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“See you in a few hours, sweet Sandy.”

It won’t be soon enough, Upton Asbury.

8

upton

“Bahumbug.”

“He’s in a mood today.”

Sandy is gorgeous today in a white, fuzzy sweater dress. She hugs her arms to her chest as the snow flutters around her with each gust of wind. I’d feel better if she were inside where it’s warm, but she’s obviously feeling anxious.

“My mother is always in a mood, so I get it. I think we’ll manage,” I say to her with a wink. “Nothing a little steak and potatoes can’t fix.” I lift up both grocery sacks in emphasis and close the car door with my hip. “Hope you’re hungry. I’m making cookies too.”

Her pretty features transform from worried to pleased. I like that I can lighten her load and make her smile. When I reach her, I note that she still smells like the flower shop. Earlier, while we had coffee, it took everything in me not to lean in and inhale her lovely scent.

“Thanks for coming over,” she says and stands on her toes to peck my cheek. “I needed this.”

My chest puffs with pride as I enter the cottage. The Christmas tree is lit up, but all the boxes remain where I left them when I fetched them from the attic. Amos sits by the window, dog in lap, and glaring at the bay.

“Amos,” I say in greeting. “Good seeing you again, sir.”

Amos grunts but doesn’t look my way. Sandy’s lips press into a firm line. I shrug it off and make my way to the kitchen. After I set the bags down, she begins efficiently unloading them for me. Her long blonde hair is down and extra silky today. My fingers ache to run through the glittery strands that remind me of tinsel on a tree.

“You’re staring,” she says, smirking at me. “Do I have bags under my eyes? Isabel worked me hard today.”

“Nope. You’re beautiful and sometimes I get caught staring.”

Her cheeks redden and she rolls her eyes. “Forgot what a charmer you always were.”

Is it really being a charmer if you’re simply stating the truth?

“Only with you,” I tell her and mean it. Sandy Everhart is the only woman who’s ever got inside my soul. Sure, there have been women that were attractive or that I flirted with, but no one has ever shaken me to my core like she does.

We spend the next half hour prepping the steaks and getting the baked potatoes going. While the potatoes cook, I make up some snickerdoodle cookie batter to chill until after dinner. Since we have a little time to kill before the steaks and asparagus goes on, I gesture for Sandy to follow me back into the living room.

“It’s a little quiet,” I say as I approach the record player. “Any favorites, Amos?”

“Bahumbug.”

I glance over to look at him and he’s lost the frown. He’s interested in what I’m doing. I take that as progress.

Since you can never go wrong with Bing Crosby, and they have a million of his records, I grab a popular Christmas album and put it on. As soon as he starts crooning, the vibe in the cottage shifts. Amos relaxes and even smiles. I feel nostalgic, remembering Christmastime as a kid here in Budgie Bay. Sandy, however, tenses. Her plump lips tug into a frown.

“Is this okay?” I ask under my breath.

She forces a smile. “Yes. Of course. I think this is why he’s grumpy. I keep avoiding…this.” She gestures to the boxes. “I’ve been busy to my defense.”

“I’d love a cup of coffee,” I tell her with a gentle smile. “How about you hook me up with some caffeine and I’ll take care of this for you?”

Relief floods through her. “I can handle that.” Then, to her father, she says, “Daddy, you want some coffee or hot cocoa?”

“Coffee sounds good, lovebird.”

Once she leaves, Amos scoots the dog out of his lap and then rolls his way over to the tree. Wordlessly, I locate a box labeled ornaments and then fish out a smaller box for him. His arthritic, shaky hands fumble with the box, but he’s determined to get to the ornaments. Slowly, he begins hooking them onto the fake Christmas tree branches. Since he can’t reach too far, I place ornaments up top and around the back of the tree.

“I haven’t decorated a tree since childhood,” I admit, feeling a little sheepish.