A WEDDING FOR CHRISTMAS

by Marie Ferrarella

  After that little fiasco, she’d promised herself she would never date again—and if by some wild chance she did, she wouldn’t let anyone at the inn know, so when that, too, blew up on her, she wouldn’t be the object of sympathetic looks and peppy comments that were meant to raise her morale but only succeeded in lowering it.

  “An old friend,” Jorge echoed, then nodded. “The best kind to have.”

  Cris frowned, reading between the lines. “Don’t patronize me, Jorge.”

  He frowned at the unfamiliar word. “I do not know what that means, but I am fairly sure I am not doing what you asked me not to do,” he told her. And then he became very, very serious. “Do not let one mishap make you close yourself off,” he warned. “Breathe with your whole body and soul,” he counseled, obviously building on the allergy excuse she’d given him to explain why she was sighing.

  Cris’s hands were flying as she chopped celery stalks into tiny pieces. The staccato noise went to double time as she told her assistant, “Tell you what. You take care of your body and soul, Jorge, and I’ll take care of mine. Deal?”

  “But of course,” Jorge agreed. “I would never try to argue with you.”

  He wasn’t agreeing at all, she thought. His ironic tone told her as much. But she knew that if she said something to him about it, Jorge would simply feign innocence and somehow turn the whole thing into an object lesson with her being its unwilling recipient.

  She would just have to get used to people looking out for her and worrying about her, she told herself. Everyone at the inn was like family, whether they shared DNA or not.

  “Why do you not take the cause of your allergies his dinner?” Jorge suggested, nodding at the tray she had prepared. “I will stay here and watch over the rest of the cooking for you.”

  His offer was sweet, but if she accepted, she would be attesting that this man was special, someone apart from the others she helped. She was in no way ready for that and in no way was she even remotely searching for it.

  “I don’t need you to watch over anything for me,” she informed Jorge. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

  “That much is true,” he concurred far too readily. “Unless, of course, you wake up and see that spending your life without someone there beside you really is like not going anywhere,” he told her pointedly. “It is not even really living.”

  “I’m beginning to think that working in the inn’s kitchen is the wrong place for you, Jorge. You should be working in a Chinese restaurant, baking fortune cookies and stuffing them with your words of wisdom,” she told him with a laugh.

  She gazed at the man who had been her assistant off and on for the past year and a half. She knew he meant well. But at the same time, he was making things difficult for her.

  “Look, I know you believe you’re helping, but I’ve got to find my own way through things—without help. Okay?”

  “I am just making sure you are able to see the road ahead of you,” he said. “A lot of people lose their way.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised.

  The next moment, she left the kitchen and took a peek into the dining room.

  Shane was sitting at the table.

  And Ricky was sitting on a booster seat right beside him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CARRYING A TRAY WITH the dinner she’d prepared for Shane, Cris made her way over to the table. She kept her eyes fixed on her son as she approached.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be with Grandpa right now?” she asked Ricky. Shifting her eyes, she looked apologetically at Shane as she set his dinner in front of him. “I’m really sorry about this. He usually knows better than to bother people.”

  “I’m sure he does,” Shane responded with amusement. “Which is why he’s not bothering me.” He glanced in Ricky’s direction. “We were just having a man-to-man talk about the holidays.”

  “Holidays?” Cris repeated, a little confused at the reference. Just what was Ricky bending Shane’s ear about? “Thanksgiving?” she guessed since it was the next holiday to come up.

  “No, Christmas!” Ricky corrected her with all the enthusiasm of a child looking forward to what he considered the absolutely best time of the year.

  “Inside voice, Ricky. You know you’re supposed to use your inside voice when you’re inside,” Cris reminded her son, glancing around to see if anyone in the dining area appeared annoyed at the high pitch her son’s voice had reached.

  At this hour, only half the tables were filled. The rest of the inn’s guests would be by later, unless they were eating out. She was relieved to see that none of the guests there seemed to have taken note of the exuberant boy.

  “Sorry, Mama,” Ricky said, lowering his voice by two octaves.

  That minor issue out of the way, Cris addressed the one that Ricky had brought up. “Okay, what about Christmas?”

  Ricky instantly dove into his explanation. “He said—”

  She needed to nip this in the bud. “It’s Mr. McCallister, not ‘he,’ Ricky. You know better than that,” Cris said, then tactfully suggested, “and why don’t you let Mr. McCallister speak for himself?”

  Rather than become crestfallen because he had to be quiet, the boy grinned and said, “Sure,” then turned to look at his hero. “Tell Mama what you said.”

  “Yes, please, by all means,” Cris added, “‘Tell Mama.’”

  Shane grinned at the reference and something inside her stomach fluttered.

  “Well, I hope I didn’t tread on any toes,” Shane prefaced before he went on to fill Ricky’s mother in on what he and her son had talked about. “But I told Ricky that I liked the smell and appearance of a real Christmas tree.”

  Unable to contain himself any longer, Ricky all but crowed, “See, Mama? Him, too.”

  Cris sighed. “Mr. McCallister agrees with me, too,” she said, rephrasing her son’s words.

