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“I wondered when you’d get around to me.”
Abra winced at her father’s words, even though they were said in jest and with a loving smile attached to them.
“I’m a horrible human being and a worse daughter,” she told him, returning the bear hug he enveloped her in.
“Don’t talk about my little girl that way.”
He patted her on the back and when he let her go she had the urge to pull his arms back around her.
At seventy-four, Andy Charles gave the appearance of a man approaching his sixtieth year. Age hadn’t robbed him of his straight back, lean physique, tawny blond hair, or quiet manner. Some of Abra’s fondest moments of her childhood had been when Andy had taken her fishing during her summer school vacations, or taught her how to ride a bike and hit a baseball. Perpetually calm and soft-spoken, she’d never heard him raise his voice or offer a word of harsh rebuke, even when she or one of her siblings had done something stupid.
She had no idea the kind of man her birth father had been, but if she could have special-ordered a father from God, it would have been someone exactly like Andy Charles.
“Amy told me you arrived earlier than expected. Everything okay out at the Copperfield house?”
“It is now.” She gave him a short run down on the issues that had plagued her first few days.
“Only you, Abracadabra. Only you.” His soft smile warmed her heart.
After accepting the cup of coffee he handed her, she glanced around the kitchen. “When did you do the remodel?” she asked.
“’Bout three summers ago. You mom finally gave in and let me update the appliances her parents had installed before she was born.” He shook his head and sipped from his own mug. “Some of them should have been displayed in the Smithsonian, they were so old. How they ever kept working is beyond me.”
“I always loved this kitchen,” she said. “And this house.”
Andy nodded. “So does your mom. She could never bear to part with it after they died. Even during the three years she lived above the diner after she lost them. Once we adopted you, she finally opened it back up again.”
“And the rest, as they say, is history.”
He returned her grin. “Three kids of our own and two dozen fosters later, and here we are.”
Abra’s heart turned over at his words. From her first memory of him, Andy had always called her his child. No adopted clarifier in front of her name. And she was his daughter in every way but chromosomally.
“So,” he said, rocking back on the ancient rocker set in front of the stone kitchen fireplace, which was lit and roaring. “You’re back for Christmas for the first time in twenty years. What’s up?”
“Why does something have to be up?”
“Because I know you, young lady. You’ve stayed away all these years for a reason - one you’ve never shared - but that I’ve always had a pretty good idea about.”
Her hands, which were wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee, turned to ice.
“You’re here for more than simply to finish a book you’re late delivering, aren’t you? Something’s going on with you.”
If Amy was the parent who could read Abra’s mind, Andy was the one who knew her down to her soul.
“Things have been...tense,” she admitted. “Between Frank and me.”
Andy’s eyes went flat – cop flat. “Define tense.”
She dragged a hand through her hair and after taking a bracing breath said, “He’s threatened to make public the face behind A.B. Cards if I don’t pay off his gambling debts.”
“What about the non-disclosure agreement you had him sign?”
“That’s the problem. Things...developed so fast between us, I never got around to having him sign it.”
“Abracadabra Charles.”
The disappointment in his voice had her wincing again.
“You make everyone who comes within ten feet of you sign one of those,” Andy said.
“I know, Dad, I know. I could kick myself now, but at the time when we first met he just...dazzled me, made me forget everything but how good I felt with him. Which, I realize now, was probably his intention from the beginning.”
“Do you think he knew and that’s why he pursued you?”
“No. He found out totally by accident, I know that for a fact. But now that he knows and we’re no longer together, he’s using it as leverage for me to keep giving him money.”
“There has to be something that can be done to stop him. He’s basically blackmailing you.”
“My lawyer says since he never signed an NDA he can do what he wants with the information.”
“What about your publisher? I’m sure they don’t want the truth to come out, since they’ve taken such pains to keep it hidden. They must have an entire office building of high priced lawyers who can come up with some kind of defense against him going public.”
She nodded. “They’re working on it now, but for the interim, and to get him off my back, I...well. I paid him.”
“How much.”
Abra swallowed. “Almost six hundred thousand.”
Andy whistled and shook his head. “He’ll ask for more and more until someone puts a stop to it.”
“Which I’m leaving in the hands of the multitudes of lawyers I pay and those my publisher pays, to figure out.” She leaned forward and rested her arms on her knees, the coffee now cold in her cup. “But I couldn’t work at home. There was too much tension surrounding me. Blocking me. I figured coming back here for a while would not only remove me physically from all of it, but emotionally as well. And, I’m hoping, get me back on track to finish the book.”
Andy looked at her a good, long time. So long, she started to squirm in the chair.
“First of all, young lady, this”—he lifted a hand and twirled it in the air—“is your home, not that huge empty palace you occupy space in out in Las Vegas. Second, you should have told us from the beginning.”
“There was nothing you could have done about it. Truthfully. It was my own fault for neglecting the NDA.”
