Page 7 of Wrapped Up in Christmas Hope
“I didn’t tell you my name.” She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. Talking to him shouldn’t make her feel this fluttery excitement. Not excitement. Anxiety, she mentally corrected herself. Anxiety that he’d gotten through her protective wall and put her on edge.
“But you’re going to tell me?” His tone was teasing, but Morgan’s heart raced. Andrew smiling at her warmed a freeze deep within she hadn’t even acknowledged existed. Somehow, though, keeping that ice in place felt safer than risking a thaw.
So, rather than answer, she bit into her lower lip.
“Great kid you have,” he continued, obviously not fazed by her refusal to answer. “He is yours, isn’t he?”
“He’s mine.” And how very blessed she felt. Greyson was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
“I like him.”
“Thanks.” Morgan’s heart swelled with pride. “He obviously likes you, too.”
Andrew’s brow arched. “I get the impression you wish he didn’t, though. He told me you weren’t into firefighters.”
Greyson had said that? Ha. Based upon her reaction to Andrew, she was definitely into firefighters. What was it about her that was attracted to men who thrived on danger?
“We’re not that bad, you know?” Andrew said.
The man’s grin was lethal. So much so that Morgan fought to tamp down welling-up emotions. He was cute and knew it. Just like Trey. But she wasn’t interested in any man, much less one who thought it was a good idea to run into burning buildings for a living.
“I never said you were. I appreciate you taking the extra time with my son,” she replied, carefully choosing her words.
“You’re welcome. I meant it when I said you have a great kid.”
“He is, only...” her voice trailed off, then she made herself smile. Just because this man had shaken up her world didn’t mean she should be rude. She shouldn’t, especially when he really had been kind to Greyson.
“Sorry. The last thing you want to hear about is our personal issues.” She kept the smile in place, because it wasn’t his fault she got all flustered by him. “My name is Morgan. Morgan Morris, and thank you again.” Because what would telling him her name hurt? “Greyson’s excitement while talking to you is priceless. It’s good to see him smiling.”
Andrew’s gaze bore into her. “Doesn’t he smile much?”
Morgan didn’t want to tell this almost-stranger about how her son had gone from a full speed ahead kid to a quiet, subdued child, or that she was in Pine Hill to put the sparkle back into his eyes that had been missing for too long. She planned to surround him with so much love that his little heart healed from the ache they were both suffering from. Slowly, he was coming out of his shell and Morgan thrilled at every smile, laugh, and seemingly carefree moment. They were precious.
“He smiles, but just hasn’t as much since...well, for a couple of years.”
Andrew’s brows raised. “What happened a couple of years ago?”
Taking a deep breath, Morgan whispered words that tore at her heart. “His dad died.”
Andrew felt like a complete heel for pushing. When he’d noticed that Morgan didn’t have a wedding ring, he’d figured divorce, not death. Then again, it was hard to imagine any man willingly walking away from her and Greyson, so maybe he should have suspected something more had happened.
“I’m sorry,” he said and meant it.
“Me, too,” she said, glancing away as if she might be fighting tears.
Helplessness and a need to make things better hit him. His grandma would’ve said she needed a hug. She certainly looked as if she could use one. But she didn’t know him and likely wouldn’t welcome his comfort. He’d never risk her taking his desire to comfort the wrong way.
“Greyson was so excited the fire department was coming by today,” Morgan continued, sounding nervous and as if she were chattering to distract herself from where her thoughts had gone. “I think he has a case of hero worship.”
“I’m no hero,” Andrew quickly denied. “Just doing my job, ma’am, and grateful I have the health and skills to be able to do so.”
She eyed him as if trying to decide how to take his response. “I suppose it’s a matter of opinion, but to most, firefighters are heroic. Some jobs are inherently more heroic than others.” She nodded over to where Suzie and all the kids had lined up. “They’re ready for you. Thanks again for being kind to Greyson. I truly do appreciate it and am positive he’ll be talking about it for weeks.”
And with that she walked away.
“Reindeer. I definitely need reindeer.”
Rosie, a vivacious, neon blue-haired woman in her late sixties, elaborated on her over-the-top Christmas wedding plans. She and several other women, including Morgan, had gathered at The Threaded Needle quilt shop to prepare supplies for an upcoming sewing event. As Morgan unfolded a bolt of red fabric onto the cutting table, she suppressed a grin.
