by Nancy Fraser
“That sounds good,” he echoed. “I was thinking sparkling water, but tea does sound better.”
The young man taking their order nodded and sped away.
Once he’d left, Cass asked, “Since you couldn’t make your mid-week flight, does that mean you’ll miss the weekend’s tree lighting ceremonies?” Before he could answer, she added, “I thought you might want to get back to the city to check in with your office.”
“Actually,” he explained, “I sold my tech business a couple of months ago. I’ve been consulting with the new owners on some of the more complicated program transfers but, other than that, I’m a free man.”
“So—let me get this straight—you’re unemployed.” A smirk followed her teasing words.
“No, of course not,” he teased back. “I work for my dad now. He doesn’t pay much but the benefits are great.”
“Benefits?”
His grin spread. “Yeah, I get to play with toys all day.”
Chapter 6
RICK LET HIMSELF INTO the house and locked the door behind him. He’d taken no more than a few steps toward the staircase when he noticed a light peeking from beneath the library door.
“You’re up late,” he commented when he entered the room.
William Barrett shifted in the huge leather chair. “I couldn’t sleep. I keep thinking about the factory.” He raised a book from his lap.
Rick recognized the green and red notebook, the same one his father, and grandfather before him, had used. “Mulling over the Christmas ledger, I see.”
“Yes, I am. We started the year with the same deposit to the holiday account but, as you know, investment returns weren’t what we were expecting. I was trying to decide between trimming holiday bonuses or transferring money over to cover our usual formula.”
Rick took the chair opposite his father’s. Perhaps the time had come for some tough financial love. “Transfer from your personal account, I assume. I’ve seen the books for Wil-Bar, and there’s no surplus there.”
“I’ve been feeding the Christmas piggy bank for years. I see no reason to stop now just because we’ve had a lean year.”
A sigh escaped him, and Rick shook his head slowly. “At least let me be the one to put in the extra money this year.”
William shook his head, far more adamantly than Rick had done moments before. “No, not going to happen. The factory and it’s employees are still my responsibility.”
“How about we go over everything in the morning, figure out how much we need, and then split the cost?” He paused, waiting for his father’s refusal. When it didn’t come, Rick added, “After all, you made me CEO for a reason and part of that was to take care of the employees.”
“I meant by improving work conditions, benefit packages, retirement options. Not by helping me fund the holiday bank account.” William spread his hand out and swept his reach around the ornate room. “I’ve got more than enough money...more than enough of everything...to last for the rest of my years.”
“Dad—” he began, only to be cut short.
“You can find something else to spend your money on. I’ll take care of the holiday bonuses.”
“Fine. I know better than to argue with you. How about, instead of our usual potluck, I have the holiday party catered? I know a party planner who can take care of everything.”
William snickered. “So, I heard.” At Rick’s questioning glance, he added, “Margaret called earlier. She said she and Andrew really enjoyed their evening out at the fundraiser. She also mentioned Miss...uh...Kean by name. She said the two of you kept checking each other out all night.”
Heaven save him from small-town gossip.
“Cassidy Kean is a very nice lady, ambitious without being pushy, organized, and good at her job,” Rick confirmed.
“Also, very pretty from what I hear.”
He shot his father a smile. “That she is, Dad. That she is.”
“Good. I was worried you’d be lonely here in Dickens, small town and all.” Without waiting for Rick’s comment, William asked, “What do you think of the tree?” He nodded toward the undressed, twelve-foot pine in the corner. “John Gridley’s back in town to help out at Gridley Meadows. He delivered it this afternoon. According to Sarah, it needs to sit a day or so before she and the staff start decorating.”
Rick gave the tree the once-over. “Mom would have loved it. Tall, lush, and it smells like Christmas.”
William blinked and nodded. “Yes, your mother would be right in there helping with the decorations and no doubt spending a fortune on new ones for an already over-crowded tree.”
Rick thought of the purchase he’d made at Trim-A-Tree. He was planning on giving Millie the brown-haired fairy ornament the night of the tree lighting, assuming he could coerce them into letting him tag along.
RICK PUNCHED IN CASSIDY’S business phone number, eager to talk to her again. Under the guise of a booking, of course.
Grow a pair, Ricky! Call her to ask her out, not to put her to work. Rick cursed his aggravating conscience, yet he couldn’t deny the reprimand.
She picked up on the fourth ring. “CK Planners. This is Cass.”
For a moment, he was stuck on the smooth sound of voice. “Hi,” he said finally. “It’s Rick...Barrett.”
Her soft laugh sank into his senses.
“‘Rick’ would have been enough,” she told him. “What can I do for you Rick? Barrett.”
A number of things.
“I wanted to check your availability. Business availability,” he clarified quickly. “I’d like to hire you to organize a holiday party for the employees at Will-Bar.”
“Did you have a date in mind?” she asked.
“I thought we could work around your calendar, but as close to the twenty-third as possible. That’s the last day we’ll be open until after the new year.”
She let go a slow whistle. “Nice bennies—the entire week off between holidays. I’m impressed.”
“It’s been the policy ever since my grandpa founded the company, sixty-odd years ago. To him, and my grandmother, Christmas was all about family, and you can’t be celebrating family if you’re working.”
