Page 24 of Under the Mistletoe

“Okay. A grilled cheese it is.” I started to back out of the room but stopped when I thought back to how sick her mother had just been. “Are you sure you feel up for that with your tummy and all?”

“Hm-hmm. I want ‘em.”

“Okay, you got it.”

Ava followed me into the kitchen and climbed up on one of the kitchen stools. Her tiny legs swung back and forth as she watched me walk over and start searching through the cabinets.I sounded like a bull in a china shop as I fumbled through the pots and pans. I finally found the skillet and placed it on the stove before going over to the fridge for the cheese and butter.

I was about to turn on the stove when I realized I’d forgotten the bread. I stepped over to the pantry and grabbed a loaf from the second shelf before returning to the stove. I was about to get started when Ava muttered, “That’s not right.”

“What?”

She pointed to the loaf of bread and said, “That’s not it.”

“What do you mean?” I picked it up and looked at it. “Looks like bread to me.”

“It has seeds.”

“Seeds?” I had no idea what she was talking about, so I argued, “Kid, bread is bread.”

“No.” She shook her head like she was already over my incompetence. “In the fridge.”

“The fridge? Why would bread be in the—never mind.” I opened the door, and sure enough, there it was. I was starting to regret volunteering for this mission as I grumbled, “All right, we’re back on track.”

I started buttering the bread like a pro. The sizzle of butter hitting the hot surface felt like victory—until Ava wrinkled her nose and said, “You’re supposed to use the green one.”

“Thegreenone? What’s wrong with this one?”

“It’s for pancakes.”

She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and I was a jackass for not knowing better. She reminded me of her mother back in the day—full of sass and determination. I sighed and swapped out spatulas because arguing with a four-year-old wasn’t a battle I cared to win. As I flipped the sandwich, she leaned her chin on her hands and gave me a serious look. “You think Santa will come?”

Surprised by the sudden shift in conversation, I looked over at her and asked, “Why wouldn’t he?”

“We moved.”

“And?”

“What if he can’t find us?”

“Hey now,” I said, crouching down to meet her eyes. “Santa can always find you. He’s got magic powers and can find anyone—even you and your momma.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” I tapped her nose. “Santa will be here. Don’t you worry about that.”

The sandwich was done by then, and I slid it onto a plate, cutting it diagonally like Beck always did. Ava gave me an approving nod as I set it in front of her. She picked it up and took bite. After a few chews, she smiled, and it was like hitting the lottery. “You like it?”

“Hm-hmm.”

“Good deal.” I turned off the stove and put the skillet in the sink. “I’m going to go see about your momma. I’ll be right back.”

I walked into the living room and was surprised to find that Beck was no longer lying on the sofa. Thinking that she might have gotten sick again, I went to check the bathroom. When I walked by her room, I was relieved to find that she was curled up in bed. Damn. I don’t know how long I stood there staring at her, marveling at how beautiful she was.

Fighting the urge to crawl in next to her, I covered her up with the comforter and walked out of the room. I hated seeing her so sick and felt compelled to do something to make her feel better. And then it hit me.

There was something I could do, but it was risky. She’d either love it or absolutely hate it. There was only one way to find out.

It was time for me to call in a few favors...

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