  “He does?” Ricky asked, beaming like a starburst. “Then it’s okay? We can get a real tree again?” He took her answer for granted, assuming that it would be positive.

  Rather than argue with Ricky about whether they would get a real tree to celebrate Christmas, she slanted a glance toward Shane. She supposed that he deserved some sort of an explanation.

  “Putting up an artificial tree instead of a real one is more practical,” Cris told him.

  All the other years, they’d had a tall, real tree standing in the main room. But escalating costs was a practical consideration that had Alex and her father leaning toward the purchase of a tree that could be used over and over each year.

  As Cris stated what she assumed was most likely Alex’s position, she saw a dubious expression on Shane’s face. Curiosity had her asking, “What?”

  Shane debated saying nothing, but one glance at the hopeful look on the boy’s face had him making up his mind. After all, she had asked. “It’s just that my own feeling is that Christmas isn’t supposed to be about being practical. It’s about the magic of the season.”

  Cris pressed her lips together, really torn. A few years back, she would have readily sided with him. However, she’d done a lot of growing up in the intervening years and was forced to look at things from a more practical point of view, which meant it was far more practical to buy a tree that could be used over and over than to throw away money on one that could only be used once.

  “I understand what you’re saying,” she began.

  That was all Ricky needed. “So we can go looking for a real tree, Mama? ’Cause Sha—I mean Mr. McCallister said he’d help—and he said he’d even bring his truck so we could bring the Christmas tree home with us when we find one.”

  “Mr. McCallister has better things to do than play deliveryman with our Christmas tree,” Cris patiently pointed out.

  But before her son could
digest the information and offer a rebuttal, Shane said, “No, actually, I don’t. I’d kind of like coming along to pick out and bring back the Christmas tree.” When Cris looked at him quizzically, he explained, “It’s been a few years since I went Christmas tree shopping.” He shrugged haplessly. “What with Nancy living up north and my brother stationed back east, there’s really not much of a reason to put up a tree.”

  “How about your parents?” Cris asked automatically, then immediately regretted it when she saw Shane shake his head. She knew what he was going to say before he said it.

  “They’re both gone.”

  What he had left unspoken—and that she understood—was that since his wife wasn’t around to share in the season, even to acknowledge the day, much less get caught up in the season for its own sake, seemed pointless.

  Part of the magic of the season was having someone to share it with.

  “We hafta get a real tree for Sha—I mean Mr. McCallister,” Ricky insisted, stumbling over Shane’s surname again.

  Shane made an appeal on Ricky’s behalf. “Can he call me Shane?” he asked, looking at her. “It would be a lot easier on him,” he added with a grin, ruffling the boy’s hair.

  She supposed that if Shane didn’t mind, she could bend the rule in this instance.

  “I guess we can make an exception,” Cris allowed. “As long as you remember that it is an exception,” she told her son.

  In response, Ricky enthusiastically nodded like one of those bobblehead figures some people attached to dashboards.

  “An ’ception,” Ricky echoed—or did his best to.

  Shane eyed her. “And the tree?” he asked, knowing she had to be the one to rule on that in this case. “Real or not?”

  Cris caught herself giving in with ease. “I suppose we can get a real one again.” Most likely, she had a feeling, her father was just waiting to be persuaded. Alex was the one they would need to win over. “To be honest, I think everyone prefers a real one. It’s just that Alex has been trying to be extra conscientious about the bottom line—”

  He knew all about bottom lines, but these days, he was living exceptionally frugally because he saw no reason or need to spend money beyond getting the essentials.

  “Well, since I’ll be one of the ones to enjoy seeing a real Christmas tree, I’ll be happy to contribute to its final cost.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Cris quickly told him, vetoing the idea of his paying a single red cent toward the tree. As it was, he was charging them far less for handling the renovations and additional construction than the other contractors had quoted.

  Slanting a glance toward her son, who looked ready to levitate from his seat at any second, she interjected, “But if you don’t mind coming along and allowing us the use of your truck as well as giving us the benefit of your opinion, that would be greatly appreciated.”

  The grin had his eyes crinkling appealingly. “Consider it done,” he readily agreed. “Just tell me the day and time you want this expedition to get under way and I’ll be there with bells on.”

  Hearing that caused Ricky to cover his mouth with his hands to contain the fit of giggles that descended over him.

  “What’s so funny?” Shane asked the boy, certain he’d said nothing to earn this level of levity.

  “You’re gonna be wearing bells?” Ricky asked, still giggling at the image that description conjured in his young head.

  “It’s just an expression, honey,” Cris told the little boy. “Shane won’t really be wearing bells.”

  “How do you know?” Shane asked, deliberately playing the scene out for Ricky’s benefit. “Maybe I will be wearing them.”

  He saw the boy looking at him with huge, stunned eyes that contained a sliver of amusement in them, as well. Obviously Ricky couldn’t make up his mind whether his new hero was putting his mother on.

  “Can I wear ’em,’ too, Mama?” Ricky wanted to know. “The bells?”

  “We’ll see,” she said. She found that answer far easier to deliver than a straightforward no, which might stir up an argument. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Right now, Mr. McCallis—Shane has to be leaving.”