“But you shouldn’t be carrying a burden like that alone. Not when you’ve got people who love you, unconditionally, and have your back no matter what. We’re your family, Abra, and family helps one another through the bad times.”
As humbled as she was by his declaration, shame consumed her, because if she wasn’t mistaken, a bit of censure was mixed with hurt in his voice. Tears pushed to the surface of her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. So sorry.”
Andy placed his mug on the kitchen table and leaned forward. Taking her hands in his, he squeezed them. “No apologies, sweetheart. I’m mad you’re going through this. More than mad. But, at the same time, I’m glad it pushed you to come home for your first Christmas in years. And I know your mother is thrilled you’re here. Sasha and Michael are coming too, so she’s tickled to death because it means we’re gonna have a real family holiday celebration this year. As for the reason you’re here,” he pressed her hands again, “leave it to the lawyers to figure out for now. Does Frank know you’re here?”
“No. I told my assistant if he showed up at the house or called, to say I was spending the holidays on a beach in Hawaii, I was unreachable, and leave it at that. She’s the only one who knows I’m here.”
“Good.” He rose and moved to refill both their cups. That done, he handed hers back and said, “Now, tell me what you’re working on.”
And just like that, Frank and all her problems were pushed from the conversation and her mind. She spent another hour with Andy, then pleaded off to try and get some work done.
~~~~
TWO DAYS LATER SHE’D managed to finish an entire chapter and actually liked what she’d written. It stayed on point to the plot she’d devised and her heroine had started to realize she had a real problem.
Abra stretched, checked her phone for the time, and found a text from Amy, reminding her the annual tree lighting was taking place in the town common. If memory served, there would be little wooden huts lined up along the main street with members of the local 4H, Boy and Girl Scouts, the dance academy, all selling hot chocolate and goodies as ways to raise funds for their organizations. The tree lighting was widely popular among the citizens of Dickens, and once upon a Christmas-time, she’d been one of those kids hawking fried dough and hot chocolate for a worthy cause.
“Wonder if the snowman contest is still a thing? Only one way to know.”
Satisfied she’d done all she could with the chapter for now, Abra donned her coat and borrowed a hat and gloves again from the hall closet. The day before she’d discovered several pair of boots in the basement, tried a few on, and when she found a pair that fit, decided to commandeer them for the rest of her stay.
She parked in the middle school parking lot then walked up toward the common. For a Saturday afternoon in a tiny New England town, the snow-covered streets were packed, mostly with people darting in and out of the stores and eateries that lined the main street. Abra smiled, recalling all the times she’d gone Christmas shopping with Amy – who considered it an Olympic sport – and Sasha, who didn’t.
“I need to call her,” Abra mumbled to herself as she huddled down in her coat while the bite in the air whizzed past her. She heard her name called and when she turned, found her mother waving to her from a hut across the crowded street.
A banner with Dorrit’s Diner hung from the awning and Abra spied at least two of the diner’s waitresses serving people.
Abra darted through the slow moving traffic.
“You look cold,” Amy said. She handed her a cup of steaming liquid. “Drink this. I just made it.”
“Your hot chocolate recipe?” she asked, taking a dainty sip, the combination of hot cocoa, heat, and sugar rushing through and warming her in an instant.
“I wouldn’t sell any other.”
Abra got a good look at her mother and hid her smile. Amy couldn’t weigh more than one hundred and five pounds on a normal day. Right now, dressed in a floor-sweeping, eggplant colored puffy down coat, she had to weigh half again as much from the sheer volume of the covering. A hat with so much faux-purple fur along the face, hid most of her features. Paired with a scarf wrapped around her neck and lifted upward to cover her chin and mouth, the only recognizable parts of her were her eyes. Abra could tell they were twinkling with delight despite the bite of frost in the air.
“Speaking of cold, how long have you been out here?” Abra asked.
“Long enough that I’m glad I put your dad’s long johns on under my pants.” Her grin filtered up to her eyes. “I’m glad you decided to show. The lighting is in about fifteen minutes.”
“I can hear the high school band from here. Thanks for the reminder. I’d just finished for the day when it came through.” Her gaze ran around the crowd. “Some things never change. It’s just as packed now as when I was a kid.”
“More. We get a lot of tourists and weekend skiers stopping by nowadays. Good for the local businesses.”
“Speaking of business, who’s manning the diner?”
“My regular weekend crew. I can trust them to keep things quiet and moving. I don’t like missing this event.”
“They still do the snowman contest?”
“Yup. Starts right after the lighting. You thinking of entering? You were quite the fast little thing when you were a kid; won a time or two, if I remember correctly.”
Abra sipped her hot cocoa and sighed at how good it tasted. How much like...home. “You do. I’ll have to check out the competition first. It’s been a while since I patted snow into anything resembling a snowman.”
Amy handed four cups of her hot chocolate to a family along with a bag of donuts.
“Those come from the diner?” She thrust her chin at the rack behind the counter of sugar donuts.
