Page 40 of The Grump Who Stole Christmas
“Dad, did you know who he was when you hired him?”
She took a break from eating long enough to ask her father the question.
“Ah, he told me he was some corporate bigwig farmer, looking for a change,” Pops said, brushing off the impressive resumé I’d laid out for him at the time. “I told him that’s how Salt Springs came into existence. Everyone who’s ever come to this town is looking for a different way of life. It still shocks me I had three kids and only one of them wanted to stay.”
“Dad. Be mad at me for leaving, but it’s not like Matt had a choice. He couldn’t play professional hockey in Salt Springs.”
Pops shifted on his chair and pushed his half-empty plate away. I watched Kay-Kay’s eyes drift to it. Like she was already calculating how much food she had left to eat on her plate and would her dad truly leave the leftovers for her.
“If it wasn’t hockey, it would have been something else. Matt’s being gone and staying gone proves that.”
“Well, he’s coming back tomorrow,” Kay-Kay pointed out.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he grumbled.
There was a story there. Family drama. I was smart enough to stay out of it.
“All this pasta has made me tired,” Pops said. “I’m going to head upstairs and watch TV in bed. You need help cleaning up?”
Kay-Kay slid his plate of pasta over to her side of the table. “No, I got it. Let me help you upstairs, Dad.”
“Don’t be silly, I’ve become a master on these crutches,” Pops said confidently.
“Dad…”
“I’ve been getting up these stairs fine without your help for days now. Stop being silly.”
Although it took him a few minutes to get up, get the crutches under his arms, and then navigate his way out of the kitchen. I listened for the sound of his good leg hitting each step up.
When I heard him reach the top step, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. It was hard to let the old man have his pride, but I also knew it was important.
“You’ve been looking out for him.”
I looked at Kay-Kay, who was looking at me, a soft smile tilting up her lips. I had the sense she’d been holding her breath too.
I shrugged. “He’s letting me live in his house. It’s the least I could do.”
“Thank you. For all of it. For letting me know the truth. For being here when his own kids weren’t.”
“You’re here now,” I told her.
“Yes, but am I too late?”
I could sense the tension in her resurfacing. There was a little line forming between her brows. “Hey, none of that. I made you my killer carbonara to relax you, now you’re getting all stressed out again. Have more wine.”
I filled up her glass with the last of the red wine from the bottle I’d opened. She smiled, then started eating what was left on her father’s dish.
“I like watching you eat,” I admitted.
“Geesh,” she snorted. “Between watching me eat and watching me sleep you really are creeping me out. Anything else you want to watch me do?”
One thing, I thought suddenly. There was one thing I wanted to watch her do.
It must have been written on my face, because she squirmedherin her chair.
“I really hope you’re imagining me reading a book right now.”
I laughed. “Depends on the book. Have you scraped the last vestiges of food from yours and your father’s plate so I can do the dishes? I’ll wash and you dry.”
