“I have barely met you.”
“Oh, so your concern for my safety here alone is based on you being what—that Samaritan guy, or Santa Claus?”
He pursed his lips, lowered his head. “Okay. I like you.”
“I like you, too. Now don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of food and water, the wood fire, lots of wood at hand, thanks to you.” She gave him a nod as she said that. “And I have my cell phone. I’ll be fine.”
“Just thought I’d check.”
“It’s considerate of you.”
He met her eyes, and they held for a long moment. For one, incredible second, she thought he was going to kiss her. But then he licked his lips and turned again toward the door. “Good night, Holly.”
“Merry Christmas, Matthew.”
He opened the door and headed through it, pulled it closed behind him. And then she was alone. She turned to face the empty house, and for just an instant, her heart whispered a longing. “Damn,” it said, “I sure wish he had stayed a little while longer.”
Knock, knock, knock.
Her head snapped up, and she spun to face the door, even as it opened. Matthew ducked inside fast, closed it hard, and stomped significant amounts of snow from his feet and his jeans.
He met her eyes, shook his head. “I hate to impose, kiddo, but I can’t go anywhere. Not until it lets up a little.”
Her smile was impossible to contain. She lowered her head to hide her face, and whispered, “Thanks,” to the powers that be, for answering her wish. She tried to suppress the grin when she met his eyes again. “You can stay as long as you want,” she told him. “Actually, I’ll be glad of the company.”
“Yeah. Every Christmas angel wants to spend her holiday with Ebenezer Scrooge.”
“Exactly.”
He looked at her with his brows lifted, but she ignored that and followed her instincts instead. She moved right up to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her body to his. “I’m really glad you came back.”
“Whoa.” His arms closed around her waist, and he hugged her right back. When he straightened away, he seemed puzzled and, she thought, pleased.
And why wouldn’t any man be pleased to be warmly, genuinely welcomed. She broke the embrace, and went to the window to peer outside. The snow was falling at a rate that brought back a lot of memories. “I think this is lake effect,” she told him.
“And that’s supposed to mean…what exactly?”
She kept looking out the window. “Depends on what kind of mood it’s in, I guess. You up to another trip up to the attic?”
He peeled off his coat, hung it on the peg, and heeled off his boots. “What do you need?”
“There’s a trunk up there, chock full of blankets and bedding, if memory serves. Maybe you could bring them down? And any oil lamps you see up there. I know there were a few. We might need them. After that, you might want to take a swing at opening that couch up. It’s a sleeper sofa. Meanwhile, I’m going to dig through my gear for the portable radio I brought, and just in time so I can listen for a weather report while I cook us dinner.”
“Don’t tell me you’re making a turkey with all the trimmings.”
“Don’t be silly. That’s for Christmas Eve. Tonight, it’s burgers and fries.”
He sent her a look that registered surprise. “Huh.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I guess I was expecting you to be a health food nut, if not a full-blown vegetarian.”
“You should not judge people by their appearances,” she said.
“You’re right. I apologize.” He started for the stairs.
She said, “Just a sec, Matthew.”
He turned, and she lowered her eyes and shrugged. “I…um…the burgers?”
“Yes?”
“They’re veggie burgers.”
He was quiet for a second, but then he laughed. It was a deep, slow building chuckle, but it grew, and by the time she managed to lift her gaze to meet his, his head was tipped back and he was laughing loudly.
She laughed, too, and it grew, each of them feeding off the other’s silliness, until their laughter died and they stood there, grinning foolishly.
And then his smile faded and he said, “So what about the turkey? Don’t tell me it’s tofu.”
“Turkey, once a year, for Christmas dinner, is the only meat I eat. It’s tradition.”
“I guess that makes some kind of sense.”
“Traditions meant a lot to my mom. Especially Christmas ones.”
He nodded, holding her gaze, a smile still gleaming in his eyes. “You know, I honestly can’t remember the last time I laughed like that.”
“Then you definitely need to do it more often,” she said.
“You might just be right about that.”
Their gazes locked for a long moment, and then Holly dragged hers away and turned toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna start dinner and find that radio.”
She hurried into the kitchen, where she had deposited boxes, bags, and two giant ice chests full of food. She fully intended to give herself, and her mom, dad, baby sis, and their former happy home, a full-blown, traditional, all-out Christmas Eve dinner. And she had brought all the trimmings. There was a new tank of LP gas outside, courtesy of Ms. Sullivan. Plenty enough for her to cook for a few days. The range was old, coppertone, and dated. But it was clean and it worked fine. She lit the oven to let it heat up, and then returned to her boxes and bags to dig for the little radio she’d brought along.
Once she had it working, broadcasting the station with the clearest signal, she took a package of frozen French fries from one of the ice chests. She lined a cookie sheet with aluminum foil, sprayed it with organic olive oil cooking spray, and spread the fries on it. Then she gave them another spray, sprinkled them in sea salt, and popped them into the oven. On a second tray she spread the veggie burgers, topped each of them with a slice of green pepper, a slice of onion, and a large thin slice of portabella mushroom. Then she added some tomato sauce and grated cheese blend to each, and slid them into the oven as well.
Finally the music stopped and the weather report came on. She went still, her full attention on the weatherman. Then she blinked, and looked skyward.
“I said I wished he would stay a little while longer.”
The hat blew off the snowman’s head, and tumbled to the ground. It rolled along until it hit the sidewalk, and then skittered on its brim, a few feet at at time, until it came to rest exactly in Bernie’s path.
Bernie was cold. Way colder than he used to get in the wintertime. But then again, he was getting on in years. He was probably way too old to be sleeping in doorways and whatnot. He was on his way to his favorite diner—the one with the cute waitress who always managed to find something hot for him to eat, and gave it to him without making him feel like a charity case.
She was a rare gem, that waitress.
His stomach was growling in anticipation and he walked a little faster as he got closer to the diner. He tried not to show up there too often. Didn’t want to wear out his welcome or take advantage of a kind heart. But there was just no help for it this morning. It had been a cold night, and he needed a warm meal in his belly more than he needed air.
His foot hit something in his path—and he looked down to see a black felt hat, just sitting there. Bernie looked up and down the sidewalk. He looked left and he looked right, wondering if the brisk, freezing wind had driven it off someone’s head—someone who was, even now, running along the sidewalk to retrieve it.
But no. There was no one.
So Bernie hunkered down and he picked up that hat. He put it on his head, and it felt good. Warmed his ears a little. Moreover, he thought it looked pretty good, too.