Christmas Comes to Dickens

by Nancy Fraser

  “Okay, John.”

  He stood and faced Heather, who could barely breathe after witnessing the tender moment. The man wasn’t as tough as he appeared.

  “Give Wendy your address when you check out.” He hoisted their tree as if it weighed nothing and began to march away. Calling over his shoulder, he added, “Give her your phone number, too, in case anything changes. I don’t want to let you down.”

  He paused unexpectedly and spun to face Heather again. Their gazes locked and held as the world around her seemed to fade away. John said nothing, merely smiled. And a million butterflies took flight in her stomach.

  “See you tomorrow, John Gridley,” Hailey called after him. She turned to her and said, “He’s a very nice man. I like him.”

  Unaware, she drove the reality of their next encounter home to her mother’s shaken yet hopeful heart.

  Chapter 4

  JOHN CHECKED HIS PHONE’S clock for the hundredth time, swearing he would not be late as he hurried into the kitchen the next afternoon.

  “Where are you going all dolled up?” Pops asked.

  “Why, because I have something on other than a dirty Gridley Meadows Farm sweatshirt?”

  His father looked him up and down. “Yeah. That. Man don’t shower, shave, and put on fancy clothes to sit at home with his old man.” He sipped his afternoon tea in his favorite cup as he’d done for as long as John could remember. Picking up the Sunday newspaper, he went straight to the comics section.

  John buttoned the sleeves of his best shirt, and he tucked the tails into stiff jeans. Everything felt tight, restricted, and scratchy. It’s been a long time since I was in a dress uniform. Yet no way was he going to Heather Murphy’s house looking like a slob.

  He filled a glass with tap water and chugged it down, trying not to sweat in his new clothes. Wonder if I should have used cologne after my shower? No, too much. Pops was already riding him. He’d have a field day with the trendy crap Kim always wanted him to wear.

  “I’m heading into town to deliver a tree,” he said, shooting for his best indifferent tone.

  “Oh?” his dad replied, his gaze never straying from the pages.

  John swallowed the anxious lump in his throat. “I’m going to Heather Murphy’s place.”

  Tom Gridley lowered the newspaper to peer at his son through smudged glasses. “Saw you two talkin’ yesterday.”

  Silence hung like a dark cloud between them.

  “It’s not a date,” John blurted and then wanted to beat himself.

  Pops met his stare. “If it were, I’d say you were a smart man. Heather is one of the nicest women I know. Good people, she and that sweet little Hailey.”

  A fraction of the tension John was experiencing eased out of his tight muscles, and he forced himself to stand down.

  You’re only delivering a tree. Nothing more.

  And getting a book.

  And seeing where the prettiest woman you’ve laid eyes on in a long while lives.

  As in you’re visiting her home.

  Son of a bitch. Cut it out!

  “Okay. I’ll see you later,” he barked at his unfazed father. “I won’t be home late, so don’t worry.”

  Pops put the paper down and scowled at him. “I wouldn’t mind if you were. I got your number if I need ya.”

  John spun on his heels to leave.

  “Take your coat. It’s gonna snow tonight,” the old man called after him.

  John paused in the doorway. “There’s no snow in the forecast.”

  “I can feel it in my bones. Trust me, it’s gonna snow.”

  “DID YOU PICK UP ALL your toys?” Heather yelled to her daughter in the kitchen. She knelt to retrieve a stray sock with no match that had been lying on the living room floor for at least three days.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “And did you put away all your homework? Your backpack is still here on the living room chair.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  Heather huffed in frustration when she heard cupboard doors opening and closing. “Hailey...what are you doing in there? Mr. Gridley could be here any minute. I want this place looking picked up.” She grumbled under her breath, “Why did I agree to this?”

  She stood and brushed off her clothes. Jeans and a beige sweater. Nothing clingy. Nothing fancy. Just your everyday, I’m thirty-five and own a bookstore, plus I have a kid, clothing.

  After one last sweep of the room, she headed for the kitchen. But she slammed to a halt and moaned, “Oh, Hailey, what on earth is that doing in here?”

