When Snowflakes Never Cease (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  One man in the corner had awakened as they rolled the tree into place and plugged it in. He shot a questioning look at them, but Ronni shook her head, held two thumbs up, and hoped he got the message. When he shifted to drop his head on the other side of his neck pillow, she took that as a success.

  Hank rested his cheek on her hair, and Ronni wondered how a snowstorm could turn two strangers into friends who were considering… well, the potential for more. It’s like one of those action films where, in the span of a few hours, people go from total strangers to making out just before their supposed plunge to death. After a second thought, she added, But for middle-aged people.

  Then again, with every decade, the luxury of taking your time to get to discover if interest was there, get to know someone, enjoy an extended dating period, use a long engagement to plan an elaborate wedding… it disappeared. Doing that could take up twenty percent of the time you might have with someone.

  Odd how her dreams had changed from her twenties. Back then, she saved for an expensive destination wedding. In her thirties, she’d dreamed of small, intimate ceremonies with only a hundred or so guests and an all-night reception. In her forties, she’d discovered that intimate could be just you, your best friends, and an officiate. A reception of closest friends and families at a nice rental home a month or two after a nice honeymoon would cost half what a wedding and reception did and have more meaning. Lately, she’d assumed none of it mattered. Finding someone obviously wasn’t in her future.

  Ronni gazed down at Hank’s hand. It lay wrapped around her arm, holding her as close as possible and obviously for her comfort more than anything. A strong hand—large. The nails weren’t well-shaped, and a cut she hadn’t noticed before looked almost healed. Definitely a working-man’s hand. I bet they’re strong.

  Something about the shadows in the dimly lit room showed a stripe across his ring finger. When had he taken off his wedding ring? Recently? She hadn’t seen him wear it, but the indention looked there, and it did feel vaguely familiar. Was he ready for it? Really? For a relationship? To be without a wedding band that he’d worn for… did he say thirty years?

  “What’re you thinking, Ron?”

  A blind date had called her “Ron” once. She’d stared at him for a moment, rose, dropped her napkin on her chair, and walked out. She’d also had to return for her purse, but she’d made her point. No one calls Veronica Carlisle “Ron.”

  Except Ronni wanted nothing more than to hear him repeat it. I’ve lost my mind. When he bent down to see if she was awake, she smiled and blurted out her thoughts. “Wedding—s.” Uh, oh. She’d barely stopped herself in time. Now she had to think and fast. “How do you feel about elaborate ones?”

  “Planning yours, are you?” The smile in his voice told her he wasn’t panicked or over-eager. Just amused.

  “I can’t remember how I got to this point. It started back with action movies where relationships move at warp speed, went to something about what I thought of weddings in my twenties versus now, and spiraled from there.”

  He might have said more—answered the question, even—but a little girl sat up, stared at the tree, and gasped. She rubbed her eyes just like kids did in movies from the fifties and reached over to shake someone’s shoulder. “Mom! Look!”

  “Go back to sleep, Amie.”

  Again, the girl shook her. “Look, Mom! It’s a Christmas tree!” With her voice scaling with each word, several others stirred. Yolanda popped up from behind the counter, her hair on end, and ready to do battle. “Wha—? Oh! Hank?”

  “Other side of the counter, Yola. Merry Christmas.”

  Low rumbles turned into yawns and a few chuckles. The baby wailed. Snores came to a stop. What began as complaints about the noise turned into delighted exclamations and murmurs of “Merry Christmas.”

  Hank rose, helped Ronni to her feet, and moved toward one of the tables where a middle-aged woman rolled to her feet. “Need help?”

  “No, no. Just have weak knees, so I slept up there to keep me from having to get up off the ground, you know?”

  “Sure…” He helped her fold up her blankets and took command of the table. Ronni passed him her phone. “Can you get my Spotify going? I’ll help pick up some of this while you start the waffles.”

  “Get them going on presents as soon as you can. It’ll make waiting for the waffles easier.”

