Page 91 of Holiday Hopefuls
Prescott’s generally icy demeanor melts for his daughter. “On my way, sweets.” Turning back to us, his smile falters slightly. “Thanks for all your hard work on these, Oliver. If they’re as good as Constance and Calloway say, you may have just secured the gig for as long as you’re around.”
“Prescott,” Callie warns.
He grins, making his way toward the platter. “Relax, Calloway.” Prescott scoops up a couple of rolls. “I’m sure the good doctor will be around for a long time.”
Throwing my arm around Callie, I pull her in close. “Only if I can help it.” I force a grin onto my face.
As Prescott stalks off toward his daughter, I lean down so that only Callie can hear me. “How’s that one going?”
Callie pipes on the last of the icing. “Fine,” she shrugs, “not super awesome, but better than it was.”
“His comment may be my fault,” I admit.
Her brows knit together. “What do you mean?”
“I may have snapped at him the night of your kids’ program.”
Crackling from the fireplace mingles with the chatter from everyone in the living area. Ira and Chris make their way inside with only a nod in our direction as they wander over to the sectional.
“Should we take the rest of the cinnamon rolls over there?” I ask, removing my apron and hanging it on a peg by the state-of-the-art refrigerator.
“What did you argue with him about?” Her voice is so soft, I’d have missed her question completely if I wasn’t so attuned to her every breath.
Turning toward the pull from my heart, I find Callie regarding me curiously. No judgement or anger, just quizzical.
A tentative step brings her closer to me, and I immediately regret every molecule of air floating between us. “Oliver,” she presses, casting a quick glance toward the rest of her family. Callie takes one more step and I can feel the heat radiating from her pinked cheeks. “Tell me.”
“Just making sure he knew my intentions were honorable is all, sweetheart.” Brushing a strand of hair behind Callie’s ear, I beam down at her. “Trust me, he won’t make that mistake again.”
Callie’s eyes flit down to my lips and I work to suppress a groan.
“You can’t look at me like that, Callie,” I murmur.
Her eyes widen. “Why not?”
“Callie, I?—”
“Calloway, Oliver, come on over here,” Connie calls from the couch.
My girlfriend's eyelids flutter, remembering we have an audience. Pulling away, she turns to her family. “Just-just a second. We’re getting some more hot cocoa.” At this rate, I’m honestly shocked it’s not flowing through her veins.
Then again, it very well could be.
“Yep,” I confirm, “does anyone else want any?” When I’m met with a bunch of headshakes, I turn my greedy eyes back on Callie, who is most certainly avoiding my gaze.
Gathering the platter in my hands, Callie prepares two hot chocolates in record time thanks to the electric kettle resting on the counter. Face still flushed, she leads me to the living areawhere the rest of the Rutherfords are talking about Marigold taking on the bunny slopes today.
“My goodness,” Lillian breathes, looking over at the platter of treats, “how many did you make?”
“My favorite recipe makes about forty per batch,” I offer, placing the platter on the oversized coffee table.
“And we made three full batches,” Callie finishes proudly.
Connie laughs from her place beside Imogene. “Then there’ll be plenty for tomorrow, too, which is good,” she holds up a mostly eaten roll, “because I’ll be thinking about these for years to come. Whoever has next year’s shift has some big shoes to fill.” She nods to the rest of her siblings.
With the couch being at capacity, I guide Callie to a spot on the rug nestled right by the tree. Holding her cocoa as she gets settled, I look around at the family surrounding me. There’s the making for a close knit family here, but they have to want it as much as Callie does. And I’m going to help her get the family she deserves if it’s the last thing I do.
Connie and Imogene watch their youngest sister with warmth in their eyes as she finds her own place in their tiny Rutherford world.
