Page 9 of A Love Like Christmas Time
He shoves his hands into his pockets, then gasps, eyes wide. “Wait, do you have other plans?” He clutches his chest in mock betrayal. Henry grins amusedly, knowing the only other person I’d even consider seeing on Thanksgiving is Bobby. He’s the guy who ran the café before me, but he usually spends Thanksgiving with his family one state over. I do have a standing invitation; however, I’m not going to a family gathering where I only know one person, hours away from Wayward Hollow.
“Don’t tell me you have other plans? Friends you prefer overus? Don’t you dare grimace at me, mister. Whether you want it or not, we’re friends. And that word is not poisonous.”
“Come on, lay off him, Kieran.” Henry tries to calm him down, chuckling. He gets up, walks over and grabs Kieran by his shoulders, then marches him back over to their table and pushes him onto his chair. “You know Caleb. He’s not as outspoken as you.”
“You call it ‘outspoken,’ I call it in touch with my emotions,” Kieran shoots back and clicks his tongue. “But if he can’t admit he’s into Lauren, the least he could do is admit that we’re friends.”
I freeze. For half a second, my brain short-circuits.
Into Lauren?
Absolutely not. If anything, I find her infuriating. The way she marches in here with her damned syrup, that sly smile and daring eye-contact as she stabs a dagger into my heart as she’s pouring that sugary shit in my lovingly prepared coffee…
Okay, maybe a little. But that’s beside the point.
“Hey!” I cut in, grabbing the nearest towel, bundling it up, and launching it toward their table. It’s meant to hit Kieran square in the face, but it flutters open halfway and lands in his lap like a damn napkin. Figures.
“I’m not into Lauren. If anything, I find her infuriating. The way she marches in here as if she owns the place, trying to tell me how to run my café and put that sugary shit onto my menu… Hell, she can be lucky I haven’t thrown out her and her bottle already. The only reason I haven’t is that I know she’d just bring another one. And sure, fine, it might only be a ridiculous bottle of syrup, but I’m not going to throw away food.”
Kieran’s grinning now, full teeth. He doesn’t even have to say it. I can feel the ‘you’re protesting too much’ coming off his smug smile in waves.
I cross my arms and glare. “What?”
“Suuure,” Kieran says, biting the inside of his cheek. “That’s the reason.”
I’m about to find something else to throw his way when Henry cuts in. “Promise me to think about it, okay?” Slowly, I shift my glare from Kieran to him. “It will be fun. Mom and Dad are on a cruise this year, which means I’ll be there too.”
“Pfft. Whatever.” Kieran’s still pouting. He jumps up and puts on his jacket, then reaches for the towel.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. See you tomorrow.” He throws the towel my way as he walks past the counter. “Or not.” For a moment he stops to glare at me, then walks out, the sound of the little bell above my entrance ringing loudly in the now silent café.
“Don’t mind him,” Henry says with a chuckle, getting up from the table to bring both mugs over to the counter. Jensen follows suit, shaking his head with a big yawn.
I take the mugs from Henry a little too quickly. “What are your parents doing on a cruise?” I ask, aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by a mile. “I never took them for the cruise type.”
People come and go. And if life has taught me one thing, it’s that they go more often than they stay. Henry’s parents are okay, though. They’re welcoming and don’t push too much.
I’m surprised they’re choosing not to spend Thanksgiving with him.
“It’s their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary,” he explains as he sets down the mugs with a clank. “Which means we’re having our Thanksgiving next week instead. You’re invited, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I say gruffly, putting the mugs in the pass-through window to the kitchen.
“I mean it,” he insists, putting on his coat. “You might not think your presence matters, but Nala is always sad when her favorite uncle doesn’t come over.”
“Sure,” I say, irony dripping from my voice, and roll my eyes. Nala is his parents’ golden retriever. She’s the cutest not-so-little creature. Even cuter than Jensen, I dare say.
Two years ago, he convinced me to come to his parents’ house to celebrate his birthday. I spent the whole celebration in a corner of their living room, hands buried in Nala’s soft fur. I was silently watching what was happening, not at all eager to insert myself into their family dynamic.
Does it seem rude in retrospect? Yes. But none of them ever made me feel bad for keeping my distance. No, instead they kept their distance, going at my pace, as if I were a stray pet whose trust they wanted to win.
“And I promise, if you come to Nic’s for Thanksgiving, there will be enough furry friends to keep you entertained.” The corner of his mouth twitches. Damn. Can he read my mind?
“I’ll think about it.” I repeat and continue wiping the counter.
“You do that,” Henry grins and leans down to grab Jensen’s leash. “See you, Caleb.”
As soon as my café is empty, I lean my back against the counter, close my eyes, and force myself to take a deep breath.