  She gave him a thumb’s up and went to help the elderly woman off the suitcases. The old gal scowled at being awakened. “I’m too old to get up at six o’clock—”

  “Seven-thirty,” Ronni corrected.”

  “Any thirty on Christmas.”

  Little Amie moved close and apologized. “I’m sorry I was so loud. I didn’t think we were getting any Christmas, but look!” She gave the woman a hug. “I can’t believe it!”

  That’s all it took. “Mona” assured Amie that she was just grumpy without her morning coffee and to ignore her. Ronni whispered a thanks.

  “Who gets presents?” You could almost squeeze the apprehension in Amie’s tone.

  “Everyone, of course. It’s not Christmas if everyone doesn’t have presents.” And I’ll have to steal a used bow for Hank’s. She dug out Amie’s and passed it to the girl. “Maybe you should go first.”

  “Oh, no! I want Miss Mona to go first. She’s the oldest. She should be first!”

  Despite Mona’s snicker, the woman did mutter something about needing that coffee. Ronni dug through the boxes for the one she’d wrapped herself. Gold paper, red bow, heart tag… ah… there it was. She pulled it out and said, “Merry Christmas.”

  A hush fell around the room as the woman removed the bow, untaped each side of the metallic wrapping, folded the wrapping, and then, ignoring the picture taped to the box, opened it and removed bubble wrap and the little shepherd boy figurine. “Oh… He’s darling. I’ve always liked those Hummels. He looks like one.”

  “He is one. The Shepherd’s Boy. We thought it would be a good one for today. It was Hank’s mother-in-law’s. She was a collector.”

  Mona began a protest, saying it was too much, but Ronni spoke low. “Please… you’ll hurt his feelings. He was so excited to do this for you. Just accept it.”

  A hug for her… and for Hank. Compared to her, he looked like a giant crushing his prey, but Mona just beamed. “It’s probably the kindest gift I’ve ever received.”

  To avoid protests over who got a gift when, Ronni suggested Mona choose the next box and deliver it to its owner. That person would choose a different one, and so forth. It worked well. Amie sat awed with her small sewing basket complete with pins, needles, small scissors, lace scraps, and pre-cut out doll dresses. They were a bit hacked, of course, but Hank had done his best, which had been a sight better than her best!

  Samuel didn’t get a flute, but Hank had finally found the hand-carved recorder that they’d bought on vacation one year… and hadn’t used since it tormented them all the way home. Jordan got his snowboard—not the best one ever made, but better than none. One woman received yarn. A man got a gift card to Bass Pro Shops, one Hank had been delighted to dispose of.

  And Seamus Clark? He got a collector copy of A Christmas Carol… the ten-dollar special from Barnes and Noble that Peg had bought for a Christmas decoration the year before her diagnosis. Hank had also been thrilled to get rid of it. Seamus even chuckled as he opened it and held it up for the room to see. While the adults chuckled, Amie pulled her doll and basket close to him and said, “Will you read it to us, Mr. Seamus?”

  All while people opened gifts—including a handwritten note promising some of Ronni’s airline miles to Savannah, Georgia to go to Mimosa Island for Yolanda—Hank worked tirelessly on those waffles. Ronni moved to his side and held out her folded piece of printer paper with its stolen red bow. “Merry Christmas. You open that. I’ll make sure these don’t burn.”

  Hank held it—smoothed a wrinkle from one corner. “I left your gift at the house. I just—well…” He g
ave her a goofy look before shrugging. “Well, I wanted it to be just us. Mind if I save this for then?”

  “Only if…” Did she dare? Oh, yes. She dared. Life was too short not to. “Only if you make sure the magic of that mistletoe is still in effect.”

  “Just as soon as I can get you away from ninety eyes—give or take.” He’d have said something else, but Ronni’s phone rang, silencing the music. She stared first at it then at him. Hank pushed it forward. “Looks like service is restored.”

  The name on the screen sent alternating ripples of excitement and dread through her. As she picked it up, she whispered, “It’s Mr. Sasaki!”

  Rational thought tried to muscle in. A call from the developer should be good. No one would call to say that someone didn’t get a deal on Christmas. Furthermore, if it took Ronni away, well… this meant retirement. Which could bring her back.

