Page 5 of Just Add Mistletoe

Mr. Ronning waved a hand. “I’m fine. My wife’s already on her way to pick me up.”

“I’ve got him,” Lori told Malcom.

“Do you want to sit in my shop?” she asked Mr. Ronning. “It’s more comfortable than this cement curb.”

It took Mr. Ronning only a half second to agree, and Malcom was left standing on the curb, watching the two cross the street—Mr. Ronning’s walk more of a shuffle, Lori’s silver cat earrings catching the light. He kept his gaze firmly on her swaying ponytail and not her swaying hips as questions rushed through his mind. What was Lori’s last name? Was she involved with anyone? She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—but not everyone wore a ring. Would she have joined the protesters if she didn’t have a shop to run? He adjusted his ball cap, then rubbed his neck. Focus, he told himself.

Then he crossed to the cops, who were now talking to his construction crew. “Everything good?” he asked.

“Everything’s fine now,” one of the officers said. “The mayor is arriving at any moment to talk to the residents. Give you his support. But you’re free to move your excavator and start working.”

Relief rushed through Malcom. When all was said and done, the delay had been less than an hour.

The crew broke up, climbed back into the trucks, and the procession moved forward. Malcom hopped in his own truck, found a place to park, and climbed out just as a pink truck pulled into the lot.

His heart sank.

Penny Gilchrist stepped out, dressed like a cross between a Barbie Instagram influencer and a Halloween costume of aconstruction worker. He wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. Penny was his sister-in-law’s sister, although the two women couldn’t be more different. Kari was completely down to earth, and Penny . . . well, she floated above the earth on most days.

“Malc!” Penny said in her singsong tone. She was thirty-four, two years older than him, and had definitely been through some living, most of which she covered up with layers of makeup. “Happy first day!”

She swung her hip against the truck door since her hands were full of what looked like coffee and a sack of pastries or bagels.

Malcom knew he couldn’t totally avoid her since she worked for the company as their operations manager. The woman was as smart as a whip, which only made him more wary. He always felt like she was setting traps around him, and he invariably stepped in every single one. He’d once confessed to his brother how uncomfortable he was with Penny’s overt friendliness, but Bronson had just laughed. Told him he was overreacting. Told him that was just Penny’s personality. It would be too weird if she crushed on him.

Oh, Malcom agreed with that, but how else would anyone define it? The generous gifts, the leading questions, the affectionate touches, the laughter when he hadn’t said anything funny at all.

As she neared, he tried not to wince at the sight of Penny practically teetering as she walked on high heels. Who wore high heels to a construction site? Penny Gilchrist, apparently.

“You’re looking fine, Malc,” she gushed, her smile wide, face framed by wavy blonde hair.

He tamped down his irritation at the way she shortened his name to Malc. He’d been called Mac plenty of times—that, he didn’t mind—butMalc? Sounded like some sort of foot powder.

Penny’s all-pink ensemble stood out like a flashing light in the middle of a foggy night. “I love your construction-boy look. Very handsome.”

Malcom forced his expression to remain nonplussed. He was wearing the most basic outfit. Gray T-shirt, jeans, construction boots. A ball cap.

“What brings you all the way out here?” he asked, because he was truly curious. They all worked out of their homes, and Penny lived about a thirty-minute drive from Everly Falls.

“Just making a special delivery.” She held up the sack. “Apple tarts. Your favorite.”

Malcom had no idea where she got that idea from. Sure, he liked apple tarts. He liked all food, in fact. But he wasn’t much of a breakfast person. So something like apple tarts sounded way too sweet.

He took the sack because she was practically shoving it into his face. “Well, thank you. I’m sure I’ll enjoy them at some point today.”

Penny laughed. Then she inched closer. “Did you see all those protestors? Do you think this will be on the news?”

Malcom set the sack inside the bed of his truck. “I doubt it,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and stepping away from her. “I don’t see any journalists or cameras.”

“Oh right.” Penny laughed again. “Hey, before you talk to the workers, or whatever it is you do, I need your advice.”

He would have preferred to walk away, but she grasped his arm, her long fingernails like talons against his skin.

“I went to a dance club last night with my girlfriends, and this guy kept hitting on me.” She pushed her lips into a pout. “I mean he was cute, but kind of young for me. Maybe in his mid-twenties. I didn’t want to be rude, so I took his number. But now I’m wondering if I should have just said no and told him aboutyou.”

Malcom stared at her. What was she saying? What did she mean? “And . . . what would you have told a complete stranger at a bar aboutme?”

“Oh, you know, that I have a really cool boss and he’s the jealous type.” She winked at him as her hand slid up his arm.

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