Page 19 of All I Want For Christmas Is You

Oh, Christ.

Chapter Four

Ms. Gibbins gave him a challenging look, and what could he say? He was caught eavesdropping. So, he gave her the truth. “I was looking for Margot.”

Not me sounding like my son when he was ten and snuck an injured squirrel into his bedroom in a shoebox.

Her eyebrows shot up. “My Margot?”

“Yes.”

The older woman’s scrutiny had him running a hand through his hair because it probably still had snowflakes in it. For whatever reason, he wanted her to find him worthy of her niece’s time.

After a painfully tense moment where he was ready to concede that, yes, he was irrationally interested in a woman he’d just met and all he wanted was a little more time to get to know her better, Ms. Gibbins gave him a curt nod. Then, she tipped her head toward the door she’d just exited. “She could use a hand.” She arched one brow as though asking if he was the kind of man who’d spend his time helping out a stranger.

He waved his hands. “Ready and willing.” He smiled, then dipped inside the room like he’d just convinced a cop to let him off the hook for speeding through a school zone. He found Margot in the middle of a conference table strewn with boxes, bubble wrap, and packing tape. “Wow. Your aunt wasn’t kidding.”

Her surprise at seeing him quickly flattened into confusion. “My aunt? Oh, don’t tell me she asked you to come in here and help me. You’re on vacation.”

Oddly, there was nothing he’d rather do than be with her. He picked up a glass globe. The color was a rich blue that made him think of the depths of the ocean. “What is this?”

“That’s one of my Christmas ornaments.” She gave him a soft smile as she taped a box closed. “I sell off my remaining inventory to holiday stores.” Her hands were full, so her gaze traveled the length of the table. “I know it looks like I’ve got a lot left over, but I made a ton extra just for this reason. I actually did really well this year. Thank God.”

On closer inspection, he could see she’d hand-painted the glass. “I can see why.” Some were basic snowmen, jolly Santas, and Christmas trees, but others were unique. Dark blue backgrounds with white sketches of a pine forest, or deep green with smoke curling out of a cabin. “These are beautiful.”

“Thank you. I was an art major here at Whitney.”

“Really?” He stood there awkwardly, embarrassed because he’d hunted her down. Not that she knew about it. But her aunt did. And it made him feel like a teenager with a crush. “They have one of the best programs in the country.”

“They do.”

“I know that because Jessa was originally looking at it.” He set the ornament down and assessed the work. “What can I help with?”

“Nothing. I got it.” She moved quickly and assuredly, and since the ornaments were glass, he didn’t want to damage anything. “She switched to science?”

“Yep. Freshman year, she realized she liked art but didn’t want it as a career.” But if he couldn’t help her out, what was his reason to stay?

“How does she feel about science?”

“She loves what she does. Especially now that she’s found a way to work at the mine.”

“That’s nice that you’ll have two of your kids working with you.”

There it was again. That dip in her mood. “She’ll have to get work experience first. It’s one thing to read articles and do research and another to apply it.”

“That makes sense.” She set the box on the floor with the others and started packing another one.

“Did I say something?”

“No, why?”

“Last night in the restaurant, when we were talking about Jessa’s major, your mood changed. And it happened again just now. What happened? What did I say?”

She lowered her wrists to the edge of the table and stared at him.

This was new territory for him, caring about someone enough to ask about her mood shift, so he wondered if he’d crossed a line. Maybe she didn’t feel as comfortable with him as he did with her. He didn’t know. But she wasn’t answering. “I’m sorry. I don’t have the best social skills.” He forced a laugh. “Too much time analyzing data.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Are you sure I can’t help you? There must be something I can do.”

“No, that’s okay. I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got a system. I learned how to package after the first batch of angry emails from buyers who got nothing but shards of glass.” She grimaced. “That was bad.”

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