  Furthermore, that much unease over a phone call to a woman he’d known for two days—ridiculous. Hank knew every argument in the book—chapter and verse, even—and it didn’t matter. Because dread kicked rationale to the snowbanks outside and let it shiver in the cold.

  And he burned Seamus’ waffle, too.

  “You two seem… friendly,” the man said. “I hadn’t thought her the… friendly type.”

  “Her future is riding on a meeting she missed yesterday. She was stressed. It’s no excuse, of course, but it does make it understandable, I would think.”

  Seamus watched as Hank cooked a new waffle, and it didn’t seem like ensuring it didn’t come with a liberal coating of charcoal was the reason. Not until Hank handed him a plate and another apology for the wait did the man speak again. “This may be way out of line, but I’m going to throw it out there just in case.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Met someone once. Long weekend in Mammoth, actually. I never got her number. It was back when you didn’t give out numbers to just anyone like people do now. Back before Google. Back when I was young and figured I had a lifetime to meet someone who wasn’t just ‘an infatuation.’ That’s how I saw it. Just a weekend romance that couldn’t go anywhere. I never even kissed her, but that was over twenty years ago, and I still regret it.”

  “So, look her up. See—”

  He shook his head. “I did… about ten years ago, I decided to see if I could find her on Facebook. I did. Profile picture was a wedding picture from the year before. I was too late.” He turned away and said as he retreated. “Don’t make my mistake.”

  Before he could process that, a “thank you, sir” from Ronni, and his phone ringing, diverted him. The screen said Hannah and showed a picture of her youngest. Haley would call next. Then Heather. A glance over at Ronni and the smile she flashed him made up his mind. He strode to the office, grabbed his coat, and stepped outside. “Hey, sweetheart. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

  “Look, before we do the thing with the kids, I have something to tell you, and I want your input.”

  Dead air made Hank wonder if he’d lost her, but a moment later, she said, “Of course. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, but…” The story came out. From Yola’s call to the call Ronni was on right then. “It’s nothing yet, of course—”

  “Don’t be so sure of that. People used to fall in love in a matter of days. Then we got too smart for ourselves, took forever to know someone, and look at our divorce rate. Have we improved it by waiting forever to see if we want someone?”

  That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “Um, you’re not following the script.”

  “If you expect me to say that I think you’re being premature to want to get to know someone, you’ll be disappointed. She’s a Christian—you said that, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Okay, she’s a Christian, she’s obviously interested in you, and you’ve spent two snowbound days with her and still want to know more.”

  Put like that, it wasn’t much to go on, and Hank said as much.

  “It’s more than a guy seeing someone in a coffee shop and saying, ‘Hey, want to get a coffee together sometime?’ At least you know enough about her—”

  There, Hank interrupted her. “Okay, I get it. Now… you girls. How would you feel if your old dad started dating—or, at least dating her?”

  The near-silence that greeted him didn’t reassure. However, Hannah came back with an unexpected, but very “her” response. “Well, before they know it’s a potential reality instead of a possibility, they’ll be thrilled. We’ve all been talking about it a lot since fall.”

  “But…”

  “But,” she agreed, “you know how it is. It’s easy to be sure of how you feel when it’s all supposition. Reality can sometimes hurt more than you imagined.”

  When he asked if he should talk to the girls, Hannah said no. Hank’s gut clenched. “Too soon? After Christmas? New Year? Never?”

  “No, not that. Let me do it. They’ll be honest with me, and you know I’ll be honest with you.”

  That was true. Hannah was always kind but forthright. “Thanks, sweetheart. Now let me talk to my buds.”

  “First, you didn’t ask how I felt about it.”

  “I figured if you were against it, you wouldn’t have been trying to talk me into it.”

  Laughter—broken but real. It hurt her. Great.

  “Daddy, I’m going to be brutally honest. It’s going to hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt. Then again, so did labor, and I’m still glad I went through that. Just tell her to give us time. If we don’t seem as thrilled to be with her, remind her it’s not about her presence but about Mom’s absence. We’re still having trouble with that one, and it might get mixed up in our heads sometimes.”

