Page 3 of Sexy Claus

“Easy? Maybe. Easier? Yes, with practice. That you were open to trying is something to be proud of. Not everyone wants to.”

A small smile transformed the young woman’s face, but she seemed at a loss for words.

Christy’s stomach rumbled under her wool peacoat, nudging her to move along, but her feet refused to budge. “I haven’t eaten yet, and there’s a pizza place right here. Would you like to join me?”

“Are you sure that’s okay? I mean, yes, I would, but you don’t have to feel obligated.” Brenna’s skin flushed a deeper shade of pink around the cold-induced color on her nose and cheeks. “Their breadsticks are my favorite.”

Snuffing out a small flame of anger at whoever had excluded Brenna because of her disability, intentional or not, Christy grinned. “Yum. I love breadsticks. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

Before her new friend could change her mind, Christy hustled back to her car. By the time she started the engine and switched off the flashers, a pickup truck and an SUV sat behind her.

Honk. I dare you.

Surprisingly, neither driver laid on their horn.

She’d been so focused on helping Brenna that she had no idea how long they’d been waiting. She flipped on her turn signal, lowered her window, and waved her hand at the people who’d been patient. Did they recognize their wheelchair resident and respect her right to use crosswalks and sidewalks like anyone else?

Christy pulled into an empty parking space as Brenna rolled toward the entrance to the restaurant. Though her progress across the lot was fairly slow, she clearly didn’t plan to give up.

As promised, Christy met her in time to pull open and hold the door—that didn’t have an automatic opener. The threshold wasn’t exactly chair-friendly, either, but her companion managed enough of a wheelie to navigate the bump while Christy stood at the ready to assist, without being obvious. “What’s good here, besides the breadsticks?”

“My dad always orders the lasagna special, but I like their margherita pizza. And I usually get a house salad.” Reaching into her crossbody purse, Brenna pulled out her phone. “Speaking of Dad, I should text him and let him know where I am. He worries.”

After an acknowledging nod and a scan of the dining room layout, Christy stepped up to the hostess stand. “A regular table for two please. No high-top or booth. In a corner would be great, if you have it.”

The young man retrieved a pair of menus from the lower shelf. “Yes, ma’am. This way.”

She gestured for Brenna to go first and trailed along behind her. When they stopped at the table, Christy motioned to the side with the best access. “Can you please remove this chair?”

His confused expression became a blush, signaling his realization that one of his patrons had brought her own seat. “Oh, sure. Your server will be right out.”

As soon as they’d settled in, Brenna heaved a breathy sigh. “Thanks for handling that. Dad and I haven’t done dine-in since before the accident. It always sounded like too much work, but you… I don’t want to put anybody out because I need special—”

“You have just as much right to be here as anyone else. People request tables be moved together for large groups and chairs taken away to make room for highchairs. All kinds ofthings like that. Having access isn’t special treatment. Asking for what you need can be hard at first, but most people and places will accommodate you. And you’re allowed to complain if they don’t, just like you’d complain about mediocre service, dirty silverware and plates, or bad food.” Christy slid her menu to the edge of the table, keeping her tone conversational, even though a lack of accessibility always sparked her temper. “Margherita is one of my favorites, so why don’t you order? My treat, by the way, since I invited you.”

Brenna seemed to finally relax by the time the waiter arrived. After he dropped off their drinks, her phone buzzed. She shook her head and frowned before she tapped in a response. “My dad is freaking out that I left the basketball game without telling him. He said to stay where I am and he’ll be here to pick me up in fifteen minutes. I told him thirty minutes, or I’ll cause a scene. He hated the drama when I was a teenager, not that I acted like a brat often.”

Her giggle assured Christy the young woman across from her was going to be a pleasure to work with for the four to six weeks dealing with the house would take. “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

“Twenty-four.” Brenna raised her chin, like she was trying to muster a bit of courage. She paused while the server delivered their order. Her smile faded a bit as she continued. “I’ve felt more like my grandma’s age since the accident.”

“Some days, I feel like I could be a thousand. Life can be…challenging. Physically and emotionally.” Determined not to let either of them get sucked into a pointless wasteland of self-pity and misery, Christy plated a slice for them both. “But pizza helps. I hope it tastes as good as it looks and smells.”

The distraction seemed to work on her supper companion since she grinned and added a breadstick to her plate. “I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.”

They were mostly silent while they ate, keeping to short and simple topics—the weather, the piped-in music, whether or not they would have leftovers.

As the server cleared away their empty dishes roughly half an hour later, headlights swept across the wall of windows at the front of the building. Then Brenna’s phone vibrated against the table.

She tapped the screen and sighed before flicking her thumbs back and forth. “My dad’s here. He wants to come in and get me, but I told him I was okay. He’s way too overprotective, even more so now than he used to be.”

Christy searched the front pocket of her wallet after she returned her credit card to its slot. “Here’s my business card with my cell number and email. I’m in between jobs right now because of a move, but I’ll see if I can connect with a local home-health service or doctor’s office so we can make sure everything is on the up and up. I’ll start putting out feelers Monday morning.”

“I’m really glad you stopped. Thank you for that. And everything.” Brenna tucked the card in her purse and slipped her arms into her coat sleeves. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

CHAPTER TWO

“Dad, it’s fine.”His daughter’s eye-roll as she picked up her coffee mug reminded Sven Carlsen of her teenage years. “Really. I’m an adult and I’d like to be treated like one.”

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