Page 50 of One More Yule Log
“You just need to remember winners have to be gracious just like people who don’t win, huh?” Ben winked broadly.
“Like not calling them losers,” she agreed.
“Exactly, and finding the line between celebrating and crowing, which is so hard.” Ben smiled at him. “That’s something you’ll learn and relearn, over and over. Even grownups have to learn that.”
“Do you?” Liv asked Gray.
“Oh, yeah. I’m competitive. I want to win. But I know other people do, too, so I pull it in sometimes. Not that Iletanyone win.” He tried to couch it in terms she might understand. “And I try to think about how the other people feel. Is what I’m doing to celebrate winning making them feel bad?”
She pursed her lips. “So it’s okay to celebrate, but not be like, mean.”
“Right. You remember how Daddy Dale used to watch football and those guys would get in trouble for throwing the football down so hard it bounced?”
She frowned, little face crinkling up. “Kinda? It’s hard to remember him sometimes. Is that… I mean, does that make me bad, that I don’t think about him so much?”
“No, baby girl. That’s just normal. You were little when he left.” Ben’s smile was bittersweet, but there wasn’t a lot of pain that he could see.
“Can we have a cupcake now?” She was such a kid, all quicksilver changes of direction like a little bird.
“If it’s okay with Gray.”
Liv turned those eyes on him, the grin wicked. “Oh beloved Gray, king of sweets, please, sir. Can I have a cupcake?”
“Why yes, you can. I think we should all have one with extra whipped cream.” He led the parade back to the kitchen.
“Ooh. Extra whipped cream.” That wasn’t Liv. That was Ben bouncing.
“Yep. The buttercream is just not all that sweet, so we can splurge.” He grabbed Ben and danced him about.
“Boys. Focus. Cupcakes.”
God, he loved that little girl.
“Yes, ma’am.” Gray pulled the Tupperware container and cream out of the fridge. “Let’s do this.”
Ben’s laughter told him they’d fixed that bad mood right up. How cool was that?
He loved that he could do that, ease Ben’s worries.
That was what he always thought it would be like to be part of a couple. A part of something wonderful.
* * *
“Okay,no. No. No, I understand. Thank you.” Goddamn it. Why was everything just becoming a shit show? Ben hung up, staring at the new phone. There wasn’t a single place in the Roaring Fork who could accommodate the date they’d set for the client party.
What was he supposed to do? What the fuck was he supposed to do?
He shook his head. Maybe he could get Jack to change the date. Then he could call the club… He would pay to send out new invites to everyone with apologies to the people who had sent an RSVP.
Hell, he was the fucking owner, wasn’t he? He could change the date. He called the Caribou Club and demanded a manager.
“Hello? This is Angela DeMoss.”
“Hey, Ms. DeMoss, I’m Ben Nightingale with Nightingale Realty.”I’m the guy whose party you fucked over.
“Oh? O-hh.” Yeah, she got it. “I am so sorry, Mr. Nightingale. I had no idea my supervisor had double-booked.” She sounded appropriately apologetic, but he had to steel himself not to feel sorry for her.
“I hadn’t either until yesterday, ma’am. The question is, how on earth do we fix this? I have clients expecting a party.” He went for charming.
