Wrapped in Red: A Three Rivers Romance Novella

by Meghan M. Gorecki

  And yet he still didn’t know her. The shadows behind her smile, the pain that was still fresh from something—something—that kept her away from her incredibly close family, her guard up—and a true smile a rare thing.

  “Your laugh’s funny.”

  Great. “Thanks, I think?” Sam knew his laugh was far from seductive or mysterious, but if it kept Merry happy, he’d laugh for as long as he could breathe.

  Dinner came in short order—a smorgasbord of sandwiches all topped with French fries and coleslaw. Weird. But even finicky teenagers seemed to enjoy it, so Sam picked up half of his messy dinner and took a bite. Wow. This was one Pittsburgh staple he could get behind. Swallowing, he turned to Merry. “This is fantastic. I can see what all the hype’s about.”

  Merry popped a fry in her mouth. "I'd have labeled you certifiably crazy if you didn't." The words popped out around a mouthful of French fries and she slapped a hand over her mouth.

  "Well that escalated quickly," Ricky shot back, and the table burst into laughter again. He hadn't laughed this much in ages. And it felt so very right. Especially next to Merry. Had he only met her a week ago?

  Now those bluer-than-blue eyes were on the snow falling soft outside to land and cover the cobblestones in white. “Normally I love snow, but at night—not so much.”

  Glancing out the neon-lit window, Sam stifled a smile. It was barely night—the sun hadn’t completely set. Challenge accepted, Miss Grainger. How could she want to leave already? Maybe my laughing was weird…

  The kids were talking about some TV show amongst themselves as dinner wound down, and since Merry couldn’t exactly bolt or deflect, it seemed a good time to repeat his question from a week ago and hopefully get a real answer. “So—what’s your story, anyway?”

  Merry toyed with her silverware, the barest hint of a smile returning as if she was inwardly working to put her guard down. Here’s hoping.

  “I'm an open book. You know my family. What I do for a living. In fact, I bet you know more about me than I do you, so…”

  Sam flicked a paper football across the table and it landed on Ricky’s plate. “I don’t give up that easy.”

  Merry’s brows rose as she shoved a huge mound of coleslaw in her mouth—which left a speck of ketchup on her cheek. He pointed to his own cheek with a grin and she blushed deeper, swiping it away in an instant. “Give up on what, Mr. Smug Snowman?”

  Sam took another bolstering swig of his iced tea. “Getting to know you. And not just your résumé.”

  “Why would you want to get to know me?” The whisper was soft, the hurt cutting him to the quick. He gripped the seat of his chair lest he wrap and arm around Merry’s shoulders and hug her tight until she healed from whatever was hurting her.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Merry reared back slightly in her seat, eyes wide. As Ricky had said earlier—that had escalated quickly. He had to get her laughing again.

  “How’d I earn the nickname of a smug snowman, anyway?” There. That got a small smile from her. Merry propped her elbows on the table, her chin coming to rest on steepled fingers over her dinner.

  “You weren’t exactly an abominable snowman last week…but you were pretty pleased with yourself having to rescue me and my car from the side of the road. That’s all.”

  Finally, some honesty. The neon lights, the glow of the TVs streaming a football game brought out the red in Merry’s hair and the blue in her eyes and Sam shook himself out of staring. I have an idea…

  “So, tell me what you know already. Then I’ll quiz you. How’s that?”

  Merry quirked a brow and sat back in her chair, visibly relaxed. “Okay. I assume you’re around thirty. You love kids, are a hard worker, have a good job, love the Lord, serve the church, and you also have a caught-in-the-cookie-jar smile.” Those last words were mumbled around her drink, but he still heard them. It was the same thing Mom used to say. Sam slurped down the rest of his watered down tea to chase away the lump in his throat.

  "And something about gingerbread houses and piano music you're not a fan of." While a statement, her tone hung a question mark on the end of her words. Words that hit the mark whether she meant them to or not. He was not about to go into why that grand piano and the gingerbread house tradition had made him want to run. The memories were still too close.

