Page 50 of A Christmas Spark
More than that, it would mean making a decision together—a small but significant step toward building something real and lasting between them.
“I think,” George said carefully, “that sounds like an excellent idea.”
Mabel’s face lit up. “Really? You wouldn’t mind being a permanent cat parent?”
“With you?” George grinned, running a hand over his beard. “I think I’d like that very much.”
“We’ll need to discuss logistics,” Mabel said practically, although her eyes were dancing with excitement. “Feeding schedules, vet appointments, who keeps her on what days…”
“All things we can figure out,” George replied. “Together.”
The word hung between them, full of possibility. The crowd heading into the diner filed past them, unaware of how momentous an occasion had just occurred… momentous to George, at least. He felt as if his world had just opened up, all because of a kitten.
All because ofMabel.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Mabel said finally.
“What?”
“We’re going to have to spend a lot more time together,” she said with mock seriousness. “Joint custody is a serious responsibility.”
George felt himself smiling—one of those broad grins that seemed to come to him more and more easily these days. “I think I can handle that responsibility.”
“Good,” Mabel said, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss him softly. “Because I have a feeling that kitten is going to require a lot of supervision.”
As they headed back toward The Toy Chest, George couldn’t help but think that out of all of the Christmases he’d spent in Fir Tree Grove, this was by far the best one yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Mabel stood in her kitchen, checking the pot roast that had been slowly simmering for the past few hours, and wondered why she was so nervous. It wasn’t as if she’d never cooked dinner for a man before—she’d been married for decades, for heaven’s sake. She’d hosted countless dinner parties, family gatherings, and holiday meals. Cooking for someone shouldn’t make her nervous.
But this was different. George had come to her home before, but it had always been to drop something off, to pay a quick visit. He hadn’t usually lingered. And he’d never sat down at had a meal with her before here, just the two of them in her cozy, personal space. She was aware that it meant something, and she supposed it was alright that it made her nervous.
She’d thought she was past this phase of her life, but maybe she wasn’t. There was excitement in that too, in thinking that she could still have romance and flirtation, this far on in her life.
It felt like another step, just like keeping Rascal. Another step toward what they were building together.
Mabel checked the potatoes, and adjusted the heat under the green beans. Everything was nearly ready, timed for George to arrive. She’d set her small dining table with her good China, thecream-colored set with tiny blue flowers that had been passed down to her and would eventually be Vanessa’s, and lit candles as well as decanting a bottle of red wine.
The house smelled like rosemary and thyme and pine from the Christmas tree, a faint scent of cinnamon mingled in there as well, a cozy scent of home and hearth and the holidays. She’d spent the afternoon tidying up, not because her house was messy, but because she wanted everything to be perfect. She’d fluffed the sofa cushions, arranged fresh flowers in a vase, and made sure Rascal’s toys were neatly contained in the basket by the fireplace.
Well, mostly contained. The kitten had already managed to liberate a catnip mouse and was currently stalking it with the intensity of a lion hunting a gazelle.
She glanced at the clock. George would be here any minute, and she was surprised to discover that she felt like a teenager getting ready for her first real date. When had she become this person who fussed over place settings and worried about whether her house was welcoming enough? She’d never been a fussy person, but now she was suddenly pacing, checking everything one more time.
The doorbell chimed and Mabel smoothed her hands over the forest green sweater she’d chosen—not too fancy, but flattering enough to make her feel confident—before going to answer the door.
George stood on her front porch looking handsome and slightly uncertain, holding a bouquet of red and white roses that made her heart flutter. He’d traded his usual work clothes for dark jeans and a burgundy sweater, and his hair and beard were neatly combed.
“George,” she greeted him, opening the door wider and feeling her nervous energy transform into pure happiness. “You look wonderful. Come in, come in before you freeze.”
“These are for you,” he said, offering her the roses with that endearing awkwardness he always displayed when doing something romantic. “I thought… well, I hoped you might like them.”
“They’re beautiful,” Mabel said, accepting the flowers and taking a deep breath of how good they smelled. “Thank you. You really didn’t need to bring anything, but I’m so glad you did.”
She stood on her tiptoes to give him a gentle kiss. “Let me put these in water, and then we can eat. Pot roast is just about ready.”
“It smells delicious,” George said as he stepped inside, taking off his boots and hanging up his coat while Mabel went to put the flowers in water. As she arranged the roses in her favorite crystal vase, Mabel could hear George greeting Rascal, who had abandoned her toy hunt to investigate their visitor.