“No. Leslie’s Bakes & More, up the street. Owner’s name is Leslie Moore.”
Always appreciative of a good pun or play on words, Abra said, “Cute.”
“Can’t beat her donuts.”
“They smell like heaven.”
“Here.” Using tongs, she pulled one from the rack and lowered it into a small paper bag. “Eat it while you’re walking around.”
“Thanks. You going to be here a bit?”
“Until five. Then I gotta get home and change. Tonight’s date night.”
“Let me guess. Dinner, then a Netflix mini marathon.”
Amy’s laugh warmed Abra like no hot cocoa ever could.
“We’re on season two of the Great British Bake Off. It’s pie week.”
Abra’s grin went from ear to ear.
Yup, some things never do change.
Armed with her cocoa and donut, she made her way through the slow moving throng to the common.
The area circling the gazebo was crammed with people waiting for the mayor to flip the switch on the town tree.
And what a tree it was. The one sitting in the Copperfield’s front room looked like a twig compared to the one stationed directly in the center of the town common. At least twenty feet high, the tree was strung with unlit colored lights. A two-foot twinkling star topped it and when the tree was lit, Abra knew the star would be as well. As a child she remembered being able to see the star shining from anywhere she happened to be on Main Street.
The closer she got to the gazebo the thicker the mass of citizens became. Abra sidestepped several people milling about in her attempt to get to the other side. She wanted to see if the snowman contest was being held. In the past it had taken place toward the back area of the common.
And just like when she was a kid, that’s where it was today. She was still debating whether or not she wanted to participate when, from the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar shock of steel gray hair. Bree stood close to the band, that infectious full smile on his face. It looked as if he were concentrating on one of the band members as they played a holiday tune. He had his phone aimed at the podium, like he was taking a picture or a video.
The power of his smile hit her full force when his attention drifted and, by chance, landed on her. With a subtle lifting of his brows, he acknowledged her, the corners of his mouth going lopsided as he bobbed his head her way.
A rumble erupted deep in her belly and had nothing to do with hunger for the donut in her hand. For the first time in a long, long time, Abra wanted to sate her appetite with a man.
The man currently staring across a crowd of people at her as if she were the only woman on the planet.
Her gasp caused several people around her to turn, their gazes raking her face for the reason.
Abra ignored them. All her attention, all her interest, was focused on Colton Bree.
The band ended their number and when the audience began to clap, Bree blinked, shook his head a few times like a dog shucking water from its fur, then turned his attention back forward. His smile grew wide again as he clapped along with the crowd, his phone still clasped in one hand. The players disbanded and one of the trumpet players made a beeline for the handyman. Since he was playing with the high school band, Abra figured him to be fourteen, fifteen, tops. He still had that little boy chubbiness to his face, although he looked lean under the bulky jacket covering him.
Bree patted him on the back a few times and said something that made the boy laugh. In that instant his paternity was confirmed. The smile was Bree’s, through and through. Same narrowing of the outer corners of his eyes, same color eyes for that matter, but the smile confirmed the boy’s DNA.
Before she realized it, both man and boy had made their way to her.
“Getting reacquainted with the local events?” Bree said as a way of greeting.
“Trying. Hi. I’m Abra,” she said to the boy.
“You’re the lady renting the Copperfield house.”
She gave herself a mental pat on the back because she got his age right. The moment he opened his mouth and spoke, his voice broke.
“Trev, mind your manners. This is Abra Charles.”
The boy offered his gloved hand, charming Abra.
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Charles. I’m Trevor.”
“You play a pretty mean trumpet,” she told him.
“Trev made jazz band as a freshman.” It was impossible to miss the pride in Bree’s voice.
“I’m so jealous,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “When I played in band at Dickens High, the old band teacher encouraged me—more than once—to join the chorus.”
Father and son both grinned at her.
“What instrument?” Bree asked.
“You’ll laugh if I tell you.” When he simply lifted his brows, she shook her head. “Piccolo.”
“Why would I laugh at that?”
“Because if I told you what the band director said every time I played a selection, you wouldn’t be able to help yourself.”
“What did he say?” Trevor asked.
Abra pulled her face into a dramatic pout – lips tugged to one side of her cheeks, lids partially closed, and head shaking. “That I sounded like I was herding feral cats whenever I blew into the instrument.”
Both men tried, she gave them credit for it, not to laugh. Bree broke first from the chortle he was desperately trying to keep reined in. Trevor followed.
“Told ya you’d laugh,” she said.
Bree reached into his pocket and pulled out his beeping phone.
“Your brother’s practice is over,” he told his son. “You all done here?”
“Yeah. I can leave whenever.”
Bree typed something then told Abra, “My oldest son is over at Grosvenors Pond, skating. We’re gonna head over as soon as the lighting is over.”
Abra glanced up at the gazebo. A few official-looking types were beginning to gather at the microphone. “Looks like that’ll be soon.”
“So, no new problems or mishaps?” Bree asked.
