Page 31 of There's Only One Sleigh
Twenty-One
Whitney
There’s probably a better use of my time than burrowing deeper under the covers and staring at the ceiling, but right now I can’t imagine what that might be.
I should get up soon. I’m the only guest left in the inn, and I want to say goodbye to Penny and wish her a merry Christmas before she leaves. And I should check my email.
But mostly I want to stay where I am and think about what it would be like to have Rob snuggled up next to me.
My gut reaction isI’d give anything for that. But would I? Would I give up my entire life and my career to wake up next to Rob Byrne, here in Charming Lake?
There’s no way he’d move to the city. I wouldn’t even ask him to, because maybe he’d do it for me, but he’d be miserable. This is hishomeand his family is not only here, but the entire community.
And I’ve known the man for just shy of two weeks. Neither of us should be sacrificing anything for a person we just met. And sure,when you know, you knowis probably an old adagebecause it can be true, but maybe it’s more true for people who live in the same place.
This is ridiculous and I take it as a sign it’s time for coffee. I get dressed and make my bed, and then I grab my notebook and go downstairs. Penny smiles at me when I walk into the kitchen.
“Good morning. There are muffins and some breakfast pastries, but I can make you breakfast before I leave, if you want.”
“Oh, no. I’ll have one of the pastries and lots of coffee. You must be excited to see your family.”
“I am. My mom really goes all out for Christmas. And I hate missing the Charming Lake Christmas Fair, of course, but my town does a parade, too, and my family…well, tradition.”
My mom goes all out for Christmas, too, I think with a shot of guilt. She never tries to make me feel bad about how hard I work or my focus on my career. And she’s proud of me—I hear it in her voice and see it every time she looks at me.
But she misses me. And I miss her, and it’s been too long since we’ve been together for Christmas.
Once Penny’s gone and the big inn is empty, I open my notebook and pull up my email app. Donovan’s wrapping up his business deal today, so I lose myself in monitoring the documents between their office and ours. There are also travel arrangements to check for the third time.
I’m pretty sure the deal is important to my boss, but getting home to his wife and son tomorrow—in time for the holiday celebration—is more important.
Hitting the bottom of the coffee pot drags me out of the work, and I decide I’ll occupy my time until the Byrne family descends on us by organizing the wrapping paper and other things needed for the Santa Fund gifts.
I’ve just finished washing my coffee cup and the spoon when the door into the kitchen opens and a small child runs in, trips on the thick mat, and falls on his face.
Luckily, Sam’s wearing enough puffy winter wear to cushion his fall because he’s already pushing himself to his knees when his mother comes in behind him. No sign he’s about to burst into tears or start screeching.
“I told you not to run,” Nat says, sounding exhausted. After closing the door behind her, she bends and grabs the back of Sam’s coat to haul him upright. “Hi, Whitney.”
“Good morning.”
“He’s so excited about seeing everybody here and I told him over and over it wasn’t time yet, but he wouldn’t stop. So here we are, for no reason, because—believe it or not—being a thousand months pregnant can wear on the nerves and I couldn’t take themommy mommy mommyanymore.”
I have to step up here. I know it, and not just because she’s my boss’s wife, but because she’s a woman who’s obviously worn thin and needs a little help. But I’m not great with kids and I’ve never been alone with an extremely pregnant woman before.
After glancing at my smartwatch to see the time, which flew by while I was buried in my usual routine, I realize nerves might not be the only reason for the queasiness I feel. I’m running on a lot of coffee and very little food.
“I was just going to take some cookies and coffee into the front room to relax for a while,” I lie. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Cookies,” Sam squeals, and I wince. I probably should have spelled that word out, like I’ve seen other adults do.
“I’d love a hot cocoa, but you don’t have to make it for me.”
“I’ve got it.” I wave her off. “That sounds good, actually. I’ll make two.”
“Can you put a little of mine into a cup with a lot of milk for Sam?”
“Of course.”
