“We always do,” Miranda agreed, with a sigh of pleasant resignation. Then she added, “Well, I’ll be in as soon as the roads are passable.”
“Not before then, though,” Brynne warned. She didn’t want her employees—all friends—risking their necks to get to work.
Five more calls followed, in quick sequence. Everybody was snowed in—two fry cooks and three waitresses—and Brynne ordered them all to stay home.
Once the call-ins were over, she scanned her email and was pleased to find a message from Davey, Clay’s son. He’d attached about a dozen photographs of the loot he and Maddie had scored over Christmas—most of it from Heather’s wealthy parents.
Brynne smiled as she surveyed the bikes and board games, electronics and clothes, all carefully staged for best effect. Davey, she suspected, was a budding photographer—he took pictures of everything, sometimes things he shouldn’t.
After admiring the kids’ treasures—remarkably, the siblings weren’t spoiled—Brynne turned to Davey’s email. She’d been saving that for last.
From: [email protected]
Hi Brynne. Hope you had a good Christmas. We really liked the books you sent, and Dad says we have to write you an actual thank-you note, ’cause an email isn’t enough.
There isn’t much news to share. Mom is still with Geoffrey, that douchebag, and Dad is dating some woman he met at a nightclub. Mom says she’s a floozy.
Maddie and I are spending New Year’s Day with Dad, at his place. He says the floozy won’t be there, ’cause she’s nobody we need to know.
Trust me, that’s a relief.
Anyway, Dad said if it’s okay with you, we could Skype or FaceTime with you while we’re with him.
Would that be okay with you?
If it is, which day and what time?
That’s about all there is to say for right now. Maddie and I both miss you a whole lot.
Love,
Davey
Brynne swallowed, waited for her vision to clear and replied, Text me the times that work for you. When it comes to you and Maddie, I’m available anytime.
About five seconds after she’d clicked Send, a response arrived from Davey, with no subject line. The body of the message was a row of thumbs-up emojis.
She smiled and replied with two hearts and four kisses.
Then she cried for a while.
Not over Clay. No, she had no tears left for him—she’d cried them all in the months after the breakup.
She cried because she loved Davey and Maddie, and missed them terribly, and because the way things were shaping up, she might never have children of her own.
She could go the single-mom route, of course—lots of people did, these days—but Brynne was too damn old-fashioned for that. She wanted the whole enchilada—loving husband and all.
She closed her laptop, sniffled and plucked a napkin from one of the holders on the counter, dabbing at her eyes and then blowing her nose noisily.
That done, she tossed the napkin, washed her hands and got to work.
She took down the aluminum Christmas tree and the plastic Santa heads and other decorations left over from her mom and dad’s day, then fetched a stepladder and climbed onto it to begin taking down the lights strung around the front window.
The roar of an engine startled her so that she nearly tumbled off the ladder.
Annoyed, Brynne palmed away some of the fog from the window and peered out, only to find Eli Garrett in front of her café, mounted on the biggest snowmobile she’d ever seen and grinning like a kid.
He was wearing a heavy coat and gloves, but no hat, the damn fool. His ears were red with cold.
Now that he knew she’d seen him, he gunned the engine a couple of times.
Brynne hurried to the door, jerked it open and was immediately struck by a blast of bone-chilling cold. “Eli Garrett,” she sputtered, “are you crazy? Get in here before you freeze to death!”
Mercifully, he shut the engine down. Lord, that thing was loud enough to qualify as a menace.
Eli dismounted, dropped the keys to his gas-powered chariot into the pocket of his coat and came toward her, that insufferable grin still in place.
“What are you doing here?” Brynne demanded, as soon as they were both inside and the door was closed.
Dripping melting snow, Eli tugged off his gloves, shoved them into another pocket, then removed his coat. Hung it from one of a dozen pegs alongside the door.
“I was under the impression a man could get a cup of coffee here,” he answered, in his own good time. “Was I wrong?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Brynne said, more flustered than angry. She was flashing back to her youth again, only this time not to school closures and sledding parties. No, this time, she went back to high school, when she’d worn Eli’s senior class ring on a cord around her neck. When she’d believed, with all her naive young heart, that someday she would marry Eli Garrett and have his children.
Instead, he’d chosen Reba Shannon.
She was still furious with him. Still hurt.
“Aren’t you supposed to be out patrolling the roads or something?” she asked, going to the coffeepot and pouring a cup of regular.
Eli took his coffee black.
He came in often enough, always with J.P. and Cord, for her to remember.
“I can be reached if I’m needed,” he said, holding up his phone before setting it on the counter, beside the mug she’d practically slapped down in front of him.
“Good,” Brynne said, snappishly, because nothing else came to her.
“How is it that you’re already pissed off at me? I just came through the door about five seconds ago, and I haven’t had time to put my foot in my mouth.”
Brynne sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be abrupt.”
“Okay,” Eli said mildly. “Thanks for that, anyway.”
“Eli, what are you doing here?”
“Drinking coffee?”
“You never come in for coffee. Not without Cord or J.P.” She paused. Maybe she’d jumped the gun, pointing out their absence. They might be on their way to Bailey’s right now, riding snowmobiles of their own.
Eli took a pensive sip from his cup. Then he grinned at her and said, “Cut me a break here, Brynne. I’m trying to be—sociable.”