  “He’s not a ‘that’, Mom.” Hailey rolled her eyes. “This is Mr. Tinsel. I named him that because he’s grey, and it’s almost Christmas.” The determined little girl kissed the head of the smoke-colored, gnarly looking feline, dangling from her arms like a dirty towel. “I found him at the back door of the shop. He’s Snowball’s best friend. I’ve seen them together. He looked hungry, so I had to let him in.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Heather took a steadying breath and counted to ten. “Mr. Tinsel might belong to someone else.” Although his matted fur says otherwise. “He’s such a handsome fellow. We can’t just assume he’s ours.”

  “But he has no collar. Plus, he has a big chunk missing from one ear. I think he’s a stray, Mom, just like Snowball was.” Hailey stood taller, the cat perfectly content to be held. “I fed him some of Snowball’s wet food, and he loved it. I’ve never seen a cat eat so fast. Please can we keep him? It’s so cold out now.”

  Heather wanted to scream. Or cry. She didn’t know which would come out first. She approached her daughter and the mystery cat, now draped over Hailey’s shoulders like a ratty old stole. When she reached a cautious hand out to pet the unknown feline, it snuggled against her fingers, purring like a sportscar.

  “I give up,” she declared. “Fine, keep the cat. But only until we can find out if he’s missing from someone else. You wouldn’t want somebody to keep Snowball if they found her, would you?”

  “No. We can check all the shelter websites and share his picture like we did before we adopted Snowball.”

  “Don’t put him on your bed. He may have fleas. Or worms. Both. Just don’t.”

  With a ragged breath, Heather looked around the tiny kitchen as her daughter went back to fussing over the cat. She considered opening a bottle of wine but then thought better of it. No way am I going to let down my guard with a stranger in the house.

  Yeah, right, stranger. He’s Tom Gridley’s son. The little voice in her head jeered. You’re just afraid you’ll like him if you let your guard down.

  The antique twist doorbell sounded below, and Heather jumped and screeched. The cat leapt from Hailey’s arms, bolting for some unknown corner of the apartment.

  “John’s here,” Hailey yelled as she gave chase.

  “As if I didn’t know,” Heather muttered.

  She headed down to street-level and the vestibule that housed the entrance to both the shop and their personal staircase to the apartment above. John smiled through the doorway’s frosty window when she reached the bottom.

  “Special delivery. One ‘perfect Christmas tree,’” he said when she unlocked the door.

  Heather forced a casual smile. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to do this. I’m sorry to put you out.” Stepping aside, she granted him access, and he hefted the big tree up the interior staircase. “Well...maybe you did.” She cringed when he got stuck at the turn at the top. “Do you need help?”

  “Nope. And, yes, I did have to do this. Otherwise it’d be too much tree for that clown car of yours. How do you fit in that thing, anyway?”

  “I love my little car. It’s cute, and it purrs like a kitten,” she defended with a chuckle.

  Holding her breath, Heather watched John pop the fat fir into her kitchen. All space evaporated from the room. “This way,” she said, squeezing past to lead him into the living room.

  John surveyed the ceiling before righting his load. The tree stood tall;
a sturdy stand already attached.

  “You brought your own stand? That’s very kind.”

  “No problem. I didn’t want to take a chance.” He stepped back to survey his work. “Better get some water in there right away and keep it coming. This big boy is thirsty.”

  Hailey bounded into the room with her new pet. “Hi, John. Whoa...it looks so much bigger inside.”

  “They always do. Hey...you found your cat?”

  “No, this is Mr. Tinsel. He just found us. Snowball is still missing,” she explained with a frown.

  John’s wide-eyed stare flipped to Heather, and she shook her head. “Well then,” he balked. “Does Mom like your new cat?”

  “She just met him. Right before you came.”

  He jokingly winced and then chuckled. “I should go. You’ve got your hands full. I’ll just remove the netting and be on my way.”

  “No,” Heather said, finally offering him a genuine smile. “Stay awhile. I could use some grown up conversation, especially now that Hailey has Mr. Tinsel to entertain.” Her smile turned into a cheeky grin. “Wine?”

