Page 7 of The Christmas Blueprint

Growing up, Hunter had always watched out for Lisa. He still was.

“Harlow’s grandmother, Sylvia, works in disaster relief. She’s moved around quite a bit with Harlow and wanted to work internationally before she retired. That’s why she wanted us to be a family,” he said softly, watching Harlow while he spoke. “But she said when she retires in a few years, she’ll settle close to Harlow so any house you design I’d like a main floor mother-in-law en suite with a sitting room and kitchenette.”

“Dang.” Killian laughed, needing to lighten the moment. “I didn’t know you knew terms like en suite.”

“Me neither,” Hunter said.

They laughed and Harlow took a delicate bite of her chicken sandwich and chewed, her expression thoughtful. She swallowed and picked her book back up. “My daddy says I can design my own room, and that I can have a studio to do whatever I want next to it.”

“You like to draw?” Killian asked. “Heard you have a sketch pad.”

Harlow nodded.

“Keep track of your ideas,” Killian said. “I have a drafting table and a computer program. Once I get settled into my place in January, I can show you how to use it to help me design your room and studio and the room for your grandma when she comes to visit.”

Harlow smiled at him. “I can start now,” she said.

“After dinner,” Hunter said.

Harlow, in the act of jumping up, sat back down and took another bite of her sandwich and picked up her book.

“That was a total dad voice,” Killian teased.

“Been practicing,” Hunter said. “I need it. Hey, have you seen Sophia yet?”

Killian choked on the bite of enchilada, almost spitting it out. Eyes watering, he finally managed to swallow and then chase it down with a sip of Coke.

“No,” he said, finally. To stall, he took another swallow of Coke. “But since she’s Riley’s best friend, I doubt I can avoid it.”

“Why would you want to avoid her?” Hunter asked, astonished.

Harlow put a bookmark in her book and switched her attention to him. It was unnerving. Her gaze was fathomless. She also had the same stillness Hunter had always had, even as a kid—a watchful, coiled waiting.

Why didn’t he want to see Sophia Gonzales? He had several reasons but wasn’t ready to share any of them. Not now. Probably not ever. Sophia Gonzales was one of the reasons he’d stayed far away from Bear Creek.

Chapter Three

“Iknew you’dstill be here,” Sophia’s mother, Lorena Gonzales, pushed open the door of Lost and Found Objects. Her voice had a gotcha quality that was out of place, since Sophia often worked late at her store. “After hours and with your door not locked. Your papa would not be happy.”

“Because there’s so much crime in Bear Creek.” Sophia smiled a welcome even though she knew her mom was here to scold her. She and her mother were close—as the only daughter in what her mother claimed was a brood of boys, she and her mom had been more like friends, and her father had treated her a little like a princess—she could do no wrong. But since Enrique’s death, her mother had taken on the role of a mother hen, far more than she had when Sophia had been a child. And her father treated her like an unexploded bomb.

“You are the only store open, lights blazing beckoning danger.” Her mother waved her arm wide to encompass the boutique that had only two lights on—the chandelier hanging above an antique desk where Sophia checked out customers and wrapped gifts, and another bridge-style lamp with a leopard-print lampshade in a corner. The room had a warm, orangish glow. “A beautiful woman alone on a stormy night. The streets slick with rain reflecting the angst of the—”

“Are you thinking about writing cozy mysteries?” Sophia challenged lightly. “I have no intention of playing the body. And Riley helped me set up my latest delivery of holiday inventory. She left half an hour ago. I’m…”

“On a Friday night with a man at home? I hope so.” Her mother huffed the interruption.

“Coffee?” Sophia didn’t want to conversationally go there either. She nodded at both her espresso machine and the new Keurig next to it. She loved espresso, but the variety of coffee flavors offered by her collection of Keurig pods, which seemed to be becoming an obsession, was thrilling.

“At this time of night?” Her mother’s dark, arched eyebrows—so similar to Sophia’s—rose comically. Her mother had always been overly expressive with every emotion, which had ensured she was a regular in many of the community theater productions before the theater had shuttered for good three years ago. Her mother had cried. For days.

Getting the theater reopened was on Sophia’s list.

“I have decaf.”

“What’s the point of that?”

“So you can sleep.”

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