Bring Me A Maverick For Christmas!. Brenda Harlen
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stirred. And while she liked the idea of a boyfriend who might someday turn into a husband, her track record with men was a bunch of false starts and incomplete finishes.
Well, not really a bunch. Barely even a handful. But the number wasn’t as important as the fact that, at the end of the day, she was alone.
“Do you have other plans?” she asked.
“No,” he reluctantly admitted. “But that’s not the point.”
“If you don’t want to help out, say so,” she told him.
“I just don’t think I’m the best choice to fill the big guy’s boots,” he said.
“You managed okay today.”
“I’m not sure Owen would agree,” he remarked dryly.
“A bump in the road,” she acknowledged. “But I’m confident you won’t make the same mistake again.”
“You’re expressing a lot of faith in a guy you don’t even know,” he warned.
“I’m a pretty good judge of character.”
Except that wasn’t really true with respect to men. Canines and felines, yes. Even birds and rodents and fish. And while most people would doubt that fish had much character, she’d had a dwarf puffer for four years that had been a true diva in every sense of the word.
“But if you really don’t want to do it, that’s fine,” she said to him now. “I’m sure I can find someone else to play Santa.”
And that would probably be a better solution all around, because he was clearly a reluctant Santa and she was reluctant to spend any more time in close proximity to a male who reminded her that she was a woman without a man in her life.
Most of the time, she was perfectly happy with the status quo. But every now and again, she found herself thinking that it might be nice to share her life with someone who could contribute something other than woofs and meows to a conversation. And then she’d force herself to go out and try to meet new people. And her hopes and expectations would be dashed by reality. Again.
But Bailey surprised her by not immediately accepting this offer. “Well, I’m not sure that what I want really matters, since Annie will tell Dan that I agreed to do it and then, if I don’t, I’ll have to explain why and how I wriggled my way out of it.”
“Are you saying that you will do it?” she asked, half hopeful, half wary.
“I guess I am,” he agreed.
“Then I guess, unless Dan makes a miraculous recovery, I’ll see you at the school on Tuesday.”
“Or maybe now,” Bailey said, as Serena moved toward the door. Because for reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom, he was reluctant to watch her walk away. Or maybe he was just hungry.
She looked at him blankly. “Maybe now what?”
“Maybe I’ll see you now—which sounded much better in my head than it did aloud,” he acknowledged ruefully. “And which was supposed to be a segue into asking if you wanted to get something to eat.”
“Oh.” She seemed as uncertain about how to answer the question as he’d been to ask it.
“I was so nervous about the Santa gig that I didn’t eat lunch before, and now I’m starving.”
Serena offered him a leftover candy cane.
“I think I’m going to want something more than that,” he said. “How about you? Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
Her stomach rumbled, calling her out on the fib.
His lips curved. “You want to reconsider your answer?”
“Apparently I am hungry,” she acknowledged, one side of her mouth turning up in a half-smile.
“Do you want to grab a bite at the Gold Rush Diner?”
She hesitated.
“It’s a simple yes or no question,” he told her.
“Like...a date?” she asked cautiously.
“No.” His knee-jerk response was as vehement as it was immediate.
Thankfully, Serena laughed, apparently more relieved than insulted by his hasty rejection of the idea.
“In that case, yes,” she told him.
Since nothing was too far from anything else in the downtown area of Rust Creek Falls, they decided to leave their vehicles parked at the community center and walk over to the diner. Even on the short walk, the air was brisk with the promise of more snow in the forecast.
The name of the restaurant was painted on the plate-glass front window of the brick building. When Bailey opened the door for Serena, a cowbell overhead announced their arrival.
Though the diner did a steady business, the usual lunch crowd had already cleared out and he gestured for her to choose from the row of vacant booths. She slid across a red vinyl bench and he took a seat opposite her.
After a quick review of the menu, Bailey decided on the steak sub and Serena opted for a house salad.
“Your stomach was audibly rumbling,” he reminded her. “I don’t think it’s going to be satisfied with salad.”
“I’m supposed to be going to a dinner and dance at Sawmill Station tonight. The salad will tide me over until then.”
“The Presents for Patriots fund-raiser,” he guessed. “I’ve been working with Brendan Tanner on that this year.”
“Dr. Smith bought a table and gave the tickets out to his staff.”
“Then I’ll see you there.”
“Unless I decide to stay home with Marvin, Molly and Max.”
“I know that Marvin’s your dog,” he said. “But Molly and Max?”
“Cat and bunny,” she admitted.
“You have a lot of pets,” he noted.
“Animals are usually better company than people.”
“Present company excluded?” he suggested dryly.
Her cheeks flushed. “Maybe it would be more accurate to say that I’m better with animals than with people.”
“You were great with the kids today,” he assured her.
“Thanks, but kids are generally accepting and easy to please. Especially kids who are focused on something else—such as seeing Santa Claus.”
“That reminds me,” he said. “What do you know about this PKT-79 all the kids were asking about?”
“It’s an upgrade of the 78 that came out in the spring.”
“The 78 what?”
“An interactive pocket toy that communicates with other similar toys,” she explained.
“And where would I find one?” he asked.
“You won’t,” she told him. “They’re sold out everywhere.”
“They can’t be sold out everywhere,” he protested, nodding his thanks to the waitress when she set his plate in front of him.
“It was a headline on my news feed last week—‘Must-Have Toy of the Year Sold Out Everywhere.’”
He shook salt over his fries as he considered this setback to his plan.
“Of course, you could always ask Santa for one,” she said, tongue in cheek, as she stabbed her fork into a tomato wedge.
“Do Santa’s elves have a production line of PKT-79s at the North Pole?”