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“We’re getting close to Christmas. They told us we had a time limit. What if we run out of time?”
Dawson shook his head. “I don’t think they’d let that happen—unless we can’t solve a clue. This has been too meticulous. Too planned. Even down to the time of year. Speaking of Christmas, do you have plans?”
For a moment, she wondered what the correct answer was here. If she had none, he might feel obliged to invite her somewhere. But she could only be honest.
“I’ll spend it with my sister, her husband, and my niece. We have some cousins, but they live in Florida. What will you do?”
He was quiet for a moment, and she regretted asking. It was too personal. Maybe Dawson didn’t have someone to spend Christmas with. And now her heart was aching.
“I haven’t finalized my plans,” he said after a pause. “There’s something that I do every Christmas morning, but I haven’t decided what to do later. I have a few options. You know?” He laughed. “I haven’t even put up my Christmas tree yet.”
“You haven’t? But it’s the twelfth of December—that’s practically bad luck,” she said indignantly.
“It is?” he asked with humor in his voice. “Then maybe you better help me do something about it.”
“I will.” Piper stood up and offered him her hand, pulling him up alongside her. Their faces only inches apart. “Tomorrow night. You pull out your decorations. I’ll bring the snacks.”
“You bring snacks?”
“Absolutely.” She slid her hand into his arm as they turned toward the exit.
A warm feeling spread over her. More time together. She liked the thought of that. But for now, she kept that thought to herself.
Chapter Nine
Dawson wasn’t usuallynervous. He had, of course, invited women to his apartment before. But he couldn’t ever remember feeling jittery.
The place was tidy. Dawson was house proud but not fastidious. He put things away, tidied up after himself, and his house was always presentable. Trouble was, he hadn’t counted on the Christmas decorations. They were stored in a seldom used closet and five minutes before Piper was due to arrive, he thought it best to pull them out.
But as he yanked the ancient Christmas tree box out, it dislodged the other large boxes next to it, spilling their contents onto the sitting room floor, along with a small cloud of dust.
And just at that exact second, his doorbell rang.
He stood, head going from side to side for a second trying to decide what to do. Then he just laughed and opened the door.
Piper had filled the basket they’d both received from the attorneys with a whole array of snacks and held it up with a smile, then, clearly noticing him, lowered it, and pointed at the smudges on his black T-shirt and jeans. “What have you been doing to get so dirty?”
He turned, waving his hand at the disarray behind him, “Around two minutes ago, I thought I might pull out the Christmas decorations. I promise you that until that moment, things were in good order in here.”
He stepped back, letting Piper walk in, and she moved over to his dining room table and set the basket down. On top was a large box of popcorn. She handed it to him, taking a handful and starting to eat. “So, we might as well start early. We could be doing this for a while.”
Dawson grinned and walked into his kitchen. “Wine, beer, or coffee,” he called.
“Give me a beer,” she said, and by the time he walked back, Piper was on her hands and knees on his floor. She was picking up the variety of decorations. “You have so many,” she said in awe, lifting up one, thankfully still intact, clear glass bauble with a Santa inside.
Dawson joined her on the floor. “I told you, these were my mother’s.” He picked up something made from wood. He sighed. “I think I made this in third grade. I can’t believe she kept it all these years.”
Piper bumped him with her shoulder. “Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?” She picked up another that was bright pink and tipped her head to the side as she clearly couldn’t decide what it was supposed to be.
“That,” said Dawson proudly, “is a Christmas mouse. Made from clay, fired somewhere, and then painted by me.”
Piper opened her mouth and gave him a curious look. She’d tied her red-blonde hair up in a ponytail and was wearing a Christmas sweater. She looked incredible, and it was hard not to stare. “Why a mouse?”
He folded his arms and gave her a nod. “This was a grade school project, too. They gave us the clay, told us to make whatever we wanted for Christmas. Around ninety percent of the class did Christmas tree shapes, a few did Christmas stockings, one child genius made some intricate train thing, and I”—he pointed to himself happily—“made the very famous Christmas mouse.”
Piper looked thoughtful for a moment and then shook her head. “Nope, you got me. The famous Christmas mouse?”
He lifted his hand up to the table and brought the box of popcorn down to the floor. “Yeah. I swore blind about the famous Christmas mouse. Truth was, I made a few different things, didn’t like any of them, and ran out of time. So, a mouse it was. It took around ten seconds to shape and add a tail and ears. And like any self-respecting child who might get made fun of, I made up a story about it.” He rolled his eyes. “An elaborate story.”
