Marie Ferrarella - A Wedding for Christmas

“I don’t need you to watch over anything for me,” she informed Jorge. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“That much is true,” he concurred far too readily. “Unless, of course, you wake up and see that spending your life without someone there beside you really is like not going anywhere,” he told her pointedly. “It is not even really living.”

“I’m beginning to think that working in the inn’s kitchen is the wrong place for you, Jorge. You should be working in a Chinese restaurant, baking fortune cookies and stuffing them with your words of wisdom,” she told him with a laugh.

She gazed at the man who had been her assistant off and on for the past year and a half. She knew he meant well. But at the same time, he was making things difficult for her.

“Look, I know you believe you’re helping, but I’ve got to find my own way through things—without help. Okay?”

“I am just making sure you are able to see the road ahead of you,” he said. “A lot of people lose their way.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised.

The next moment, she left the kitchen and took a peek into the dining room.

Shane was sitting at the table.

And Ricky was sitting on a booster seat right beside him.

CHAPTER FIVE

CARRYING A TRAY WITH the dinner she’d prepared for Shane, Cris made her way over to the table. She kept her eyes fixed on her son as she approached.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Grandpa right now?” she asked Ricky. Shifting her eyes, she looked apologetically at Shane as she set his dinner in front of him. “I’m really sorry about this. He usually knows better than to bother people.”

“I’m sure he does,” Shane responded with amusement. “Which is why he’s not bothering me.” He glanced in Ricky’s direction. “We were just having a man-to-man talk about the holidays.”

“Holidays?” Cris repeated, a little confused at the reference. Just what was Ricky bending Shane’s ear about? “Thanksgiving?” she guessed since it was the next holiday to come up.

“No, Christmas!” Ricky corrected her with all the enthusiasm of a child looking forward to what he considered the absolutely best time of the year.

“Inside voice, Ricky. You know you’re supposed to use your inside voice when you’re inside,” Cris reminded her son, glancing around to see if anyone in the dining area appeared annoyed at the high pitch her son’s voice had reached.

At this hour, only half the tables were filled. The rest of the inn’s guests would be by later, unless they were eating out. She was relieved to see that none of the guests there seemed to have taken note of the exuberant boy.

“Sorry, Mama,” Ricky said, lowering his voice by two octaves.

That minor issue out of the way, Cris addressed the one that Ricky had brought up. “Okay, what about Christmas?”

Ricky instantly dove into his explanation. “He said—”

She needed to nip this in the bud. “It’s Mr. McCallister, not ‘he,’ Ricky. You know better than that,” Cris said, then tactfully suggested, “and why don’t you let Mr. McCallister speak for himself?”

Rather than become crestfallen because he had to be quiet, the boy grinned and said, “Sure,” then turned to look at his hero. “Tell Mama what you said.”

“Yes, please, by all means,” Cris added, “‘Tell Mama.’”

Shane grinned at the reference and something inside her stomach fluttered.

“Well, I hope I didn’t tread on any toes,” Shane prefaced before he went on to fill Ricky’s mother in on what he and her son had talked about. “But I told Ricky that I liked the smell and appearance of a real Christmas tree.”

Unable to contain himself any longer, Ricky all but crowed, “See, Mama? Him, too.”

Cris sighed. “Mr. McCallister agrees with me, too,” she said, rephrasing her son’s words.

“He does?” Ricky asked, beaming like a starburst. “Then it’s okay? We can get a real tree again?” He took her answer for granted, assuming that it would be positive.

Rather than argue with Ricky about whether they would get a real tree to celebrate Christmas, she slanted a glance toward Shane. She supposed that he deserved some sort of an explanation.

“Putting up an artificial tree instead of a real one is more practical,” Cris told him.

All the other years, they’d had a tall, real tree standing in the main room. But escalating costs was a practical consideration that had Alex and her father leaning toward the purchase of a tree that could be used over and over each year.

As Cris stated what she assumed was most likely Alex’s position, she saw a dubious expression on Shane’s face. Curiosity had her asking, “What?”

Shane debated saying nothing, but one glance at the hopeful look on the boy’s face had him making up his mind. After all, she had asked. “It’s just that my own feeling is that Christmas isn’t supposed to be about being practical. It’s about the magic of the season.”

Cris pressed her lips together, really torn. A few years back, she would have readily sided with him. However, she’d done a lot of growing up in the intervening years and was forced to look at things from a more practical point of view, which meant it was far more practical to buy a tree that could be used over and over than to throw away money on one that could only be used once.

“I understand what you’re saying,” she began.

That was all Ricky needed. “So we can go looking for a real tree, Mama? ’Cause Sha—I mean Mr. McCallister said he’d help—and he said he’d even bring his truck so we could bring the Christmas tree home with us when we find one.”

“Mr. McCallister has better things to do than play deliveryman with our Christmas tree,” Cris patiently pointed out.

But before her son could digest the information and offer a rebuttal, Shane said, “No, actually, I don’t. I’d kind of like coming along to pick out and bring back the Christmas tree.” When Cris looked at him quizzically, he explained, “It’s been a few years since I went Christmas tree shopping.” He shrugged haplessly. “What with Nancy living up north and my brother stationed back east, there’s really not much of a reason to put up a tree.”

“How about your parents?” Cris asked automatically, then immediately regretted it when she saw Shane shake his head. She knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“They’re both gone.”

What he had left unspoken—and that she understood—was that since his wife wasn’t around to share in the season, even to acknowledge the day, much less get caught up in the season for its own sake, seemed pointless.

Part of the magic of the season was having someone to share it with.

“We hafta get a real tree for Sha—I mean Mr. McCallister,” Ricky insisted, stumbling over Shane’s surname again.

Shane made an appeal on Ricky’s behalf. “Can he call me Shane?” he asked, looking at her. “It would be a lot easier on him,” he added with a grin, ruffling the boy’s hair.

She supposed that if Shane didn’t mind, she could bend the rule in this instance.

“I guess we can make an exception,” Cris allowed. “As long as you remember that it is an exception,” she told her son.

In response, Ricky enthusiastically nodded like one of those bobblehead figures some people attached to dashboards.

“An ’ception,” Ricky echoed—or did his best to.

Shane eyed her. “And the tree?” he asked, knowing she had to be the one to rule on that in this case. “Real or not?”

Cris caught herself giving in with ease. “I suppose we can get a real one again.” Most likely, she had a feeling, her father was just waiting to be persuaded. Alex was the one they would need to win over. “To be honest, I think everyone prefers a real one. It’s just that Alex has been trying to be extra conscientious about the bottom line—”