Page 23 of A Miracle for the Reserved Flyboy

With a sigh, she quickly typed a message to her mom.

Mom, I’m heading home. Sorry, things were running really late, but it’s ready for tomorrow. Be there in ten! XOXO

Hitting send, she slid her phone back into her pocket and got into her car, feeling the adrenaline and anticipation finally winding down into a weariness that settled into her bones. She leaned back in the driver’s seat for a moment, letting the quiet of the car wrap around her. The night was dark, save for the glow of holiday lights along the street, casting a warm glow against the windows. She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, feeling the stillness of the evening seep into her heart.

For a moment, the ache of uncertainty gave way to a flicker of hope.

She was going to have to talk to Gary – period.

Chapter 8

CASANOVA

Gary took a deep,steadying breath as he stood on the front porch, trying to summon every ounce of courage he possessed. The last few minutes had been a blur—Cajun had dropped him off, and the creeping realization that Margie might have deceived him hit him like a bucket of ice water. What if Margie had lied, weaving an elaborate story to mess with him? She could’ve been some bitter woman out for revenge, creating an entire plan to mess with his head. And he’d fallen for it all—every word that slipped from her lips, every assurance she’d given him. He’d crafted responses, written heartfelt explanations, and even drafted apologies he’d painstakingly saved, all lined up in his email drafts, ready to send at the click of a button.

“Sweet baby Jesus…” he muttered, running a hand through his hair and taking another deep breath. With one last whispered prayer, he reached up and knocked on the door, bracing himself for whatever lay ahead.

The door creaked open, and standing before him was a woman who could only be Krista’s mother. She had the same gentle curls, swept back in a different style, and wore a light mauve eyeshadow instead of Krista’s usual neutral shades. Yet, the resemblance was unmistakable—the warmth in her gaze, the delicate lines around her eyes.

“Mrs. Simpson?” he ventured, his voice more tentative than he’d intended.

“Yes?” she replied, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“My name is Gary Rutlinger, and I’m… well, I’m a friend of your daughter’s…” he began but barely had the words left his mouth before the woman’s face lit up with an expression of pure delight. In a heartbeat, she had shoved open the storm door with surprising force, sending him stumbling back against the brick wall in the small alcove of the porch.

“Say that again, young man?” she demanded, her tone eager.

“I… I’m a friend of your daughter’s, and?—”

“Merciful heavens! I knew the girl had it in her!” Mrs. Simpson exclaimed, her eyes twinkling as she reached out, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him closer. She squinted, examining his face, and then pinched his cheeks with a motherly zeal that left him chuckling nervously. “Let me get a good look at you! Honey! HONEY! Come here—QUICK! Krista’s got herself a young man here, and he’s a cutie-patootie if I ever saw one!”

“Ma’am…” Gary tried, but her excitement was unstoppable.

“Oh, just let me look at you,” she insisted, sizing him up with a critical eye. “Pretty eyes, no bald spot, no receding hairline… and those freckles! Adorable, though I’m sure Krista would prefer them on a toddler…” She stepped back slightly, her gaze softening, then paused as a thought seemed to dawn on her. “Oh dear, you aren’t that type of friend… are you?”

“Actually, I’d really like to discuss a few things with you,” he managed to get out, steadying himself as she released her grip on his shirt.

Her curiosity sharpened instantly. “About Krista?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Just then, a tall figure appeared in the doorway, looking mildly irritated as he assessed the situation. “What’s all this commotion about?” the man asked, his tone brisk. “We’re not buying anything. I’ve already found God, and can’t you read the ‘No Soliciting’ sign? It’s Christmas, so I’ll give you to the count of three…”

“Martin…” Mrs. Simpson interjected, rolling her eyes.

“Fine, Christmas spirit and all that. I’ll give you to ten…” he grumbled, clearly set on his plan of ejecting Gary.

“Martin!” she repeated, voice rising.

“What, honey?”

She leaned closer to him, cupping her hand as if sharing a conspiratorial secret. “I think he might be sweet on Krista,” she whispered, her eyes widening with excitement.

Gary watched as Mr. Simpson’s brow lifted, his expression softening as he glanced between his wife and Gary. He gave a small nod toward Gary as if to say, “This guy?” His wife nodded emphatically, a wide grin spreading across her face.

“Well now,” Mr. Simpson cleared his throat, crossing his arms and looking Gary over more appraisingly. “What did you say your name was?”

“Gary, sir.”

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