  “Nah, I'm a fan. Just…" Sam raked a hand through his short hair. "There are reasons. But, you’re good. I’m thirty-two, a Bible believing Christian, an architect, and I do love kids. And once you get me going, I’m an outspoken nerd about Star Wars, never Star Trek or DC comics. Marvel, all the way. And I’m a Potterhead who never got his Hogwarts letter.”

  Merry sat shaking her head and smiling—an honest to goodness smile that morphed into giggles. What had he said now? Laughter chased his demons far, far away, and he forged ahead. “I hate fish. Ticket to Ride is one of my favorite board games. And I’m honest to a fault and a bit of a sap, or so my friends tell me. And I’ve lived in Pittsburgh for seven years after graduating from Duquesne.”

  “See? I am an open book, Miss Grainger. Now it’s your turn.”

  Chapter Nine

  “We need a better coffee maker.” Sam guzzled the sludge produced from an old drip machine and shuddered. Friend/supervisor Aaron rolled his eyes and flipped a protractor in the air. “You avoided my question. Again. And I’m starting to get sick of hearing your complaints about coffee. There’s a Starbucks around the corner, or you could always spring for an office Keurig.”

  Sam raked a hand through his hair as he sat behind his sketch desk, hoping the phone would ring and he could put off his friend’s interrogation as to where he had been yesterday. Apparently, he hadn't checked his phone and missed the reminder for their usual Sunday night dinner. He was too busy getting distracted by aqua eyes above a potentially opening heart. And chaperoning teenagers.

  “Helloo. Earth to Sam.” Five fingers waved across his vision and Sam bent over his latest design with a roll of the eyes. He’d have heck to pay if his friend found out he had forgotten all about the one night a week Aaron and his wife got grown-up company and conversation what with their two adorable but rambunctious kids.

  “No. Tell me you didn’t.” Aaron slapped a hand to his chest and stumbled back, and Sam no longer even tried to quell his smile.

  “A girl?! Dude! You blew me off without so much as a text for a chick?”

  Sam laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his rolling chair. He should feel a tiny bit sorry for leaving his friend in the lurch…but this was too fun. “You know Joy would have your head if she heard you use the word ‘chick.’”

  Aaron grasped at either side of his not-quite-bald head and groaned. “How long have you left me in the dark? And speaking of my lovely wife, now I’m going to have to tell her to let her cousin down easily. That was going to be the fourth adult at my table next week for dinner.”

  “Yep. Sorry, buddy.” Where had that come from? He never had any interest in a setup…but yesterday had been the result of an attempted set-up part-happenstance. Happenstance? Good grief you sound like Grandma. What was that word Mom always loved? Serendipity.

  “Dude, you gotta gimme something here.”

  Sam glanced around to see a few heads bobbed up above their half-cubicles. Aaron was not a quiet person. “It’s nothing, man. And I’d prefer it if the entire office, especially our female coworkers, not start gossiping about my love life.”

  “So you do have a love life? And for how long?” His friend was starting to sound like that one nebby, well-meaning aunt of Merry’s on Thursday.

  “I don’t have one. I just went out for coffee, and to see the winter garden. Then for dinner. It was…” Sam shoved a pen behind his ear and shrugged. "Nice."

  Aaron groaned and finally went around caddy-corner to his desk. “She going to be your date to the party at Soldiers and Sailors for New Years?”

  Sam rolled his eyes and turned to stare out the high
glass windows over the gray landscape of Downtown Pittsburgh. "I just only met her a week ago, as a matter of fact. Let’s not jump to conclusions here.”

  A thick folder of papers dropped to his desk and Sam was brought back to reality thanks to the emboldened dates on the paperwork. Normally the deadlines would chafe at him no matter how well organized he was but not today.

  Across the open office floor, the large panes of glass glistened brightly when sudden sunlight poked through the snow clouds and Sam took a deep breath, glanced around for his favorite pen before finding it behind his ear, and got to work.

  For the first time in a long time he couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  Frank Sinatra crooned softly from someone's desk; Mom's favorite. He waited for the pain to take his breath away, but instead, a refreshing breath of hope sent him humming along to “The Christmas Waltz.”