Even though his features were relaxed and bland, Abra swore she saw amusement drifting across his eyes.
“No, and thank the Lord for it,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve actually been able to get some work done without worrying a water pipe is going to burst, or worse, freeze, and that the heat will decide to stop working.”
Bree nodded, one corner of his closed mouth tipping up a tad. “You’ve got my number if anything happens.”
A tinny blast of microphone feedback shouted through the Common. Annoyed groans from the crowd sprouted around them.
“Here we go,” Bree said.
After a short speech by the president of the Chamber of Commerce, the newly elected mayor flipped the switch with a theatrical flourish and the tree came alive in the bright colored lights. A collective gasp, then vigorous clapping filled the Common.
Abra had forgotten what a delightful event the tree lighting was and she silently thanked Amy for reminding her about it. Turning, she caught Bree clapping and smiling as widely as she was. When, by chance, his gaze lit on her, the full force of his glee aimed directly at her, she felt as if she’d been hit by a Mack truck barreling down a highway at speeds not legal in this state or any other. All the air in her lungs evaporated. Despite the noise surrounding them, she could hear her blood whooshing through her veins like a raging river. Her toes and fingers, protected from the cold with warm gloves and socks, went numb.
Everything around her stilled, as if time had decided to stop for a coffee break.
Bree cocked his head a bit, his brows tugging together as he regarded her. “You okay?” he asked.
“Fine,” she replied, feeling anything but. She shook her head to clear it, then, with a quick nod at Trevor, said, “It was nice meeting you. Have fun ice skating.”
She lit on Bree and gave him a quick nod. “See ya around, Bree.”
“You should come with us,” he said, surprising her, and if she wasn’t mistaken, himself, evidenced in the way the tops of his cheeks went pink.
Or that could have been from the cold
“I mean, if you don’t have any other plans,” he qualified.
She blinked a few times. “I don’t. Well,” she rolled her eyes, “I was flirting with entering the snowman building contest.”
Bree’s grin returned. “That’s a cutthroat contest. Parents get wicked upset and loud when adults enter ‘cause they want their kids to win. You should leave it to the kids and come out to the pond with us.”
“I don’t skate,” she said.
“You don’t have to skate. I don’t. I plant myself in the warmest spot in the hut and just watch the kids,” he told her. “All the free hot chocolate you can tolerate, plus lots of snacks to buy if you’re so inclined.”
Since the feeling in her toes hadn’t returned fully yet, the idea had merit.
“How’d you get here?” Bree asked.
“Drove. I left my car at the middle school and walked up. Why?”
“You can hitch with us, or take it so you can leave whenever you want. My two tend to want to stay until it’s too dark for humans to see.”
She considered it for a moment. She’d done all she could do with the chapter she’d written and, even with the frigid temperature, it felt good to be out of the big, lonely house.
Deciding something on the spot wasn’t how Abra usually lived her life. Despite the fact she’d blown out of Vegas earlier than scheduled, she liked living with a plan. But being methodical and overly cautious wasn’t exactly filling her days and nights with fun. With a quick nod, she said, “Free hot chocolate is definitely something I can get behind. I’ll take my car, meet you there.”
The smile that came back at her served to warm her more than any hot beverage ever could.
~~~~
“OH, IT’S HEAVEN IN here,” she declared fifteen minutes later. Shucking her gloves and shoving them into her coat, her fingers got tingly from the warm air engulfing them.
“They keep the wood stove lit 24/7 throughout the season, so it’s always hot in here.”
“No lie.” She unzipped her coat and pulled her hat off. “It’s as warm as a sauna.”
The “hut”, a single story, wooden structure with a large bay window, overlooked the frozen water of Grosvenors Pond.
Bree led her to a small round table close to the blazing wood stove. “Let’s grab a seat. We can watch the ice action from here.” He removed his outer coat and placed it on the bench circling the wooden table for two. A cable knit, fisherman’s sweater covered his torso, the collar of a shirt visible at the neckline.
“That’s the perfect sweater for a day like today,” she told him as she rubbed her hands together.
“Thanks. My wife made this while she was expecting our oldest. That’s him.” He pointed to a boy standing on the ice speaking with Trevor. He had about three inches on the younger boy, but the fact they shared DNA was obvious in their similar features. It was even more evident who their father was. All three shared those captivating blue eyes, square jaw, and thick, dark hair. Although Bree’s was silver, she could see how dark it had been once, in her mind.
Something about his statement clicked in and she asked, “Made? You mean like in, she knitted it?”
He shrugged. “Made. Knit. Whatever the term. It got her through six months of enforced bed rest and I got a great sweater out of it. You want anything besides the hot chocolate?”
After she shook her head and told him to add extra milk, he ambled to the concession counter, ordered two drinks, and then carried them back when they were ready.
“Oh, God, this is good.” She closed her eyes and sighed after the first sweet sip.
“As good as your first cup of coffee of the day?”
