Page 44 of Mistlefoe
“You really look like both of them though.” She studies them for a moment. “You have your mom’s hair color and her smile—with teeth, of course. But adult you looks so much like your dad.”
“Yeah.” I smile a little, because I hadn’t laid eyes on this picture in a long while. But she’s right, I have both of my parents faces in mine. “I guess that means I’ll look just like Gramps when I’m old.”
“Not a bad prospect.” Sierra snorts. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of old ladies I caught checking him out when we went to the supermarket earlier.”
“How did that even happen?” I shake my head. “Actually, how did you even get him on board?”
Sierra clasps her hands at her back and pivots to face me. “It wasn’t hard and I’m not bragging. I just explained what’s riding on this for both of us.”
I scratch my beard, analyzing her. “Clearly, my reasons weren’t the ones that convinced him. What are you doing all this for, Sierra?”
“My grandmother.” Her eyes soften, lips stretch into a soft smile. “She lives back in our home country and her health isn’t getting any better. I want to share at least this Christmas with her, if only once.”
“So it’s not because of an apartment?”
She has the decency to turn sheepish. “No.”
“You lied.” I narrow my eyes.
“Kinda? I’d like to have my own place one day, but it’s not the main reason why I’m after this bonus and the promotion.”
“That makes sense,” I say softly even as I fold my arms. “But you still lied. Why?”
“I didn’t trust you.” Sierra admits this openly. “I didn’t know you.”
“And now?”
“I’m getting to know you.” Her eyes sweep around us, to the faded posters of Gretzky and Dryden, the medals and ribbons nailed to the walls without order, the bookshelf leaning under the weight of books, gear, and old toys, to the tiny bed I hated during my teenage years. “And very closely, at that.”
I swallow hard. I want to ask her if she wants to learn more. If she’s liking what she’s found so far. But something holds me back.
I’ve never been the smoothest talker with women. That kind of talent comes from self-confidence, and I’ve always lacked something in that department. Whether it was my upbringing, or the fact that I was a good player but not the cream of the crop, also not the most good looking guy in the room, and smart but not about to win awards for that either. In just a few short weeks, Sierra has seen everything about me, all of my shortcomings and everything I’ve lost. Not to mention that we’ve been cat and dog for two years. I can’t imagine she’d want anything with me.
So, I clamp my mouth tight and don’t ask, even if curiosity will be gnawing a hole through my stomach later tonight.
But it’s like she’s gone and read my mind, because all of a sudden she says, “You’re a good person, Conor Mahoney. I’m sorry I didn’t see that before.”
My mouth opens.
“Hey, are you up to no good in there, or why is Conor not setting the table?” Gramps yells from the hallway, as if he didn’t dare approach any closer.
Sierra and I jump away from each other as if we had been, in fact, up to scandalizing shenanigans.
“I’m—Um. Can I just use your restroom for a second?” Sierra pushes a curl behind her ear.
“Yes, of course. I’ll—I’ll go set the damn table.”
“Hah, yeah.”
“Yeah…”
We both pivot in opposite directions at the same time. I make a whole racket as I stride toward the kitchen, hoping Gramps knows who exactly is coming.
“Gramps,” I hiss anyway. “What the heck was that?”
“Well, you never know. Two attractive young people alone in a room?” He starts chuckling in his usual raspy way and then stops. “You do find her attractive, right?”
I frown. “What kind of question is that?”