  Both Ricky and Shane turned to her, puzzled—and then, like a man waking from a quick nap, Shane laughed at his momentary lapse.

  “You’re right. I do. Thanks for reminding me.” He looked at Ricky. “I guess I was just having too much fun and leaving slipped my mind.”

  “Where do you gotta go?” Ricky wanted to know.

  “Ricky, don’t pry,” she admonished, but not as firmly as she might have. Ricky, she had to admit, got his inherent curiosity from her.

  “It’s okay,” Shane told her, then addressed the boy’s question. “I’m going to a homeless shelter.”

  The answer seemed to horrify Ricky. “Are you homeless?” he cried. “’Cause if you are, my grandpa’ll let you stay here for free.” Dorothy had told him about how kind his grandfather had been to her when she’d first come to the inn. The next moment, Ricky’s face lit up as he got an idea. “You can stay in my room with me. I’ll let you have my bed and I’ve got a sleeping bag I can put on the floor for me.”

  Impressed with the impromptu generosity the boy displayed without any prodding from his mother, Shane smiled at him warmly.

  “That’s really very generous of you, Ricky, but I’m not staying at the homeless shelter. I just go there to help out.”

  Wheat-colored eyebrows knit as the boy tried to absorb every word he’d been told.

  “Help out what?” Ricky asked.

  “Ricky—” Cris said, her tone warning the boy not to continue on this path. Not everyone liked being interrogated by a five-year-old.

  But clearly Shane didn’t belong to that group. “I don’t mind him asking questions,” he told her, then faced Ricky. “That’s how he learns. Right, Ricky?”

  Ricky seemed thrilled to be championed in this manner. “Right!”

  “To answer your question, Ricky, I go there to help out any way I can. The people staying at the shelter aren’t as lucky as you and I and your mom are.”

  Ricky appeared to take every word to heart. “We can give them our Christmas tree,” he told Shane.

  Shane laughed softly at the offer, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I believe this comes under the heading of giving them the shirt off your back,” he quipped, directing his comment to Cris.

  The expression on Shane’s face made her feel, just for an isolated second, as though they were actually sharing a moment. The very thought stirred a warmth within her as unexpected as it was comforting.

  Meanwhile, Cris noticed that her son was glancing from her to Shane, as if doing his very best to understand what had just been said.

  “I gotta give them my shirt?”

  Even as he asked, Ricky tugged the bottom of his pullover out of the waistband of his pants. In another minute, he would have the shirt up, over his head and off his small body, fully intending to surrender it to Shane so he could do what he needed to with it. All Ricky knew was that he wanted to help Shane.

  Laughing, Shane quickly stilled the little boy’s fast-moving hands.

  “No, stop,” he said to Ricky. “I didn’t mean you had to take off your shirt. It’s just another way of saying you were being very giving.”

  “Oh,” Ricky said, struggling to look as though he understood what was being said. Cris had a feeling that the boy didn’t but was unwilling to let on in case his new hero would find him lacking in some way. “But you don’t really want me to give my shirt to you?”

  “Not today,” Shane assured him with affection as he patted the boy’s shoulder. And then he looked at Cris. “I’d better be going,” Shane said again, attempting to come to terms with the sudden reluctance he was experiencing.

 
; Was he just reluctant to leave, or was he reluctant to leave her?

  He really wasn’t sure.

  Maybe it would be better if he didn’t explore what might lie beneath that question, at least not yet. Right now, his life was relatively uncomplicated. Lonely, but uncomplicated. And he wanted to take some time deciding exactly what complications he would welcome into it and be equipped to handle. Not to mention what complications might just trip him up and take him in a direction he wasn’t, as yet, prepared to go.

  Even so, as he rose, Shane couldn’t help thinking that staying here, talking to Cris and enjoying the unfiltered responses of her son, was really not a bad way to spend the rest of his evening.

  You’ve got people waiting for you and responsibilities to meet, remember? Shane reminded himself.

  He really had to get going. Shane nodded at his cleared plate. “Thanks for the meal. I intend to pay you back in trade since you won’t let me pay you for the food.”

  “You already have paid me back,” Cris insisted, adding, “just by putting up with certain people.” She deliberately kept her statement vague since Ricky was right there, absorbing every word between Shane and her.

  “No ‘putting up’ involved,” Shane assured her, indicating her son with his eyes. “I enjoyed every second of it.”

  He sounded sincere, but that could just be because she was hearing something that appealed to her. There was reality and then there was the reality she wished she had. This might well be the latter.

  “I find that difficult to believe,” she told Shane.

  Cris recalled the one person she had dated in the past five years. The man had made it clear after a couple of dates that he didn’t regard her as a package deal, meaning that he didn’t want to interact with her son if there was any way he could avoid it.

  She had sent him packing that same day.

  Shane’s dark blue eyes met hers and she saw that he was completely serious as he told her, “Don’t.” She assumed he was telling her that she shouldn’t be having any difficulty in believing he liked dealing with Ricky and putting up with the boy’s somewhat demanding personality.