“Nothing is as good as that,” she said and took another sip. “So. Your wife. She was a knitter?”
“That, and a baker. She grew her own herbs and cooked like a dream. Embraced the whole domestic...thing.” He flipped his free hand in the air. “The boys adored her.” He took a sip from his mug. “I did, too.”
His use of the past tense opened up the door she’d been wanting to nudge, but didn’t want to pry. “She sounds lovely. My mom mentioned she’d passed away. I’m so sorry. That never sounds like enough, but I am.”
A quick head bob, then, “Thanks. Hard to believe it’s been four years.
Abra sipped her cocoa. The faraway shift in his gaze coupled with the slight downturn of a corner of his mouth showed her how much he missed her. What she wouldn’t give to have someone love her like that. To actually feel a physical ache because she wasn’t around. Neither of her ex-husbands had truly loved her, she was convinced of that now. And Frank? Well, Frank was a user who loved no one but himself and she could still kick herself she’d never seen it until almost too late. Every night she thanked the gods above they’d parted before they could be legally wed and he’d be entitled to half of everything she owned.
Of course, there was still the matter of blackmail to contend with.
“What about you?” Bree asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“What about me?”
“You ever been married?”
What possessed her to answer him as she did was a mystery, but when she said, “Twice. And almost a third, but luckily, that one got squashed,” his eyes widened as they zeroed in on her and she could almost hear his mind churning.
“Wow. That’s...” he shrugged.
“Ridiculous is the word you’re searching for, and believe me, I know.”
“You can’t be anywhere near forty, so how’d you wind up twice divorced and third-shy?”
“You’re incredibly sweet to say that about my age, so I’ll be truthful and remind you I’m thirty-eight.”
“That’s still young.”
“Again, sweet.” She took a sip from her mug as she thought about how to explain. “First marriage I was only nineteen and almost from the get-go we realized it was a mistake. Not only were we entirely too young, but when all was said and done, all we had was combustible chemistry and nothing else. We didn’t want the same things in life, and neither of us was willing to compromise. It ended in less than a year.”
“My oldest is almost nineteen,” Bree said, glancing out the window. “I can’t imagine him married at this age. He’s still, technically, a baby. If he came to me and told me he wanted to get married, I’d say no in a heartbeat.”
Abra snorted. “Try and tell him that and see where it gets you. How old where you when you got married.”
A long pause shuffled between them before he said, “Nineteen.”
She tried to keep the snark out of her smile. “So.” She took a sip of her drink. “Amy and Andy tried to dissuade me, but eighteen is classified as a legal adult, so they had no recourse.”
“They must have been thrilled when you got divorced.”
“Not the word I’d use, but you’ve got the gist of it.”
“What about marriage number two?”
“I was older. I’d already been...started my career,” she said, quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed her slip. She’d almost said, I’d already been a bestselling author. “We were both established and successful and thought we could make it work. And we did. We had a beautiful home in Vegas, lots of friends. We traveled and did whatever we wanted. It was great. For about seven years.”
“He get a seven year itch?”
“No, thankfully. The easy answer is we both wanted different things for our future and again, just like in my first marriage, neither of us was willing to compromise. When that happens in a marriage, the union is doomed.”
The real answer was that he’d pulled the rug out from under her.
“What was so important to you that you weren’t willing to compromise?”
She glanced up at him and bit down on the inside of her cheek. “He wanted to start a family. He’d told me in the beginning he didn’t want kids, didn’t want our lives to be hampered in any way with children. He wanted us to have a free and easy lifestyle.”
“That’s kinda selfish, isn’t it?”
“No, because I felt the same way. Being a mother wasn’t something I ever had on my to-do-someday list. He knew that, and I thought, accepted it.”
“Because you were adopted?”
She nodded. “How could I bring a child into the world when I knew nothing about my birth parents or my medical history? Did I have some genetic issues I could potentially pass on to a child? Was there a history of insanity or something else which could prove fatal? I had no idea and not knowing was paralyzing. I could never give a child grandparents, and before you say Amy and Andy would have been grandma and grandpa, I meant I couldn’t give them biological ones. Ones who shared their DNA and blood.”
“That was so important it cost you your marriage?”
“Yes.”
He was silent for a few moments, then, when she’d thought he was about to lecture her, nodded instead. “I get that. Fear of the unknown is a legit fear and it can be paralyzing, like you said.”
That he could so easily understand where her head had been, when Chuck hadn’t and couldn’t, was mind-boggling.
“And it was. He wasn’t willing to try and understand my concerns. He called them silly and unwarranted.”
Bree nodded. “Like I said; selfish. If he truly loved you he would have understood.”
“That’s what I thought, so...divorce number two.”
“And the third?”
She winced and tried to cover the move by sipping from her mug and concentrating on the ice action. “Let’s just say that one concerned matters of trust.”
“Who couldn’t trust who?”
