Page 46 of Minted

“I don’t need mine delivered,” Barbara says. “I have my car.”

“Relax,” I say, “and let me do things my way, for once.”

“Do you two really need two trees?” he asks, a sly look on his face.

“For now we do,” I say. “Next year? Who knows?” I can’t help my wink.

And if it makes Barbara roll her eyes, well, I’m finding that I like riling her up.

“Throw in a few strings of lights,” I say, “and we’ve got a deal.”

“The lights are nine bucks a strand,” he says.

“Of course they are,” I say. “How many do you think we need? Three or four strands each?”

I pay for Barbara’s tree and mine, and I destroy the savings from my half-hearted negotiations by way over-tipping him.

“I better get back,” Barbara says. “I have to meet the guy with the delivery later, right after I pick up the girls.”

“Do you need me to do that?”

“But you have a meeting.” She definitely looks suspicious now. “Right?”

“I do,” I say. “But it’s a call. I can do it from anywhere.”

“I’m fine,” she says. “The girls have tennis after school, so the times work out.”

“That’s good if you’re looking for stuff to get them for Christmas. Tennis requires lots of equipment and clothing, and with their little twin account, matching gear would be adorable.”

“Hey, you’re right. Good idea.”

“If you need something between now and tomorrow night, let me know.”

“I could set up another date for you tomorrow instead,” she says. “I feel terrible that the first two were so lousy.”

Because I ruined them both. . . “I’m actually looking forward to tomorrow’s holiday party. We have some reparations to make for bailing on last night.”

“I do,” she says. “You don’t owe me or my boss anything.”

“Still. I’m happy to help.”

“Bentley, seriously.”

I grab her arm—I can’t help it. Touching her is like sour cream and onion Pringles. “You were amazing last night. You’re doing something incredibly hard that very few people would have done. I care about those little girls too now, and I want to help. Let me.”

She frowns a bit, and then slowly, she nods. “I’m not great at taking help.”

“I’m not sure you’ve ever been offered much.”

She looks at her shoes.

“That’s going to change,” I whisper.

“What?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m just saying, helping you make things right at work is the least I can do.”

And being around her, helping her help those little girls, is the best feeling I’ve had in a long time. Instead of buying pine bough reindeer, I’m planning to keep the source of the joy at my side as long and as often as possible.

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