Page 41 of Blame it on the Mistletoe
Hopping out of his SUV, he walked toward her front porch, regret growing with every step he took. Taking off his hat, he knocked.
“She isn’t home,” Pax said, and Noah turned to find him sitting on the porch rail, his eyes red-rimmed. “She’s dropping her cookies off at the bake sale.”
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
Pax shrugged. “Why? You here to arrest me?”
The enormity of his actions hit him like a bull busting out the gates. Noah had never felt so low. “Actually, I’m here to apologize.”
“For what?”
Noah rested a hip against the railing. “Walking in here with my mind made up. That’s not how friends treat each other. Friends trust one another and I blew that. So I’m hoping you’ll give me another chance.”
Pax studied him. “Do you think I did it?”
“Nope,” he said, and meant it. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, like I should have from the start. If you say you didn’t steal that stuff, then I believe you.”
Pax let out a breath. “Good, cuz I didn’t do it.”
“But you know who did?”
“You asking as a cop or my sister’s boyfriend?”
Noah laughed. “I doubt your sister would take warmly to me being called her boyfriend right now. I’m asking as your friend.”
Pax studied him for a long moment, most likely trying to figure out if Noah’s word was any good. He couldn’t fault the kid. Noah hadn’t acted all that trustworthy.
“Faith’s making me work off my community hours, so I started helping Mr. Wilkins move trees around his lot,” Pax began. “It was supposed to be for free, you know, as part of my punishment, but Mr. Wilkins said, ‘A day’s work means a day’s pay, and as long as it’s between us men, no one will be the wiser.’”
“You weren’t supposed to be getting paid and he wasn’t supposed to be hiring kids too young to get a work permit?” Noah guessed because he’d once been one of those kids working for under the table pay for folks around town.
He nodded. “Faith is always going on about how we have to do things the right way on account of our dads. So I was going to tell him no, but a guy in my class offered to sell me his laser gun set for cheap. It was almost brand-new, but he said he got two sets for Christmas,” he explained. “Even though I knew Faith would freak because she hates guns, I told Mr. Wilkins yes. Yesterday, I gave Decalin the money for the laser guns, but I had to swear not to tell anyone where I got them because his parents didn’t know he’d sold them.”
“Does this Decalin have a last name?”
“Beaumont.”
Interesting. According to Logan, the witness who’d ID’d Pax was a Beaumont.
“If I promise Mr. Wilkins won’t get in trouble, would you mind my going down and having a talk with him?”
“You going to tell Faith about me working for money?”
Noah ruffled the kid’s hair. “No, buddy, you are.”
* * *
Sweet’s Holiday Shindig was in full swing and Ester had yet to show, which left Faith working the booth alone. She was dressed in a red sweater with a green snowcap, doing her best to exude holiday joy, which was difficult when inside she felt like crying.
She’d hoped today would be a game changer for her family, and it had been. Just not in the way she had envisioned. In the season of hope and joy, Faith was short on both.
Seated at the booth to her right was Gina, head of Faith’s legal counsel, who worked for ginger bear cookies, lecturing her on different codes and laws. On her left was Shelby, emotional support friend and advocate for love trumps all.
“Never let a man get the best of you,” Gina said. “Once they know they have you vulnerable, it’s game over. Guys suck that way.”
“Not all guys,” Shelby argued.
“You’re right,” Gina said. “Just the testosterone toting, alpha-egomaniacs. You need a sweet man, who’s also good in bed and isn’t afraid to tap into his emotions for you.”