She slanted him a glance. “I’ll have you know I’m an extremely trustworthy person. I don’t lie, I don’t cheat – on anything, from taxes to people – and I don’t take what isn’t mine.”
His lips lifted. “Duly noted. So you couldn’t trust him.”
She shot her index finger at him. “Bingo. Once trust is gone, there’s not much left. I’m sure you had loads of trust in your marriage and that’s part of the reason why it worked.”
When he didn’t respond, she glanced over at him, surprised to find his features schooled. His lips were flat, and she detected a subtle stiffening in his jaw.
Interesting.
She would have attempted to get him to divulge more, but his sons blew in, red cheeked, and with excitement sparkling in their eyes.
“Dad,” the older said, “Caleb says there’s a pick-up hockey game starting in twenty minutes. Can we stay and play? I can drive us home after.”
Bree shook his head. “You have better manners than this Timothy Bree. Say hello to Ms. Charles. She’s Amy Dorrit’s daughter.”
“I love the diner,” the boy said, grinning. “Hi. I’m Tim.”
Abra nodded and smiled.
“So can we? We won’t be home late, promise.”
“How am I gonna get home if you take the car?”
“I can drop you off,” Abra heard someone say and then flinched when she realized the words came from her. “I’ve got my rental.”
He turned to her, his brows pulling low over his eyes. She took it for a warning glare.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t intrude on family stuff. Ignore me.” She waved her hand and took a gulp of her hot chocolate.
“Dad?” Timothy peered at his father with a pleading look Abra recognized well. She’d used it more times than she liked to remember as a teen herself when she wanted something.
Bree’s attention hadn’t turned from her. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
He nodded at his son, laughed when they both whooped and threw up their hands, then shook his head at them.
“Is it okay if we go out to eat afterward?” Tim asked. “I’m asking now, in case it comes up so I won’t have to call and bother you.”
Deadpan, Bree said, “You’re such a considerate son. I’m so blessed.”
The boys were, apparently, used to their father’s sarcasm because they both grinned from ear to ear and whooped again when Bree told them, “I get the idea this has already been decided.” When they didn’t deny it, he added, “Be home by eleven. Not eleven-o-one. Not eleven-o-five. Eleven. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” they both said.
He handed Timothy the car keys.
They bolted from the hut right after saying goodbye to their father and then her.
“You sure you don’t mind?” he asked again once they were gone.
“You told me you live close to the Copperfield house.”
“Just down at the end of the lane. Walking distance.”
“So, no bother at all.”
Since his sons were gone, they decided they might as well leave, too.
It was strange driving with someone else in the car. Abra never drove anywhere in Vegas. Not that she’d been venturing out of late, but when she did, she used a car service because it was easier. The longest she’d driven in two years had been from New York to Dickens.
Bree wasn’t a small-talker. She’d learned as much from interacting with him at her house, and it proved true once again on the ride back through town. For some reason, though, she didn’t find the silence uncomfortable like she usually did.
Once they turned onto the lane, Abra found herself asking, “What are you going to do for dinner now that your sons are occupied?”
His subtle shrug told her he hadn’t given it any consideration yet.
“My fridge is stocked, courtesy of my mom and my grocery shopping the other day when I was hungry. Never do that, by the way. It doesn’t bode well. I bought stuff I never would have if I’d gone with a full stomach.”
She flicked a glance at him and when she spotted the tiny upward tug of his lips, she smiled.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Chocolate, chips, and cookies.”
“Those, and pudding mix and stuff to make waffles. I don’t even eat waffles. And the last time I had pudding was...geez, middle school, I think.”
His laugh warmed her through and through.
“So,” she bit down on her cheek. “Want to join me for dinner?”
He glanced over at her. “I could go for some...waffles,” he said, at length. “Breakfast for dinner is a favorite in my house.”
Abra shook her head. “I don’t even know if the Copperfield’s have a waffle iron.”
“Trust me. They live in Dickens. They have a waffle iron.”
“What does one have to do with the other?”
“Just trust me.”
In the end he was right. After Abra pulled the car under the carport she searched the kitchen cabinets and, lo and behold, found an ancient one under the pots and pans.
“This thing looks older than me,” she said, placing it on the counter. She blew a sheen of dust off the top of it.
“My in-laws have the same one. I can work it if you can’t figure it out.”
“I know my limits, so have at it. Besides, I have a feeling if I plug it in, the fuses will blow again.”
He grinned over at her from the sink where he was washing his hands.
“I’ll make the batter while you get it set up.”
She pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge, in addition to a brick of sharp cheese and some deli ham.
“A ham and cheese omelet sound good to go along with the waffles?” she asked him.
“Sounds like heaven.”
After mixing the batter, she handed him the bowl and then heated up a grilling pan.
“How about some home fries?”
“I won’t say no,” he told her. “Extra crispy, if you can.”
She flipped a hand at him as if to say, please. Is there any other way to eat them?