“It sounds like your grandfather was a wise man.”
Rick knew she couldn’t see it, but he rolled his eyes. “He was a big kid, never happier than when he was playing with his toys.” He paused, adding, “My dad was the same way. Still is, as a matter of fact.”
“But not you?”
“No, I didn’t inherit the man-child syndrome. My dad’s finally coming around to the realization that handmade toys are a thing of the past, as least for the average family. My grandpa is probably rolling in his grave, as my dad often reminds me.”
“Grandpa was that enamored of his toys?”
“Let’s just say, I’m surprised they didn’t bury him in a toy box when he died.”
He could tell she was biting back an outright laugh by the way she coughed. “Sorry,” she said, “but the image...I mean.”
“Not to worry. So, what about that date?”
“Date?” she repeated in question.
Her response drew his smile. “For the party.”
“Right. The party. Give me a second.”
He realized he would have waited forever, the simple sound of her breathing on the other end of the line excited and relaxed him in equal measure.
“I’ve got a corporate breakfast the morning of the twenty-first and a cocktail party the next evening, but I’m free after that until my two New Year’s Eve commitments.”
“Two. I thought only one was getting your expertise.”
She sighed. “I couldn’t turn them away, not without running the risk of turning away a potential repeat customer. I’ll just make sure I hire the best staff available for both events.”
“We can get together on the finer details later,” he said. “However, what I was thinking was a catered lunch. The employees usually do a potluck, but I figured we’d treat t
hem this year. We can close down the assembly line at noon, give everyone time to clear their workstations before the end of their work day. You can start setting up on the main warehouse floor anytime after eleven.”
“It sounds as if you’ve thought of all the finer details already,” she pointed out.
“I’m thinking will want to settle on a menu, maybe some door prizes,” he suggested. He drew a breath and asked, “If you and Millie don’t have plans already for the tree lighting tomorrow night, I’d love to treat you both to dinner before, and then maybe we could go to the Common together.”
“That would be nice,” she said, her tone soft and sincere. “I know Millie would love it. She’s a pushover for dining out. Or it could be she just doesn’t like my cooking.”
Rick’s heart did a sudden leap in his chest. Even the thought of a pint-sized chaperone couldn’t deter his excitement. “Great. How about I pick you ladies up at five? Dinner by five-thirty, if that’s not too late. The tree lighting starts at seven-thirty, so we’ll have time to get a spot with a good view.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll text you my address.”
Chapter 7
CASS THREW HERSELF backward in the middle of her bed and let out a long whoosh of a sigh. “I can’t make up my mind,” she complained. “I’ve never had this much trouble picking out something to wear.”
Frances chuckled and then sat down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think your confusion has anything to do with what’s in your closet, and more to do with who you’re dressing to impress.”
“I’m ready, Momma,” Millie announced, running into the room and twirling around. Her rather eclectic choice of wardrobe drew Cassidy’s full-blown laugh.
The hot pink jeans, blue and green polka dot sweater, plastic bangle bracelets, and multi-colored ribbons tied haphazardly in Millie’s long hair, easily reminded Cass that beauty was definitely in the eye of the beholder. “You look lovely,” she told her daughter. “Perhaps Frances could secure your ribbons a bit better though.”
Frances tugged gently on Millie’s arm, pulling her close, and set to work straightening the half-tied bows. “Your daughter is dressed like an adorable thrift store reject, but you’re worried over which jeans go with which boots. Sounds as if Millie should be choosing your outfit.”
Cass shook her head. “No thanks. There’s no reason for both of us to be so...uh...colorful.”
Her final decision made, Cass stood at the door of her apartment, mentally reviewing both hers and Millie’s coat, scarf and boot choices. Extra gloves. She’d nearly forgotten. No doubt Millie would insist on being part of the annual snowman building contest. As an afterthought, Cass added an old scarf and cap to the mix.
Her tote overflowing, she turned to Frances. “Are you positive you don’t want to come with us? I’m sure Rick...Mr. Barrett...wouldn’t mind.”
“You two go ahead, have your dinner. I’m going to go to the tree lighting with Harriet and Joyce from my Tuesday bridge group. I’m sure I’ll see you there.”
Cass gave Frances a quick hug and then shooed Millie out into the hallway. “Our ride should be here in a minute. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Mr. Barrett’s car is really small,” Millie pointed out. “Is there going to be room for my booster seat?”
The fact her daughter remembered Rick’s fancy sportscar surprised her and gave her a moment’s pause. Was Millie right? Perhaps she should text Rick and offer to meet him at the restaurant. The thought no sooner crossed her mind when a tap sounded against the glass of the apartment building’s front door. Rick stood on the entryway stairs, his broad smile chasing away any thought she had of sportscars and booster seats.
Dressed in jeans, a dark wool jacket, and undoubtably expensive cashmere scarf, he looked good enough to eat. Or, at least, nibble on.
She opened the door and nudged Millie out into the early December cold.
He offered Cass his hand, and she was about the reach out when Millie squeezed in between them and offered up both her hands. Rick’s steps faltered for a millisecond before he closed his fingers around Millie’s and the three of them started forward.
