Page 7 of A Christmas Mystery

“It’s fine,” he mutters, still standing frozen, his shoulder propping open the door and his eyes fixed disapprovingly on me.

It’s fine, he says. As if he’s being incredibly gracious in making allowances for my clumsiness.

Trying not to make a face at him, I lean over to collect my stuff.

Unfortunately, he leans down at the same time, and we bump heads. Not gently.

“Ow!” I straighten up abruptly, rubbing my head and trying to clear the pain from my brain. “I’m sorry. What a mess.”

“It’s fine,” he says again, frowning even more deeply as he bends back over to pick up my packages.

It’s fine. As if, yet again, it’s all my fault.

I lean over to retrieve my sketch pad. Some of the pages are crumpled, so I try to smooth them out.

He watches me with that same grumpy detachment, as if I’m an alien creature for caring about the state of sketches I’ve worked very hard on.

“I’ll carry these,” he mumbles, nodding down at the packages he’s still holding.

“I can—”

“I’ve got ’em.”

I want to argue because I want to get rid of this man as quickly as possible, but he’s as stubborn as a mule. He always has been. And having a debate about who is going to carry my packages will only serve to extend our time together.

He falls into step with me as I continue. Maybe he can guess where I’m heading or maybe he doesn’t care, because he doesn’t question me at all as we walk into the park and find a bench.

I put down my bag and thermos before reaching for the packages. “Thank you,” I tell him, trying to sound cool instead of completely frazzled. “Although I could have gotten them fine.”

Theo just stands and stares at me, rubbing the side of his forehead where we collided earlier.

What the hell is his problem? It’s not my fault he opened the door right into me. Is he really all mad about it?

For the first time, I notice he’s got a paper bag tucked in his pocket. It looks like the right size for a sandwich from the coffee shop. He must have stopped there to grab some lunch.

As I’m setting down the packages, one slips off the bench onto the ground again. I sure hope there’s nothing fragile in them.

Before I can lean over, Theo reaches for it and sets it in a more stable position.

Even that annoys me. Like he’s trying to prove I’m clumsy and incompetent in the most basic of actions.

“Okay,” I say at last. “I’m going to sit here and listen to the carolers.” I wait for a moment as Theo does more staring. “I’m pretty sure I can handle it on my own.”

He gives me a short nod, turns on his heel, and walks away.

Not for the first time, I wonder how Chris put up with the man. He can’t even make a pretense of civility with me.

I watch his straight back, broad shoulders, and long legs as he strides away, trying to dismiss him from my mind.

But for some reason, he won’t be dismissed.

***

THAT EVENING, I’VEplanned to meet Daniela at a coffee shop at six fifteen. She’s been working as an administrative assistant at a local art gallery for the past few years, and her shift ends at six. Like the rest of the family, she’s not inclined toward regular office work, so it’s hardly her dream job, but she likes that the gallery at least connects her to art and artists.

She’s always been more talented and ambitious in art than I ever was.

The coffee shop where we’re meeting has been around since high school, and it’s clearly still a popular place. Most of the tables are full when I arrive, and there are a few people in line in front of me.

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