The Hunk Next Door(58)
“What will you do for ornaments?”
“Peg had a decent selection at the hardware store. Thought I’d go by tomorrow.” That put the tension right back in her face. Damn. He mentally scrambled. “When I was a kid, each grade level took turns decorating the big Christmas tree in the narthex each year.”
“Based on what you’ve done to Belclare you must have loved it.”
“Not when Sister Mary Catherine was in charge. She was one of the insane types when it came to stringing lights. For the sake of the children I hope someone eventually donates a pre-lit fake tree to the church.”
She relaxed enough to chuckle at the story and he was relieved to share something real about his past with her. “Are you going to answer the question?”
She pushed her chair back from the table and carried her wineglass to the counter. Mischief flashed in her eyes as she watched him. “What will you do if I admit I’m an insane sort?”
“I’ll let you string them yourself.”
“No problem. I’ve done it before. Every year of my adult life, in fact.”
“Sounds like you have a system. Maybe I’ll learn something new,” he said, matching her teasing tone as he picked up their plates.
She moved forward to take them. “You don’t have to clean up.”
“I know.” In her heels, she was almost eye level with him. He leaned in and kissed her. The contact was just a soft meeting of lips, nothing involved or intense, but it rocked his world all the same. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”
She shot him a look full of suspicion. “Either your mother raised you well or two trees are too much for you in one day.”
“Could be both,” he replied, grinning. “And you did mention all that experience.”
“I did.” She stepped back, raised her hands in surrender. “You clean, I’ll string. Just out of pity for you.”
He cleaned up the table and dishes in record time. Not only did he want to watch her process, but he remembered too late that the tree would ruin her shirt. When he reached the front room, he found her on her knees by the outlet under the window, the lit string of colored lights in her hands apparently forgotten. She was staring past the tree toward Calder’s house, surely reliving her friend’s accident.
The snow was coming down a little heavier now and would really set the mood for the Christmas Village in the morning. Belclare couldn’t have wished for better weather and he was surprised by how much he hoped the sudden crime spree didn’t hurt the event.
This place, after such a short time, felt more like home than anywhere he’d been before. He looked to Abby and knew she was a big part of the reason.
“Hey,” he said gently, not wanting to startle her.
She turned and the hard expression in her eyes startled him. This wasn’t a woman mourning a friend’s pain or struggling with guilt that she might be part of the cause. No, that was sheer determination in her eyes.
“You’ve done something,” he said without thinking.
“What?” She blinked rapidly and her expression cleared. “No. I just don’t know where to start.”
“Bull.” He dropped to his knee beside her. “You barely remember why you’re in here.”
“That’s rude.”
“Rude might just be the beginning,” he corrected. “Hand over the lights before you ruin your shirt.”
“I can do it.”
“I know, Abby.” She could do whatever she set her mind to. Which worried him considering what she was up against. He wanted her to tell him, but why would she? As far as she knew he was only a carpenter with some life experience. “But I bet you don’t normally string lights dressed like that. Test the next string.”
“Riley.”
“What? There’s no shame in accepting a little help.” He couldn’t look at her. He was too close to offering her more truth than she needed. More than he was allowed to share.
Eyeing the distance from the tree to the outlet, he started weaving lights through the lower branches at record speed. His hands knew what to do, which was nice considering he had no idea how to proceed with Abby.
“Riley?”
He adjusted the cord so the connector would be hidden. “Next string.” He held out his free hand, but nothing landed in it.
“Look at me.”
He sat back on his heels. “My pleasure.” He tried to focus on her, just her, not his irrational fear for her safety. She’d kicked off her shoes and her feet were tucked under her, the skirt riding just above her knees.
“I was thinking about what you said, that we only have the present.”