Page 27 of A Not So Merry Rescue
“Nope. Not when they’re coming from your kitchen.”
I peek at the cookies cooling on the racks.
“Mind if I swipe a few?” Snowballs are my weakness, and I’ll go out on a limb and say Willa would prefer those over candy canes or gingerbread.
Mom does me one better, handing over a paper plate covered with foil. “Knew you’d be by eventually. I’ve got chicken noodle soup, too. Oh, and some mac and cheese.” She raises her brow, like she knows something she’s not willing to share. It’s the same look she’s given us kids all our lives. Though her hair’s grayer now, her wrinkles more distinguished, and I tower over her, the look is the same from my childhood.
Though I’m not sure how she could know about Willa. I didn’t mention her to anyone.
“Heard you’ve got a houseguest.”
“How did you?—”
“Child, you must have forgotten your sister owns two of the three lodging places in town. Did you think word wouldn’t get around?”
“The pitfall of small-town living rears its ugly head.”
“Nonsense. You love our town, small and nosy as it is.”
I’m not sure I’d survive a week in a big city. Which is a gross exaggeration, though I’m not prepared to try it out. For all its drawbacks, Winterberry has been an awesome place to grow up, build a business, and support the community. My family’s all here. Why would I leave? Where would I go?
“Is she staying long?”
“Until I’m able to fix her car. Probably tomorrow if I get all the necessary parts. If not, when it’s done.”
“It’s too bad she won’t be here for Christmas. Show her the best of our town . . .” My expression morphs into one Mom reads well. She waves away the disappointment trying to settle in. “She’s probably got family to celebrate with. Makes sense.”
My alarm blares from my pocket, saving me from elaborating further.
“She does.” Hey, it’s not a lie. She has a family. Whether shecelebrates, Mom doesn’t need to know. I hold up my mug. “Can I get this to go?”
Mom grabs a Styrofoam cup from the top of the stack and pours the liquid in it. She covers it with a lid and sends me on my way. “Don’t forget your cookies and meals. Hope . . . your guest likes them. What’s her name?”
“Willa. I’ll keep you posted.”
Not.A sudden urge not to share her with anyone overcomes me. Even if it won’t ever be a possibility for them to meet.
I hurry into my boots and coat, forgoing the hat and gloves.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling down the snow-covered driveway to the cabin. I’ll plow what remains after we eat dinner.
I don’t miss how the front yard is dark. I swear I flipped the switch back on last night, but Willa must have turned it off. I can’t help but notice the blinds are drawn, too.
Inside, Willa sits at the kitchen table, her laptop open in front of her. A different pair of glasses perches over her eyes, the colorful frames accentuating the deep blue.
Damn, she’s beautiful. If not for her idiotic hatred of Christmas, she could be someone I fell for. Though her beauty’s the last on the list of admirable traits.
She’s quick-witted and funny, has a flair for the dramatic, and isn’t afraid to share her opinions. She’d be an avid opponent in any sort of challenge and, most likely, fun in bed.
“That smells delish. I’m starving.”
Her statement snaps me out of the hold she has over me. I step out of my boots and deposit the pizza, bag, and coffee on the counter.
“Did you not eat?”
“I did. Well, actually. Kudos to the chef on the pork. Restaurant quality.”
“What makes you think it wasn’t me?”
