by Dawn McClure
“Close that chapter of my... Are you serious? You honestly think I’m still hung up on John Harrison, a boy I crushed on when I was going through puberty and dated for a while in high school, and that’s why I'm not entirely sold on saying yes to Liam’s proposal?” The idea was entirely preposterous. “Cindy, I haven’t seen John in nearly eight years. I can promise you, he’s not the reason I'm conflicted.” This was the worst advice Cindy had ever given her, and likely the most dead-on observation she’d ever had. John’s memory had come up so many times last night she’d almost stalked him on social media when she got home. But that was beside the point. “You’re sucking at talking me down today. I should take that mocha back.”
Cindy leaned forward with her hands wrapped protectively around her mocha. “Okay then. Why aren’t you jumping up and down with the knowledge that one of L.A.’s most eligible and attractive bachelors is going to propose to you? If he’s not already a millionaire, he will be within the next year. They just did a spread on him in the paper. Give me just one good reason and I’ll call off the Christmas working vacation.”
Good question. Mel bit her lip and tried to come up with something. Her mind blanked. She’d struggled with this same question for hours as she lay in bed last night. She had to come up with something. She snapped her fingers and said energetically, “He wants to wait to have kids and doesn’t want any large dogs.”
Silence. Mel felt a little stupid. That had sounded a lot worse of an accusation in her head. Last night it had certainly felt worse. Her voice lowered, she mumbled, “He said a small dog was okay.”
Cindy didn’t blink. “My God. Kill him now."
Mel sat down in the chair facing Cindy again. “I’m thinking we need something a little stronger than chocolate and peppermint for these talks.”
Cindy sat back with a smile, knowing she’d won this battle. “Call the piece, Home for the Holidays. It’s simple, to the point, and if you snap pictures of horse-drawn carriages and snowy pines and throw in some rustic wood signs, it’ll draw in readers. Oh, and make sure you get into some of those pictures. You’re young, gorgeous and you wear all those cute outfits with the…you know…scarves and boot socks and shit. Our blog readers have fallen in love with you over the years because you’re young, hip and independent. But don’t you worry about it if you go and get hitched. It doesn’t matter that girls say they cherish independence these days. Deep down they still want that one man who will curl their toes and take care of them forever.” Cindy paused to pretend-vomit. “Anyway, if Liam is still hell-bent on proposing to you, he’ll do it in front of your family, and if he does, make sure you record it. That’d be a great addition to your Home for the Holidays series. Give the readers a fantasy.” Cindy took in a breath and let it out slowly. “And man, Liam is a great fantasy. Did I ever tell you my ex was tall and dark?”
Wow. She never brought up her ex. “Um, no, and you just said I look like I'm in love when I talk about John, not Liam, so why do you think I’d say yes to his proposal? And who knows? John is probably married with two kids by now.” Highly unlikely, since her mother would have mentioned it. Still, Mel didn’t pay attention to what happened on Facebook, only Instagram. None of her brothers, her mother, or John had Instagram, which was exactly why she had it. She had no idea what John looked like or if he had a significant other.
Cindy shrugged. “I told you, I don’t think seeing John will make you swoon. I think it’ll do the opposite. He’s probably put on thirty pounds and has a bald spot taking over the top of his head. He’s not going to be the young, hot football player you remember, that’s for sure. One way or the other, I want those blog articles. Throw in a recorded proposal and we’ll be talking about an office on the twenty-third floor.”
That did sound nice, and Cindy didn’t bullshit. “A corner office with a view?”
Cindy snorted. “What do you think this is? Cosmo?”
Chapter 2
“They say the storm is going to dump more than twelve inches on us the night of Christmas Eve. I just want to be prepared.”
John Harrison hid his smile from Darlene Haggerty, an eighty-five-year-old widow who lived in his hometown of Pine Grove, South Dakota. Dressed in a black jacket that enveloped and swallowed her small form, she stood next to him, a determined look on her weathered face. The snow blower she wanted to purchase was bigger than she was and probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds. The image in his head of her trying to maneuver the snow blower on an icy, snow-covered driveway kept his lips twitching, but he managed to keep his amusement to himself.