  “I can wait—”

  “No!” A huff followed. “Daddy, don’t. We all want you happy. I think… maybe, anyway, I think this Ronni might be able to do that. You sound… something. I can’t say what it is, but whatever it is, you sound it. And it sounds good on you.”

  What she said next, Hank didn’t hear. Ronni’s voice broke through, and the words, “Of course, I can be there by Friday, Mr. Sasaki. I’ll walk if I have to,” made him wonder if he’d put his daughter through premature grief intensity. She is leaving, after all…

  The fire flickered in the grate, and a log fell a little too close to the screen for Ronni’s comfort. Without a word, Hank rose from the couch, gave an absent scratch to Piston’s ears, and went to rearrange things. “I’ve lost my touch, Piston. Twice in a week.”

  The words made little sense, but Ronni noticed something different about them. Not one had been addressed to her. Maybe I should ask for that note back. He’d do it—if he knew I meant it. But what if Seamus was right?

  Seamus Clark had cornered her by the restrooms and implored her not to let the opportunity escape. “He’s intrigued and charmed by you. Finding a man who sees more than just how you look in a pair of jeans or a skirt isn’t something to sneer at these days.

  The point was valid. Her reaction—not so much. For all the feminist lessons she’d been taught since junior high, at fifty, she feared that this man she’d met and kept her from thinking rationally might just decide her jeans and sweater were too small—not enough for the soft, cuddly woman he was used to. Genetics were against her, too. Most of both sides of her family found it difficult to keep on extra weight.

  Hank's arm had slid around her again without her even noticing. She did, however, notice the phone he held out to her. “A text to you from Haley.”

  “To me?” Panic stepped up to the mic, ready to scream, but sense took over and reminded her that Hank wouldn’t have shown her if it had been bad. Ronni gave him a weak smile and read. My daddy’s the best man ever—well, he ties with Brian. He likes you enough to want a chance. Please give it to him. You won’t regret it. His three remaining girls promise.

  While she read, he’d reached under the couch and pulled out a wrapped box. He also retrieved the now-smash
ed bow-bedecked paper from his front pocket. “Time for presents, I think.”

  “How do I respond to this?”

  “However you like. I’ll try to remember not to read it, but I can’t promise I won’t forget.”

  It took a few tries to get it right, but she finally decided that nothing would be perfect. “Good enough” would have to be good enough. Once done, she reread it one last time. Any fool who didn’t ask HIM to give HER a chance doesn’t deserve one. I was that fool when I got here, but Hank has made me wiser in many ways. Thank YOU for giving me a chance, too. It still read cheesy, corny, and more than a little desperate. Ronni passed the phone to him and settled his gift in place.

  Her heart constricted, and her lungs collapsed. There, dangling from the ribbon, was the heart she’d made him out of his twenty-dollar bill. Anger overtook hurt. The man was an idiot—infuriating. She shot him a dirty look, but he just grinned at her. “Give me your phone.”

  “Wha—?”

  Ronni snatched it back, but the message had been sent. Too late. And now some poor girl would be hurt to learn that her “perfect father” got his “widdle heart bwoken” by the mean city lady who refused to let him order her around.

  “Jerk.”

  “I—what?”

  “You heard me.”

  Hank cleared his throat before responding. “I did, but I’m not sure why I got blessed with such a sweet pet name.”

  “Don’t mock me.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned. “And here I thought you were mocking me. Why am I a jerk, then?”

  “The fact that you have to ask is enough.” Everything within her said to get up, go to “her” apartment, and lock the door. Everything but one tiny corner of her mind that demanded she stay and fight. Ronni moved to that corner of the ring. “If you’re looking for someone who is going to be happy with you deciding how everything will be, let’s just say you should keep looking.”

  “Whatever made you—?” She flicked the heart, and Hank stopped. He sighed. “I knew I should have just handed it to you and explained. I wanted it on there because it looked pretty.”