“You know, honey,” she said. “We only have a little more than two weeks until Christmas. I think we should put up the tree, don’t you? As the song says, ‘We need a little Christmas, right this very minute….’”
So while Mattie marveled at the ornaments and decorations, Susan unpacked the fake, pre-lit tree and started assembling it. She found an old mixed tape Walt had made of Christmas favorites—everyone from Ella Fitzgerald to the Kingston Trio to Bruce Springsteen. She put it in the CD/tape player. Walt used to go out to one of those farms and cut down a tree every Christmas. But after he died, she’d gotten this fake one and settled for that. Right now, she was very glad to have it.
The first two of the three tree sections were up and lit, and Mattie had only broken one ornament, when the doorbell rang. Susan figured it was probably one of the movers, coming back for his dolly cart. She hurried to the door and opened it.
Tom stood on the front stoop. He looked handsome in his brown leather jacket and with his black hair tousled by the wind. He held up a big Arby’s bag.
Susan numbly stared at him. “Um, hi,” she said.
He peeked into the living room. “Looks like Christmas in here,” he said. “I—um, well, I saw the moving van leave about forty-five minutes ago and took a chance this was the right house.” He shrugged. “I guess that means I was stalking you.”
A hand still on the doorknob, she half smiled and nodded. “I guess.”
“So—on a scale of one to ten, with ten being incredibly creepy
…
” He trailed off as Mattie came to Susan’s side. “Hi, Matthew Blanchette, do you remember me? I’m Tom.”
Hugging her leg, Mattie squinted at him for a moment. “Did you bring fries?”
Tom laughed and then nodded. “I brought fries, and Arby’s regular, Arby-Q, potato cakes, and salad. And the Cokes are in my car.” He looked at Susan. “Is this okay? I know you told me you weren’t ready to see anyone, and now I’m pulling this surprise visit on you. But I like you, Susan. And I think you like me. If I’m wrong, well, then I can just drop this off.
…
”
Susan sighed. “You know, while you’re standing there talking, our potato cakes are getting cold.”
Tom grinned at her.
She smiled back, opened the door a little wider, and let him inside.
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2010 Kevin O’Brien
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PINNACLE BOOKS and the Pinnacle logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7860-2520-6