Home for Christmas: Return to Promise / Can This Be Christmas?. Debbie Macomber
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him onto the porch.
Cal hung back. “Dovie brought me some dinner recently,” he said, defending himself. “Savannah, too.”
“That’s a little different, don’t you think?”
“No,” he snapped. “Nicole’s just doing something thoughtful, the same as Dovie and Savannah.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m not going to stand out here and argue with you,” Cal muttered, especially since he agreed with his brother and this entire setup made him uncomfortable. If she’d asked his preference, Cal would have told Nicole to forget it. He was perfectly capable of preparing his own meals, even if he had little interest in doing so. He missed Jane’s dinners—but it was more than the food.
Cal was lonely. He’d lived by himself for several years and now he’d learned, somewhat to his dismay, that he no longer liked it. At first it’d been the little things he’d missed most—conversation over dinner, saying good-night to his children, sitting quietly with Jane in the evenings. Lately, though, it was everything.
“I’ll be leaving,” Glen said coldly, letting Cal know once again that he didn’t approve of Nicole’s being here.
“I’ll give you a call later,” Cal shouted as Glen got into his truck.
“What for?”
His brother could be mighty dense at times. “Never mind,” Cal said, and stepped into the house.
Nicole was already in the kitchen, bustling about, making herself at home. He found he resented that. “I’ve got the oven preheating to 350 degrees,” she said, facing him.
He stood stiffly in the doorway, anxious to send her on her way.
“As soon as the oven’s ready, bake it for thirty minutes.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“Oh, I nearly forgot.”
She hurried toward him and it took Cal an instant to realize she wanted out the door. He moved aside, but not quickly enough to avoid having her brush against him. The scent of her perfume reminded him of something Jane might wear. Roses, he guessed. Cal experienced a pang of longing. Not for Nicole, but for his wife. It wasn’t right that another woman should walk into their home like this. Dammit, Jane should be here, not Nicole—or anyone else.
“I left the sour cream and salsa in the car,” Nicole said breathlessly when she returned. She placed both containers on the table, checked the oven and set the glass dish inside. “Okay,” she said, rubbing her palms together. “I think that’s everything.”
Cal remained standing by the door, wanting nothing so much as to see her go.
She pointed to the oven. “Thirty minutes. Do you need me to write that down?”
He shook his head and didn’t offer her an excuse to linger.
“I’ll stay if you like and put together a salad.”
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”
She smiled sweetly. “In that case, enjoy.”
This time when she left, Cal knew to stand far enough aside to avoid any physical contact. He watched her walk back to her car, aware of an overwhelming sense of relief.
Life at the retirement center suited Phil Patterson. He had his own small apartment and didn’t need to worry about cooking. The monthly fee included three meals a day. He could choose to eat alone in his room or sit in the dining room if he wanted company. Adjusting to life without Mary hadn’t been easy—wasn’t easy now—but he kept active and that helped. So did staying in touch with friends. Particularly Frank Hennessey. Gordon Pawling, too. The three men played golf every week.
Frank’s wife, Dovie, and Mary had been close for many years, and in some ways Mary’s death had been as hard on Dovie as it was on Phil. At the end, when Mary was no longer able to recognize either of them, Phil had sat and wept with his wife’s dear friend. He hadn’t allowed himself to break down in front of either of his sons, but felt no such compunction when he was around Dovie. She’d cried with him, and their shared grief had meant more than any words she might have said.
Frank and Dovie had Phil to dinner at least once a month, usually on the first Monday. He thought it was a bit odd that Frank had issued an invitation that afternoon when they’d finished playing cards at the seniors’ center.
“It’s the middle of the month,” Phil protested. “I was over at your place just two weeks ago.”
“Do you want to come for dinner or not?” Frank said.
Only a fool would turn down one of Dovie’s dinners. That woman could cook unlike anyone he knew. Even Mary, who was no slouch when it came to preparing a good meal, had envied Dovie’s talent.
“I’ll be there,” Phil promised, and promptly at five-thirty, he arrived at Frank and Dovie’s, a bouquet of autumn flowers in his hand.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Dovie said when she greeted him, kissing his cheek lightly.
Phil immediately caught a whiff of something wonderful—a blend of delightful aromas. He smelled bread fresh from the oven and a cake of some sort, plus the spicy scent of one of her Cajun specialties.
Frank and Phil settled down in the living room and Dovie soon joined them, carrying an appetizer plate full of luscious little things. A man sure didn’t eat this well at the retirement center, he thought. Good thing, too, or he’d be joining the women at their weekly weight-loss group.
Phil helped himself to a shrimp, dipping it in a spicy sauce. Frank opened a bottle of red wine and brought them each a glass.
They chatted amiably for several minutes, but Phil knew something was on Dovie’s mind—the same way he always knew when Mary was worried about one thing or another. Phil had an inkling of what it was, too, and decided to break the ice and make it easier for his friends.
“It’s times like these that I miss Mary the most,” he murmured, choosing a brie-and-mushroom concoction next.
“You mean for social get-togethers and such?” Frank asked.
“Well, yes, those, too,” Phil said. “The dinners with friends and all the things we’d planned to do once we retired.”
Dovie and Frank waited.
“I wish Mary were here to talk to Cal.”
His friends exchanged glances, and Phil realized he’d been right. They’d heard about Cal and Nicole Nelson.
“You know?” Frank asked.
Phil nodded. It wasn’t as though he could avoid hearing. Promise, for all its prosperity and growth, remained a small town. The news that Nicole Nelson had delivered dinner to Cal had spread faster than last winter’s flu bug. He didn’t approve, but he wasn’t about to discuss it with Cal, either. Mary could have had a gentle word with their son, and Cal wouldn’t have taken offense. But Phil wasn’t especially adroit at that kind of conversation. He knew Cal wouldn’t appreciate the advice, nor did Phil think it was necessary. His son loved Jane, and that was all there was to it. He’d never do anything to jeopardize his marriage.
“Apparently Nicole brought him dinner—supposedly to thank Cal for some help he recently gave her,” Dovie said, her face pinched with disapproval.
“If you ask me, that young woman is trying to stir up trouble,” Frank added.
“Maybe so,” Phil agreed, but he knew his oldest son almost as well as he knew himself. Cal hadn’t sought out this other woman; she was the one who’d come chasing after him. His son would handle the situation.
“No one’s suggesting they’re romantically involved,” Frank said hastily.
“They aren’t,” Phil insisted,