Page 184 of Accidentally Under Your Tree

The morning just kept getting better and better.

Will

Two nights before Christmas

The storm had grounded all flights coming and going from west and central Michigan. It was just a matter of time before the weather hit Flint and Detroit shutting down their airports. So, even if I wanted to take the risk of the drive across the state, I'd just be trapped there instead of here.

Which I was still considering.

The only reason I was lying on my back in the spare bedroom while feeling sorry for myself. Instead of driving through the ice storm while feeling sorry for myself, was because ice storms were dangerous, and the rental car had barely adequate tires. Ice pinged against the windowpane above my head. Irritatingly enough, it reminded me of the first night I'd met Lizzy.

The sudden dark of the bar, my hand on her waist to balance her. My first glimpse of her dimples when she smiled. Her slow thawing like a reward forgetting to know her.

How had we met only a few days ago? How was I in such a sad state after only a handful of moments?

Because being with her feels like electricity.

I groaned and scraped a hand across my face. I wished, again, for something to do. A task to keep my hands busy. A nail to hammer. Something to turn my brain quiet. The familiar satisfaction of creating something—of a job done.

Then, as if conjured, the high-pitched buzz of a power tool brought me sitting straight on the bed. My feet were on the carpet and moving toward the closed door before I realized what I was doing. Stepping into the hallway, a mixture of hope and anxiety surged through me at the possibility of finding myself face-to-face with Lizzy.

Her door was closed.

Rose and Kelly were in the kitchen wearing flour covered aprons. The oven heated the room. The scent of their cookies baking was a manifestation of Christmas.

Except for Lizzy missing from this adorable tableau.

I hated to think that it might be my fault that she wasn't spending time with her family. It twisted my gut to imagine her in her bedroom feeling as terrible as I did. My only recourse was to leave her alone.

The corners of Kelly's lips turned down, and she nodded at her daughter with appreciation. "Goodness, you called that."

I lifted an eyebrow at Rose.

She shrugged. "I told Mom the drill would get you out of the room."

"And then you were here." Kelly gestured toward me with two giant oven mitts covering her hands. "Jim's in the garage."

I hadn't seen much of him since the conversation from the day before. It was possible my existence still irritated him. It was for sure that I was uncomfortable around him…but thepower tools.

I shoved my fists in my pockets. "Do you think he'd mind if I helped?"

"He'll appreciate the help," Kelly answered with confidence.

I didn't believe her, but the prospect of doing something was too great to turn down. The whiz of the drill started again, and I followed it like a siren's call.

The minivan was parked in one of the garage stalls, the other acted as a woodworking shop. He hunched over a board suspended on work horses. To his credit, instead of rolling his eyes when he saw me, he jerked his chin in welcome. I closed the kitchen door behind me. The scent of wood shavings and motor oil were even more comforting than the cookies. I swung my arms, my hands hitting my thighs with a smack, unsure of what body language would be correct in this instance. At least his attention had returned to the two planks of wood he was screwing together.

"What do ya got goin' here?" I asked.

"A bookshelf for a friend's grandkid."

"Nice…" I nodded, more bobble head like than human. "Can I help?"

He grunted in what seemed like affirmation.

Though he had it in hand on his own, I folded myself into his task. For a few minutes we didn't speak—just passed tools back and forth. When we started adding the shelves, he asked, "You've never dated my daughter?"

My shoulders fell. The silence had been too good to last. "No, Rose and I have always just been good friends."

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