Part 4 (2/2)
”Then you definitely need to do it more often,” she said.
”You might just be right about that.”
Their gazes locked for a long moment, and then Holly dragged hers away and turned toward the kitchen. ”I'm gonna start dinner and find that radio.”
She hurried into the kitchen, where she had deposited boxes, bags, and two giant ice chests full of food. She fully intended to give herself, and her mom, dad, baby sis, and their former happy home, a full-blown, traditional, all-out Christmas Eve dinner. And she had brought all the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. There was a new tank of LP gas outside, courtesy of Ms. Sullivan. Plenty enough for her to cook for a few days. The range was old, coppertone, and dated. But it was clean and it worked fine. She lit the oven to let it heat up, and then returned to her boxes and bags to dig for the little radio she'd brought along.
Once she had it working, broadcasting the station with the clearest signal, she took a package of frozen French fries from one of the ice chests. She lined a cookie sheet with aluminum foil, sprayed it with organic olive oil cooking spray, and spread the fries on it. Then she gave them another spray, sprinkled them in sea salt, and popped them into the oven. On a second tray she spread the veggie burgers, topped each of them with a slice of green pepper, a slice of onion, and a large thin slice of portabella mushroom. Then she added some tomato sauce and grated cheese blend to each, and slid them into the oven as well.
Finally the music stopped and the weather report came on. She went still, her full attention on the weatherman. Then she blinked, and looked skyward.
”I said I wished he would stay a little while longer.”
The hat blew off the snowman's head, and tumbled to the ground. It rolled along until it hit the sidewalk, and then skittered on its brim, a few feet at at time, until it came to rest exactly in Bernie's path.
Bernie was cold. Way colder than he used to get in the wintertime. But then again, he was getting on in years. He was probably way too old to be sleeping in doorways and whatnot. He was on his way to his favorite diner-the one with the cute waitress who always managed to find something hot for him to eat, and gave it to him without making him feel like a charity case.
She was a rare gem, that waitress.
His stomach was growling in antic.i.p.ation and he walked a little faster as he got closer to the diner. He tried not to show up there too often. Didn't want to wear out his welcome or take advantage of a kind heart. But there was just no help for it this morning. It had been a cold night, and he needed a warm meal in his belly more than he needed air.
His foot hit something in his path-and he looked down to see a black felt hat, just sitting there. Bernie looked up and down the sidewalk. He looked left and he looked right, wondering if the brisk, freezing wind had driven it off someone's head-someone who was, even now, running along the sidewalk to retrieve it.
But no. There was no one.
So Bernie hunkered down and he picked up that hat. He put it on his head, and it felt good. Warmed his ears a little. Moreover, he thought it looked pretty good, too.
He smiled, and stood a little straighter as he continued on his way to the diner.
Seven.
MATTHEW WAS THINKING THAT IT WASN'T SUCH A HARDs.h.i.+P to be forced to spend another couple of hours with a pretty woman. She had that happy-go-lucky, little Mary Suns.h.i.+ne thing going on, yeah. And normally, people like that got on his nerves like nothing else in creation. But she was different. She wasn't one of those morons who were just too dumb to realize how s.h.i.+tty the world was. She wasn't one of those lucky idiots who'd never had any hards.h.i.+ps and so thought the world was a bowl of freaking ice cream.
She'd had some hard times. Lost her whole G.o.dd.a.m.n family at the tender age of twelve. During the holidays.
Just like I lost my dad.
And yet, she loved the freaking holly-jolly-ho-ho-jingle-bell bulls.h.i.+t.
He had to admit, he was curious about her. Her reaction to such a similar tragedy was so totally opposite his own that he found himself wanting to know more. Wanting to know...why.
There was more than that, though, and he knew it. He was attracted to her. Big time. And it was tough to rein it in when she was so open about feeling it right back at him. h.e.l.l, that hug. And that crack about liking him. And the look in those big blue eyes every time they met his.
d.a.m.n.
She came into the living room, bearing big plates full of food, and his stomach reminded him how long it had been since his lunch.
”Well, it smells good,” he said.
”You're gonna love it.” She marched to the hearth, and sat down.
He got the message-she didn't want food and crumbs all over the sofa bed because she was going to have to sleep on the d.a.m.n thing. Okay. He joined her on the hearthstone, and took the plate she offered him.
The burger looked good, too.
”Whole wheat bun,” she said. ”Best kind.”
”I'll bet.” He picked up a French fry, still piping hot and salty. She handed him the bottle of ketchup at her side.
”Come on, try the burger.”
”Oh, all right.” He finished the fry, then picked up the burger, which was pretty hefty with all the stuff she'd added to it. He wrinkled up his nose, preparing for the worst, and bit into the d.a.m.n thing.
Grimacing, he chewed. Slowly, he felt his grimace vanish. And then he lifted his brows in surprise as he kept on chewing. And then he swallowed, and he smiled. ”Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned.”
”Told you.”
”Oh, there'll be no living with you now, will there?”
”Uh, actually, Matthew, there kind of will.”
”Kind of will...what?” He was lost.
”There kind of will be...some...living with me.”
”Huh?”
”Where did you get the idea we were only going to get a few inches of snow?”
He frowned, glanced at the window. In the glow of her hideous holiday lights, he could see that the snow was still coming down, huge flakes, falling densely and rapidly. ”I overheard the waitress saying it at the diner.”
”Oh. And what did she say, exactly?”
”I don't know. 'Snow' and 'lake effect' and 'we're gonna get two to three.' Then the other waitress said, 'I heard three to five.'”
”Uh-huh.” Holly shrugged, sighed. ”Well, I hate to break it to you, Matthew. But, um, my best guess is they weren't taking about inches. They were talking about feet.”
”Feet,” he repeated blankly. Then his brain interpreted her meaning and he said it again. ”Feet?”
She nodded. ”According to the radio, it's going to go all night, three feet by morning, and possibly more. And I can't even imagine how long it'll take to get dug out, get the roads cleared, and so on, once it's over.”
”You've got to be kidding me.”
”No. It's pretty common up here. We're in the s...o...b..lt, you know.”
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