Nodding toward the sleek SUV parked in front of the building, he told her, “I figured we’d fit better. I also had my housekeeper put in a booster seat for Millie.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Cass said.
“I was told it has ponies or something on it. I didn’t really look.”
Millie broke free from their grasp and darted forward, stopping at the backdoor of the vehicle. “A new booster seat, just for me?” she asked. “With ponies?”
“It must be for you,” he explained. “I wouldn’t fit in a booster seat.”
Millie smothered a giggle behind her mitt-covered hand. “Nope. You’re too big.”
“You’re right about that, Millie,” Rick agreed.
He stood patiently at the curb, while she secured her daughter in the plush booster complete with side pockets for treats and a flip-up tray for books or games. Compared to the worn-out model in her own car, this was the premium edition.
Once she’d finished strapping Millie in, Rick opened the passenger door and waited for her to get settled in the deep leather seat.
So, this was what luxury felt like.
“This is a nice car, Mr. B,” Millie announced once Rick had taken his place behind the wheel.
“Thank you, Millie.” Pulling the car into gear, he suggested, “If you ladies are ready, I say let’s get to the restaurant.”
“Great. I’m starving,” Millie agreed enthusiastically. “I hope they have scabetti.”
“Spaghetti,” Cass corrected.
Millie let loose a long-suffering sigh. “That’s what I said...scabetti.”
RICK PULLED UP TO THE valet parking at Antonelli’s and stepped out of the car. The young attendant opened Cassidy’s door, while Rick unbuckled Millie’s seatbelt.
“Wow!” Millie exclaimed as she jumped down from the backseat. “We don’t even have to walk from the parking lot.” She twirled around, her arms akimbo. “And look at all the pretty Christmas decorations.”
Millie smiled up at him, the restaurant’s holiday lights twinkling in her wide-eyed stare, and his heart melted.
They entered the restaurant and stopped at the hostess desk. “Reservation for Barrett,” Rick said.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Barrett. We have your table ready and waiting.”
The woman led the way, followed by Cassidy and then Millie, with him close behind. Another wave of emotion washed over him, a realization that Cassidy Kean and her daughter were definitely smoothing out his rough edges when it came to children. But, could he handle a child, a fully formed family, on a permanent basis?
Trial and error. A test drive of the personal kind. Starting with charming both mother and child.
He patted his jacket pocket, assuring himself he’d not forgotten his intended gift.
They’d about decided on their order when Millie poked her head out from behind the huge menu and drew his gaze. “You know I can’t read yet, right?”
He pursed his lips to keep from laughing. “Not to worry, Millie. I’ve got you covered.”
She nodded and set the menu down in front of her.
When their server arrived, Rick placed their order. “The lady and I will start with a glass of the house white, and a chocolate milk for our guest. Then, for our meals, two of the seared salmon with asparagus, garden salads with ranch dressing.” Nodding toward Millie, he added, “And the lovely young lady will have scabetti, with a side of green beans.”
Cass smothered a laugh behind her fingertips, and Millie grinned broadly. His heart did another little flip in his chest.
“So,” the server repeated, “two white, one chocolate, two salmon with asparagus, garden with ranch, and squiggly pasta with green beans. Got it. I’ll be back with your drinks in a few minutes.” He set a basket of warm dinner rolls on the table and retreated to p
lace their order.
“Would you like a roll with butter, Millie?” Rick asked.
“Yes, please,” she responded. “Lots of butter.”
Cassidy gave a quick shake of her head, and Rick spread a thin layer of plain butter on a white dinner roll and laid it on Millie’s bread plate.
“Thank you, Mr. B.”
“You’re welcome, Millie.” He glanced at Cassidy and then back at Millie. “If it’s okay with your mother, you can call me Rick.”
Millie shot her mother a hopeful look. “Can I, Momma, please?”
Cass nodded, “Yes, as long as you’re respectful.”
Millie mimicked her mother’s nod and sat back in her chair, her attention split between the restaurant’s holiday decor and the queue of people walking in and out of the dining room.
“About the menu for the factory party?” he began, his words snagging Millie’s attention.
“You’re having a party?” Millie asked.
“Yes, at my toy factory. You’re welcome to come if you’d like—assuming your mother doesn’t mind.”
Millie’s eyes widened and her smile spread. “You have a toy factory?”
Both he and Cassidy chuckled. “Yes, Millie,” he confirmed. “It’s been in my family for years? And, if you come to the party, I’ll give you a private tour and show you where we make all our best toys.”
Millie released a long, somewhat exaggerated sigh and sank back into her seat. “I love toys.”
“Then you’ll fit right in.”
Their salads arrived moments later, and Cassidy suggested, “Perhaps we can save the party planning for another time.” Throwing a nod in Millie’s direction, she added, “When there’s less competition for your attention, Mr. Big Shot Toy Guy.”
An inordinate amount of pleasure puffed up his ego. If being a ‘big shot toy guy’ was what it took to win over this mother-daughter combination, he had no trouble playing the part.
“Dessert?” he asked when they’d finished their salmon and Millie had both devoured—and worn—a good part of her meal.