“Tell you what, Mrs. Haggerty. How ‘bout I drop by your house and use the store’s backhoe to shovel your driveway if it snows? Three or twelve inches, it won’t matter, I’ll be there. I don’t want you shoveling your drive in that kind of weather.” Not to mention the snow blower was over a thousand dollars, and Mrs. Haggerty was on a fixed budget. She’d probably only use it four or five times a season, if she even managed to get a handle on how to use it, and he highly doubted that was ever going to happen.
Mrs. Haggerty lifted her chin and tucked her black purse closer to her side. “How much would you charge?”
“No charge. Just being neighborly.”
She looked up at him, her faded blue eyes not exactly the kindest that had come through the hardware store, but that didn’t matter to him. She might be a little snippy from time to time, but he wasn’t the type to swindle anyone, especially an older woman who could easily be taken for granted.
“Just so long as you don’t rip my grass up on the north side of my driveway,” she warned. “Tom Hendricks, the young man who lives next door to me, tore my grass up this past winter and I had to plant seed there in the spring to cover up the bald spots he made on my lawn from his backhoe.”
Which was likely why she was looking to purchase her own snow blower. “I’ll be careful. If you like, I’ll use my snow blower and not the shop’s backhoe. It’s a lot easier to tear things up when you’re maneuvering a larger piece of equipment. I’ll have your driveway and your walk shoveled before you get out of bed.”
She raised a penciled-in eyebrow. “Up before me? I doubt that very much. Unlike the younger generation, I get up before the sun rises. No later than six in the morning. Every morning. I make my coffee and read the paper, so I know what in the hell is going on in the world. From what I saw on the news the other evening, most college students these days don’t even know who the Secretary of State is.” She shook her head. “Damn country is going to hell in a handbasket if you ask me.”
He got up at four thirty every morning just to get his cattle fed before he had to leave for the shop, but he knew better than to argue with her. “Yes, ma’am.” He tipped his head in her direction and hid his smile for the second time in a few short minutes. She reminded him of his own grandmother, long since gone from this world. Full of piss and vinegar, as his father had often put it. Many in town weren’t fans of Mrs. Haggerty’s, but he got a kick out of her.
He walked Darlene to the door of Harrison’s Hardware and held it open for her. She turned to him and gave him a once-over, her dull eyes sharper than most people in town gave her credit for. “You’re the only young man in this town who has any manners.”
Having said that, she brushed past him and shuffled out of the store. Sounded like Tom Hendricks had manners too, but because he’d ripped up some grass, Darlene had put a quick stop to his volunteer work.
John was about to pull the door shut against the bite of South Dakota’s December air when a woman walking down Main Street caught his eye. She walked at a brisk pace, head down, only a thin red sweater between her and the frigid air. He shook his head and pulled the door shut. No jacket in twenty-degree weather? Not very bright. He’d only taken a few steps when he stopped as though he’d slammed into a wall. A familiar warmth flooded his chest. Damn but she’d looked familiar. Short, maybe five foot two or three, long chestnut hair, young.
Couldn’t be.
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He marched back to the door and yanked it open, his brain catching up with who he’d just seen power walking down the sidewalk of Pine Grove. The snap of cold air hit him again as he narrowed his eyes at the familiar figure now pushing into the teal door of the coffee shop across the street.
Well, I’ll be damned.
“Is that who I think it is?”
The rough sound of his brother’s voice directly behind John startled him, but he kept his attention on the Espresso Café, trying to peer through the windows of the coffee shop as though he’d be able to see past their Christmas decorations and into the building. “Yeah, I think so.”
“I tried following her on Instagram but she blocked me.”
John did turn then, amused his older brother had just admitted that. “You have an Instagram?”
Mike shrugged. “Everyone has Instagram.”
