under his breath, he said, “And to think I got sticker shock when I started selling new cars. This is unreal.”

“Oh, it’s very real, I assure you.” She pulled up a list of possibilities. “There are eight homes in the area I can show you. What time would be best for you?”

“Now.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Three hours later, they pulled into the driveway of the eighth house—a roomy ranch-style house purported to be immaculate inside.

God, she hoped so. Because Beau had found something wrong with each house they’d visited. She could feel a tension headache start at her temples and work its way down her neck, contracting her shoulder muscles into tight little knots. She supposed it was their semipersonal relationship that made this so difficult.

“This is like taking Goldilocks house hunting.” Nancy smiled to soften her words. “This one is too small. That one is too tall. Too hot, too cold, too old, too new. Is there something specific you have in mind that I should know about?”

“You’ve been reading way too much Dr. Seuss lately.”

“Sorry, I start rhyming when I’m stressed. I promise not to offer green eggs and ham if you tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for in a house.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ll know it when I see it, though. It’s gotta feel like home.”

“What do you go by, if you’ve never owned a home? Your parents’ house?”

Beau hesitated. “No. My parents weren’t the warm, fuzzy kind. They wanted everything perfect. Carpets, furniture, kids.”

“Carpets and furniture are rarely perfect. And as for kids, well, they’re by nature imperfect.”

“Don’t tell my folks that. Because they’re certain they raised one perfect son. And it wasn’t me. Now, let’s see this house.” His voice was grim.

Nancy processed Beau’s admission while she retrieved the house key from the lockbox. Maybe he had a good reason for avoiding roots and everything that went with them.

Opening the door wide, she asked, “What means home to you then?”

Beau glanced around the entryway. “This isn’t it, either. Home is…the way I feel when I walk into your house.”

Nancy wished she hadn’t asked. Because the thought of Beau Stanton making himself at home was only slightly scary. And she should have been terrified.

Nancy slid into a booth at the little Italian restaurant downtown. “Sorry I’m late. I was with a client.”

Emily Patterson winked. “I heard. Beau Stanton. You’ll have to find him a big house, ’cause each room will need to be christened. And I think you’re just the woman for the job.”

“Christened?” Nancy frowned. Realization dawned. “No way. Not me. I have no intention of getting horizontal with Beau Stanton, particularly not on a kitchen counter.”

“Did I say anything about horizontal?” Emily’s eyes widened innocently. “Or a kitchen counter?” She leaned over and whispered, “It’s way more fun to get vertical in the shower together, if you know what I mean?”

Nancy choked on a sip of water. “Emily, you’re bad.”

“As Mae West said, ‘When I’m good, I’m very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better.’”

“Okay, friend, I know you have my best interests at heart. And someday I might date again. But not now and not with Beau Stanton. Did the waiter say what today’s special is?”

“Veal Parmesan. I’ll allow you to change the subject, but only for a while. Then I want all the details.”

Opening a menu, Nancy hoped Emily would forget about Beau. “How are the kids?”

“Bickering and fighting nonstop. Ordinary kids. They’re anticipating the first snow and Thanksgiving break. I promised them a day trip to do some sledding.”

“Is it almost Thanksgiving already? It hardly seems possible,” Nancy murmured, disturbed by a trace of wistfulness.

“Probably because you’ve been working so hard. How’re things going at the real-estate office?”

“Not bad, considering it’s my first year. And by the way, thank you for referring Beau, even if he is a pain in the rear at times.”

Emily beamed. “My pleasure. Are you going to your mother’s for Thanksgiving?”

Sighing, Nancy wished the holidays were as simple as when she’d been a kid. Things got so complex in adulthood. “I’d considered making the trip, but I think we’ll stay home this year. My mom’s pretty outspoken in her opinions about foreign adoptions.” She selected a bread stick from the basket and started tearing it into little pieces. “I’d love for her to be a grandmother to Ana, but she just can’t seem to accept her. This is Ana’s first holiday with me and I don’t want her to feel rejected by Mom in any way. Our Thanksgiving can be kind of quiet, but I want to make her first Christmas magical. I intend to research Russian orthodoxy and see if I can incorporate some of their traditions for Ana.”

Emily squeezed Nancy’s hand. “That sounds terrific. If anyone can do it, you can. How about coming to our house for Thanksgiving?”

“But—”

“No buts. That’s an order. We have so many people coming, nobody will notice two more. Besides, I need you to show me how to do some of that fancy presentation stuff with food. You know, where you make radishes look like roses and all the other ways you create a beautiful meal. My great-aunt Beatrice will be there, and it will hack her off no end if I suddenly seem domestic. She’s the one who said I’d never amount to anything and calls my children little heathens.”

Nancy chuckled. “In the interest of hacking off Great-Aunt Beatrice, I’d be delighted to spend Thanksgiving at your house. And I’m sure Ana would love to tag along with your kids.”

“It’s settled then. I can hardly wait.”

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.