  “Can he stay for supper?” Hailey blurted.

  Heather’s mind practically exploded. Her gaze snapped from Hailey to John and back again. John’s eyes were calm, his expression cool and collected. Dammit!

  “Of course, he can stay.” She struggled to sound happy and easygoing, yet inside she was shrieking. “Dinner sounds like a fair price for the home delivery of our ‘perfect Christmas tree.’”

  “Yay,” Hailey cheered and bounded off toward her bedroom with the cat.

  “Not on the bed,” she hollered after her and then groaned. “Sorry. You don’t have to stay. I’m sure you have other plans that don’t include us and Mr. Tinsel.”

  Grey eyes bore into her. His bearded jaw tightened.

  Heather couldn’t help letting her stare drop to the intricate design on the exposed skin of his neck. Tribal in nature. Intriguing as it disappeared beneath the starched white collar of his shirt. Quite the contrast, indeed.

  “No plans. Dinner would be nice.”

  Her butterflies took flight again, and this time they brought friends.

  “It’s only frozen lasagna,” she hedged.

  The hard plains of his face softened a bit, and his lips tipped into a slow sexy smile. “I like frozen lasagna.”

  Some of Heather’s angst faded way. “Okay, then.”

  “Now I wish I’d brought you something. Flowers, maybe? As a thank you.”

  “You brought me a tree,” she teased.

  “Yeah...one you bought. Hardly seems like a fair trade for a homecooked meal. I don’t get many of those.”

  Heather gave herself a mental shake and headed for the kitchen. “I’m going to open that wine now and start the oven. You can take your glass down to the shop and check out the history section. Sound good?”

  John followed close behind her, the old wooden flooring creaking louder than usual under his heftier weight. The fact there was a man in her kitchen—a gorgeous man with big muscles and tattoos, helping her with supper—blew Heather’s mind.

  How did this happen?

  “Sounds great. Want me to open the wine since you’re cooking?”

  “We’ve got quite the barter thing going.” She handed him the chilled bottle and a corkscrew and went to get glasses.

  Heather couldn’t resist sneaking several quick peeks as she prepped the store-bought lasagna. John skillfully uncorked the Pinot Grigio and poured two glasses. He brought one to his nose and took a long savoring breath as he swirled the golden liquid. Then he took a sip, and his eyes closed in obvious satisfaction.

  He knows wine?

  John’s eyes snapped open, and he caught her gawking. Her hands fumbled the box and wrapper, and she dropped their dinner on the counter like a brick. In a flurry of movements, she righted the thing, stuffed it in the oven, slammed the door, and set the timer. When she spun around, he was standing right before her with a smile and a glass.

  “Thanks.” She took a big swallow before daring to raise her gaze to his. “It’s one of my favorites. I hope you like it.”

  “I do. Very much,” he murmured, his male voice husky and deep. He took another sip, licked his full lips, and brushed a big hand across his well-groomed beard.

  She couldn’t help focusing on his mouth, the sensual allure of it.

  “Alrighty then, your book,” she burst out and scurried away. “Hailey...be right back. We’ll be downstairs,” she bellowed before snagging her keys and rushing down the staircase to open the door. John followed at a slower pace, arriving as she turned up the lights. “The history section is in the back right corner. Have at it.”

  He casually set his wineglass on the counter. “I love the smell of bookstores and libraries. I wish there were a way to bottle it. There was this one in Prague I’ll never forget.” Then he went searching, leaving Heather to pretend she was occupied.

  “So, you’ve been to Prague? How exciting.”

  “I’ve been pretty much everywhere in the last ten years. Some places much nicer than others.”

  A few minutes passed before he called out to her. “Heather, these are great. Nice selection you have here.” He strolled back, set down a book on the life of Theodore Roosevelt, and withdrew the twenty-five dollars to purchase it. “I’ll be set for about a week since I don’t get much reading time right now. I may need to come back for some others after that.”