John sure as hell didn’t have one. He was too busy and frankly, he didn’t care enough to bother with it. “Negative. You need to shave your beard. Now.” They’d both started growing a beard during No-Shave November, something a lot of the guys did in Pine Grove. His had come in nicely and he’d had to trim it up a few times this month, but Mike’s was spotty.
Mike smiled. He gestured to the Espresso Café, moving only his chin. “Well, are you going to go say hello to the prodigal daughter?”
John turned back to try and catch a glimpse of her, only to see wreaths and a Christmas tree in the large picture window and not the woman he once thought he’d marry. Prodigal daughter indeed. How long had she been gone? Five years at least. Hell, he hadn’t seen her in person for at least seven, maybe eight years. He slowly closed the door, but stayed in front of it and peered through the glass part. “That ship has sailed.”
“If that’s true then why is your nose pressed against the glass of this door fogging it up?”
That managed to snap John’s pride back in place. He let go of the cold, brass knob and headed back to the main area of the hardware store, leaving Mike behind. The hardwood floor dated back to the late nineteen hundreds, and was as familiar to him as the woman currently nestled in the coffee shop across the street. He knew every creak and dip in the boards, down to the four planks they’d had to replace on the south side and the size of the nails they’d used to secure them. His family had owned Harrison Hardware for four generations, and he’d learned to walk on this worn, familiar hardwood floor.
Best he stopped staring at it and get his thoughts in order.
He glanced at Terrance, the high school kid they’d hired to man the register and stock anything that came in during the day. He’d come in to work right after football practice and John could tell he was beat. Only an hour or so to closing, there weren’t many people that were going to come in this late. “Hey, go ahead and start sweeping. Once you’re done with that you can head out.”
Terrance nodded and went to do as asked.
“What, nothing to say?” Mike asked, his hands shoved into his jean’s pockets. “When was the last time you saw Mel?”
The day she left for college. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.” She’d worn a dark blue skirt and a white top. He’d told her she’d get cold on the plane, and she’d taken out a blue cardigan just before they’d called her group for boarding. He vividly recalled that detail because she’d refused his offer of his own zip-up sweatshirt. He’d thought maybe she could take something of his to California. Looking back, he realized what a dumb gesture that had been on his part. He should have given her a ring, not a damned old college sweatshirt of his.
If he told his brother all that, Mike would laugh at him. “It was a long time ago,” he said, hoping to put the subject to bed.
The door chimed, announcing the arrival of a new customer, and John turned quickly to see who it was. He went from zero to a hundred and crashed right back down to zero when he realized it wasn’t Mel coming to say hello. Seven years later and he was still an idiot holding an old sweatshirt in his hand.
He caught his brother’s sympathetic look and wished he’d schooled his features better. Especially when Mike said quietly, “Why don’t you go over and say hi?”
Nothing felt worse than pity, and he’d been getting his fair share of it from family and friends lately. His girlfriend of two years had up and moved to Texas two months ago, taking her eight-year-old son, Ben, with her. Every time John looked at a clock, his mind worked up what Ben would be doing at that time. Whether it be in school, or at sports, or…he missed that kid as though he’d been his own flesh-and-blood son. He cleared his throat. “She’s likely catching up with her mom. I’m not about to barge into a family reunion.”
Mel’s mom owned Espresso Café. While he’d grown up in this hardware store, jeans stained and dirt under his finger nails, Mel had grown up in that coffee shop, smelling like freshly ground coffee beans. He could still see her as easily with her pigtails growing up as when she’d boarded that plane for California as a young woman.
Once in college, she’d changed. For the worse. Suddenly everything that mattered to her came with a hefty price tag and a brand name. He could hear the snootiness coming through the phone when they’d talked. She was no longer the girl he’d once known who’d have jumped into his old Chevy barefoot. He missed that girl.
If he had to hazard a guess, he figured she was a total brat now.
“I doubt you’d be interrupting anything,” Mike said.