Twenty minutes later they were seated at the kitchen table, omelets, waffles, well-done home fries, a jug of local maple syrup, and a stick of butter between them. She’d made a pot of decaf coffee and they each had a mug filled with it next to their plates.
“I thought you didn’t drink coffee,” she commented when he lifted his cup for her to pour.
“I don’t as a rule. But a cup of hot decaf on a cold day, when we’re having breakfast for dinner, and it seems wrong not to.”
Said like that, he made sense.
“Except for the eggs, this is a carbohydrate nightmare,” she said as she forked in the first taste of her omelet. “No fruit or veggies in sight,” she added around the bolus in her mouth.
“Fruits and vegetables are overrated,” he said as he took a bite of his own omelet. “Mmm. This is really good. How’d you learn to cook like this?”
“Excuse me?” She waved a hand at him. “Remember who my mother is?”
He nodded, one corner of his mouth lifting.
“I couldn’t grow up in a diner without knowing how to cook just about anything you could ask for. This”—she swiped her fork over the food—“is nothing. I can still make a mean Dickens burger with my eyes closed, made to order, and let’s not even talk about my sandwich making skills. Amy made sure all her kids could cook the basics so we would never starve when we went out into the world. I got a little extra tutelage being the first and the oldest. Plus, I worked in the kitchen all through my teen years until I left for college.”
“You were a short order cook at the diner?”
“Yup. Worked after school from 3 until closing all four years of high school, and half days on Saturdays and Sundays. Never had a sick day. I also fit in time to work at Trim-A-Tree during the holiday season.”
“Your work ethic is astounding.”
She shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “It was either work or sit home every night. Besides, the pay was good and I saved a ton for college. I never had to take out a single student loan.”
After realizing what she’d said, she forked a chunk of waffle in her mouth and hoped he’d just glaze right over her little self-declaration.
“Why would you have sat home every night?”
Apparently, he hadn’t.
She lifted her shoulder again and stared down at her plate while she moved the omelet around with her fork. “I didn’t...date in high school.”
“Too picky? Didn’t want to get involved with a town boy?”
The smirk he tossed her wasn’t unkind, but admitting the truth was still difficult.
“I wasn’t the picky one. Kids can be...cruel. And teenagers, the cruelest of the species.”
With the characteristic, piercing glare she was getting used to, Bree regarded her across the table. She surprised herself again when, without him asking, volunteered, “Being adopted made me a target for nastiness and bullying, even in high school. A day didn’t go by some weeks where I wasn’t told I’d been left on a doorstep because I was a loser, that even my own mother hadn’t wanted me. Stuff like that.” She shrugged again. “Like I said. Cruel.”
“Your father was the chief of police. Couldn’t he have, I don’t know? Done something?”
Her laugh had a caustic bite to it. “He did. Sometimes, when it got really bad. But he recognized that if he’d intervened in high school, it would have made matters worse. Like, I needed someone to fight all my battles for me.”
He was silent a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I guess I can see that it would.”
“So working in the back of the diner, where no one saw me, was a good option to sitting home alone and feeling sorry for myself.”
“You said you never came back after you left for college. Is that why? You didn’t want to be bothered anymore.”
“Some. But not the main reason.”
“What was?”
She sighed and finished her omelet before answering him. “I was...looking for something I knew I couldn’t find here.”
“And did you find it when you left?”
“No.”
And wasn’t that a kick in the keister? All her life she’d been searching for answers, trying to figure out who she was and why she wasn’t worthwhile or loveable enough to keep.
“You still looking?”
“I’m...not sure.”
Scary thing, that.
Because she was getting angsty with all this self-revelation and his probing questions, she asked, “Why did you stay here after your wife died? You’re not from Dickens. I would think staying would bring up constant memories of your wife and the life you were robbed of having together.”
“My boys were born here,” he said, simply. “This is their home, the only one they’ve ever known. They’ve got grandparents here. Friends. It didn’t make any sense to uproot them from that.”
“What about your parents?”
“Gone. And no siblings. Staying here gave my boys a family and roots. It connects them to their mom every day.”
“What about you, though? Isn’t it,” she shrugged, “sad for you?”
Silently, he finished his waffles and she didn’t press. Colton Bree, she’d come to realize, thought before he spoke, something she should learn how to do.
“Sad isn’t the right word,” he said after a few moments.
“What is?”
He ticked his head, then shook it. “Accepting seems like the best one. The cancer had already metastasized before it got diagnosed. Chemo wasn’t even an option.”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve said that before, but...”
“Thanks. We had about three months to prepare before she died. I stopped working so I could spend every day with her. We even took the boys out of school for a while so they could be with her before...” He shrugged.
He may not describe how he felt as sad, but he wore the stark emotion plainly on his face. His eyes lost their luster and life, and his mouth pulled flat at the corners. Even the military bearing of his shoulders drooped a bit.
Saying she was sorry again seemed useless. She stretched a hand across the table, covered his free one, and pressed it. Immediate warmth steeped through it, as if she’d placed it close to a roaring fire.
