Page 13 of Savoring Christmas
“I’ll talk to my mom about Patty McDonald,” Logan said. “She might have some good ideas for us.”
She touched the sleeve of his jacket. “That’s kind of you. I knew you’d want to help.”
“You did?”
“You may act tough but I’ve observed you enough to know you care about other people.”
“My mom and dad wouldn’t have it any other way. Trust me. Serving others was a big subject around our dinner table every night.”
“I’m envious. Being part of a big family must be wonderful.”
“It is. Although, it can be annoying at times. Everyone’s in everyone else’s business twenty-four seven.”
“Having people who care enough to be in your business is a gift,” Mia said.
The wistfulness in her voice made his chest ache. “You should come to family dinner one of these Sundays.”
She stared at him, as if he’d asked her to do a cartwheel. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“My mother would love to have you. Especially once I tell her you’re hoping to meet new people. Also, one more person at my mom’s table won’t even be noticed. She’s used to feeding the small army that we are.”
“Okay, well, maybe one of these Sundays I’ll take you up on your offer.”
The way she said it made him think she had no intention of doing so. Which made his stomach plummet with disappointment.
“But put my number in your phone,” Mia said. “You know …for whatever.”
And just like that, he was happy again. He handed her his phone and watched as she put her number into his phone contacts.
“Have a good rest of your night.” She handed him back his phone before sliding into the driver’s seat.
He watched her reverse out of the space, her headlights sweeping across the empty lot before disappearing around the corner.
Maybe he should text her, just so she had his number. He’d do that when he got home. Plus, he should check on her. Make sure she arrived safely and all that. He was just being neighborly.
He drove homewith the radio playing a country station to keep him company. The two-lane spooled in quiet curves, its edges lined with bare maples and oaks, their branches black lace against the inky sky. Now and then, a lone farmhouse gleamed in the distance, yellow windows like lanterns on the dark hills. The moon hung low and hazy, its light diffused by the thin veil of clouds moving in from the west. Every so often, a gust of windscattered a swirl of dry leaves across the road, the last stubborn holdouts that hadn’t been raked away.
His house came into view just off the road, a white farmhouse tucked among tall pines, its gables recently trimmed with wreaths for the holidays. He’d never been one for a lot of holiday decoration, but his dad had surprised him by hanging the wreaths. The soft glow from the kitchen window tonight felt lonesome. He wasn’t sure why. After all, Matilda, his grumpy cat, awaited, probably hungry for her dinner.
He parked in the garage but walked out to his mailbox to see if anything of interest had arrived. Nothing but a few bills and advertisements. As he walked back to the house, the sharp, crisp air smelled of woodsmoke and pine trees.
He’d lived here five years now, having bought the house just months after moving back to Sugarville Grove. The house had been built in the 1940s and had needed a full remodel, so he’d stayed with his parents while the work was being done. Although it had taken many months and a couple of fat checks to the contractor, he was pleased with the way it had all turned out, especially the vaulted living room with exposed beams and a stone fireplace.
He shrugged out of his coat, hanging it in his mudroom before making his way to the kitchen. Dark wood floors gleamed in the low light as he filled a glass with water, leaning a hip against the wide farmhouse sink while he drank it. After he’d finished, he poured himself a glass of white wine he had open in the refrigerator and went upstairs to his bedroom to look for Matilda.
He found her curled up on his bed. She lifted her orange and white striped head to give him a disdainful look before closing her eyes. Matilda wasn’t one to suffer fools.
He changed into sweats and an old T-shirt, then sat in the leather chair by the window to drink his wine. Debating withhimself. Should he message Mia or not? It was after nine. She might be in bed already. If so, she would see the message in the morning. That was fine. Right? Before he could talk himself out of it, he had his phone in hand and sent a text.
Just making sure you made it home safe. Roads weren’t too bad, were they?
He hit send, set the phone back down, and looked out at the starry sky, telling himself not to be disappointed if she didn’t text back. However, he was thrilled when she did.
Yes, just got home. No trouble getting up the mountain. Thanks for checking. Very sweet of you.
He replied.You’re welcome. I’m home too, with a glass of wine in hand.
From Mia.Ha. I’m having one too. Cannoli’s on my lap, very put out about my absence this evening. Do you have a pet?
