She sniffed. “No, I don’t mind.”
Ryan crossed the attic and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry for being a cock.”
She snaked her arms around him and held on tight. “I’m. Sorry”—her words were jerky through her sobs—“That I. Wasn’t more supportive. Of your business decision. You were right. To turn Crema down. Of course you were right.”
“Hey, now,” he soothed, rubbing his hands up and down her back. “I’m sorry for that too. All you did was ask the questions that I’d already asked myself. I just didn’t like having my own concerns mirrored back at me. I guess I was feeling insecure about my decision. I still think I made the correct choice for me, but you were right, it could potentially have given my whole family financial security, and I didn’t know if I’d been selfish by turning it down.”
She pressed her face against his coffee-scented shirt. “Your family don’t expect you to take care of them.”
He sighed. “I know they’d never say it, but who wouldn’t want to have their money worries wiped out? Anyway, those were my demons to wrestle with, and I should never have taken it out on you.”
“I was the one rude enough to question you on it.” She snuffled into his chest.
He held her closer. “Good. I wouldn’t want to be with someone who didn’t feel they could challenge me on things.”
His words made her dare to hope that she hadn’t ruined things—not with Ryan, at least. She took what felt like her first easy breath since the night before, and held on to him a little tighter.
He kissed her hair.
When he let her go, she said, “I’m sorry about all this crying. On top of everything else I have the most horrific hangover.”
“Cocktails with the aunts?”
“Hot chocolate.”
“Oof, I’ve fallen foul of their nightcaps before,” Ryan said, with sympathy.
In the absence of a tissue Fred reached into a trunk of old clothes and wiped her eyes and nose on a lace-edged blouse, then sneezed into it three times from all the dust and blew her nose on it, loudly.
“I’d like to kiss you, but you’ve rubbed hundred-year-old granny blouse all over your face.”
She laughed and a snot bubble ballooned out of her nose, so she buried her face in the musty blouse again. “That’s fair,” she mumbled.
“What were you doing up here anyway?” he asked, looking around.
“Hiding. And looking through old Christmas cards.” An idea began to form in her mind. “Maybe I should writeletters to all the businesses affected by Warren’s article. They can’t slam the door on a letter.”
“True,” Ryan agreed, sifting through the old suitcase.
“It won’t make up for what Warren’s written about their businesses, though.”
“That’s not your responsibility,” said Ryan, firmly. “Once they’ve read your letter, they’ll know you had nothing to do with it.”
She wasn’t listening. “I need to do something to make it, well, if not right then at least to counteract the damage. A campaign…something that will put them on the map in a good way…something…” Her marketing mind was circulating an idea. In the last week her Instagram posts and stories—not to mention her liberal use of hashtags for swanky places that stocked their crackers—had gained Hallow-Hart Crackers another thousand followers to add to the five thousand they already had. What if she extended her ideas for “meet the makers” videos to encompass the local community? Piggybacked off the momentum she’d already started…
“Okay, I see your cogs turning. Is there anything I can do to help with this master plan?” asked Ryan.
She looked at him and smiled. “You can tell your dad I’d like to take him up on his offer of an elf costume.”
He grinned. “Oh, I cannot wait to see you in that.”
“I will take your ridicule, because it’s for a good cause.”
“I don’t want to ridicule you, I want to perv over you—you’ll look hot in that getup.”
She couldn’t help it, she blushed scarlet.
He began to lean toward her, and she felt the pull of his nearness, drawing her to him. Just as their lips were about to touch, she said, “Wait! What about my granny blouse face?”