Bree glanced down at their hands, then back up at her face. Something flashed across his gaze, something she couldn’t put a name to, but had her swallowing a few times.
“Anyway,” he said when she pulled her hand back, “After she passed, it made sense to stay here for the boys. They went back to school and I went back to work. Been that way since.”
“They seem like really great kids. My mom says they’re both athletes and do well in school.” Abra rolled her eyes. “And of course she knows that because in this town gossip always makes its way to the diner, and, by extension, to her.”
One corner of his mouth pulled up. “Small towns are like that.”
“Boy, do I ever know it.”
Sitting back in her chair, she sighed. Her plate was empty, as was his. “Would you like anything else? More coffee?”
“I’m good.” He rose and took his dishes to the sink. “Thanks for this. I probably would have just made a sandwich at home. Breakfast was way better, especially since I didn’t have to do the cooking.”
“Well, I’ve got a ton of waffle mix I couldn’t use in a month of Sundays, so if you find yourself childless again and have a hankering for some, stop on over. Now that we know the waffle maker works, it might as well get some use while I’m here.”
The words were out before she realized their implication. Heat flew up her neck and she imagined if she looked in the mirror her face would look like a jar of red and robust pasta sauce coming to a rolling boil.
“That wasn’t a come-on,” she said, then flushed even more. “I mean—”
He turned from the sink and leaned back against it. As he studied her, that all-engrossing stare of his making her pulse jump and her lower body tingle, she licked her lips and tried to get a grip on the nerves that suddenly popped to the surface.
“Not that you’re not, you know...attractive. I mean, of course you are. You know what you look like. You must own a mirror. I just meant, well, I’m not looking to start anything while I’m here. With you. Or anyone. Romantically, I mean. I’ve got a bo—project, to finish and need to devote all my time to that. I’ll be leaving again in the New Year, so...” she stopped and blinked. “So.”
Good Lord. When did she develop diarrhea of the mouth? And why only around Bree did this new affliction surface?
She stood across from him, her hands shaking so much she clasped them together while he kept staring at her, his expression unreadable. Her hands were sweating and she knew if she checked, her armpits were probably working overtime.
“Say something,” she finally blurted when she couldn’t take his silence anymore.
“I understood what you meant.”
“You...did?”
He nodded.
“Oh. Okay. Good, then. Good.”
That head tilt came again as the corners of his eyes narrowed.
Once again, Abra swallowed. “What?”
After another moment of tortured silence, he shook his head. “I should get going.” He pushed off the counter and walked toward the front of the house where he’d left his jacket on the foyer hall tree.
Abra followed him.
Donning it, he turned around and said, “Thanks again for the chow. Those home fries did your mom proud.”
“You’re welcome,” she automatically replied. “And, thanks for saying that.”
With his jacket buttoned and his hand on the doorknob, he hesitated a moment before opening the door as his gaze zeroed back in on her.
“What?” she said.
He shook his head. “You ask that a lot.”
“Because I can’t read you.”
“Read me?”
“Yeah. One minute it looks like you’re going to ask me a question, the next I’m expecting a lecture about something I’ve said or done. I’m a really good facial expression reader. I have to be for what I do. And I can usually tell what someone thinks about me, or about something I’ve said. You though? You’re a blank wall. It’s...frustrating. Damn frustrating.”
“So you don’t know what I’m thinking right now?”
“Not a clue in a snowstorm.”
He bit down on a corner of his mouth. Then, in a move she truly never saw coming, he let go of the knob, lifted his hand and slid it around the back of her neck.
Abra couldn’t move if commanded to by God above and the angels chiming in for good measure. The front of their bodies bumped when he moved in closer, his hand still cupping the nape of her neck. Abra jolted from the feel of his work-hardened fingers against her skin. He put no pressure on the grip but managed to hold her in place with just the expectation of command.
He brought his face within a sigh of hers, his eyes wide open and focused on her own. The black in his pupils grew to the point they almost obliterated the blue housed in them. Abra gasped.
There was no mistaking what was on his face, in his eyes at that moment. Lust, desire, want. Pure, simple, stark.
“Got any idea what I’m thinking right now?” he whispered, as he rubbed her nose from side to side with his own, his breath fanning across her cheeks as he spoke.
Abra’s mouth went bone-dry. She couldn’t form a word in reply, so she hummed her response in the affirmative.
“Good,” he said, that gorgeous half-grin popping up again.
And then he kissed her.
A simple brush of his warm, soft lips against her open ones, nothing more. It couldn’t have lasted more than a second.
Why, then, did it feel like the earth had shifted on its axis?
Bree pulled back so he could look at her.
“Why...why did you do that?” she asked.
“Damned if I know.”
With that said, he opened the door and walked down the porch steps into the dark night.
From the doorway, Abra watched him until his shadow disappeared at the end of the lane.
Slowly, she closed the door, then laid her head against the solid, hard wood.
“What...the...actual...hell?”