Page 18 of Secret Santa

We heard the brothers bickering and the bubble burst.

“I…this is…” Presley cupped my jaw, the softest smile curling his lips. “This might be the most considerate thing someone has done for me.”

I’d bring him food day and night if I got to bear witness to the marshmallowy center of Presley Murray again and again.

* * *

“I don’t understand. Why would this Charley Villa guy give two shits about Presley as a coach? How does Presley being a coach hurt Charley in any way?”

The brothers had been discussing what happened with the doping scandal throughout dinner. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. This is why I loved my diner. It was simple. I fed people, they were happy. I didn’t have to worry about egos, hurt feelings, or back stabbers.

“Charley is an old teammate of Beckett’s. We never could quite figure out why he still has beef with Beckett. They used to be best friends. Then Beckett went down for public intoxication at the Olympics and was kicked off the team and Charley got off scot-free.”

Presley held up a bottle of beer and a bottle of wine in each of his hands. He lifted them up and down, weighing them in question. I pointed to the beer bottle, which he opened and passed to me with a smile, never pausing in his explanation.

“You guys are missing the obvious,” Harris chimed in, pulling up Charley’s Wikipedia page. “He’s a competitor, right? He always existed in the Beckett Murray shadow.”

“So then, shouldn’t he be sympathetic to Presley?” I asked, and all three of their heads whipped toward me in near total synchrony. Beckett was the first to break eye contact, his eyes downcast and broadcasting just how much my words had stung him. I played voyeur to an unspoken conversation between Beckett and Presley. While there were no words, I could see in the set of his jaw and the subtle pout in his lips that Beckett well and truly feltbad. Somehow I always stepped in shit at the most glorious moments.

“He isn’t winning though.” Harris cleared his throat and continued, pointing toward a chart of times that meant nothing to me. “Despite pushing Beckett out of swimming—he hasn’t been able to achieve the type of success that Beckett did. He’s still a half a second behind Beckett’s slowest timeat his fastest. Then you throw in his laughable attempt at product endorsing which failed miserably. What does he have left? His shelf life is quickly expiring, guys. He’s trying to figure out what his next move is. Now here comes the next Murray brother, who appears out of nowhere and is suddenly a coaching phenom with a kid who bested Beckett’s butterfly with a second to spare?”

“I didn’t appear out of nowhere,” Presley argued.

At the same time that Beckett asked, “Who has a faster butterfly than me?”

“It was a split within a relay. It wasn’t a posted time. But yes, Tiernan has a faster butterfly than you, it appears,” Presley answered.

While they continued to discuss what happened at the swim tournament, I noticed Fitzy had sent me a text message.

Fitzy: Is everything okay? Are you sick? It’s only 7:00 and the diner is closed.

Me: I closed early. Brought Presley some dinner. His brothers are in town.

Fitzy: Are they as good looking? Please tell me they are.

Me: Fitzy! ??

Fitzy: Any of them single? I could really use some fresh meat for the holiday auction.

Presley touched my wrist and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“I’m sorry we’re not a more genial bunch,” he whispered, twisting my hair between his fingers as he did, looking over at his brothers as they continued to argue over what to do about Charley. “It must be so boring listening to all this shop talk. While selfishly I enjoy having you here, I’ll understand if you want to go home.”

I didn’t want to. I liked the glowing warmth that the brothers all created by putting their heads together to solve a problem. I wanted to stay by that warmth and enjoy their banter and joking pot shots, it all felt so homey. But I also shut down the diner early. I would be remiss to not capitalize on an evening all to myself to prepare for next week’s onslaught of catering, cake, and pie orders.

“I should probably go back to the diner.” I sighed. “Closing early gives me a chance to get my ducks in a row ahead of next week’s rush.”

It wasn’t even eight o’clock. I could get a good four hours of work in. Even three would set me up so perfectly for the weeks ahead.

“Please drive to the diner.” He cupped my cheek and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I know you’re a perfectly capable woman who already has a big brother worrying about your safety, but if you’re going to be up half the night baking—the least you can do is park close to the door. Text me so I know you’re okay?”

He held out his hand and it took me more time than it should to break out of the haze his sweetness launched me into to realize he wanted my phone.

“There, now you have my number.”

ChapterEleven

My brothers dropped everything and came to my rescue. Without me asking them to. It was nothing I’d ever expected and everything I needed at that moment. Having them in my apartment stopped the feeling inside of me that my life was spinning out of control. And then Priscilla appeared at my door. Simply because she’d heard from two of my kids that something had happened. With no understanding of the situation, she came to care for me in the best way she knew how. My tank overfilled. I couldn’t remember a time in my adult life when I’d been so panicked and afraid, and the people I cared most about in my life circled the wagons.

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