Ruth Herne - His Mistletoe Family

“Love it!” Haley beamed. Points of ivory made her eyes gleam, as if she’d stood in the “get sparkle here” line twice. The shine made the night less dark and damp, the persistent November rains less bothersome. She moved forward, smiling. “So they’re helping with Michaela?”

“Yes. I guess she’s excited to have a baby sister.”

“Wonderful.” Her smile said she approved, but then she dropped her attention to the boys at her side. “So, boys, what kind of sandwich would you like?”

“Nuggets.”

“Me, too.”

Haley’s face reflected their predictability and her dismay. “The Crossroads doesn’t have—”

Brett negated her argument with a hand up. “Watch me.” He came around the counter, crossed the store, opened the wall freezer and withdrew a small, white box and hoisted it. “Nuggets.”

Her look of relief made him feel ten feet tall and he tried not to notice that the forest-green peacoat layered over well-fitted blue jeans and heeled boots made her New York chic in small-town, USA. He decided there was something really good to be said about big-city looks. He directed his gaze down to the boys. “You guys want fries to go with that?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, please.”

Brett bestowed a look of appreciation to Tyler. “You’ve got good manners, son. That’s something to be proud of.”

The boy’s expression lightened. Brett felt a pull on his heart again. Whatever their story was, these boys had run the gamut, and at a young age. Not fair. Not fair at all, Brett decided as he dropped the nuggets and fries into the fryer baskets. He turned and faced Haley, trying not to think of how her tumble of long, blond curls set off the coat to perfection. He’d have to be asleep or dead not to have noticed them, and he was neither. “And how about you?”

She shook her head quickly. Too quick, Brett decided, then remembered her back-and-forth with LuAnn yesterday. She was short on funds.

He wasn’t.

He leaned over the counter, braced his hands and held her gaze. “I know you’ve got leftovers at home. I’m going to bet that these two refused to eat them for Rory Madigan today.”

Two guilty looks peeked up from below.

“And I’m going to surmise that you’ve worked all day and by the time you get the boys home, fed and into bed it will be nearly nine o’clock. So, consider this an order, not a question—what can I make you, Haley?”

The use of her name softened her jaw. She met his gaze, faltered, then caved. “May I have a chicken salad panini, please?”

He’d just cleaned the panini press, but yes, he’d make the sandwich for her and clean it again. Without grumbling. “Sure.”

“With grapes?”

Did he hear her right? He started to turn when she added, “And chopped walnuts? Please?”

Fruit and nuts in chicken salad? On his panini grill?

“Charlie makes it for me all the time,” she went on, and Brett decided right then and there that Charlie might have some explaining to do with the cost of fruit and nuts crazy high this year. He reached for the loaf of Italian bread, but she caught his arm and sent sweet pings of attraction on an upward journey. “Oh, I’m sorry, Charlie always does my chicken salad on the rosemary focaccia bread, but you wouldn’t have any way of knowing that, would you?”

He wouldn’t because he’d spent the last two years keeping to himself, hiding in plain sight. His fault, he knew.

But he still meant to have a word or two with Charlie.

Haley darted quick glances to the pricing side of the lunch-board menu above him as he checked the nuggets and slid her sandwich into the press, prayed and locked the cover. The fryer bell signaled completion. He drained the fries and nuggets, piled them into two separate to-go containers, added dipping sauce, a pack of M&M’s and a juice box.

Haley’s eyes went round. She tripped over her words. “Um, we have drinks at home. The nuggets alone are fine, really. I, um...”

He ignored her protests, opened the panini press and smiled. No big mess, and the sandwich looked great. He flipped it onto the counter, cut it in half with a very manly carving knife, then slipped the grilled sandwich into a foam box for her, with a side of chips, her own miniature bag of M&M’s and an empty cup for a drink.

“Oh, I—”

He handed the cup to Tyler. “Can you help Aunt Haley get a drink, please?” He turned his attention back to Haley. “I’m guessing she wants a Diet Coke.”

She looked trapped and torn, but she followed Tyler to the soda bar, helped him hold the cup while she filled it, then let him assist again while they put a lid on it. She bent low and met Tyler’s eye. “Can you carry this for me, please?”

He nodded, looking less combative and more self-confident. “Yes, ma’am.”

Military manners, thought Brett. Polite. With good eye contact. Pretty impressive for a five-year-old.

Haley straightened, grabbed out a wallet and started fishing for a card. Brett raised his hands, holding her off. “No charge on that tonight, ma’am.”

She stopped. Stared. Then shook her head and extended the card anyway.

Brett stepped back, steadfast. “No charge.”

“But—”

“Just my way of welcoming the two newest citizens of Allegany County into the area.”

“But what will Charlie say?”

Brett didn’t choke. Obviously she thought Charlie and LuAnn owned the Crossroads. And her assumption was understandable because he’d kept to himself. When he wasn’t helping his mother. Or working with the fire department.

The store was his post-army investment property. The mom-and-pop mini-store had transformed into a lucrative enterprise as Allegany County’s economic woes diminished. Their recovery might be sluggish mid-winter, but the rest of the year? An upswing in business fed the cash register with a steady rise in income.

And after living on service pay minus careful investments for twenty-five years, Brett saw nothing wrong with a raise in salary.

He’d hired others to handle the store from the beginning, but being here today? Seeing the people, handling the orders, running the register for long hours? His hands-on involvement made him feel like he was part of something again. Between the Thanksgiving dinner yesterday and today’s crazy-paced business, he’d felt fully involved in life for the first time in, well... too long. And he liked the feeling. “I’ll fix it with Charlie.”

She opened her mouth to argue and he fought the urge to silence her with two broad fingers against those sweet lips, just to see if she felt as good as she looked. Something told him she would. Common sense and decorum held him back. “It’s fine. I promise.”

Her heartfelt smile said she caved and the quick sheen of tears meant he’d touched a raw spot. “Go.” He pointed toward the door. “Head home. Eat. Sleep. Tomorrow will be better.” He dropped his gaze and winked at the two little camouflage-clad boys. “I promise.”

“You have kids, Mr....?”

“Brett,” he told her. He came around the counter and swung the door wide for them. “And no, I don’t.” The old stab of pain hit him mid-section, but without the usual gut-punch force. “Not married.” He added that just in case she wondered. Maybe hoping she wondered. “But I was one, so I’ve got a pretty good take on things. Food. Play. More food. Bed.”

“Thank you, Brett.”

His heart stuttered as a seed of contentment nudged its way in. The way she said his name, kind of slow. Soft. The look of gratitude she sent him, that maybe said something more unless his skills had rusted from disuse.

“Come on, fellas. Let’s get you home.” She set the food on the passenger-side front seat, piled the boys into the car with greater ease than she’d displayed yesterday, and watched as Tyler tucked her cup into the cup holder. “Good job.”