  Her cheeks heated at the thought. From experience, she knew her face had turned a deep crimson. She fanned herself with her hands. “Phew...wine. Always makes me hot.”

  John instantly grinned, and her cheeks blazed even hotter.

  “So...you’re an avid reader?” She rang up the book and bagged it for him, purposefully tossing in a bookmark with the store’s phone number.

  “Always have been, especially since joining the military. Army doesn’t do anything fast. There’s a lot of ‘hurry up and wait.’ Plenty of time to read in between assignments.” He glanced around. “This place is great; how every old bookstore should look. Must be nice...those big chairs with the fireplace crackling. Have you owned the shop long?”

  “Just the four years we’ve lived here in Dickens. I was an editor before, working for a big publishing house. A real city girl.” She chuckled.

  The keen attention on his handsome face led her to reveal something she’d told no other. “I’m attempting to write a book...when the shop isn’t busy.”

  “A book? That’s fantastic. You totally should.” His grey eyes sparkled with interest.

  “Well,” she came from behind the counter and headed for the door. “It’s a pipe dream. We’ll see what actually comes from it.”

  “May I ask what type of book you’re writing?”

  Heather lowered the shop lights and hesitated with her key in the lock. “It’s a romance. You know...a happily-ever-after. I think people need more of those these days. I know I do. But I’m finding it hard to write. Guess I never really understood what all those authors meant when they said they had ‘writer’s block’ or their story ‘just wasn’t flowing.’ Too much on my mind, I suppose.”

  She motioned with one hand, indicating they should return to the apartment. Yet John held back, insisting she go first. Heather couldn’t help but feel self conscious, wondering if he was staring at her butt the entire time as they climbed the staircase. And she suddenly wished she’d worn something nicer.

  Two hours later, they’d demolished the lasagna and drained the wine. Hailey told John all her favorite stories about finding Snowball, and Mr. Tinsel, about her teacher, Mrs. Ellis, and all her friends at school. Heather sat back and allowed him to experience the full-on barrage of conversation an enthusiastic ten-year-old girl was capable of lobbing. To John’s credit, he remained engaged, laughed easily, and asked many questions.

  Yet one question sent Heather into a tailspin. Even though she had to admit she was dying to know.

  “
Do you have a girlfriend?” Hailey pressed him.

  “Hailey, that’s none of your business,” Heather scolded.

  “No worries.” John shrugged it off, yet he stared longingly at his empty wineglass before answering. “I did. Her name was Kim.”

  The little girl’s mouth fell open. “What happened to her, did she die?”

  “God, no,” he rushed to answer. “Nothing bad. We just didn’t work out.”

  Heather looked up to find him watching her, as if he were gauging her response to the news he’d just dropped.

  Thankfully, Hailey remained silent, appearing to mull everything over until she switched gears. “I can’t believe you didn’t know there’s a tree lighting on the Common next Saturday. Everyone in Dickens knows that.”

  John chuckled. “Well, I haven’t been back in Dickens long. And they didn’t do such things when I was a kid.” He got a thoughtful look on his face. “Maybe they did, but we were always too busy with our own Christmas trees.”

  “Is it hard work when you live on a farm?” the curious girl asked.

  “Yeah. But it’s good work.” He looked to Heather. “I’d forgotten how good. Pops...I mean Tom, my father, has it tough right now. The ten years I’ve been away have slowed him down. There’s a lot of catch up to do.”

  “And it’s so busy now,” Heather agreed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Saturday like yesterday.”

  “Today was the same. But we’re working the kinks out.”

  “Yeah...” Hailey chimed in. “We couldn’t really see or pet the animals.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to come back,” he stated bluntly.

  Hailey pushed her chair back from the table and stood. “Mom, may we go to the Common to show John the big tree, even if there are no lights yet?”

  “I should go,” he said, politely offering Heather a way out.

  “Pleeeease.” Hailey turned on the charm for them both.

  “I could use a walk to settle this meal,” Heather said. “How about we escort John to his car?” Her gaze flipped to him. “I’m assuming you parked right outside since you were toting a big tree.”