Page 54 of Holly Jolly Heat
"Thanks." I poured a cup, black, no sugar, and leaned against the counter. "You're up early."
"Restaurant habits. Never really left." He cracked eggs into a bowl with practiced efficiency. "Plus, Janet has a honey-do list a mile long. Figured I'd get a head start before she wakes up and adds more items."
I smiled slightly. "What's on the list?"
"Christmas lights on the Douglas fir. That's the big one. Been putting it off because it's a two-person job and Josh is useless on a ladder." He glanced at me. "You any good with heights?"
"I can handle heights."
"Perfect. After breakfast, you and I can tackle it. Michelle usually helps, but she's been busy with you boys." His tone was knowing but not judgmental. "Speaking of which, how's it going? The whole... situation?"
The whole fated-pack-bond-with-your-manager situation, he meant.
"Complicated," I admitted. "Michelle's scared of losing her business. We're trying to be patient."
"But it's hard," Bill finished. "Being patient when every instinct says claim and protect and keep."
"Yeah."
"Janet and I weren't fated mates," Bill said, transferring eggs to the pan. "We chose each other after her first husband died.Took us two years of friendship before either of us was ready for more. But the waiting was worth it."
"Michelle's worth waiting for," I agreed.
"She is. But she's also stubborn and scared and convinced she has to do everything alone." He looked at me directly. "Don't let her convince you she doesn't need you. She does. She just doesn't know how to accept that yet."
Before I could respond, footsteps on the stairs announced Michelle's arrival.
She appeared in the kitchen doorway, hair in a messy bun, wearing pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, no makeup. She looked soft and sleepy and absolutely perfect.
Then she saw me, and her entire demeanor shifted—guard slamming up, professional mask settling into place.
"Morning," she said, heading straight for the coffee maker.
"Morning," I replied. "Sleep well?"
"Fine." But the dark circles under her eyes said otherwise.
Bill and I exchanged glances. She'd been up late, probably working, probably overthinking last night's stream incident.
"Breakfast burritos in twenty minutes," Bill announced. "Michelle, you're eating. No arguments."
"I wasn't going to argue."
"Yes, you were. You always argue about breakfast." He pointed his spatula at her. "And you're helping me with the Douglas fir lights today."
"Bill, I have work?—"
"Which can wait two hours for Christmas decorations. It's tradition. You always help with the lights."
Michelle opened her mouth to argue, then apparently thought better of it. "Fine. After breakfast. But only for two hours."
"Perfect. Dex is helping too."
Michelle's eyes cut to me, something flashing in her expression before she could hide it. "Oh. Great. That's... great."
She was nervous. About being alone with me, probably. About the casual intimacy of working together on a family tradition.
Good. Nervous meant she was feeling something.
