Page 7 of Sexy Claus

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm the unease that had settled in with the news of his death.

I can do this. It’ll help me find closure.

The tightness in her muscles slowly eased, allowing her to focus on the present. She opened the calendar on her laptop. “Ifyou have a list of where I need to be at what time, would you mind emailing me a copy? And you said Saturday, right?”

“Yep, all day Saturday. I’m sending the itinerary with notes about times and places now. There. Done. Let me know if you don’t get it in the next ten minutes and I’ll resend.”

“Great. Thanks.” A notification popped up on the screen, so she navigated to her email account. “It’s h— I thought I got it, but it’s a response from one of the people I contacted last night. Okay, here’s your email. Do you have time to hold on while I see what my former classmate has to say?”

“Sure. Fingers crossed.”

A second response appeared as Christy moved the cursor to the first, sparking a combination of hope and apprehension. Bad news usually traveled faster than good news, didn’t it?

She opened the email from the guy who’d lived down the hall in her apartment building during her final year of grad school. After a cheery paragraph with news about his wife and two children, he raved over her perfect timing. His office had been shorthanded for several months, and her experience meant he was willing to go to bat with his partners to hire her on the spot in whatever capacity she was willing to accept.

Her doubts cleared, but she moved on to the next reply. Again, a job offer practically jumped off the page, this time for a permanent position if she could be convinced by the salary. When she returned to her inbox, a third and a fourth had been delivered.

She took a quick look at both before swallowing the lump of emotion in her throat. Having choices wasn’t something she’d ever expected or encountered. “I have four emails so far. We can pick whichever location is most convenient for you. Or if you prefer a certain provider over another, we can go that route.”

“That’s amazing news. I knew you were good at your job, but this is… Wow. Your peers must really respect you. How soon can we start?”

Brenna’s observation gave Christy a boost of confidence she hadn’t known she needed. Being back where she’d grown up brought up more feelings than she wanted to deal with. “I have some things I have to do this morning. Are you free for lunch? We can discuss the details of each option and make the decision together.”

“Lunch sounds great, but it’s my turn to pay this time. How about Maxwell’s Diner on High Street at twelve thirty? I haven’t had their grilled cheese in forever.”

Thrilled for her new friend’s willingness to try another outing after the trouble on Friday, Christy shoved aside her own reluctance to venture to an old haunt. “Sounds terrific. I love grilled cheese. Meet you out front.”

“Perfect. See you in a few hours.”

Several minutes of silence passed before she finally slipped her phone into her purse and withdrew her car keys. Delaying the first trip to her childhood home since she’d left Creekside wouldn’t make it any easier.

Her stomach adamantly disagreed during the entire six-block drive and when she parked in front of the single-car garage that housed her father’s old work van. Instead of letting the past take over, she forced herself to walk to the porch, unlock the front door, and enter the modest house that held too many memories.

His ancient recliner sat in the same corner, facing a newer-looking TV. The couch where she’d done her homework all through school still stretched along the wall between the living room and the kitchen. Even the bookshelf that held her worn copies ofLittle Women,Black Beauty, and numerous other favorites hadn’t changed or been moved from its place next tothe coat closet. A light layer of dust dulled every surface, but clutter was nonexistent and the space said nothing about him or the way he’d lived since her departure.

A pang of regret tried to fight through the numbness, but she buried it with the other feelings she’d long ago relegated to the past. He’d chosen to lie to her about her mother, letting her believe she’d been the cause of her mother’s death. Childbirth hadn’t taken that woman away from them. Her mother had chosen to leave, and he’d chosen to hide the truth to protect his pride.

Christy plodded down the hall toward the bedrooms, half hoping they were uninhabitable and would necessitate staying at the hotel rather than living temporarily in a space with ghosts from her previous life. The expense might punish her bank account, but that was better than facing her already battered emotions for days and nights on end.

She stopped at the closed door to her bedroom. Her heart hammered in her chest as she reached for the knob with a shaking hand.

Just do it and get it over with.

The door swung inward, revealing what amounted to an abandoned tomb. Her hastily made bed, the books piled on her nightstand, a partially open dresser drawer—all of it suggested she’d left yesterday instead of nearly thirty years ago. The only hints she’d been gone longer were a thick coating of dust everywhere and cobwebs fluttering where the ceiling met the walls. Not a fingerprint or footstep marred the surfaces. Clearly, no one had entered her room since her hasty departure.

Did he even miss me?

She shuffled to her father’s room at the end of the hall. Since he could no longer give her a stern warning to stay out, she crossed the threshold for a closer inspection. It was every bit as sparsely decorated as it had been when she’d lived with him, butthe floor looked like it had been swept recently—possibly a day or two prior to his trip to the hospital to die—and the furniture and bedding looked relatively clean.

I can do this.

A quick search of the broom closet in the kitchen yielded a sweeper and the cleaning supplies she needed to prepare the master bedroom for her temporary habitation. How much would he hate her invasion of his privacy?

Considering all the times he’d shut down her questions, he was probably rolling over in his grave and thinking about haunting her—as if she didn’t have enough ghosts escaping from the excess baggage she carried with her everywhere.

Two and a half hours flew by while she washed the bedding, swept and dusted all but her old room, and remade the bed. She would have to tackle the closet, dresser, nightstand, and scuffed wooden desk at some point, but the thought of sorting through his private things made her stomach roil. Besides, she had a lunch appointment with her soon-to-be client.

The brisk walk brought back more memories—some good, some bad.

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