  It's that time of year when the world falls in love

  Ev'ry song you hear seems to say,

  “Merry Christmas, may your New Year dreams come true…”

  Is this from you, Mom? Despite the years, he caught himself talking to her as if she were sitting across from him and not with the Lord. The God he still had trouble praying to even after seven years since Mom had passed away. He had had to fight not to take his job and relative success for granted—but finding a new dream as Mom had encouraged him to do on her deathbed was still elusive.

  The sun went behind the snow clouds, and soon marshmallow-fat flakes floated down from the heavens and the entire office seemed to still in awe to watch the sight from their ninth floor vantage point.

  This is from Me. I am who I say I am.

  Sam sat up and glanced over his shoulder. Whoa. Mom always talked about how God was as near as breathing—and right then, for the first time in he didn’t know how long, he felt it. And that hope—beyond what he looked forward to when he clocked out of the office—held strong and steady. Just like Mom.

  But bigger than the both of them. I guess I needed that, God. Thanks.

  ***

  A caught in the cookie jar smile. Chocolate-crinkle eyes.

  Merry backspaced quick and replaced the words with less foodie and more flowery descriptors the play’s female lead would say about her hero.

  Besides—the tall smug snowman with the grin and the eyes in real life was not her hero.

  She didn’t need a hero.

  Merry swiveled her neck and bent it back to hear a satisfying crack before shoving her bangs out of her eyes. There. Now she could see and think clearer. She needed to wash that Sam Shepard out of her hair as soon as she got back to her apartment that night. Her day-old hair that was probably springing out of its headband thanks to the usual head scratching that had taken place for over two hours since she clocked out of work.

  Through the fogged-up windows of Big Dog Coffee, she watched the snow float down steadily now—like pieces of cotton. And the urge to write the line down before it evaporated overcame her—something that hadn’t happened in years. Scribbling it down, she shut the script’s binder and closed her laptop to pack up.

  Mum’s advice had been to just give the script an edit—but that was way easier said than done. Still, it was finally done, and Merry left the warm coffee shop with a smile. Hot chocolate and homemade popcorn—and snitching a few Christmas cookies—was waiting for her with the fam, along with a binge-watch of a bunch of Claymation classics. An invitation she could never pass up no matter how happily tired she was from an exceptionally busy workday with not one but two programs for senior citizens. One had been a daytime movie “night”—White Christmas—and never had she seen such a turnout. Or so much laughter, tears, and reminiscing. That priceless feeling of being right where she was meant to be hadn't faded—the joy on those patrons' faces had carried her out the door on the scents of butterscotch hard candies, cherry pipe tobacco and denture cream.

  Thankfulness hadn't yet left her heart despite how the entire city—and her family—was firmly ensconced in Christmas spirit. And she purposed to keep it that way as two dates on the calendar got closer and closer. Maybe this year she could enjoy Christmas if she kept up the positivity—and busyness.

  Back home in the time it took a Dean Martin Christmas album to play, Merry pulled into the driveway on the corner lot that would always be home. And just in time—almost looked like a whiteout. Again. The garage door eased open before Merry could type in the code, and she stomped her feet against the frame of the garage before stepping through and into a broad chest holding a snow shovel that met her foot that wore a ridiculously impractical ballet flat.

  Wow! Is that going to leave a mark. She bit back a choice word that always sought to slip out when she hurt herself to some degree or another. Opening her mouth to give Ricky or Dad a piece of her mind, Merry looked up and was struck momentarily dumb by a pair of chocolate brown eyes. Good grief…his eyes.

  “Sam. What are you doing here?”

  Too-blunt. All over the place. Cole had called her those things near the end, and the memory came back to sting worse than a snow shovel on her foot had. When would she ever learn to think before she spoke? Had she been out of a relationship so long to completely forget to have a filter and guard her P's and Q's?

  “I was bringing some things over I had in storage that we could use as props for the play. And returning your dad's circular saw.” The man tapped her nose with a broad smile and stepped back to let her into the warmth emanating from the door that led into the basement. Not that she needed it. She was warm from head to sore toes now.