“Why don’t you go say hi if it’s that important to you,” he snapped at his brother. “Will you just leave me alone about it?”
Hank, the customer who’d come in, peeked around an aisle. “Hey, you know Mel’s in town?”
“Ah, Jesus.” He waved a hand at Mike’s snickering and Hank’s “What?” as he headed to the back office to finish up paperwork. He had horses and cattle to feed and a few other chores to do before he could hit the sack. He didn’t have time to shoot the shit with an old girlfriend.
He sat down in front of the old, dusty computer on the desk he shared with his father and Mike and shook the mouse with his right hand so the screen would come on.
It was about time she came home and visited her mother. He’d talked to Sophie, her mom, just last week and she’d told him that Mel hadn’t visited in years, though Sophie hadn’t mentioned that Mel would be visiting this Christmas. Strange. Was this an impromptu visit? A surprise? Who in the hell didn’t visit their family on the holidays? Or at least visit them from time to time?
Yeah, she’d changed, and frankly, he didn’t want anything to do with her.
He swiped away the memories they’d shared, because Lord knew he could get caught up in those. People had a way of skewing the past and forgetting all the hard times when they wanted, and he was no exception. Instead of sitting there like a jackass and recalling the way she’d smelled—coffee beans and cheap vanilla perfume—he brought to mind her temper. Lord but that girl had a temper. And resting bitch face? There’d been times he thought she was planning to murder him, having already come up with a place to hide his body. Oh, and when she didn’t get her way? Her pouting skills were par none.
He scratched his jaw and then opened up his Excel document. There’d been a time or two her stubborn streak had made him laugh. The shit she’d pulled on others had been nothing short of hilarious. And he’d been a downright professional at wiping any pout off her face. Making her laugh had been—
“Hey, I’m heading out. You need anything?”
John quickly shook his head and focused on the laptop screen in front of him, like he should have done from when he’d sat in the chair. “Nope.” He glanced down at his watch. Jesus, forty minutes had passed since he’d been out on the main floor. “See you tomorrow.”
“I won’t be in tomorrow, remember? Have to do some last-minute Christmas shopping in the city. Helen will be home with Sarah.”
Mike’s shopping trip had slipped his mind. “You only have a week before Christmas.”
“Six days to be e
xact.”
John laughed. “And only five tomorrow. Cutting it close, aren’t you?” That was a huge difference between him and his brother. John never procrastinated. Mike made a career out of it.
“Which is why I won’t be in. Anyway, you sure you don’t need anything? I don’t know, like a hot cup of coffee? I hear they have great coffee over at that café across the street. Ever heard of it?”
John stared at Mike, who had a shit-eating grin plastered to his face. “You sure are pushing it.” Which was surprising. Everyone had been tip-toeing around him for weeks since Ben had left. For the first few days after saying goodbye to the boy he’d started to call son, his emotions had been laid bare for everyone to see. He hadn’t been able to hide his heartbreak. Hadn’t been able to eat. Jessica? He didn’t miss her. Ben? He’d do just about anything to bring him back.
“How could you call me your brother if I didn’t?” Mike tossed a few receipts on the desk. “I promised Sophie I’d get these to her today. Thanks, bud.”
“Mike—”
“You better head over there. They close in ten minutes. I have to run.”
“Mike!” John snatched up the receipts and bounded for the door, just in time to nearly plow over a surprised Terrance.
John took a step back and tried to act his age in front of the kid. “Sorry. Just, uh, trying to catch up to my brother.”
Terrance looked down the hall toward the front door. “He’s gone. Just walked out the door. Well, ran, actually. You want me to catch him?”
John shook his head. He had no plans on taking the receipts over to Sophie anyway. His guilt wasn’t going to change his mind either. “No. You heading out?”
Terrance nodded. “Everything’s done. See you next week.”
John had nearly forgotten that tomorrow was Friday, so Terrance wouldn’t be in. “Good luck at your game tomorrow.”