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“I asked,” she said, hoping her voice sounded steady. She wanted to hold him, to smooth away the grief etched on his face. To offer this hard man something she hadn’t seen a lot from him—simple kindness.
“But not for that out-and-out pity party. I apologize.”
“For what? For being human? For hurting? For wanting someone to understand why this time of year makes you sad?”
“I don’t need your sympathy.” All trace of emotion had left his face, leaving him closely resembling that cold businessman she’d first met. “Bad things happen to people all the time. I’m sure you could go inside, talk to those people, and find thirty different hard-luck tales that would make mine look like a fairy tale.”
She shook her head as he reached for the door handle, but he didn’t see her. He was determined to dismiss his confession, to carry on as he’d always done. Maybe like a good little soldier or a stoic oak or some other metaphor for men when they swallowed grief and pretended not to feel. Her hand closed over his, and he stilled.
When his gaze met hers, she felt a shiver. “You feel exposed?”
“Don’t play games with me.”
“I’m not. Nothing wrong with being human, Brennan. Nothing wrong with vulnerability. Nothing wrong with giving me the small gift of understanding you better.”
“I don’t need to be fixed, Mary Paige.”
“Who said I was trying to fix you? Who said I give a roaring flip about whether you sing carols or toast the Yule log? I’m not trying to rehabilitate you, only understand the disdain displayed by someone who doesn’t believe in the magic of the season.”
Again, he gave her a flat stare. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
For a long moment he regarded her, as if measuring intent, cataloging possibility. One eyebrow crooked. “Serve the poor.”
“We shall.”
He pulled open the door, withdrawing his hand from beneath hers, shedding her easily as he pulled on the cloak of control he usually wore. The only difference was now Mary Paige had seen beneath the protective armor to the frightened boy who hid beneath, and for the first time since she’d met Brennan, a certainty about what he needed settled into her conscience. She’d lied when she said she didn’t give a roaring flip about healing Brennan. Because somewhere deep inside, Mary Paige knew this whole crazy campaign was more than what it seemed.
She had to be the Spirit of Christmas, not only for New Orleans, but also for the child who had cried silent tears on an unfamiliar couch. A boy who had grown to hate Christmas after being robbed of all it should have meant.
Her mission was clear. Show Brennan what service and love could do…not just for the people they served, but for the person scooping beans or writing checks.
“I’ll serve the beans this time. You’re too impatient and dribble juice everywhere. You got KP.” She slid past him as he held open the door.
“What’s that?” He followed her, executive mask firmly in place.
She gave him her flirtiest smile, raising her hands and wiggling her fingers. “Dishpan hands.”
His expression might have been intimidating had it not been for the tiniest sparkle that lit his eyes.
Yeah, she could teach Brennan to embrace the spirit of giving.
Maybe.
10
BRENNANLOOKEDINthe mirror and adjusted his tuxedo tie for the third time. Damn thing wouldn’t stay straight.
“You’re looking awfully dapper,” his grandfather said, entering the formal living room where Brennan stood sipping a cognac and contemplating his whirligig bow tie. Izzy trotted in behind Malcolm like his entourage. She hopped daintily onto her elaborate doggy bed, turned twice, and curled into a ball.
“Thanks. Thought I’d confirm Mark’s delusion that paisley is back, therefore the tie.”
“No doubt you’ll set styles this holiday,” his grandfather said, a faint smile hovering at his lips. Brennan knew sarcasm when he heard it. In fact, Malcolm was the former King of Droll, but seemed to have abdicated in favor of sincerity.
Brennan offered a crystal cordial glass to his grandfather, whose breast pocket sported a bright red handkerchief that matched the blinking Rudolph nose he’d snapped onto his face. “No, thank you.”
Brennan tried not to roll his eyes. He really did. But they seemed to have a mind of their own. “A blinking nose?”
