I watch Katie drag Callie away and slide my hands into my pockets. Rory’s near the window, so I make sure Patty is involved in a conversation—she’s talking to Angus about the possibility of him needing his other hip done—and make my way across the room.
“Give me the truth now,” Rory says, lowering his glass. It’s darker on this side of the room, farther from the Christmas tree. A fire is burning in the hearth, but the people gathered in front of it are blocking the light. “How are things going with her?”
“You mean since she tried to kiss me and I rejected her, or after that, when she was stuck alone with me because a snowstorm kept her sister away?” I want to pretend I don’t know why I blurted the truth, but I’m not stupid. Part of me wants Rory to know Callie has an interest in me. Or shedidbefore I was a bloody idiot. Rory’s interest in her today was admittedly faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. I hope to squash it before it can bloom.
He gives a low whistle. “Awkward.”
“We’ve moved past the worst of it, but we’ll both be glad when her family gets through.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
“What?” I look up at him, wondering if I heard correctly.
“The roads should be clear tomorrow,” Rory says. “They’vebeen working all day. I think by the afternoon, they’ll be able to make it through.”
Disappointment settles low within me. I don’t like having a ticking clock on my time left alone with her. As much as I want to pretend otherwise, I’m enjoying it. Much more than I should.
It’s probably good Hamish and Luna and their families will be coming soon.
I search for Callie through the crowd and see her in the kitchen, speaking to Katie and Nat, her eyes on me. She’s beautiful. A light above the sink glows over the women, making Callie’s hair look shiny and her eyes sparkle. Why didn’t I let her kiss me? So what if she’s leaving soon? I could have at least enjoyed the three weeks she’s here.
When her attention whips toward Katie, then back to me, I know they’re telling her something I probably don’t want her to know. The gossipin this town is ridiculous, and the list of things they could be saying is so long, I can’t allow myself to think about it. So much for Katie taking her around to meet everyone. The only person she’s met has been Nat.
That’s it. I need a distraction before I push my way through the crowd and put a stop to their conversation like a dramatic child.
“Okay, Ror. I need new material. You got any good patient stories for me?”
He clicks his tongue. “You know I can’t share those.”
“Anything will do.”
Rory rubs a hand over his chin, thinking. “I’ve got it. You should start a country-wide sensation about two unlikely animal friends.”
“Check.”
“All out of ideas.”
I brush my fingers down my beard. “Maybe I’ll write one about a doctor who loses his best mate because he’s too much of a smart?—”
“Fine.” He sips his drink, looking about the room. “Have you thought of doing a Christmas book?”
A holiday book. A one-and-done. I’ve been trying to think of series concepts. My agent wants to sell a huge ticket item, but maybe I’ve been putting my focus in the wrong area.
I look at Katie’s Christmas tree, then at her son Jack, who is sitting on the couch with his phone. I remember when he used to lay on his stomach, playing with the train underneath the tree, his feet swinging in the air. He’s disconnected from us now, locked into his phone and mentally separated from everyone around him. There’s a vague beginning of a concept there, but it’s so hazy, it won’t form legs to stand on.
“Not a bad idea.”
“Guess I’m good for some things,” Rory says. “You can make it short but powerful. I know how you love a good moral.”
“Christmas is made for morals, right enough,” I say.
He snickers, which I ignore. Now, just to decidewhatto write.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CALLIE
“You’re tellingme Gavin is a children’s book illustrator?” I repeat, staring at the man across the house like he sprouted antennas and announced he’s going to perform the Macarena. That large, six foot two man with broad shoulders and a farm, who can cook and takes care of his elderly neighbors and treats women with so much respect he won’t randomly make out with me, alsodraws pictures for childrenfor a living? Does this mean he’s not a handyman? He’s just a good neighbor?
