Page 16 of Holiday Hideaway
George handed each of the brothers two crisp hundred-dollar bills.
“Any chance you guys would be available to do some more work around here? Trying to get the place ready to go on the market.”
“Aww man, you’re selling the Crowe’s Nest?” Theo exclaimed. “This place issick!”
“We’re up for anything,” Dooley said quickly. “Tilly can tell you how to reach us.”
“I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” George told them.
Tilly heated up the stew, and they ate from trays in front of the fire, which she’d replenished and stoked until the flames were dancing and the not-unpleasant smell of woodsmoke drifted their way. She noticed that he kept glancing at his phone, which was sitting on the coffee table.
She sipped the wine Ruth had sent over with her sons.
“Aren’t you going to call her back?”
He scraped his spoon on the bottom of the now-empty bowl. “And say what? I can’t make it home because I fell off a ladder and broke my ankle and got concussed trying to climb onto the roof—the exact thing you warned me not to do?”
“Is that all there is to it?”
George looked up at the ceiling and didn’t answer.
“Now that the roof is tarped, you actually could leave. Ruth’s kids could finish up the repairs. They’re good workers, and I could be here to supervise—if you want.”
He let out a long sigh. “The thing is ... I hate these stupid charitygalas.” He enclosed the word with air quotes. “What’s the point? Why not just donate the money to the worthy cause du jour? Why do I have to put on a tux and pretend to have agood time with a lot of other rich people? Plus, okay, I suck at dancing.”
“So you deliberately broke your ankle to get out of going to a ball? There must be an easier way.”
“You don’t know Vanessa.”
“I don’t think I want to either.” Tilly swirled the wine in her glass, tilting the ruby liquid so it glowed in the reflection of the Christmas tree lights, which she’d switched on earlier.
“Tell me about her,” Tilly prompted. “How did you two meet?”
“I hired her to plan a party for my investors. That’s what she does—plan events. She’s beautiful, smart, successful, the whole package, and totally out of my league.”
Tilly noticed that his eyes didn’t light up when he described his fiancée. He didn’t mention the color of her hair, or her eyes, or the passions they shared. In fact, his summary was what you’d expect from a man describing a new car. “When’s the big day?”
“She hasn’t decided yet. Maybe fall.”
“By then you’ll be off crutches and able to waltz at your own wedding. Right?”
He ignored the jibe. Instead he rose up on his elbows and looked down at his ankle. “And what about you? And Denny? How long were you guys married?”
“Eight years. But it felt like eighteen.”
“No kids?”
“I wanted them; he didn’t. Guess it’s just as well, since Denny was child enough.”
“Please tell me he’s fat and bald these days.”
“Ha! He’s too vain for that. Works out like a fiend and spends more on hair products than any woman I’ve ever met.”
Eager to close the topic of her ex, she pointed to the wine bottle. “It’s been twenty-four hours since your head injury. Want some?”
“I guess a glass won’t hurt.”
He sipped his wine and looked around the room. “My granddad used to have a chess set in the library. I don’t suppose you play?”