  “Are you staying for cocoa and movie night?” She hated herself for wanting him to. He fit in with her family better than she did in a lot of ways, but that realization didn't chafe as it did before Thanksgiving. It was fitting. And her heart hadn't even attempted figuring it all out.

  All she knew—in spite of her throbbing foot—was that she didn’t feel the need to wash this man out of her hair anymore.

  “I…” He cleared his throat avoided her gaze. He was so at ease with her family—what was his hold-up for a movie night? Had she inserted her foot into her mouth one too many times?

  “I’d like that. If you’re sure…I don’t want to horn in on your family night.” His hesitancy took her aback, and Merry studied him. Gone was the easy way he smiled with his eyes. Those eyes…darker than cocoa, lighter than black coffee. He had seen and heard her at her most unfiltered—but his eyes still crinkled when they were near. And a bashful hope hid in the flecks of amber in his eyes.

  Eyes that stared right through her, stole her breath—and lent her gumption.

  Here goes nothing. Merry twisted the basement doorknob and pushed it open before she wove her hand around Sam’s arm to tug him inside.

  “I’m sure. Just don’t hog the marshmallows.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Good work, everybody. See you next week. Sam, Merry—hang back a second?” Kristin Daniels may be barely five-foot, one of the most soft-spoken women Merry knew—but her tone of voice never broached any argument. Knees protesting, she rose from the stage floor where she had been marking tape down for the amateur actors, actresses, and chorus to stand on the play. She’d rather be doing this, however, then having a bit role in the thing.

  “Never again.”

  “Now what’re you mumbling?” Sam’s dark head poked through the set’s window and Merry tripped over the roll of tape on the ground. Why had her parents cursed her with the ironic middle name of Grace? Now twice as embarrassed, she bent to pick it up the tape and rolled her eyes.

  “You’re an eavesdropper, you know that?”

  “Window-dropper. But seriously—what will you never do again?” The man clad in red, well-fitting flannel came around the set to stand beside her. And stood so close Merry picked up his Old Spice aftershave and her heart rose to her throat before his question registered.

  Never again. She would never again…what? Get her hopes up? Think there was something there that cle
arly wasn’t?

  “Earth to Merry.” Sam waved a hand in front of her eyes—which snapped her out of whatever ridiculousness her heart was stringing together. Ridiculousness that, for a brief second, wondered what his arms would feel like wrapped around her—except this time not just catching her when she fell in the snow.

  “I was just thinking about the last time I’d been involved in one of these plays.” She really needed to reform her fibbing. Warmth crept up along her neck and onto her face—she’d blame the stage lights if any overly observant sibling would decide to grill her on it later.

  “Aw now this I want to hear about. I have already had the privilege of seeing the baby pictures. All the pictures, actually.” He widened his eyes and twisted a grin to the side, referring to the cocoa and movie night where her mother had decided to take the poor man on the tour of the upstairs stairwell, the hallway, ancestry room and flip through her oldest scrapbooks. By the time they started the movie, he had looked so adorably bemused—and dazed—that Merry forgot her embarrassment and actually enjoyed the movie night beside him.

  Laughing, Merry shook her head at the man. He hadn’t actually seen all the photos—she had made sure to shove the most incriminating deep in the bowels of the attic years ago. “You haven’t seen them all. Trust me. You don’t want to see my parents’ attic.” Good grief, but he was still too close. Merry tossed the roll of painter’s tape between her hands to focus on something other than how good he smelled while Kristin gave departing instructions to the kids’ parents who were finishing pick-up.

  “Well, maybe one day. You were a pretty cute kid.”

  One day? She waited for those words to inspire dread or even a caustic “Yeah right” to spring into her thoughts. Except they didn’t. Just an, I hope so. One day. It slid alongside the renewed hope that had been distracting her at work and keeping her up too late at night—her old novel. And all it could be. Merry slid a glance over to gauge Sam’s sincerity only to have her heart trip over the self-critical comeback poised on her tongue at the look in his eyes.